Like an iceberg, 1999 cont., more on “the Avalanche”

Like an iceberg, 1999 cont., more on “the Avalanche”

In May 1999, I was back in the Nunavik community of Kangiqsualujjuaq — this time to cover a three-week-long coroner’s inquest into the avalanche that  took place there on Jan. 1.

The inquest, which took place in a small hall, the only community space left after the avalanche destroyed the school gym, ran all day long before a judge, lawyers representing some of parties, community members and me, the only journalist present.

Maggie Emudluk, mayor of Kangiqsualujjuaq, with coroner Jacques Bérubé (PHOTO BY JANGE GEORGE)

Maggie Emudluk, mayor of Kangiqsualujjuaq, with coroner Jacques Bérubé at the May, 1999 inquest. (PHOTO BY JANGE GEORGE)

At night, after the daily inquest proceedings wind down, while writing my articles about what people said, I felt sad.

The weekends — two of them —  were long, and, while the weather is perfect for heading out on the land and I squeezed in a snowmobile  ride or two with a friend, I had to catch up on my work while the sun is shining.

One evening, when I watch a film made about Maori in New Zealand, called “Once Were Warriors,” about the devastation suffered by indigenous people on the other side of the world, I couldn’t stop sobbing in the apartment of a teacher that I had rented for the duration of the inquest.

A break during the coroner's inquest in Kangiqsualujjuaq held in May 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

A break during the coroner’s inquest in Kangiqsualujjuaq held in May 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

I was immersed in human tragedy, while my editors at the Nunatsiaq News in Iqaluit were still buoyed from the celebrations around the creation of Nunavut on April 1, 1999, which I ended up covering from Ottawa.

Even so, hearing the testimonies at the inquest left me uplifted by the bravery of those who survived or who helped others to survive.

That’s because after the Jan. 1 avalanche, panic quickly gave way to action. At the coroner’s inquest, we learned that the electrical system was still functioning, and those who weren’t buried in snow stood in a brightly lit space that was suddenly a place of horror instead of a party.

Two of Sophie Keelan’s daughters were buried when the avalanche hit the gym at 1:40 a.m. Snow smashed her seven-year-old daughter on to the floor of the gym where she lay trapped until an elder dug her out. Her daughter was weak when she finally emerged, wet and cold, from the snow.

As Keelan rushed back home from the gym with the chilled young girl on her snowmobile, she tried to blow warm air towards her small face. After her daughter was safe and warm at home, Keelan returned to the gym to help.

There, she would end up performing cardio-pulmonary resuscitation on other avalanche victims, some of whom were not as lucky as her daughter.

“I worked for 19 and a half hours,” she told the inquest. “All night, all day.”

Here you can see how close the school (far right) was located to the avalanche-prone slope in Kangiqsualujjuaq. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Here you can see how close the school (far right) was located to the avalanche-prone slope in Kangiqsualujjuaq. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

After freeing herself from the snow, Christina Baron began to dig with her hands to help get others out, but the powdery stuff quickly congealed into a concrete-hard layer. She couldn’t find a shovel, so she grabbed a piece of wood and started digging. Baron had last seen her older daughter as she was walking across the gym to take her baby home.

“She started walking towards the door, and just as they went away from where I was sitting, the avalanche occurred,” Baron said.

The two were buried in snow. Before they were rescued, the baby had died in the amautik hood. Baron later took her granddaughter back to her house, away from the chaotic gym, in a truck.

“Holding that dead baby was very hard for me,” she said.

Ken Jararuse was under the snow for about 30 minutes. A piece of wood behind some climbing bars in the gym saved his life, because it kept snow from smothering him. When Jararuse was finally released from the snow, he tried to make sense of what he saw around him.

“It was scary,” Jararuse said. “It was terrible. We didn’t know what to do. It was very cold. I wasn’t dressed for the situation. I was dressed for a New Year’s Eve party.”

The gymnasium at Satuumavik School in Kangiqsualujjuaq has already been torn down three months after the avalanche. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

The gymnasium at Satuumavik School in Kangiqsualujjuaq has already been torn down three months after the avalanche. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

He learned that his niece had been killed by the force of the snow-slide. Although he was weak and could barely lift his arms, Jararuse later pitched in by digging behind the school, to look for those who were still buried there.

“Anybody and everybody who was able to help did,” he said.

When the avalanche buried Adamie Annanack in the snow, shortly after he stepped into the gym that night, he could feel people walking on top on him. He couldn’t see or move, but he could hear noises.

“Some of the people under the snow never stopped yelling,” Annanack said at the inquest.

As soon as he was rescued, by someone who his hand sticking up toward the surface, he began to dig, too.

“Everyone was helping each other,” he said.

