Introduction
Tuberculosis (TB) epidemics among Canadian Inuit have been extensively described (see Grygier, Reference Grygier1994; Vanast, Reference Vanast1991), and many Inuit today have parents and grandparents who lived in southern sanatoria. This aspect of social history, still poorly known, has been attracting the interest of scholars. In Reference McGrath1991, Robin McGrath published a rich corpus of letters, short stories, poems and songs by Inuit about their sanatorium experiences during the 1960s. In 2001, Frank Tester, Paule McNicoll and Peter Irniq (Reference Tester, McNicoll and Irniq2001) published a paper based on 54 letters written by these patients in syllabics and addressed to Leo Manning, a translator employed in the mid-1950s by Northern Affairs. From this corpus, 41 letters written in 1956 tell the experiences of Inuit in southern sanatoria. Analysis revealed three main themes: (1) ‘homesickness’ (that is, the anxiety of ‘being away’ and far from home); (2) cross-cultural misunderstandings and loss of self-esteem; and (3) loss of control of one's health.
This paper is about Genevieve Aupidlak, a patient at the Brandon Sanatorium, and takes an ethnohistorical approach that combines written and oral sources. Both types of source material are incomplete and fragmentary, but her letters nonetheless offer an interesting angle. They constitute a historical record and bring an Inuk woman's thoughts and experiences out into the open. For Aupidlak, writing remained a substitute for oral communication, and in her letters she seems to talk more than write, the spoken word coming strongly through. Many of them are quite long, and she speaks her mind repeatedly and in detail. Her case might not be representative of the entire corpus, but it does offer an original voice. It shows not only how much an Inuk could suffer when sent south to a hospital, but also the degree to which Christianity and some Oblate missionaries contributed to Inuit resilience. Her case is all the more poignant because many Inuit patients died alone, far from their families and friends in institutions they did not even really understand. Now, for the first time, we can see how Inuit used their Christian faith to survive. Aupidlak found solace in Christianity and its strong comforting power, although her faith retained some ambiguous elements of shamanism. Her case illustrates how missionaries provided patients with help or comfort, often being the only end-of-life caregivers. They would listen to patients and write letters on their behalf, helping them to connect with family members in the north, or record messages from the latter and bring these back to them, thus playing a role of social and cultural mediation.
In this paper, I will first briefly describe the extent and seriousness of TB for earlier generations of Inuit in northern Canada and then present Genevieve Aupidlak and the corpus of letters I collected from Father Thibert's archives. In the second part of the paper I will present most of her letters, as they provide a fascinating narrative. Finally, I will conclude with remarks on their religiousness, with reference to some oral accounts by Inuit elders and to the residual presence of shamanism.
Tuberculosis in the Canadian North
An everlasting plague that deeply affected the Inuit
According to Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami (https://www.itk.ca/publication/inuit-specific-tuberculosis-strategy, consulted on 2 January 2016), the rate of TB has always been higher in Inuit Nunangat (Inuit lands) than elsewhere in Canada. In 2011, Inuit had a reported rate
[A]lmost 254 times the rate reported for Canadian-born non-Aboriginals and roughly 38 times the rate reported for Canada overall.
Although this excess risk is not new, it has increased since the 1930s, when TB reached its first peak in Canada, and when Aboriginal patients had no access to sanatorium treatment and often died at home. Whereas for Canada as a whole the death rate for TB of the respiratory system dropped from 45.4 per 100,000 in 1938 to 9.9 in 1953 and from 9.6 to 2.4 for TB other than respiratory, for Inuit in the Northwest Territories the death rate for all types of TB rose from 143.6 in 1938 to 298.1 in 1953 (Tester et al., Reference Tester, McNicoll and Irniq2001, p.123).
In the 1950s Inuit began to receive treatment, but at the price of much collateral damage. In 2010, after many interviews by the Qikiqtani Truth Commission (QTC) (2016), the Qikiqtani Inuit Association released a report to help the public understand these historical facts and achieve reconciliation, saimaqatigiingniq. In it, Inuit elders speak of their terror and sadness when sent away to hospitals and sanatoria. Not only were the conditions of transportation below par, but also their culture and lifestyle was shown no respect when they arrived. Many patients could not speak English, and all of them had to cope with a more regimented way of life. Assimilation to Western culture left a deep imprint. Especially difficult for family back home was the lack of information about patient deaths and the treatment of their remains. Today, many Inuit know they have family members buried in cemeteries in the south of the country but do not know where. When a TB patient died down south, the family was often never informed (http://www.qtcommission.com/documents/main/QTCFinalReportOctFINAL.html, consulted on 2 January 2016).
In the 1950s, when TB still plagued northern Canada, governments began to open hospitals and sanatoria. According to Grzybowski & Allen (Reference Grzybowski and Allen1999, p. 1026), by 1953 Canada as a whole had about 101 sanatoria and TB units in general hospitals—for a total capacity of 19,000 beds. At that time, when TB rates were peaking again, approximately 15% of all sanatorium patients were of Aboriginal origin and about 1% were Inuit (Grzybowski & Allen, Reference Grzybowski and Allen1999, p. 1026; see also Grzybowski et al., Reference Grzybowski, Galbraith, Styblo, Chan-Yeung, Dorken and Brown1994).
Major treatment centres were being opened in Manitoba, not far from Winnipeg. Besides existing institutions, such as King Edward Hospital (1912), the Central Tuberculosis Clinic (1930) and the St Boniface Sanatorium (1931), new sanatoria included the Dynevor Indian Hospital (1939–1957) in Selkirk, the Clearwater Lake Sanatorium in The Pas (1945–1956) and the Brandon Sanatorium in Manitoba (1946–1958). No hospitals were built in the north. Although Coppermine residents petitioned the Department of Northern Affairs and National Resources in 1962 to build a hospital in their community, where TB had a terrible impact, TB treatment remained possible only in the south. Native and Inuit people were often sent to such institutions, particularly to Brandon, which had many Aboriginal patients between 1946 and 1958.
