Settler Listening Responsibilities

As a settler listener, I am sensitive to my position as a cultural outsider who does not have a relationship with Inuit popular musicians and who has not spent time in Inuit communities. However, white settler responsibilities to histories of dispossession and colonization have been heighted through various national and global social movements and government-organized inquiries in Canada, including Idle No More in the winter of 2012–2013, the 2008–2015 Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the 2016–2019 National Inquiry into Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls and the surgence in activism around anti-Black racism during and after the Black Lives Matter movement that dominated airwaves since 2020, among other movements nationally and globally. Many settler Canadians sat with feelings of guilt and discomfort during this period of “awakening” to race politics in Canada, yet I am struck by the sense of responsibility that many settler Canadians have towards social justice issues. Marches and rallies are regularly held throughout the southern parts of Canada, yet the awareness of social issues in the northern part of the country, particularly amongst Inuit, are not garnering the same attention. I listen to the music and narratives of Suan Aglukark, Elisapie Isaac and Kelly Fraser, to hear about and be accountable to my responsibilities as a settler, informed by my appreciation for their musicality and creativity. I characterize my listening as rooted in hopefulness and a need for awareness, drawing on the messaging of the artists themselves.

However, there is also a significant heaviness that accompanies the repertoire and the experiences of these female Inuit musicians. Although I had long known that Susan Aglukark addressed suicide in her output, I was inspired to explore this topic in some detail when I first learned of Kelly Fraser’s death by suicide. On December 27th, 2019, social media in Canada was ablaze with news about the death of this emerging Inuk singer-songwriter on December 24th (Alhmidi Reference Alhmidi2019, Associated Press 2019, Bell Reference Bell2019, CBC News 2019, Elliott Reference Elliott2019, Hatherly Reference Hatherly2019, Sinclair Reference Sinclair2019, Woo Reference Woo2019, Lirette Reference Lirette2020, Unknown 2020). The loss of Fraser resonated throughout the Indigenous music community: this 26-year-old up-and-coming star, who was committed to supporting Inuit youth and Inuktitut, the language of Inuit, had taken her own life. Seeking privacy, her family stated that she was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder resulting from traumas and challenges she experienced growing up, exacerbated by racism, cyberbullying, and colonial violence she suffered as an Inuk woman (Edwards Reference Edwards2020). People who responded to the news of Fraser’s death mourned the loss of a young Inuk musician, a friend and family member to those closest to her, and for some, a reminder that despite advocacy and programming for Inuit youth, there remain many struggles and challenges.

As I processed Kelly Fraser’s death and read through and watched media covering her creative output and rise to fame, I was struck by her commentary about the suicide crisis amongst Inuit in the North, and I sought to better understand it. I was also reminded of Susan Aglukark’s ongoing work addressing suicide in her community and the need for better supports. More recently, Elisapie Isaac released her album Inuktitut, through which she also signalled the Inuit suicide crisis. As a white settler listener of the music of these Inuit female singer-songwriters, hearing stories and songs about Inuit suicide provokes an emotional reaction grounded in sadness, grief, and concern. I wanted to learn more about the issues affecting Inuit, as they are clearly topics that Inuit singer-songwriters are addressing in their output. More broadly, particularly in the post-Truth and Reconciliation Commission period characterized by narratives of reconciliation and the need for settler learning about the devastation resulting from settler colonialism, I maintain that settler audiences need to listen to the stories that artists are sharing.

