The Inuit of Port Harrison (now Inukjuak), had chosen to leave their home in search of better living conditions. The game on which they depended had grown scarce, and the social amenities introduced by the federal authorities-a school, a nursing station, and the RCMP post-could not compensate for the erosion of a traditional way of life. But the alleged altruism of the federal government came at a price: the seven families who agreed to participate in the relocation "experiment" were to become pawns in a high stakes game rife with international intrigue and bureaucratic zealotry. They were to serve as a tangible symbol of Canadian "use and occupancy" in the arctic archipelago.

Although Ottawa's initial paranoia about foreign incursions soon subsided, the contribution of the Port Harrison Inuit (along with three families moved from Pond Inlet on Baffin Island) was conveniently forgotten. Ottawa provided assistance for occasional visits to relatives and friends, but the matter of a permanent return to Quebec was largely ignored.

It was not until the fall of 1982, when John Amagoalik, president of the Inuit Tapirisat of Canada (ITC), wrote to then Deputy Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development Paul Tellier, that the issue of Canada's High Arctic "exiles" came to light. Amagoalik had sought government assistance for the return of families to the Inukjuak area, a request federal officials were apparently loath to fulfil lest such action be interpreted as an admission of wrongdoing. In 1990 Makivik Corporation, the Inuit development company established under the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, joined with ITC to press the federal government for settlement of outstanding claims.

The controversy continued to simmer, and in the summer of 1990, following hearings on the matter before the Parliamentary Standing Committee on Aboriginal Affairs, Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development Tom Siddon ordered an independent study to assist with the formulation of the federal government's official response. That study, carried out by the Ottawa consulting firm, Hickling Corporation, forms the backdrop to this issue of Northern Perspectives. The report found that mistakes had been made, that the rationale for the project was less than clear, but on the crucial issue of sovereignty it concluded:

The evidence does not support the allegation by the Inuit that the Government was motivated primarily by concern about its ownership of and sovereignty over the Arctic Islands when it actively encouraged Inuit families to relocate to the High Arctic in the early 1950s. The Government felt secure in its claim of ownership of the Islands at that time as a result of an Exchange of Notes between Canada and Norway in 1930, which recognized this claim. In addition, the Canadian Government had consistently displayed its sovereignty in that area for so long and in so many ways as to have firmly established its title to all of the Arctic Islands in a manner consistent with International Law.

Finding fault with the details of the Hickling report does little to inform the as-yet-unresolved debate; the constraints of time imposed by the rules of the Standing Committee, the research time required to disinter archival records, and the difficulty in dealing with an event that occurred nearly four decades ago are obvious. But as Trent University historian

Shelagh Grant reveals in this issue of Northern Perspectives, the report merits close scrutiny on another level.

Many years have passed since the voyage of the C.D. Howe. Many of the individuals affected have passed away. But many alive today recall still the isolation, the winter darkness, and the deep sense of loneliness.

It is easy now, and perhaps a bit tempting, to admit that serious errors were made, that the misguided policy objectives of Ottawa bureaucrats may have cost a generation of Inuit the most productive years of their lives. Yet the federal government is reluctant even to admit that simple fact, preferring the fiction of infallibility in the face of incontrovertible evidence. The Hickling report itself cites the forthright statement of former DIAND minister John Munro that: "To further entrench the sovereignty claim, the government relocated Inuit people from northern Quebec to the Arctic Islands in the mid 1950s"; yet it virtually dismisses this admission as merely "a degree of acknowledgement that sovereignty played some kind of role..."

It may be that the Inuit of Port Harrison gave their consent, but that consent was for an improved way of life- not for even greater hardship far from the support of friends and family.

The transfer of Inuit families was undeniably a social experiment. However, the case may also be made that Inuit were not alone in suffering the consequences of a bureaucracy caught up in Cold War fever; certainly, the well-documented dislocation of outport Newfoundlanders as a central feature of Joey Smallwood's economic reforms was a tragedy of comparable magnitude. But a crucial difference is to be found in the endless missives of federal officials overseeing the Inuit relocation; there one finds a willingness-even a desire-to tinker with culture by denying certain goods and services, by discouraging contact with police and armed forces personnel, and by limiting the ability of Inuit to move freely within their own land. This Kiplingesque characterization of Inuit as a northern version of the white man's burden, embarrassing as it is, remains with us today. It exists in the words and actions of those who would see aboriginal rights as an overgenerous bestowment and not as the simple extension of full citizenship to Canada's original inhabitants.

When all is said and done, one fact remains: the Inuit of Port Harrison and Pond Inlet were the unwitting subjects of an experiment. Although the impetus for the project stemmed from concern for the welfare of the families involved, the perceived opportunity to bolster Canada's shaky jurisdictional claims quickly overtook any altruistic notions and blinded officials to the mental and physical suffering that the Inuit endured. The best of intentions is no defence for wrongdoing; the body of law on experimentation involving human subjects is very clear. It remains for legal scholars to explore the implications of the actions taken nearly four decades ago.

In the meantime, much might be achieved through a simple gesture on the part of the federal government. As CARC executive director Stephen Hazell suggests, the time has come for Canada to redress the situation by at least acknowledging the important role of Inuit in bolstering Canadian claims. To a people who have long expressed their support for Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic and have indeed volunteered to "show the flag" on behalf of a population living far to the South, we owe debt of gratitude that money alone can never repay.

A.K.S.