Many buildings in the avalanche zone in Kangiqsualujjuaq, SEEN HERE IN MAY, 1999, would be removed. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Many buildings in the avalanche zone in Kangiqsualujjuaq, seen here in May 1999, would be removed. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

For many, just surviving the avalanche took all their force. David Emudluk was outside the back of the school, helping a friend repair a snowmobile when the avalanche hit. He was thrown through a window of the school where he ended up half buried in snow and pinned under a snowmobile.

Emudluk was also injured, but he managed somehow to crawl out and over the snow that filled the classroom. Unable to walk due to an ankle wound, he dragged himself down the corridor, where finally he found help.

For three hours after avalanche half buried her in snow, Harriet Etok had no idea whether or not all her children were safe. At around 4:30 a.m. she finally learned that searchers had located her last missing child, daughter Betty, four.

Betty was dead. She had been instantly killed when the avalanche rammed a metal door into her small body. Earlier that evening, as she stood at the back entrance of the school’s gym to have a smoke, Harriet had heard the avalanche coming down the slope.

“I heard a big noise and I didn’t know what it was. I heard Louisa [next to her] say, “What’s that?”, and once I had heard her say it, when I was still outside, I saw a big cloud of snow coming down. It didn’t take a second to come to us,” Harriet told the inquest.

The next thing Harriet knew, she was almost buried in snow. She immediately began digging with her free hands, to clear snow around herself and the others beside her who were completely covered.

After a man freed Harriet, her thoughts immediately turned to her children who had been in the gym. She was scared when she saw that the gym was still full of snow. There were few children in sight.

“All my children are lost!” she cried.

Harriet and her sister began to look near the spot where they had last seen their children, stopping to help dig out other buried youngsters. At one point, Harriet, still dressed in wet and frozen pants, ran home to get her husband, so that he could go back to the gym with a shovel and help dig.

It took them three hours to learn the whereabouts of their four children who had been at the gym. Betty was the last to be found.

The inquest went on forever, story after story. I get to know the inquest team and celebrate the end of the inquest with them over a supper one evening — a perk after cooking for myself.

The new school in Kangiqsualujjaq is open by May, 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

The new school in Kangiqsualujjaq is open by May, 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Over the coming year, I followed the rebuilding of Kangiqsualujjuaq: the construction of its new school, the moving of houses away from the avalanche zone and finally the demolition of the ravaged school. Improved emergency services are put into place, according to the inquest’s recommendations.

If a similar disaster happens, people in Nunavik might be better prepared to cope— but would I?

That terrible avalanche and following inquest turned out to be only one of many hard stories which I would cover in the future, including the inquest into the suicide of Julian Tologanak, who leapt out of a plane, the crash of First Air flight 6560 in Resolute Bay, the  fire in minus 50 C temperatures which destroyed the White Row housing in Iqaluit, the shoot-out and death of Nunavik cop Steve Déry, and a triple murder in Kimmirut on Easter Sunday in 2013.

Everything I heard and felt always stayed with me, but I refused on many occasions to share information or photos with other journalists who called me at the office when some catastrophe unfolds   — why should I let them know what I learned from being in the North and suffering along with so many victims?

Or why should I help them for free when the Nunatsiaq News invested in the North, supported me and paid my salary?

The addition to Satuumavik School — the only part left undamaged by the avalanche — is an apartment complex in 2007. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

The addition to Satuumavik School — the only part left undamaged by the avalanche — is an apartment complex in 2007. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Like an iceberg continues May 28.

You can read earlier instalments here:

Like an iceberg: on being a journalist in the Arctic

Like an iceberg, 1991…cont.

Like an iceberg, 1991…more

Like an iceberg, 1992, “Shots in the dark” 

Like an iceberg, 1992, “Sad stories”

Like an iceberg, 1993, “Learning the language of the snows”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., “Spring”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., “Chesterfield Inlet”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., more “Chesterfield Inlet”

Like an iceberg, 1994: “Seals and more”

Like an iceberg, 1994, cont., “No news is good news”

Like an iceberg, 1994 cont., more “No news is good news”

Like an iceberg, 1994 cont., “A place with four names”

Like an iceberg, 1995, “More sad stories”

Like an iceberg, 1995 cont., “No place like Nome”

Like an iceberg, 1995 cont., “Greenland”

Like an iceberg, 1995, cont. “Secrets”

Like an iceberg, 1996, “Hard Lessons”

Like an iceberg, 1996 cont., “Working together”

Like an iceberg, 1996 cont., “At the edge of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1996, more “At the edge of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1996, cont. “Choices” 

Like an iceberg, 1997, “Qaggiq”

Like an iceberg, 1997, more “Qaggiq”

Like an iceberg, 1997, “Qaggiq” cont.