Inuit female popular music singers are broaching very sensitive topics in their music and commentary in social media. It strikes me as dismissive to ignore their messaging, yet as a white settler scholar, and accounting for the privilege I hold, I do not want to fetishize Indigenous suffering. I recognize that as a settler researcher, I must account for my position of privilege and acknowledge how my privilege and work can reinforce colonial systems of power. Engaging Gayatri Spivak’s inquiry “Can the Subaltern Speak?”, Hilary Cooperman poses a correlative question: “Can the oppressor listen?” (Reference Cooperman2018, 20). Cooperman recognizes the hegemonic power structures inherent in research that privileges some people at the expense of others, (2018, 21) and I am also sensitive to my potential role and impact as a settler listener advocate and activist to forward anti-colonial research that listens and responds to the voices and messages of Inuit popular musicians. I am inspired by the writing of Cree/English sociologist Jeffrey Ansloos, who expands the work of Spivak (Reference Spivak, Nelson and Grossberg1988) and Tuck and Yang (Reference Tuck and Yang2012) to advocate for “anti-oppressive research [that] does not fetishize or tokenize Indigenous suffering [… but] must wade into the subversive waters of creative resistance by which stories of resiliency can also emerge (2018a, 10–11). It is imperative that settler scholars listen carefully and critically to the stories of resiliency that are shared by Indigenous artists, but settler listeners must also move beyond listening, to seek understanding. As Charles Husband asserts, “Listening… is an act of attention, a willingness to focus on the other, to heed both their presence and their communication. It is only a necessary precursor to understanding… Understanding, on the other hand, is an act of empathetic comprehension, a willing searching after the other’s intention and message” (Reference Husband2009, 441). Husband’s theorizing of the relationship between listening and understanding is grounded in the fundamental premise that without action, understanding is a form of “self-congratulatory moral voyeurism” (Reference Husband2009, 442). These considerations about listening and understanding highlight the ethical responsibility one has to the “Other,” particularly regarding intercultural interaction, and, I would argue, especially within settler-colonial states such as Canada. Dylan Robinson (Reference Robinson2020) has eloquently explored the settler tendency towards “hungry listening,” the extractionist listening practices and the “tin ear” that characterize the way many settlers are socialized to listen and to hear “difference;” what I aim to do here is to consider settler listening grounded in care and a desire to understand what is being shared, in order to effect change.

As a white settler scholar, I aim for anti-oppressive research that does not replicate colonial power structures inherent in Euro-Canadian ways of knowledge and research. I seek to respond to Ansloos’ call to raise the voices of oppressed people and to identify the links between their oppression and colonialism; in addressing his experience hearing a faculty member pathologize Indigenous health and well-being from a deficit perspective, he writes:

In considering my responsibilities and privilege, I seek here to amplify the voices of Susan Aglukark, Elisapie Isaac, and Kelly Fraser—as individuals who use music, song, and voice to bring attention to issues affecting their communities and people. I explore the impacts of longstanding colonial interference and oppression on Inuit culture and community, with a particular focus on their relationship with suicide. Although this work requires acknowledging these impacts, my goal aligns with Ansloos’ assertion that “…anti-oppressive activist-scholarship is not sustained by deficits and marginalization, but rather, by a loving vision of what could be” (2018a: 17). However, in order to imagine what could be, settlers need to understand what currently is, and why.

Inuit Survivance and Resilience: Impacts of Colonization

Inuit are the First Peoples whose homelands are in the Arctic region of Canada, the United States and Greenland. According to the 2021 population figures from Statistics Canada, there are 70,540 Inuit in Canada,Footnote ¹ the majority of whom live in the northern territory called Nunavut. Historically a nomadic people who lived in close relationship with the land and waters around them, Inuit had persevered through European contact since the 1860s, engaging with missionaries, the police and the fur trade, maintaining traditional lifeways and movement patterns until the 1950s. The 1950s marked a period of federal interference and rule in the northernmost territory of the Canadian nation and controlling of Inuit by settler governments. In addition to forced relocations into settlements and on land ill-suited to support Inuit, the Canadian government also imposed the removal of Inuit children from their families and homes for schooling, and forced a wage economy in which there were few employment opportunities, leading to poverty (Kral Reference Kral2019: ix; see also Bennett Reference Bennett and Rowley2004, Bilson and Mancini Reference Bilson and Mancini2007, Tester and Irniq Reference Tester and Irniq2008, Kumar and Tjepkema Reference Kumar and Tjepkema2019: 2; Chachamovich and Tomlinson Reference Chachamovich and Tomlinson2013).Footnote ²

The structural and systemic violence inflicted upon Inuit through settler colonialism impacted their cultural practices and lifeways and their mental health and wellness. I do not want to replicate a “settler colonial deficit analysis” that views “Indigenous peoples’ health through a deficit lens… reflective of colonial discourses of pathologisation and erasure” (McGuire-Adams Reference McGuire-Adams2017, 90),Footnote ³ yet for settler audiences, it is important to be exposed to difficult issues in order to cause discomfort and provoke a reaction.Footnote ⁴ Not only does such engagement challenge settler colonial ignorance and erasure of Inuit realities, it also has the potential to inspire reflection and action. Here, I offer some background information and studies that highlight both the crisis of Inuit suicide as well as the ways in which researchers engage with this issue.Footnote ⁵