Usually, TB patients spent a year or a few years in a sanatorium far from relatives and in often quite isolated conditions. If there were no risks of infection they could receive visitors but visits were rare, often only by priests and pastors who would bring news and gifts. Father Métayer, a missionary from the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI), used to record audiotapes of Inuit wishing their relatives the very best and then take the recordings to southern sanatoria. This social aspect is ignored in the vast literature on TB, but it played an important role in the patients’ lives. Missionaries did their best to help Inuit who were living far from relatives. In contrast to doctors and other medical staff, missionaries never said much about their hospital work, but the archives tell us more, especially about its importance and impact.
Genevieve Aupidlak's case
In this paper, I will present and comment on most of the 28 letters sent by Aupidlak to Father Thibert, an Oblate missionary. Genevieve Aupidlak stayed at the Brandon Sanatorium from 1954 to 1957, when she died. She came from Salliq and was born around 1934. First married to Pudlak, with whom she had a son, David Akolayok, she remarried with Leo Napayok and had a daughter by him, Yvone Tutak. She was baptised by Father Ataatagijuq (Father Marcel Rio), who named her Genevieve. Her father's name was Saimaut and her mother's name remains unknown. Her two brothers were named John and Jâlik, and her stepsister Sikuliak (Archives Deschâtelets, n.d.).
Aupidlak developed close friendships with both Father Thibert and Father Rio.
Father Thibert (1898–1963) was first posted to Eskimo Point (Arviat). He then went to Southampton Island (1927–1930), returned to Eskimo Point (1930–1934), stayed in Baker Lake (1935–1937), returned again to Eskimo Point (1940–1942), and finally went to Igluligaarjuk (1942–1944). In 1944, declining health forced him to leave the north. He then became a professor of missiology at the University of Ottawa (1952–1963). As for Father Rio (1899–1992), he founded the Roman Catholic mission in Baker Lake with Bishop Turquetil in 1926 and stayed there for many years (1927–1939, 1943–1944 and 1955–1956). He then successively moved to Cape Dorset (1939–1940), Ivuyivik (1940–1942) and Churchill (1942–1943). Later he was sent to Coral Harbour (1944–1955) and finally to Kenora and Winnipeg, where he became the appointed visitor for Inuit staying in hospitals (1958–1971). He was posted to Southampton Island for a final stay from 1971 to 1974. Both Father Thibert and Father Rio played an important part in Genevieve Aupidlak's life at the hospital. Aupidlak could communicate with them in Inuktitut, as both spoke the language fluently. The two missionaries were also quite familiar with the Inuit groups living in the vast area between Baker Lake (Qamanittuaq), Chesterfield Inlet (Igluligaarjuk), Pond Inlet (Mitimatalik) and Eskimo Point (Arviat).
The Oblate archives provide little information about Genevieve Aupidlak, but Father Thibert kept a collection of 28 letters. In the archives, the letters are all numbered and referenced as part of the collection AD/HF 191 ‘Correspondence of Genevieve Aupidlak, deceased May 10, 1957 at Brandon, Ontario’. Unfortunately, Father Thibert did not keep the ones he sent to Aupidlak, but Aupidlak often referred to them.
Insufficient communication with relatives continually and deeply affected Aupidlak, who felt powerless and lonely. Sometimes she did not even know where to send a letter, not knowing the correct address.
Her letters show the themes identified by Tester et al. (Reference Tester, McNicoll and Irniq2001): homesickness; cross-cultural misunderstandings and loss of self-esteem; and loss of control over one's health. Aupidlak suffered not only from her illness but also from being alone in a place where she did not understand the language or the values. She was in a place where people would get annoyed if she talked Inuktitut. Cross-cultural misunderstandings were part of her life. Far from home, she missed social interaction with relatives and friends. In a few letters, she stated that she would have liked to end her treatment at the sanatorium and go home, but such an option was impossible. As Tester et al. (Reference Tester, McNicoll and Irniq2001, p. 137) wrote,
It might well be asked to what extent hospitalization in the south was a necessity or reflected the culturally constructed norm for a profession which had, at the time, absolute control over every aspect of hospital treatment and administration.
So Aupidlak had to find her own solutions to her boredom, and her letters express strong resilience.
Aupidlak's letters are written in old Inuktitut syllabics (that is, without finals) and are thus difficult to read and understand. Most of the letters start with the salutation: ‘To Father Thibert from Aupidlak’. Father Thibert transcribed some of them into Latin script, but those texts too use non-standard spelling and are difficult to read. We only made minor changes to the texts, leaving the letters in their original format, with the result that the punctuation and names are not always clear. Gloria Putumiraqtuq provided the English translation.
Genevieve Aupidlak's letters
In her very first letter, dated 1954, Aupidlak presents her family and the strong love she has for her children. Explaining family relationships is a recurrent theme in her letters. She also explains that she left the north because of her weak lungs, hoping to get healed through the help of Jesus.
On 18 January 1954, she wrote a second letter:
To Father Thibert from Genevieve Aupidlak.
I'm very grateful for your letters, and they're very understanding. I felt like crying when I read your letters. Thank you, Father Thibert, for telling me the good meaning about Jesus. I thank you for that. It's the only way to be calm, and without Jesus there is nothing. I couldn't be calm when I first left, but even though I'm crying these days I'm feeling better, and I pray to Jesus for blessing. Now, I'm blessed, and I would like my children to be blessed. My father helped me during the summer when I was ill in my lungs. Now I've lost a lot of weight, but since I came here I've stopped bleeding. I bled a little bit once on December 11 during the day.
My uncle and I are making a cross for our kids. One of my children is Yvonne, that is her baptismal name, and the other one is David. Father Rio baptized us all, my children and me. My husband was in Aivilik, and now he is in Coral Harbour. His father is Iqungajuq, and his mother is Niaqukittuq. Niaqukittuq was baptized Veronik. She has a daughter named Monik Qiliqti. Qiliqti's husband is Louis Saatiana. I think I almost forgot their baptismal name, I think this is it. (. . .)
I miss my children and my father so badly. Bye for now (Letter no. 2).
Aupidlak acknowledges that Father Thibert's letters have helped her to be calm. She finds relief in praying to Jesus. She continues to explain her family relationships and her connections with her loved ones.
