But it's not good enough any more, parents say.

They have the support of the courts, thanks to a ruling that ordered the territorial government to provide a bus, portable classrooms and access to art, music and science rooms and a gymnasium by Sept. 1.

The parents' lawsuit against the territorial government is seeking a facility to house 265 students, plus 70 in preschool. Ecole Allain St. Cyr, which can hold 130 students, had an enrolment of 85 last year.

The parents are asking for far too much and aiming their guns in the wrong direction. Ecole Allain St. Cyr was built to accommodate students from kindergarten to Grade 12 and offers classes up to Grade 10. It was also to be a gathering place for Yellowknife's French community.

Now, however, Ecole Allain St. Cyr's lack of facilities results in older students moving to St. Patrick or Sir John Franklin high schools. It's clear the decision to not include those features when the school was planned was a mistake.

The $3.9 million school, built only because the federal government chipped in $3 million, may have been a step ahead, but in just five years it has shortchanged students and hamstrung future growth.

Instead of wasting time, energy and precious cash chasing the territorial government through the courts, the parents and members of the city's French community should take their case to Ottawa.

The federal government should pay to expand Ecole Allain St. Cyr by adding a new gym and specialized classrooms to give today's students what they need. The "if-you-build-it-they-will come" approach only works in fiction.

With a fully-equipped school, the French school board can build a solid program, entice students to come learn in their mother tongue and build their case for a new, larger facility.

Editorial Comment
Brent Reaney
Kivalliq News

A report last week by the Canadian Centre for Justice Statistics shows spousal violence is three times more likely to occur in aboriginal homes than those of other Canadians.

This reporting of statistics on sensitive subject matter is worsened by the fact it comes without context.

Income and education were listed in the report as non-factors in the rate of spousal abuse.

But what about the number of unemployed people living in overcrowded conditions with hungry kids crawling around?

Does it mean anything if that percentage of aboriginal people is three times higher than the Canadian average?

Maybe not, but the point is there is more to the issue of domestic violence in aboriginal communities than the rate of occurrence.

Stats only part of picture

And it angers me when statistics are used by the news media to paint only a portion of a complex picture.

To learn more, I downloaded the full report from the Statistics Canada website.

The document contains no Nunavut-specific numbers, but I'll save the topic of how and why Nunavut is often an information blank hole for another day.

And whether the numbers in this federal report directly apply to the territory or not, it is hard to deny we have a problem with domestic violence.

If you don't believe me, sit in court next time the circuit stops in your community.

And last year, the Qullit Status of Women Council said RCMP estimates show crimes against women as having increased every year since division.

The question is, what can we do about violence within our relationships?

Alcohol raises risk

In the middle of the report, a line reads "the use of alcohol elevates risk of spousal violence in a relationship."

Not to take a small portion of a large body of work and blow it out of proportion, but maybe more attention should be paid to alcohol consumption within Nunavut communities.

During hamlet elections this past winter, residents of Baker Lake voted to have liquor import applications approved by a seven-member committee.

At the time, some thought the idea would have little if any impact.

Then last week, a member of the community's RCMP detachment said he would attribute at least some of this year's quieter summer in terms of crime to the new system.

While no numbers are available, we can only assume a portion of the reduction in calls would have involved spousal abuse.

Obviously, reducing the number of incidents involving spousal violence across the territory is not as simple as implementing an alcohol committee in each community.

But even if statistics don't give us the reasons behind the problem, they still indicate a need for action.

Editorial Comment
Jason Unrau
Inuvik Drum

Following Monday evening's premiere of Dennis Allen's documentary film My Father, My Teacher, reaction from those in attendance - locals, transplants and visitors - was a mix of pride, satisfaction and wonderment.

From those who know stories like Allen's well, there was a lot of pride. From transplants who know these stories exist, maybe have heard one or two and are pleased some are getting the treatment of a National Film Board co-production, one could feel the satisfaction.