There has been extensive research on factors that contribute to abnormally high suicide rates amongst Inuit in Canada (see, for example, Kral Reference Kral2019; Kumar and Tjepkema Reference Kumar and Tjepkema2019: 5). As researchers note, high rates of suicide emerged within Inuit youth in the past three decades, reflecting the impact of notable changes in Inuit society since the 1950s. Specific risk factors that contribute to Inuit suicide include early adversity such as suffering physical or sexual abuse as a child (Eggertson Reference Eggertson2013: E434), intergenerational trauma and family dysfunction, and socio-economical struggles (Affleck et al. Reference Affleck, Chachamovich, Chawky, Beauchamp, Turecki and Séguin2020).Footnote ⁶ A deeply problematic factor in Inuit suicide rates is the normalization of suicide, what some researchers call “suicide contagion” (Bohanna Reference Bohanna2013, see also Eggertson Reference Eggertson2013). Inuit youth growing up in Nunavut are surrounded by suicide in their communities, which contributes to adolescent suicidal ideation. Importantly, even for those at risk, there is often a lack of support and culturally informed mental health services for youth (Kral Reference Kral2019: 12). The systemic pervasiveness of Inuit suicide is a crisis, and community members and researchers identified resiliency factors that support Inuit and reduce suicide rates, including cultural continuity (e.g., knowledge of an Indigenous language), school attendance, higher employment rates, and family and community connections.Footnote ⁷ Protective factors against suicide include “social equity, family strength, healthy development among children, tailored mental health services, ability to regulate and cope with distress and adequate social support” (Kumar and Tjepkema Reference Kumar and Tjepkema2019: 7). Leaders and elders within Inuit communities recognize the ongoing and intergenerational trauma affecting Inuit today and advocate for a return to Qaujimajatuqangit—Inuit traditional knowledge—which is “more than a philosophy. It is an ethical framework and detailed plan for having a good life. It is a way of thinking, connecting all aspects of life in a coherent way” (Karetak and Tester Reference Karetak, Tester, Karetak, Tester and Tagalik2017: 3). In addition to reconnecting with Inuit traditional knowledge and ways of knowing, leaders advocate for Inuit agency and control moving forward, grounded in Inuit philosophy and world view; Canadian psychiatrist Laurence J. Kirmayer and his research team emphasize the importance of “strategies of resilience [that] draw from traditional knowledge, values, and practices,” recognizing the specificity of Inuit experience in the North, as well as the impact of colonization on their traditional lifeways (Reference Kirmayer, Dandeneau, Marshall, Phillips and Williamson2011: 88).Footnote ⁸

I share this contextual information on Inuit suicide and related notions of Inuit resilience, as I believe that settler Canadians need to understand how Inuit were affected by colonialism and how it relates to the suicide crisis in the North. As Ansloos (Reference Anloos2018a) argues, much of what settlers assume about suicide is ethnocentric, pathological, blames individuals, and does not account for Indigenous ontologies and epistemologies; what is often missing is an understanding of the relationship between suicide and historic and ongoing settler colonialism. He draws on the work of Eve Tuck (Reference Tuck2009), who argues that damage-centred narratives of victimhood, defeat, and brokenness assume failure or deficiency and invisibilize the impacts of colonialism. Accounting for the impacts of “colonial violence, racism, heteronormativity, patriarchy, social exclusion, capitalist greed, and injustice” (White Reference White2017, 474) as systemic root causes of Inuit suicide forces settler listeners to recognize our own culpability and responsibility.

In engaging with the issue of Inuit suicide, it is also important to critique the lens through which it is viewed; as Ansloos writes, “While the trendiness of citing ‘social determinants’ of suicide increases in the midst of continued psychocentric research, Indigenous articulations of critical suicidology must go further than simply citing the historic impacts of colonialism. Neoliberal acknowledgement of social determinants does not equate to actual or lived knowledge of colonialism, nor does it materially alter the material social conditions” (2018a, 22). Ansloos and Peltier also stress the importance of viewing social determinants of Indigenous suicide and its theorization and prevention through lenses beyond colonialism (2022, 101), encouraging instead the exploration of the necropolitics of settler colonialism. Drawing on Cree writer Billy-Rae Belcourt, they identify the multiple ways that the settler state produces conditions of unlivability and misery for Indigenous peoples (2022, 111), and they emphasize the importance of felt knowledge in Indigenous suicidology. According to Tanana Athabascan scholar Dian Million, felt knowledge accounts for the feeling of Indigenous peoples’ lived experiences of colonial violence, “to speak to ourselves, to inform ourselves and our generations, to counter and intervene in a constantly morphing colonial system” (Million 2009, 55, cited in Ansloos and Peltier Reference Ansloos and Peltier2022, 105). As a form of truth-telling, felt knowledge offers insights into the lived experiences and emotions of people suffering from the effects of settler colonialism, and recasts the ways suicide is understood:

Importantly, the truth-telling and narratives shared by Inuit female singer-writers who engage the issue of suicide offer settler listeners insight into Inuit perspectives on suicide, its prevalence and the community’s response to it. Active listening to artists who engage with the issue and impacts of Inuit suicide requires settler listeners to listen more fully and completely, to seek understanding of the contexts from which musicians share about their cultures, so settler listeners can appreciate the generosity of musicians who share their felt knowledge and stories with non-Inuit. Musicians create songs and narratives that are laden with the heavy emotions that discussions of suicide invoke, yet they also frame their experiences with a sense of hope for Inuit.

Settler Listening to Inuit Songs and Stories

Inuit musicians recognize the potential of their output to reach wide audiences. As I demonstrate here, the messaging in the works of Elisapie Isaac, Susan Aglukark, and Kelly Fraser signals an ethics of care and compassion, offering perspectives on Inuit felt knowledge, and it also serves to educate settler listeners about Inuit, reinforcing the outreach and educational goals of many Inuit artists.Footnote ⁹ Indeed, through anti-colonial settler listening to Inuit singer-songwriters—closely listening to the stories and rhetoric of singers themselves—I argue that it is imperative that information about experiences in the North and their connections with Inuit suicide is known to listeners in order to inspire reflection and understanding.

Elisapie Isaac intentionally engaged settler musics and audiences on her fourth album, Inuktitut (2023), which comprises 10 tracks featuring covers of pop tunes spanning the 1960s–1990s, translated to Inuktitut. She selected these songs for the specific memories and associations they held for her growing up in Salluit, a village in Nunavik, Quebec. In commenting on the album and the songs she chose to cover, Elisapie indicated that these 10 songs were formative during her childhood and teenage years, and that each track “is inspired by a person or memory from her past, reflecting the kinship she has to her culture and the significance of preserving Indigenous languages through music” (Slack Reference Slack2024). Songs she covered include Metallica’s “The Unforgiven,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” Cyndi Lauper’s “Time after Time,” Queen’s “I Want to Break Free,” and Pink Floyd’s “Wish you were Here”, among others. In listening to the album and watching the corresponding videos, audiences are offered Elisapie’s rendering and interpretation of the songs through an Inuit lens and location and in Inuktitut, interpretations which are deeply personal for the Inuk singer-songwriter; as journalist Kerry Slack summarizes, “According to the singer, adapting these works into Inuktitut became an act of healing, a personal and emotional project meant to offer the songs back to her community as a gift.” For non-Inuit audiences, hearing familiar songs in an unfamiliar language and seeing images of places where they may have never been offers an opportunity to hear the songs through Elisapie’s perspective. In media interviews, Elisapie shares that this album was made for her own healing and the healing of her community, and she also acknowledges that the storytelling she offers through the covers of these song selections reaches non-Inuit audiences who are seeking to understand Indigenous issues. She says that her music serves as a bridge between different cultures: “I love it. It gives me a thrill actually, because it’s finally also making people aware that we too were part of these songs. We too wanted change. We too wanted to dance. We are free to love anything contemporary. I think merging those worlds is just natural for me” (Elisapie in Slack Reference Slack2024).

Elisapie’s selection of songs and her interpretations of their meanings through an Inuit lens offer listeners insight into the ways popular music from the South influenced her. As she notes in various media outlets following the release of Inuktitut, the selected songs offer a soundtrack to her youth, but are laced with her own experiences and interpretations. For example, “Qaisimalaurittuq,” her cover of Pink Floyd’s “Wish you were here,” offers a sparse and introspective rendering of the 1975 song in Inuktitut, performed with the Westerlies, a brass quartet from New York City. Although the lyrics are not explicitly about suicide, Elisapie shared that for her, “…this song was really about young kids trying to deal with the loss of a cousin who committed suicide, so this was a song we put on often…” (Elisapie in Power 2023). She noted, “I realized, we had to mourn so much at such a young age because we lost so many cousins, young people to suicide…And once you get used to it, you start numbing yourself. And sometimes you don’t even cry anymore. ‘Oh, another suicide? OK.’ It’s become so common. And I realized, what the hell. This is not normal” (Elisapie in Gordon Reference Gordon2023).