In her third letter (no. 3), dated 14 February 1954, she mentions the presence of another Inuk woman, Marie-Lizzie, who brings her some comfort. She also expresses sadness:
I love my father very much. He instructed me, and I try to listen to him. I love my children and husband too. I'm far away from them, and I would love to go back home to them. I wish to go back home (. . .) Father Thibert, I would like a picture of Mary if you have one.
In her fourth letter (no. 4), dated 27 February 1954, she mentions that a Bible has been sent to her as well as a few letters. This time she talks about being homesick and not feeling loved by many people, perhaps a reference in part to in-laws from her first marriage.
In her letter (no. 5) dated 7 March 1954, she writes again, hoping to be healed, and stating that she cannot stop thinking about her children. She reads the Bible and prays, being eager to learn more about Jesus. She again regrets not getting any letters from her hometown of Coral Harbour. The tone is however quite positive and Aupidlak reports that she is treated well at the hospital.
In her next letter, she says that writing letters makes her feel good:
March 16, 1954
Father Thibert, I got your letters today! And now I'm writing back.
I'm happy you write me letters. It's very boring at the hospital. I came to the hospital skinny, and I'm gaining some weight now. I'm happy to be gaining weight. I'm now just writing after eating. I haven't got any letters from my hometown yet; (. . .) I love and miss my children very much, and at times I'm very homesick for them, and at times I think I'm not going back home (Letter no. 6).
The tone has changed. Aupidlak's aunt has left the hospital after giving birth and now Aupidlak knows she will be alone. She wonders whether she will die in the hospital.
In her next letter, written only a few days later, Aupidlak shares another sad piece of information about a family member:
March 23, 1954
I say hello to you, Father Thibert! I haven't been writing, since I don't have much to say. Napaaqtuq is my relative, and she's the wife of my father's younger brother, Nagliarniq. She's in prison because she didn't listen to the Qallunaat. She was in this hospital last year, and now she's in jail. She doesn't listen to anyone. She isn't afraid. I wouldn't want to be like someone who listens to someone but disobeys, because I would be afraid. I would never want to do that while I'm here. (. . .)
The Indians are keeping me from boredom. They try to talk to me, and sometimes it's too much! They want too much fun! Praying is the only way. I'll pray to Jesus because he helps us when we're orphans, and he loves us, and I'm very grateful for that.
Father Thibert, you tell me things very well, and I'm thankful for that. We haven't got any letters from Coral Harbour. Hopefully we'll get some tomorrow. I would really love to go back home to my family when I'm healed. (. . .)
Father Thibert, I thank you very much and will see you again. I'll pray for you, my children, and my husband. I would like to get some pictures if you have any to share. If there aren't any, that is fine (Letter no. 7).
In her letter (no. 8) dated 31 March 1954, Aupidlak complains about not receiving any mail, not even from her family. She gives more details about her health problem:
My lungs were X-rayed yesterday, and I wish to get better so badly. Right now I know it's impossible. One side of my lung is bigger than the other. There are people who have one lung and are still alive. I know I'll stay alive. I'll be fine. I'll go back home to my children when I'm well.
Aupidlak adds that she still hopes to receive letters from Coral Harbour and from her husband (Letter no. 8).
In a letter (no. 9) dated 15 April 1954, the X-ray issue again comes to the fore:
I saw the pictures of my X-ray today, and I'm doing better than the last time although my lungs don't look good. No wonder I was spitting blood last summer. I'm not spitting blood at the moment.
Aupidlak hopes her condition will improve. She hopes to celebrate Easter at home. Now, prayer seems to be the only answer:
Jesus is helping us every day. He is protecting me even when I'm not a good person. I'm not thinking as much about my family as I did before, although they come to mind at times. (. . .) We'll get help when we pray (Letter no. 9).
In her next letter (no. 10), dated 25 April 1954, she finally receives a letter from her husband. Aupidlak feels happy, yet she regrets not being able to go home for Easter.
In her letter (no. 11) dated 1 May 1954, Aupidlak reports how much she enjoyed the visit by two missionaries who speak Inuktitut, Father Buliard and Father Belair. She is happy with Father Thibert's gifts and letters but slightly frustrated to hear so little from her hometown and her husband. Three Inuit came to visit her, and apparently her friend Lizzie is back.
In her next letter (no. 12), dated 10 May 1954, Aupidlak wonders what to say but reports that her chest is not good. Her condition is clearly not improving.
On 5 November 1954 she finally acknowledges receiving Father Thibert's letters:
I'm very happy to get your letters. They're enjoyable to read. This is what I have to say. I think my dad's son went to the hospital, and I didn't really hear what happened. He was spitting blood. My in-law wrote me a letter and told me that. She thought they were going to send my brother Arnakallak. I wonder if he's left or not. I don't know what's going on. Yesterday and today I haven't been feeling well in my chest and my head. I got a letter from my in-law, and she said my husband went fishing and that's why he hasn't been writing. She said he's doing fine. (. . .) I'm glad my children are doing fine. I'm not writing much because I don't have much to say, but I do have something to say. I'll try to live a good life. I want to see my family, and I'll pray for them to be blessed. I'll pray for you. Praying is the only way.
Farewell to you. I can't stop thinking about my family, and sometimes I try not to think about them too much before I go to sleep. I try not to worry about them, but it isn't easy. I thank you for your letters. Farewell to all of you Qallunaat (Letter no. 13).
That same day, 5 November, she writes another letter.
I'm writing again because I want to confess my sins to you because I can't seem to stop thinking about it. I think that if I keep my sins in and lie about them, I won't be blessed. Take all the sins away from all those who have sinned, and we can be forgiven. Help me (. . .) I'm still doing bad things. ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, and I would like to confess to the Creator.’
Last spring I lied. I said I couldn't pee anymore, and (the doctor helped me to urinate); and I've been spitting blood. There is some blood when I blow my nose. I wanted to be ill, and now I'm ill. (. . .)