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Qaggiq and hockey”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Brain surgery in POV”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont.: “Masks on an island”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Abusers on the pulpit”

Like an iceberg, 1998, “Bearing gifts”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “At the top of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “A bad week” 

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont.: more from “A bad week”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “Memories”

Like an iceberg, 1999, “The avalanche”

Like an iceberg, 1999 cont., “An exorcism, followed by a penis cutting”

Like an iceberg, 1999, “The avalanche”

Like an iceberg, 1999, “The avalanche”

I wasn’t there when the wall of snow came tumbling down the slope into Satuumavik school in the Nunavik community of Kangiqsualujjuaq on Jan. 1, 1999. I was fast asleep in my bed in the South, and it wasn’t until early the next morning that I heard about the disaster in a call from a friend in Kuujjuaq.

I later learned that not long after midnight, the cornice of snow that had formed on the slope above the school came rumbling down. And, when it came down, it broke the school’s walls, burying many who were celebrating New Year’s Eve together in the gymnasium, killing nine of them.

Searchers look for survivors after the avalanche, Kangiqsualujjaq, Jan. 1, 1999 in this attributed photo.

Searchers look for survivors after the avalanche, Kangiqsualujjaq, Jan. 1, 1999 in this unattributed photo.

Afterwards, I would learn more than enough about those moments right after the snow crashed into the gym.

But there in the South on that New Year’s day in 1999, 1,500 kilometres from Kangiqsualujjuaq, I was shaken by the avalanche news. I called people I knew in the community. The school principal told me he has just walked into his house after hours spent digging people out inside the gym.

Another man I was able to reach has lost his baby daughter, I learned. I’m devastated that I’ve even called him. What could I say? I felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

This community’s grief became my grief, too. How could I stay here? The weather was terrible where I was, ice pellets were falling, and I couldn’t possibly leave to make the drive to Montreal, although I attempted to drive in anyway. But I couldn’t see anything and turned around.

So I missed that day’s scheduled airline departure to Kuujjuaq.

One of my editors at the Nunatsiaq News, who was also in southern Quebec for the holiday, said we didn’t need to cover this event: “Let the big boys cover it.” CBC had already chartered a plane from Montreal to Kangiqsualujjuaq with some other media, which I missed out on.

In this attributed photo someone takes a photo of a snowmobile caught in Jan. 1, 1999 avalanche in Kangiqsualujjaq

In this attributed photo someone takes a photo of a snowmobile caught in Jan. 1, 1999 avalanche in Kangiqsualujjaq

However, I knew I have to go, or it wasn’t not worth working as a journalist in Nunavik. And this was one of the biggest stories in the world as 1999 started. I roused the Nunatsiaq News publisher, Steven Roberts, who said it was okay for me to fly up on First Air — my one-way ticket to Kuujjuaq is a pricey (for then), full-fare ticket of $835.

On Jan. 3 I finally arrived in Kuujjuaq. At the Kuujjuaq Inn I found the entire Quebec government cabinet, including Premier Lucien Bouchard, sitting in the lounge.

Quebec Premier Lucien Bouchard vows to help Kangiqsualujjuaq recover when he visits Kuujjuaq and then Kangiqsualujjuaq in January, 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Quebec Premier Lucien Bouchard vows to help Kangiqsualujjuaq recover when he visits Kuujjuaq and then Kangiqsualujjuaq in January, 1999. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Apart from a reporter from the Globe and Mail, all other journalists have run to Kangiqsualujjuaq to record that community’s trauma. But people in Kangiqsualujjuaq were already overburdened with supplying services to people from Nunavik who were there to help out or to comfort relatives: They didn’t need more mouths to feed.

It occurred to me that I could be a lot more helpful finding out what government plans were in store to help them recover and rebuild after this disaster.

The next day, Prime Minister Jean Chrétien arrived in Kuujjuaq. We were all kept in town by the bad weather, but I knew the situation in Kangiqsualujjuaq was even more bleak: too much pain, too many reporters badgering residents for painful details, not enough trucked water to go around, and it was freezing cold.

Chrétien, Quebec’s Liberal Party leader Jean Charest and the then-deputy premier Bernard Landry all stayed at the Kuujjuaq Inn, where I was also staying, too, and they dined together — a rare common move among politicians who didn’t agree on much in 1999. The politicians also took the time to tour Kuujjuaq, visiting patients at the local hospital and stopping at the Kuujjuaq Forum.

Prime Minister Jean Chrétien, Makivik Corp. president Pita Aatami, Mayor Michael Gordon in Kangisualujjuaq. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Prime Minister Jean Chrétien and Makivik Corp. President Pita Aatami listen to Kuujjuaq Mayor Michael Gordon talk about what he saw in Kangisualujjuaq after the avalanche. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

In its gym, Kuujjuaq mayor Michael Gordon, who had gone to Kangiqsualujjuaq, some 30 minutes by air from Kuujjuaq, after the avalanche, told Chrétien what the snow-filled gym in Kangiqsualujjuaq looked like, buried in snow.