Elisapie’s rendering of popular songs from the South into Inuktitut serves Inuit listeners, reinforcing the importance of her Indigenous language as a vehicle of storytelling, oral history, and insight into Inuit cultural expression. As a form of healing, singing these popular songs in Inuktitut serves to bridge cultures, demonstrating to Southerners and non-Inuit that she is intentional in showing the vitality of Inuit culture: “I think that’s so beautiful we really do understand that people are sensitive to Indigenous issues [and] they care,” she says. “I think we just need a little bit more representation” (Elisapie in Slack Reference Slack2024). Through her discussions about this album, Elisapie also addresses Inuit struggles and hardships as a result of colonization:

Since the launch of her career in the 1990s, Susan Aglukark has remained committed to Inuit issues, particularly supporting Indigenous youth by raising awareness and support through advocacy, public speaking and songwriting. A survivor of sexual abuse and a witness to the ill effects of colonization on her family, community and way of life, Aglukark continues to share her journey of healing and to reach out to others who are suffering or are in need. Aglukark publicly acknowledged that she had been abused by a family friend when she was a child, and in 2018, at the Nunavut inquiry into murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls, she named the man who sexually assaulted her. As summarized by journalist Darcy Henton, “With dark songs about suicide, sexual abuse and tuberculosis, Inuk singer Susan Aglukark has shown she’s not afraid to tackle the tough issues” (2004).

In addition to her musical output,Footnote ¹⁰ Aglukark is celebrated for her activism to support Indigenous youth and Inuit more generally. At the Juno Awards ceremony in May of 2022, she received the Humanitarian Award for her work in improving the lives of children and youth in Northern communities; presenting the award was Inuk Mary Simon, the first Indigenous Governor General of Canada.Footnote ¹¹ Aglukark is actively involved in, and founded, a number of organizations that support Indigenous youth and Inuit culture, including the Arctic Rose Project, later named the Arctic Rose Foundation, founded in 2012.Footnote ¹² Aglukark’s advocacy work, coupled with her musical output, distinguishes her as a singer-songwriter who is committed to bettering the lives of Inuit and raising awareness of issues affecting Indigenous youth and people in the North in general. Aglukark often draws on her own experiences as a youth in the North, and, through her music, she engages meaningfully with difficult issues, telling stories and offering support to listeners.

Two of Aglukark’s earliest songs comment directly on suicide in their lyrics, “Arctic Rose” on her 1992 album of the same title, and “Kathy I” on her 1995 album This Child. Both of these songs offer listeners insight into ways Inuit are impacted by settler colonialism and the emotional struggles experienced in their communities. “Arctic Rose” narrates the experience of a man being relocated from Keewatin, and his attempt to adjust to life in the south; he finds himself in a Canadian urban setting where he is disconnected from his people, his culture, and his way of life. Combining lyrics in English and Inuktitut, Aglukark draws an analogy between the impact of the forced displacement of Indigenous people and the death of a flower by a passerby who does not consider the benefit of leaving a found flower to prosper instead of picking it and thus destroying it. The lyrics signal the man’s decision to resolve his desperation and loneliness by taking his life, while also intimating a welcoming of the man into the spirit world. This song tells of the impacts of colonization that resulted in the displacement of people away from their communities and families, and their impossible desire to return and reconnect. The analogy of a flower left to grow is that Inuit had a vibrant way of life that would have allowed them to continue flourishing if they had not been subjected to Western European and Euro-Canadian colonization and the systems that attempted to dismantle lifeways and community of Inuit through forced relocation of entire communities, dislocation through residential schooling, and the imposition of western governance and economic systems.