I don't want to sin anymore, and I want to confess my sins. This morning after church service I was thinking about all my sins. (. . .) God and Jesus shouldn't forgive me. (. . .) I've nothing to hide, and I don't want these in my heart. Last fall something happened between Lizzie and me, and we wanted to be friends rather than enemies, and we forgave each other. There are times when we talk and when we don't talk. I wanted to write a letter, but I feel like crying. (. . .) I've heard that if we confess regardless of what day it is, it helps when we want to go to heaven. I want to confess to Jesus because I want to go home to him. It isn't easy to confess, and I don't want to be angry with my relatives, and I want this feeling out of me. (. . .)
I'll talk about my sins when someone will pray for me in Inuktitut so that I won't be afraid to speak about my sins. (. . .) I don't want to be embarrassed about it, and I don't want to keep a secret, so that happiness comes back to me while I have my sins now. (. . .) I'll be unhappy, and I want to be happy. I want my sins to be taken away. (. . .) Ever since I came here, I've been thinking that perhaps someone or something is making me walk down the wrong path. There are times I think about things that I shouldn't be thinking about. I want them to be taken out of me. (. . .) Father Thibert, I wanted you to know about these things. (. . .) You and I can ask for help from Jesus. I can go through the priest to ask for forgiveness. The sins won't come back to me, and Jesus will guide me, and I'll follow him. I'm confessing here. (. . .) I'll do my best not to sin again in the future, to be good to myself. (. . .) Everything I do will be known to God and Jesus (. . .) I won't keep secrets. I don't want to be ill anymore. I shouldn't be so angry with my relatives. I believe with you in our only Father who created the world, and I wouldn't use you to get through him. (. . .) Father, you know a lot about all my sins. Please take my sins away from me. (. . .) Father Thibert, bless me, and I want Jesus to know about my sins. Don't let evil come back to me and to you. (. . .) Father Thibert, let all our sins be heard from heaven (Letter no. 14).
In this long letter Aupidlak wants to confess, and she needs a priest who speaks Inuktitut. She wants to pray more. As we will further discuss, this request might be related to an old Inuit tradition. In her next letter, dated 5 January 1955, Aupidlak is glad to hear about the conversion of the Inuit.
In her letter (no. 15) dated 15 January 1956, she says how joyful she feels to receive pictures from the missionaries. But there is bad news. She has been sent to the emergency department because she is spitting blood. In the letter (no. 16) she sends a month after, on 2 February 1956, Aupidlak has news about her family, but the news is still not good. Many of her relatives are now also in different hospitals, but she does not have much information about them. Although she has learned that her father is in Winnipeg because of stomach and breathing problems, she knows nothing about what has happened with his wife. Her little brother has likewise been sent to hospital, but she does not know where he is. Her own condition seems a little better, and she has asked for a new Bible to replace the one she keeps under her pillow. In another letter, dated 19 September 1956, she welcomes the letters sent to her by the Oblate missionaries:
If the Creator wants to heal me, he'll decide what to do, if he wants me to come or not. But what I think nowadays is that I want to be a good person and continue to go to heaven. I have no other place to go home. (. . .) The Creator will ask us all to come one day. I think of you when I pray for all of you priests for guidance and for myself. Thank you for thinking about me. Farewell to you (Letter no. 17).
Aupidlak now feels the need to prepare for death, to be a good person. She beseeches the Creator to heal her. In the next letter (no. 18), dated 28 October 1956, she requests the ‘Lamesse book’, a liturgical book used for Sunday Mass (la messe in French).
Aupidlak also composes a prayer, hoping that the words will have enough power for Jesus to heal her:
Jesus, hear my prayers. Please help me not to be angry. Help all of us fellow human beings. Guide us when we are sleeping. Keep evil away from me. Let the Holy Spirit have room in my heart. Father, take my illness, tiredness, and anger away from me.
Father, help me. I have no other Saviour. Help me in all ways You can help me. Help me not to strike back when people are angry with me. Help me to pray for them and ask them not to be angry with me. Father, take all my sins away. (. . .) I do not want to be a sinner anymore. Help me to love my family. Father, help me and bless me. (. . .)
Father, I don't want to keep my sins anymore. Take and keep them away from me. (. . .) You are my help and only Saviour. I have no other Saviour. Be with me. Do not leave me in my life. Help our relatives, fathers, mothers, our children, and everyone to be well. Father, keep evil away from us. (. . .) Protect us from evil.
Father, forgive me while I am ill. I will be sad sometimes, and I will feel like crying for my husband and children while I am healing. Help me to wait patiently. You were tired on the cross, and You did not once get angry. Help us and give us no anger, Father.
Father, I pray to You. Hear my prayers to be well today, and protect me when I am sleeping. Help me to have a good mind and protect me if evil tries to come to me. Lord, help me to be happy in my mind. In Jesus’ name I pray.
Amen.
I did bad things and I don't want to keep this to myself. I don't want to keep it in my heart, and I want all people to hear about it. (. . .) I'll be given a good mind. Lately I've been ill. One day I'll be asked to go home to the Creator. And if he wants to heal me, I'll see my husband and children again. And even if I don't see them again, I'll see them in heaven. My father, and Father Thibert, my illness has been long, and I'm short of breath, and I'm spitting blood, and my mind isn't very strong, but now I'm feeling better, and I'm thankful. Jesus will take us when we pray to him. I don't want to go back to the bad things. I want to belong to Jesus. I'm not happy in this world, and I'll be happy the day I'm asked to go home to heaven (Letter no. 18).
Aupidlak is speaking directly to God and Jesus. She considers heaven to be her ‘home’, and like the first Catholic Inuit who for that reason were nicknamed majulajuit (‘those who want to go to heaven’) she expects to see her family there.
Aupidlak's correspondence follows a certain tempo. First she complains about feeling isolated, but as time passes and her heath declines, she realises she has to confess. Now she prays to God for death in order to see her relatives and close friends again. On Earth, as in heaven, sociability is clearly at stake, and Aupidlak is more affected by her remoteness from home and family and her isolation than by her illness.
