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Tatooed Whale, 2016 by Pim Pitsiulak.
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The
other day a random Facebook post from
the Smithsonian
Magazine caught my eye. It was
actually from an article that had
originally appeared in Hakai Magazine by Krista Langlois from 2018. Why
Scientists Are Starting to Care About Cultures That Talk to Whales explains
that “Arctic people have been communicating with cetaceans for centuries. The
rest of the world is finally listening in.”
It’s a fascinating read and I
highly recommend it.
An
excerpt from the article says:
The advent of
whaling changed the North. For the first time, hunters could bring in enough
meat to feed an entire village. Permanent settlements began springing up in
places like Utqiaġvik that were reliably visited by bowheads—places still
inhabited today. Social organizations shifted as successful whale hunters
amassed wealth, became captains, and positioned themselves at the top of a
developing social hierarchy. Before long, the whale hunt became the center of
cultural, spiritual, and day-to-day life, and whales the cornerstone of many
Arctic and subarctic cosmologies.
When
agricultural Europeans began visiting and writing about the North in the 10th
century, they were mesmerized by Aboriginal peoples’ relationships with whales.
Medieval literature depicted the Arctic as a land of malevolent “monstrous
fishes” and people who could summon them to shore through magical powers and
mumbled spells. Even as explorers and missionaries brought back straightforward
accounts of how individual whaling cultures went about hunting, butchering, and
sharing a whale, it was hard to shake the sense of mysticism. In 1938, American
anthropologist Margaret Lantis analyzed these scattered ethnographic accounts
and concluded that Iñupiat, Inuit, and other northern peoples belonged to a
circumpolar “whale cult.”
All
of which brought to mind a passing mention I found on Facebook noting that on December
10 a Festival for the Souls Dead Whales was
observed by the Inuit and other Arctic peoples. That date coincided with International
Human Rights Day which commemorates
the adoption of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights. After a bit on on-line research, as is often the case, the serendipitous calendar coincidence provoked the commission of poetry.
Festival for the
Souls of Dead Whales/
International Human Rights Day
December 10,
2016
It says right
here on this almanac round up
that today, December 10,
is the Festival for the Souls of
Dead Whales.
It’s supposed to
be an Alaskan Inuit thing.
Well, maybe.
Maybe not.
Someone checked
it out.
Seems like the
people around Barrow—
pardon me Utqiaġvik
now—
never heard of
it.
The Inuit living
in the traditional way
take most of their diet
from the bowhead whale—
meat, blubber
and organs—
and use every
damn last scrap
of skin, bone,
and sinew.
Each hunter,
they say,
has his own prayers and rituals
of thanks and respect.
Three
celebrations each year
show respect for
the souls of the animals,
bring luck to
the hunt,
to give thanks
to the spirits
of the whale who
have given themselves
as food for the
People.
The men are the
hunters,
but the sea beasts give themselves
to the women,
the keepers of the hearth and home,
who must honor and venerate
their spirit.
Then
the spirits having dwelt
in the homes of the People
return to the sea to tell their
brothers
how they were honored.
But, no, the
Inuit of Barrow say,
we have not heard of
the Festival for the Souls of Dead
Whales.
Perhaps not.
But maybe in
remote villages,
some call a community ritual
held in the unending night
when the sea is frozen thick,
the wind howls,
and the bowheads
are safe from
the rifles and harpoons
of the hunters,
by this
particular name.
Perhaps some
anthropologist
with notebook in hand
simply gave the name
to a nameless, timeless
thanksgiving.
Whatever.
Like another
celebration
marked on today’s calendar
the Festival for the Souls of Dead
Whales
is a mere rumor
honored mostly in the breach.
—Patrick Murfin
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