The lyrics of “Kathy I” similarly takes a sympathetic approach to an individual’s decision—“Kathy”—to take her life in response to ongoing trauma and despair. The narrator for this song is a close relative or friend of Kathy, to whom Kathy had confided and who was unable to help. In listening to the chorus, it could be understood that absolution is being granted for Kathy, for taking her own life, and for the narrator, for being unable to prevent the suicide. The lyrics imply forgiveness, compassion and resolution, and a freedom that was previously unattainable.

Both “Kathy I” and “Arctic Rose” address Inuit suicide from the perspective of a close listener or friend to the victim, grounded in care and compassion. What Aglukark does not do in these songs is to glorify suicide; instead, she provides context about the despair, suffering, and abuse that victims experience, identifying the pain of individuals while also implying the cultural hurt caused by the intergenerational effects of colonization. These narratives provide the listener with a sympathetic and personal perspective on suicide, offering compassion and forgiveness for the victims and survivors of suicide, not judgement and condemnation.Footnote ¹³ Coupled with knowledge about the high rates of suicide by Inuit, these songs can also be seen as a call to action to settler listeners, raising awareness of the issues that continue to impact Inuit individuals and communities and to recognize that Inuit suicide is a crisis that results from ongoing systemic and violent colonialism in the North.

Kelly Fraser likewise engaged explicitly in the effects of colonization on Inuit and its connection with suicide. She shared that she grew up on the land and she spoke positively of her childhood, although she also identified personal and community effects of colonization: “I did have a wonderful time experiencing my culture, as well as suffering from the consequences of the government coming in and forcing us to live a way that is different from how we were living before, through force and through violence… I grew up dealing with tough issues and, now that I’m an adult, I really don’t want our children to experience systematic racism with health care, education. I don’t want people to suffer from the lack of affordability of food” (cited in Blake Reference Blake2018). Similar to Elisapie Isaac and Susan Aglukark, Kelly Fraser’s advocacy for Inuit, their culture and language were central to her musical output. She achieved fame starting around 2013, when she released a series of covers of top-40 pop tunes on YouTube, translating the lyrics into Inuktitut in order to inspire youth to use their language; songs she covered included hits by Pink, including “F*ckin Perfect” and “Try,” Bruno Mars’ “When I was your Man” and songs like Psy’s “Gangham Style.” It was Fraser’s 2013 cover of Rhianna’s “Diamonds,” sung entirely in Inuktitut that first garnered her attention as an emerging influential Inuk musician.Footnote ¹⁴ Fraser used her platform to advocate for Inuit rights, support for Inuit youthFootnote ¹⁵ and to dismantle harmful stereotypes about Indigenous Peoples in Canada.Footnote ¹⁶ As a champion of Inuit youth, culture and language, Kelly Fraser was poised to make a mark as an activist singer (CBC News 2014, CBC Radio 2017, CBC Radio 2018, Inuit Art Foundation 2022, Indspire 2023), similar to other influential Inuit women singing to empower and educate. In 2019, Fraser was one of 12 winners of an Indspire Award, recognized as “the highest honour the Indigenous community bestows upon its own people” (Indspire 2023). Fraser was planning to use the funds from the award to finance her third album De-Colonize, which was to have an electronic dance feel and was to “draw on her family’s personal experiences with colonization;” she commented: “I have a lot to say. I’m very angry and I want people to know the truth because I’m tired of fighting the stereotypes, fighting for my rights” (Blake Reference Blake2018).Footnote ¹⁷

Fraser’s pointed commentary on the impacts of colonization on Inuit and their cultures, and her courageous engagement with the issue of Inuit suicide in her creative output and social media presence are grounded in her messages of hope and support for survivors.Footnote ¹⁸ She offered sympathetic engagement with suicide victims and pleaded with troubled listeners to seek support. Her song “Stay Strong” was inspired by the death by suicide of her father; in the lyrics she articulates her assumption that he’d always be there for her, questioning why he left, particularly when she needed him. Her resolve to break the cycle of despair is evident in the lyrics in which she indicates that she stays strong and survives for those who love her, and she identifies that there is a need for help, for others and herself. As a song that encourages finding support and help when one is troubled, “Stay Strong” could be viewed as an anti-suicide anthem as it reflects on the void left after a loved one dies from suicide and identifies the mental health crises that often lead to suicide. Importantly, this is a song of strength, power and resolve.