In her letter (no. 20) dated 10 November 1956, she acknowledges feeling tired and vomiting. She again asks to be joined to Jesus and to confess her sins in order to be rid of them:
I want Jesus to be in my heart. I'm not happy with anyone else. When I die, I'll go home to Jesus in heaven. (. . .) I want to confess my anger to the priest. (. . .) I don't want the bad things in my heart, and I want my family to be well all life long (Letter no. 20).
In that same letter she also provides some news about her family, the tone sounding like relief:
I received letters from my husband today, and I was very happy. They're doing fine. He's working as a water deliverer.
As for the sanatorium, she reports that more Inuit are now in the hospital, and she is especially happy to see Helena Qisuk arrive. But her mind is focused on preparing for death. She wants to be with Jesus and Mary when her time comes.
In the next letter (no. 21), dated 10 November 1956, she writes about the happiness provided by the letters she has received.
I received your letters, and I thank you very much. (. . .) All summer I didn't get any letters from my husband. I received some letters from my in-laws, and I'm happy. I'm very thankful for her daughter helping her out. We think of our in-laws as our mothers. We love them just the same as our mothers. I feel hopeless when she says she wants to see me. I'll see her when I'm healed. It's up to God to decide what He will do.
There was a priest who arrived, and he couldn't speak Inuktitut. He's a very good person, and I'm thankful for the Communion. Farewell to you. I'm thinking a lot, and I thank you for our prayers being heard. I understand I don't want evil to win against me. I've been heard about my embarrassments, and I think now I'm being heard. I'm thankful for the good news, and I'm thankful for my prayers being heard when I prayed about the bad things and embarrassment and anger I used to have before. I asked for forgiveness so that I shouldn't have that anger again. I'll pray with all my might for evil not to come to me because I'm going to heaven . . . (Letter no. 21).
Father Thibert's letters and words appear to be comforting.
In another long letter (no. 22), with no date, she asks for the presence of a priest.
Father Thibert, I'm going to tell you something. (. . .) I can't wait till a priest comes in (. . .) I've been wanting to keep myself from crying because I sinned. I wasn't nice to the [sanatorium] worker. I made her angry by saying things. She went to tell her manager, and the manager came and scolded me. Yet I still talked back, and I didn't want the worker around. She told her manager. He came and scolded me because I had been so angry. I was easily getting angry at the worker. She's a nice person, but when she says something I talk back. Yesterday, when we were going for tea, I wanted hot tea, and she went to make hot water. When she came back, I told her I didn't want the tea anymore and told her to put it on the table. She went to tell her manager, and he came to scold me. No wonder, Father Thibert, I easily get angry. I don't want to be bothered. I'm thinking about how I can be left alone. I wanted a different nurse, and I got a different nurse. I shouldn't act like that. I've been crying all evening because I've been feeling sorry for making them cry. I've been sad all day. I'm good for nothing and making problems. I'm here to get healed, and I shouldn't act the way I did. I talk back without understanding and sometimes reply in Inuktitut, making them angry. When I say something in Inuktitut, they don't understand. Father Thibert, I made them angry. (. . .) I'll help and try to express my feelings properly. I don't want to keep them inside me. I didn't do this to cause embarrassment, although I'm laughed at. I want the Lord to take my sins away. I'm sad and crying all day. I regret doing what I did to the Qallunaat. I'm now afraid of the manager. It feels like I can't calm down today. I know I'll be blessed, Father Thibert. I can't wait to see a priest. I'm writing to you. (. . .) I want to talk and get some help. I'd like my husband and children to be guided. I need to think about my family, and it helps to think about them, hoping they'll get help. I should pray for myself and for my family rather than be angry. (. . .) The Creator will decide what to do with me. I've been vomiting a lot lately. Although Christmas is near, I seem to be grumpy. I tell the workers to come to me all the time because I can't walk.
Father Thibert, how can I be healed by the Creator? There is no other Saviour, and I'll not look for another Saviour, and I'll go home to heaven. (. . .) How can I help myself not to get angry and to obey the Lord? I thought about leaving this hospital and going somewhere I don't know. I was crying, feeling sorry for what I did to the Qallunaat, and I wanted to kill myself. (. . .) And I thought after a while that this isn't what God wants us to do. I changed my mind because I have children and a husband. I shouldn't kill myself because I have something to live for, and I'll see my family again. (. . .)
I really thought about where I could stab the scissors into myself because of that. I shouldn't think like that but now I'm thinking I'm being tested. (. . .) Father Thibert, I know I'll be forgiven by God, and I shouldn't be embarrassed about it. I don't want to keep the sins to myself. Father Thibert, I'll write to you again. When you write me letters I feel better when you tell me things.
Father Thibert, will you make the books in English and Inuktitut? (. . .) Send the books to me (Letter no. 22).
In this long letter, Aupidlak feels very upset about a scene she made with a nurse. The situation became even worse because of miscommunication. Seen from another angle, this anecdote suggests that Inuit patients were sometimes able to react to the way they were treated in the sanatorium.
In her letter (no. 23) dated 20 December 1956, Aupidlak reports how happy she was to see Father Rio finally visit her. She expresses her warm feelings:
Father Thibert, I haven't forgotten about you. It's just that I haven't written for a long time. I got your letters and thank you very much. (. . .) I've been thinking about writing you letters, but I've been very tired lately. There are many times when I think about you and other people. I'm not doing very well. I'm very tired, and I have no energy. (. . .) I'll always remember you and think about you. I'll pray for you to help Inuit, and Jesus will guide you. Thank you, farewell (Letter no. 23).
Aupidlak is now getting more tired and her energy is waning. She expresses her gratitude to her husband, who sent her a radio, and to those who came to visit her at the hospital. She is also happy with the Bible she received from Father Thibert. She seems to be resigned to her fate: ‘I feel happy, like the way I'm now’.
In her letter (no. 24) dated 7 January 1957, she acknowledges receiving some religious books. She also extends her sympathies to Father Thibert, who has just lost his brother:
I love you because your brother died. I cried when I read your letters. I thought about his wife and you. You'll be blessed. Father Thibert. You'll be happy again. I have experience with this. Sometimes it's lonely when you think about your loved ones. I'll pray for you for guidance, and I'm really sorry for your brother. (. . .) We're family while we live in this world. I'll pray for you for help from Jesus and to be happy. We'll see him again in heaven.
