Pity the MLA.
Our elected representatives work long hours, convening in the legislature for maybe 20 weeks a year (it varies from session to session). On top of that there is the committee work, the soul-grinding experience of sitting in a chair at a table for hours on end.
As public servants they are under constant scrutiny by an unforgiving media and a public that insists on knowing where their money is going and how they are being served by the political class.
The rest of us should be grateful that we don't have to endure the burdens of travel expenses and living allowances.
Then there is the pressure of a job review every four or five years. Add to that the responsibility of having to debate and then vote on whether or not to give yourself a raise.
As voters we should be thankful that there are shoulders out there broad enough to bear the weight of the responsibilities that come with public office.
It is not all bad, however. Take the subject of, say, pensions. Besides the Canadian Pension Plan, which, according to the soothsayers, will be out of money soon, most of us sail through life pension free.
Some employees are on a plan through their job, but many have to make pension planning a project that requires discipline and foresight.
However MLAs have quite a generous little program built in to the job, no doubt because all their foresight is devoted to planning our future.
As the most recent session at the legislature wound down and the elected members from the east returned home to Nunavut, Bill-16 was tabled.
Bill-16 deals with dividing $19 million that sits in the fully-government funded MLA pension plan. Seven members of the most recent assembly and 24 past members and their families stand to benefit. Former premier Don Morin and recently retired finance minister John Todd would be among those who would be in line for a pay-out.
Should the bill pass as it stands, the average pay-out would be a tidy $322,580. Somehow it makes those long, lonely nights around the committee table a little easier to take.
Having the territorial court slap the territorial government with a $220,000 fine for safety violations at the Nanisivik Airport seems an empty gesture.
The violations were many and serious and were identified as being responsible for the death of airport worker Iniaq Qavavauq.
As Judge Brian Bruser observed, taxpayers will pay the bill but the size of the fine should show how serious such violations are.
We also hope those responsible for maintaining safety standards at all Northern airports are sufficiently shaken by the fine to examine their airport operations for the same lax practices.
Safety always seems to be low on the list of priorities until death occurs. Rigorous inspections and hefty fines must be used when common sense isn't.
It would take a heart of stone to resist feeling the emotions and the enthusiasm of the thousands of people who celebrated the official creation of Nunavut on Thursday.
Whether it was the powerful and well-deserved standing ovation given to John Amagoalik during the gala performance or Nunavut commissioner Helen Maksagak's tearful speech about her late husband, the same overwhelming combination of sentiments prevailed -- elation, pride, accomplishment and happiness.
And rightly so.
Were it not for the tireless efforts of hundreds of people over the last three decades, the Inuit of Nunavut would not currently be blessed with the opportunity to govern themselves and their land once again.
Essentially, they've fought, and won, another kick at the can, another shot at self-determination, and the chance to right the wrongs that took away those human rights in the first place.
But it would be wrong to assume that such an opportunity came easily.
As almost every family in Nunavut can attest, the success that was realized last week was paid for tenfold by the lives of the people who were unable to hang on until a time when control over their own lives would resume.
Kudos go to Premier Paul Okalik for mentioning those losses and for observing them with a minute of silence during the speech he gave after being officially sworn in as the Premier of Nunavut.
His primary role as government leader, now that the time has finally arrived, will be to direct Cabinet and the assembly to take the lead and begin to develop a healthier, more sound Nunavut.
The road to that stronger territory will be rife with obstacles and it will be difficult to overcome the intense social problems, but as long as the passion and the drive remain true, Nunavut will surely find a way to succeed.
After all, they've just managed to negotiate and implement the biggest aboriginal land claim in Canadian history.
Editorial Comment
Glen Korstrum
Inuvik Drum
Easterners appear to be bubbling over with pride and triumph at the birth of Nunavut, but westerners are evidently having none of it.
In a political division as long anticipated as today's Nunavut-NWT split, the only surprise is how little excitement westerners, or at least Inuvik residents, are showing about our new territory.
No official town-sponsored events are set to take place while money the GNWT provided for the occasion is likely to be funnelled into festivities during the Great Northern Arts Festival, as recommended by the recreation committee.
Still, private celebrations will no doubt flourish around Inuvik tonight because political division is a great excuse to party.