The wonderment came from the visitors, several of whom responded to the film with the kind of pleasure a child shows opening presents on Christmas day.

The common thread the desire for more productions just like it. After the credits rolled, many in the audience were eager to know where they could get their hands on a copy and were disappointed when told that it wouldn't be available for a year or so due to broadcast obligations.

In fact, very little news from the Arctic trickles down south and the little that does generally only makes the business pages of the daily newspapers, in regards to development or industry.

The Arctic sometimes seems to be a place outsiders concoct fantasies about, perhaps gleaned from the written word of Farley Mowat or Robert Service.

And if Mowat is one's inspiration, those imagined notions of the North are even more far-fetched, considering the words of an actual Northerner, Allen's father Victor, who in the documentary calls Mowat's version of the North for the most part make-believe.

So how do we go about quenching southerners' thirst for stories about the North?

Make more films, of course. Fiction or non-fiction, it doesn't matter as long as they are created by people from this region.

When the Zacharias Kunuk's feature film Atanarjuat was released in 2001, critical acclaim it received put Nunavut on the international map as much as the success of hockey phenom Jordin Tootoo.

Similar to Tootoo's success, the first feature-length film to boast writing, directing, acting and production credits by Inuit proved that they could compete at an international level.

As Gwich'in writer Robert Arthur Alexie's novels have given fiction readers a glimpse into a facet of the Gwich'in people coming to grips with their past and dealing with the modern world, so, too, should Allen's effort achieve a similar result in the non-fiction realm. In terms of impact, both are equally relevant and hopefully as inspiring to their up-and-coming contemporaries.

It is true that the proposed development of the pipeline may give this region the financial wherewithal to plot its future but what do we want that future to look like?

Among other things, some of the revenue gained from this type of development could be used to provide opportunities for the people of this region to engage in more creative ventures.

By doing so, we will show the world that the Delta is more than just a source of oil and gas, it is a region with a rich history and a people with lots of great stories to tell.

Editorial Comment
Derek Neary
Deh Cho Drum

In some Deh Cho circles, the idea of industry barging into this region is practically contemptuous.

But let's face it, it's going to happen. Dehcho First Nations (DFN) has put a land-use plan in place that protects more than half of the region from some forms of development. No drilling here, no mining there, no logging in this area. That's sound preparation.

In addition, DFN is fighting for a respectable resource revenue sharing deal. That's fair.

Recent announcements lead one to believe the pieces are falling into place for a Mackenzie Valley pipeline. A $500 million federal commitment to the NWT for socio-economic impacts created by the pipeline comes on the heels of a $31.5 million settlement between the federal government and the Deh Cho.

While Grand Chief Herb Norwegian is far from expressing any sort of support for the pipeline project, he is claiming that modest tracts of Deh Cho land may be opened for oil and gas exploration and development "within the next little while."

Fort Liard and Kakisa are ready to move ahead on that front.

Despite all the apparent development momentum, it's difficult not to be skeptical. Back in 2001, erstwhile Grand Chief Michael Nadli was heralding the promise of an interim resource development agreement. It would allow development to proceed in advance a final self-government agreement, he explained. There were, however, some major points to be ironed out. The calendar now reads July 2005 and there is still serious discord between DFN and the federal government on resource issues. People aren't holding their breath any more. In the Deh Cho, it will happen when it happens.

Fort Liard is still hemorrhaging bad blood, politically speaking.

There was a whole heap of interest in the July 14 election. Four candidates threw their hats in the ring for chief, another 14 wanted one of five council seats. Voter turnout was pretty close to 70 per cent. That's impressive.

The only fly in the ointment is that the results are under appeal. Floyd Bertrand, a two-term incumbent, is contesting Harry Deneron's 54 vote victory. Deneron has served as chief for more than 20 years and is honourary chief for life.

Fort Liard has been gripped by frustration and hostility for too long. After this appeal is dealt with, it's imperative that leaders and band members find a way to work together.

It may be easier said than done, but it must be achieved for the betterment of the community.