I wish for you to be blessed. I feel sympathy, and I can't do anything about it. All I can do is pray for you. (. . .) I want to help and pray for all of you to be blessed and for your brother to go home to heaven.
Jesus will help you to be happy. He's helping us right now, and I'll pray for you, using my rosary after I've written this to you. (. . .) I always think about you when I pray for you to get help from Jesus. I thank you for everything. I don't really have much to say. I'm doing much better, and my mind is doing better too. I'm thankful for that . . . (Letter no. 24).
In her letter (no. 25) dated 2 February 1957, Aupidlak says she is doing better, yet she is vomiting more blood and unable to sew. Her only remaining activity is to work with beads. But one day she gets scolded by a nurse who tells her to eat more instead. This time Aupidlak reacts very quietly:
I do that to keep myself from boredom. The day is long when there is nothing to do. I'm guided by Jesus, and He will take care of me for eternity. It doesn't matter if people treat me bad in this world. I have the Creator, who loves me, but it hurts when you're the one treated wrongly. (. . .) It's not fun to live like this. (. . .) Sometimes I can't sleep, and sometimes I don't feel like eating because the food here doesn't taste well. I would eat it, if it were good food (Letter no. 25).
In her next letter (no. 26), dated 18 February 1957, she again seems to be expecting a visit from Father Rio. Aupidlak asks for pictures of her family and a new Bible. She states that she is doing fine although her chest is now a problem. In her letter (no. 27) dated 6 March 1957, she confesses to becoming weaker and weaker.
I'm doing fine at the moment, but I'm still losing weight because I don't feel like eating. Although I'm hungry, it isn't easy to swallow. I'm happy Father Rio was here just a while ago. He left yesterday. I was able to take Communion twice, and I'm thankful for that. I thank you for sending me the Bibles of Mary. I also thank you for the pictures. We can say we're reading more of the Bible, and I enjoy the Sunday Bible. It seems like they're more understandable, and I thank you for them. I'm getting help with the medication and workers around here. (. . .) I would like to continue to live a good life in order to go home to heaven. I can't think of anything else but heaven. I've been ill for a long time, and I'm vomiting blood, and I'm just losing weight. I think I'm very homesick for my hometown. (. . .) I want to go to heaven because it's my only home. Jesus, I would like to come home to You in heaven. (. . .) I don't want to go to hell. If healed of my illness, I'll go back home. If I can't go back home to my hometown, I would like to go to heaven. (. . .) We had to meet this way, and now I don't know what else to say. Let's help each other pray for each other.
Farewell to you (Letter no. 27).
Aupidlak is now ready to die. On 22 April 1957, she sent her last letter (no. 28) to Father Thibert.
Father Thibert, I can't write anymore because of my illness. It's very uncomfortable in my chest. I vomited very badly earlier, but now I'm catching my breath. I'm praying in my mind. I can't sleep at night because of the pain. It was so uncomfortable, and I couldn't find a way to make it comfortable without having to go to hell. It has been a very long time since I last ate, although I write letters.
Farewell, please pray for me to go to heaven when I'm gone (Letter no. 28).
Here, Aupidlak seems resigned to her death, which came a few days later on 10 May 1957.
Discussion
Written between 1956 and 1957, Aupidlak's letters show not only what some Inuit could encounter in a sanatorium and how they could find comfort through the Catholic Church and religious practice but also how Inuit could relate to Christianity. Both aspects are intertwined in the letters. Paternalistic treatment of Inuit was common in those days but is not too evident here.
The thoughts of an isolated Inuk woman
Aupidlak's letters to Father Thibert tell us much about her emotions and inner feelings. In contrast to many other Inuit sent to sanatoria, Aupidlak felt the Qallunaat treated her very well. She wrote extensively about how she felt and explained that initially she ate well and even gained weight. Unlike some Inuit patients who were completely abandoned, she was visited by Inuit family members and a few Oblate missionaries.
Yet Aupidlak found the hospital boring. From other sources, we know that Anthony Manernaluk, who had been adopted by Father Joseph Buliard and wished to become an Oblate Brother, was hospitalised at the same sanatorium from 10 July 1956 to 30 August 1957. But the two never met. As Aupidlak's illness progressed, her letters became filled with prayers and requests for confession. She was aware that she would never return to the north and would instead die in the sanatorium. She hoped that her soul would then go to heaven and not roam on Earth or go to hell, as a bad soul would. This point is explained by Akisu Joamie, an elder from Iqaluit:
Sinners are said to be roaming this earth because they are unable to go up to heaven. These souls can show up if they are requested. We do not know if they are here. Those who want to go to heaven repent and they go to heaven. (. . .) There are those who have gone to heaven because they were believers. Those who are roaming the earth are a foul sight to see. They are very ugly. These are the ones that are said to be heading to hell. Even though we are here in flesh today, we have made a place with God. There is a way through belief to heaven. Even before there were ministers, our forefathers knew that if you believed in the afterlife, you would achieve it (Therrien & Laugrand, Reference Therrien and Laugrand2001, p. 246).
In her correspondence the missionary appears as a helping figure, a kind of mediator able to connect Aupidlak to her community in the north and to God. Such a position is akin to that of a shaman (angakkuq). The letters are full of Aupidlak's requests for an object, a picture, a Bible, a prayer or Communion. Various Oblate missionaries are mentioned. Aupidlak particularly appreciated their ability to speak Inuktitut and their capacity to pray and absolve her from her sins, as they were the only people who could speak her language. Though not part of the sanatorium staff, these priests were willing to assist their flock, even those far from home. They were often the only ones who could speak Inuktitut and provide Inuit patients with spiritual and material comfort.
In contrast to the patients described by Tester et al. (Reference Tester, McNicoll and Irniq2001), Genevieve Aupidlak seemed to suffer no loss of self-esteem, but she did suffer from boredom. Sewing helped her to pass the time, and she got annoyed when the staff suggested that she should not exhaust herself in such an activity. She thought the staff should either forbid it or allow it.