Kelly Fraser’s confrontation of the suicide epidemic amongst Inuit is also evident in her commentary at concerts and on various media platforms. Talking directly to the suicide crisis amongst Inuit in Nunavut, Fraser shared the following words prior to her performance of “Stay Strong” at the Iqaluit Legion on April 20, 2019, offering it as a shout-out of support:

The news about Kelly Fraser’s death by suicide on December 24th shocked listeners and fans who had supported and admired Fraser and her output. Despite her advocacy work, Fraser was subjected to cyber-bullying, racism, and critique. The public statement offered by Fraser’s family recognized the traumas she experienced that led to her suicide, but they also highlighted her advocacy work, saying

Fraser’s unexpected death by suicide sent an urgent message: there is a limit to individual and community strength and resilience, and for many Inuit, suicide is one response to ongoing trauma. The tragedy of Kelly Fraser’s death is a striking example of the suicide crisis amongst Inuit. As a settler listener, I was compelled to learn more about this amazing advocate for Inuit youth and culture, and by extension, the suicide crisis affecting Inuit. As I learned and was affected by the knowledge I was gaining about the suicide crisis in Canada’s North, I felt that other settler listeners also needed to listen and understand the stories and songs shared by Inuit musicians.

Settler Listening to Grief, Trauma, and Hope

In listening to and thinking about the creative output of Elisapie Isaac, Kelly Fraser, and Susan Aglukark, it becomes clear that these artists engage with difficult issues affecting Inuit, while also celebrating Inuit culture, language, and vitality. These artists grapple with difficult subject matter, notably the issue of suicide amongst Inuit. In their songs, these artists do not glorify nor judge suicide; instead, they provide listeners with narratives about the challenges, despair, and anguish that victims and survivors experience. With care and understanding they identify the suffering of individuals while also acknowledging the cultural damage caused by the intergenerational effects of colonization and settler colonialism. Likewise, they name the pain and suffering of family and friends who remain after a suicide, acknowledging the impact of suicide on the community. These narratives of their felt knowledge conjure in me, a settler listener, an affective response grounded in heaviness, but also insight into a more sympathetic perspective on suicide, which, coupled with knowledge about the high rates of suicide by Inuit, also serves as a call to action.Footnote ²¹ I wonder how many settlers in the southern part of Canada know about the history of colonization and dispossession of land that Inuit were subjected to. Do settlers consider the daily lives, joys, and challenges of living in remote communities in the northernmost part of the country? If so, what are the assumptions held, and how accurate are they? What should settler Canadians understand about the histories and lived experiences of Inuit and other Indigenous Peoples in Canada?

As a white southern settler listener to the music of various Inuit female singer-songwriters, hearing stories and songs about Inuit suicide provoked in me a desire to learn more about the issues affecting Inuit, as they are clearly topics that Inuit singer-songwriters are addressing in their output. Inuit popular musicians intentionally bridge cultures and audiences, and, as many Inuit musicians note, they want non-Inuit listeners to engage with their music and messages. As female singer-songwriters who grew up in Inuit communities in the north, Elisapie Isaac, Susan Aglukark and Kelly Fraser experienced social and community conditions that are identified as factors in high rates of suicide, including intergenerational trauma resulting from colonial interference in Inuit culture and lifeways, yet their commitment to celebrating their culture and offering support to those in need is infused in their work and social media presence. Fraser’s, Isaac’s, and Aglukark’s messages of cultural pride and wellness and their advocacy work also highlight their ethics of care and their sense of responsibility for those around them. While Susan Aglukark and Elisapie Isaac continue in their advocacy work for Inuit culture and Indigenous youth in Canada, Kelly Fraser’s suicide reminds us that much healing—at the individual, community, and cultural level—is needed for the cultural health and wellbeing of Inuit.

By sharing about Inuit suicide, Inuit musicians compel settler audiences to share the heaviness of that knowledge, and, I would argue, compel settler Canadians to listen more fully and seek to understand, accounting for historical and environmental factors that impact wellness. As Ansloos and Peltier caution:

By listening to the felt knowledge and lived experiences related to Inuit suicide shared by female Inuit singer-songwriters and engaging in Inuit narratives about suicide through song, settler listeners can personalize Inuit experiences and work to “end to the dehumanization of Native Peoples through colonial erasures” (Bissett-Perea Reference Bisset Perea2021, 266); indeed, as Ansloos summarizes,

The ethics of settler listening require settler listeners to respond to the stories of hope and heaviness that are shared with them and to work towards a better world.