This is the first time in many residents' lifetimes that the Canadian map is changing, but many westerners are nonchalant and acting perhaps a little too unflappably Canadian as though we take for granted that our governments will reach a consensus peacefully.
Those in Serbia who strongly oppose more regional autonomy for the secessionist province, Kosovo, provide a timely example of how governments often do conflict when determining areas of jurisdiction.
Perhaps the muted reaction on the part of many in Inuvik is better understood in the context of Beaufort Delta self-government negotiations.
Compared with other Canadians' feeling for their province (particularly in Quebec and B.C.,) few Beaufort Delta residents hold a strong territorial identity.
Instead, many area residents identify first as being Inuvialuit or Gwich'in. Genealogy means more than geography to them.
Land-claim institutions deliver some federal programs and services specifically tailored for aboriginal peoples.
For example, in Gwich'in communities, a more than 80-year-old traditional form of government, the band council, has been a governing institution.
Bands operate programs and services and act as an advocate for members' issues and concerns.
As such, self- government initiatives are evolving to the point where significant areas such as health care, education and adoption and guardianship, are set to devolve to the Beaufort Delta region and then further down as currently-being-negotiated specific community constitutions are ratified.
Another clue the new NWT is not as cohesive as it could be is that mayors from communities across the new territory have been bickering on issues such as who gets secondary diamond facilities.
True, people in the Beaufort Delta have been bickering for time immemorial, as shown in an old Sir Alexander Mackenzie map Mayor George Roach often refers to. The map refers to area people as "quarrellers."
And as IRC chair Nellie Cournoyea told the Beaufort Delta Leaders' conference, "People are never all going to agree. It would be boring if they did."
This said, today is a day to celebrate as NWTers bond as residents of a new political entity.
Differences are inevitable, but what remains essential is that we all forge a sense of territory. Harmonious relations will then be more likely between Inuvik and Hay River and between Tuktoyaktuk and Fort Simpson.
We can all accomplish more if we work together.
People in Nunavut are enjoying their day, but time could show that we are in the part that will come out as the real winner.
That's worth celebrating.
Editorial Comment
Derek Neary
Deh Cho Drum
I've only been in the North for a grand total of 14 months, yet I've witnessed an extraordinary number of people come and go in that time.
That's one of the realities of living here, I guess. You meet people from all over the country who have come for the short term and you hardly get the chance to really know them before they're gone. Every year new phone books are issued and, invariably, they contain names of people who have already packed their bags for other locales.
Looking through back issues of the Drum, I see stories of people who meant so much to the community and were being wished a fond farewell. The reality is that only a few are recognized in the paper, most people depart with little fanfare.
Granted, there are those who were born here, have lived here all their lives and will likely remain here until their dying day. There are also those who spend several years in a community or region and give everything they can of themselves. It's those people to whom it's hardest to say goodbye. This week I had the privilege (perhaps misfortune would be a more appropriate word) of writing a couple of articles about those type of people.
Marilyn Napier is on her way to Fort Smith, so she'll still be living in the North, and will undoubtedly return for a visit every so often. Talk about someone who offered plenty to the community -- over her 10-year stay, Napier was president of the Metis Nation Local 52, a member of the Deh Cho First Nations' executive and a village councillor. She has also been affiliated with the NWT Native Women's Association and is the Northern representative for the Native Women's Association of Canada. Her tearful farewell dinner on Monday was evidence of how hard it can be to move on, even if it's only an eight-hour drive away.
In Kakisa, John Doherty is heading out after a distinguished four-year tenure as teacher-principal. I only had the chance to visit Kakisa Lake school once, but I'll never forget it. John's mobile home, with a small attachment, doubled as the school house. The students practically had the run of the place (but weren't running the place -- there's a definite distinction). It was more like a clubhouse where good friends hang out rather than a learning institution. He won't get a chance to teach in the new school, which is set to open later this month, yet I doubt that he'd ever bemoan that fact. It should be noted that John spent a total of 13 years in the North, a rather lengthy stay by most standards.
Both Napier and Doherty are going to be closer to their parents after they change addresses. It's hard to deny the persuasion of family when one considers the choice of whether or not to pull up stakes.
Maybe we'll encounter them again someday in our travels. There's no better place than the North to help impress upon you that it really is a small world.