Aupidlak's case is consistent with the findings of Father Rio's enquiry at the various hospitals and sanatoria that usually received Inuit in the 1950s and 1960s. Rio, who visited 225 Inuit patients in Manitoba, reported that most of them told him they were well treated, but almost all, except for an old man, expressed a strong wish to return to the north and to their families as soon as possible. Rio summarised their state of mind by quoting a child who once whispered in his ear, ‘I want to go home’. Rio quoted another Inuk, who said,
If the White people would tell me that I can leave immediately today, I would go. I would leave them their soft beds, their electrical lamps, their home heaters, their good food and the rest to return to my country (Rio, Reference Rio1957, p. 25).
Aupidlak was grateful to take Communion with the missionaries who came. She was also happy to get some news from the north and enjoyed these opportunities to talk. She often wrote that she prayed for Father Thibert and asked him to pray for her so that both could live a good life.
Aupidlak wrote with sincerity, stating a few times that she had little to say except that she kept praying for him. When Thibert lost his brother, she tried to comfort him, as she felt they belonged to the same family. Aupidlak expressed her gratitude to him many times.
The letters express her longing to be rid of her anger and her sins. She felt she was full of anger, and this feeling could make her greatly upset. In a letter to Thibert, Aupidlak described how she was scolded for making a nurse cry. She regretted her anger and felt very sorry. She concluded that she had a short temper and wondered what this incident really meant, asking God to help her understand her thoughts. She subsequently cried a lot and felt so sad that she almost committed suicide.
Aupidlak recalled the attitude of Jesus who, even when crucified on the cross, never felt anger. She clearly felt bothered by her tendency to get angry with people or talk back to them, and she often asked God for help. Her attitude reflected both Inuit culture and Christian teachings. In Inuit culture, adults are not supposed to express strong emotions. A mature and wise person is instead expected to remain silent, anger being associated with lack of control and childishness.
Similarly, as a Christian, Aupidlak was expected to let God and Jesus wash away her sins and free her from anger. She called upon the power of His blessing so that everybody could have good thoughts and live a good life. Several times, she emphasised the healing power of Jesus.
Incorporating Christian faith and practice: the role of Inuit culture
Prayer is central to Aupidlak's letters. By beseeching God for help through prayer, Aupidlak found a way towards spiritual if not physical healing. She spent much of her time praying, asking for the salvation of herself and her family as a believer in God. She emphasised that there was only one God, echoing the Oblate statement of faith at a time when religious rivalries were still very strong in the north and when Protestant Inuit were considered more difficult to convert than real pagans, as Buliard observed (Choque, Reference Choque1985, p. 192).
According to Aupidlak, God helped her to be calm by watching over her and her family.
Aupidlak even composed a prayer in which she asks God for guidance and for forgiveness of her sins, highlighting her fear of retribution and punishment. Many Catholic elders said they would pray every morning before going out to hunt and in the evening before going to sleep. Victor Tungilik, an elder from Repulse Bay, remembered how he used to ask God for help in hunting. He also remembered God's help when he lost his way in Arviligjuaq and vowed to give up shamanism and rely only on Christian prayer. Prayer was a daily exercise, and Tungilik gave the example of his little granddaughter who was healed through his prayers (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999, p. 11–12). At the same time, as Olie Itinnuaq from Rankin Inlet stated, ‘Prayer is a form of irinaliuti (shamanic formula)’ (Laugrand & Oosten, Reference Laugrand and Oosten2010, p. 296). Inuit easily Christianised their long-held belief in the power of words and many examples can be found in the letters they sent to missionaries (see Laugrand, Oosten, & Kakkik, Reference Laugrand, Oosten and Kakkik2003).
Aupidlak also asked for forgiveness and protection from evil. Here, she referred to the Lord as the only one who could decide whether she would survive her illness. She wrote that life does not end with death, being convinced that she would see all of her relatives in heaven, particularly her father and her children—whom she missed very much. Some elders already believed in the life-giving power of prayer and Aupidlak's attitude was consistent with the Inuit belief that prayers should be offered before one's tarniq (that is, the soul) has left the body.
In most of her letters, the power of the Bible is stressed. A few times Aupidlak asked Thibert to provide her with Bibles and other religious books. One letter referred to her habit of putting a Bible under her pillow, an old Inuit practice to prevent bad dreams, as explained by Aalasi and Tipula Atagutsiaq, two Anglicans from South Baffin (see Therrien & Laugrand, Reference Therrien and Laugrand2001, p. 131, 223). A similar technique is used to avoid having a paralysing nightmare (uqumangirtuq) or being attacked or summoned by a tuurngaq, a shamanic spirit.
Aupidlak often asked for Communion, a sacrament that deeply impressed her, as it did many Inuit, as reported by Rachel Uyarasuk (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999, p. 16):
We would be told to say: ‘I am going to eat the body of Jesus’, and whenever we would drink water, we would be told to say ‘I am going to drink the blood of Jesus’, we were to remember that.
Through Communion Inuit incorporated the body of Jesus, while being renewed in the same way as they had renewed themselves through the shamanic practice of public confession.
Confessions were a means to expiate sins. Shamans were thought capable of seeing wrongdoings, and so were missionaries. This mental equivalence was observed by Asen Balikci (Reference Balikci1962) in Pelly Bay and by many others (see Remie & Oosten, Reference Remie and Oosten2002), including some Catholic missionaries, such as Father Ducharme and Father Rio, who sometimes even competed with shamans to show who was more powerful (see Laugrand & Oosten, Reference Laugrand and Oosten2010, p. 61). In Igloolik, Rachel Uyarasuk related that when she first met the Catholic priest she expected him to be able to discern all her faults and transgressions, just as an angakkuq could (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999, p. 137). Father Van de Velde, the Oblate priest in Pelly Bay was likewise aware of this mental equivalence. He argued that the Inuit easily accepted the sacrament of penance, not only because they were accustomed to confessing but also because under Catholicism the element of fear, intrinsic to shamanic confession, was absent. Van de Velde concluded:
In the Eskimo mind, the priest occupies the eminent place formerly held by the sorcerer (Van de Velde, Reference Van de Velde1956, p. 8).