Finally, the next day, we flew to Kangiqsualujjuaq, a short plane trip from Kuujjuaq. I stopped off at the wrecked shell of a school that was cordoned off and guarded by Canadian Rangers.

It was numbingly cold that day, despite my heaviest Arctic winter clothing. Tired and traumatized mourners were set to bury the nine victims of the avalanche in the community’s municipal garage, the only safe large space available for such a gathering.

This unattributed photo shows the damage caused by the Jan. 1, 1999 avalanche.

This unattributed photo shows the damage caused by the Jan. 1, 1999 avalanche.

The funeral scene was simple: on the wall a cross fashioned from two metal pipes; handmade crosses and bouquets of flowers placed on each coffin; and a hockey shirt draped on a 34-year-old hockey player’s coffin.

More than 700 people attended the funeral service, conducted by Bishop Joseph Idlout of the Anglican Eastern Arctic Diocese and Kuujjuaq’s Anglican minister, Benjamin Arreak. They read messages of condolences from the religious leaders and an expression of sympathy from Queen Elizabeth.

“I was shocked to hear of the horrific New Year’s tragedy in northern Quebec,” wrote the Queen.

Willie Etok, the father of two avalanche victims, also addressed the funeral, thanking all those who worked during the hours following the avalanche to keep the number of deaths down.

“On behalf of the people of Kangiqsualujjuaq, I would like to pass on thanks for the many people who have come to assist in our grieving, many people from all parts of the country, and the world, who have come to be with us, to help us, in this horrible situation,” said Etok. “To the families who have lost their loved one, we are the same, all in one.”

One young girl’s face was covered in tears. Another held a small white flower and a tissue. A couple who lost their young son struggled to comfort their other children. Many in attendance still showed physical injuries from the avalanche — bandages and slings.

Idlout’s words about love and hope comforted the mourners, although many were unable to sing the chosen hymn, “Nearer my God to thee,” without breaking down. There was a moment of silence for the victims.

After the religious service, coffins were opened for the final farewell to the victims from friends and family. The burial followed in minus 30 C temperatures.

A view over Kangiqsualujjuaq. (PHOTO/ WIKIPEDIA COMMONS)

A view over Kangiqsualujjuaq. (PHOTO/ WIKIPEDIA COMMONS)

“It was quite an experience to be here and see the closeness of the families,” said Chrétien afterwards while he and I waited for the charter  back to Kuujjuaq in Kangiqsualujjuaq’s small airport terminal — it was the kind of informal encounter that journalists can sometimes experience  in the North with high-level politicians.

“It’s a moment that I will remember for a long time. I’m happy that I was able to be here because it was an absolutely exceptional occasion and it’s very moving to see the solidarity. It’s a large family, the village. They’re all here to support each other.”

Chrétien also made me laugh as he retold stories from his time as federal Indian affairs minister — but I didn’t take notes at that point. I just felt an enormous relief after living through that day.

After the funeral service, Chrétien, who seemed not to feel the cold, gave his gloves to a grieving family member. But my hands were frozen as I took photos. It felt like the coldest day of the winter — and one that I would relive later in 1999 at the coroner’s inquest into the avalanche.

Like an iceberg continues May 26.

You can read earlier instalments here:

Like an iceberg: on being a journalist in the Arctic

Like an iceberg, 1991…cont.

Like an iceberg, 1991…more

Like an iceberg, 1992, “Shots in the dark” 

Like an iceberg, 1992, “Sad stories”

Like an iceberg, 1993, “Learning the language of the snows”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., “Spring”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., “Chesterfield Inlet”

Like an iceberg, 1993 cont., more “Chesterfield Inlet”

Like an iceberg, 1994: “Seals and more”

Like an iceberg, 1994, cont., “No news is good news”

Like an iceberg, 1994 cont., more “No news is good news”

Like an iceberg, 1994 cont., “A place with four names”

Like an iceberg, 1995, “More sad stories”

Like an iceberg, 1995 cont., “No place like Nome”

Like an iceberg, 1995 cont., “Greenland”

Like an iceberg, 1995, cont. “Secrets”

Like an iceberg, 1996, “Hard Lessons”

Like an iceberg, 1996 cont., “Working together”

Like an iceberg, 1996 cont., “At the edge of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1996, more “At the edge of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1996, cont. “Choices” 

Like an iceberg, 1997, “Qaggiq”

Like an iceberg, 1997, more “Qaggiq”

Like an iceberg, 1997, “Qaggiq” cont.

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Qaggiq and hockey”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Brain surgery in POV”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont.: “Masks on an island”

Like an iceberg, 1997 cont., “Abusers on the pulpit”

Like an iceberg, 1998, “Bearing gifts”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “At the top of the world”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “A bad week” 

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont.: more from “A bad week”

Like an iceberg, 1998 cont., “Memories”