Surprisingly Aupidlak referred to Easter but not to Christmas. Probably because of her isolation, she could not participate in that holiday. Christmas was the leading celebration for Inuit Christians in those days, being a time for playing games, sharing meat and feasting. Similarly, whereas Aupidlak mentioned her Sunday readings, she never referred to the rules for abstinence on that day. In the north, according to Victor Tungilik, most Inuit at the time observed that day very strictly, abstaining from hunting and only praying (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999, p. 16).
Sin and confession are a recurrent theme in her letters. Aupidlak wished to confess to the priests, thereby having her sins taken away so that she could enter heaven. She especially wished to confess the sin of speaking in anger. As Aalasi Joamie, an Inuit elder from Iqaluit, put it:
Words can come out quickly like bullets and be very painful (Therrien & Laugrand, Reference Therrien and Laugrand2001, p. 243).
One has to be careful and confess if bad or hurtful words have been spoken, for such words ‘can make a person sick and fill heart with pain’, to quote again Aalasi, who felt that confession could help cleanse the mind.
Here, Aupidlak's wish to confess evokes aniartuq, literally ‘to bring a thing out into the open’, an old Inuit custom of confession before death. Armand Tagoona (Reference Tagoona1979) explained that this practice indeed consisted in confession of one's wrongdoings before dying:
Nearly all Inuit in the olden days, just before they died, confessed everything they could remember that made them sick inside. Some still do this.
Victor Tungilik said that such disclosure had always been central to shamanism, stating that otherwise game animals might disappear or a person might die. Nothing could be hidden from the angakkuq (shaman):
Sometimes the angakkuq would expose a person's actions even if the person didn't want to disclose them because of embarrassment (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999, p. 13).
Thus, confession is rooted not only in Christianity but also in the shamanic traditions of Inuit culture.
Felix Pisuk, from Rankin Inlet, stated:
Now we go to confession and to Communion and we feel better afterwards. It was the same way in the past. The angakkuq would get a person to confess, not because he was displeased with them, but because he wanted them to get better. I, myself, know of angakkuit trying to get people to confess. I know sometimes they would try and get someone who had not done anything to confess, because someone had lied about them. Sometimes, even if I hadn't said anything at all about the wrongdoing I had committed, the angakkuit would know about it (Oosten & Laugrand, 2007, p. 124).
If a person became ill, he would likely wish to confess. Confession was believed to have healing power, but it was mostly a way for humans to prepare for death. Olie Itinnuaq, from Rankin Inlet, drew a parallel between the priest and the angakkuq.
A person would confess to the angakkuq when the person became ill. It was similar to when a person went to confess to a priest. When a person was confessing, the priest would listen to the confession, and try and help the person when they finished. It is similar with angakkuuniq. (. . .) From what I observed, angakkuit really did help the person more than a priest, because the priest only listened to the confession and couldn't do much else to help the person (Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand2002, p. 60).
Though deeply Christian, Aupidlak had not forgotten her own cultural traditions.
In her final letter to Father Thibert, she bade him farewell:
Farewell, please pray for me to go to heaven when I'm gone.
The wording suggests that her soul might remain on Earth for some time before ascending to heaven or go elsewhere because of her sins.
Conclusion
Aupidlak's letters strongly express her feelings of social isolation in an institution that had nothing to do with daily life in the north and which did not value Inuit culture. Her life in the hospital was a continuous struggle against death with the help of Christian spirituality. She felt very concerned about her close relatives and longed for more contact with them, thus showing the family's central place in Inuit culture. She made the most of the opportunities available for social contact. She asked Father Thibert repeatedly for photographs and enjoyed visits by priests, especially when they spoke Inuktitut. She valued relationships with Qallunaat and greatly worried whenever something went wrong with one of them. She clearly missed the presence of other Inuit. She also felt she could really express herself only in Inuktitut because communication in English often confused her.
Christianity, especially prayer and confession, helped Aupidlak, as it did many other Inuit patients, to escape the isolation of sanatorium life. Prayer and confession were pillars of Inuit Christianity and clearly key to Christianisation (see Laugrand & Oosten, Reference Laugrand and Oosten2010; Laugrand, Oosten, & Kakkik, Reference Laugrand, Oosten and Kakkik2003; Oosten & Laugrand, Reference Oosten and Laugrand1999; Remie, Reference Remie1983; Remie & Oosten, Reference Remie and Oosten2002). Prayer was still very closely connected in people's minds to the use of powerful words or shamanic formulas (irinaliutiit) in pre-Christian traditions. Words were thought to have power, including the power to effect changes, and one's relationship to God was thought essential for success in this life and the next.
Because Aupidlak thought that prayer and confession should be in Inuktitut to be effective, she felt completely isolated in the hospital. Her letters in Inuktitut allowed her to express her feelings and as such were a last resort. In these letters she could express her religious feelings and gradually prepare for death.
Although she was in a hospital in the south, prayer and confession provided her with a religious framework to connect to God, Jesus and Mary in her own language and culture. The letters were clearly her last option for communication in a place far from family. This place put her on a path that would lead to death, and on this journey Christian words could provide only spiritual support and connection with a transcendent agency.
Acknowledgements
This paper is part of extensive research that I conducted with my friend and colleague Jarich Oosten on the adoption of Christianity by Inuit in the eastern Arctic. I also feel very grateful to Gloria Putumiqaqtuq, who translated the letters, and to Peter Frost who revised my English. I thank Father André Dubois, Father Robert Lechat and Bishop Reynald Rouleau for their contributions and for giving us full access to the archives. Our archival research was made possible by financial support from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRCC). Funding was obtained through various programmes, including one directed by Anna Hudson, Mobilizing Inuit cultural heritage. Finally, I owe many thanks to the Fonds de la Recherche Scientifique (FNRS; Mandat Ulysse) for providing me with an opportunity to complete this research in Louvain. This work was partly supported by the FNRS under grant no. F.6002.17.
