#TheYearofBelief | #TYBGrief

When the Community Comes First: Grieving Together, Canceling Plans, and Choosing Relationships Over Research

🌿 From the Land: Facing What Is, Together

We had a full week planned.

Cana had come home to Kotzebue to work on her promotion and tenure dossier—a huge milestone in her academic career and a deeply stressful process. She needed her mom. She needed grounding. She was also here to help finalize a community-led grant proposal—something time-sensitive and meaningful. And together, we were scheduled to present at Arctic Encounters in Anchorage, a major international gathering of Arctic researchers, leaders, and policymakers.

But then, our aunt—our mom’s older sister and a matriarch of our family—passed away.

And when someone in our community passes, everything else shifts.

Relatives flew in from all over. We met them at the airport. Meals began showing up at the house. Community members arranged rides, opened their homes, coordinated logistics. Family and friends in Noorvik began crafting a handmade grave marker—they itqaa her (talking about her and remembering her) while they helped. There were no formal assignments—but everyone stepped in. It’s what we do.

We sat with our mom, who is hurting with the loss of her older sister—the last living person who has known her all her life. We spent one full day with a cousin who came in from Noorvik. There was no agenda. We sat, told stories about our auntie—some sweet, some funny, all real. We cried. We dozed off on the couch in shifts. And when Cana started talking about the grant, the Center she’s building, and the weight of trying to do community-centered work in an institutional world, our family just listened. They let her ramble. They made space.

Then came a much larger decision.

One of the cornerstone events of Arctic Encounters was scheduled to happen in Kotzebue that same week. International dignitaries had already booked flights and hotel rooms. Local organizations had spent weeks preparing. This was a rare chance to put our community on the map—to showcase our values, our partnerships, our leadership.

But the funeral was scheduled for the same day.

And so the event was canceled.

Not moved. Not modified. Canceled.

Because our community knew that this was not the time to host visitors. It was time to honor our Elder and her legacy. To be present for one another. To tend to the real work of loss and memory. That choice may not have been visible to the outsiders, but within our community, it spoke volumes.

This wasn’t a break from the work. It was the work.

If we say that relationships matter, that care matters, that community matters—this is where we prove it. Not in the plans we make, but in how we respond when those plans no longer fit the moment.

This is what compassionate Arctic research practice looks like. It’s not theoretical. It’s relational. It’s accountable. It makes space for grief, because grief is part of the life we share.

This is how we carry each other. This is what makes the rest of it worth doing.

🏛️ From the Institutions: Elders Are Relationships, Not Resources

Institutions often talk about valuing Indigenous Elders—but too often, they treat Elders like symbolic gatekeepers or culture-bearers to be accessed. In respectful Arctic research, Elders aren’t resources. They are relationships. Their loss is not peripheral. It’s defining. We not only grieve the loss of the person, we grieve the knowledge that they carried.

In their 2021 article Uvvatuq Naluallangniaqtugut (“I humbly hope we run into game”), Topkok and Loon emphasize that Elders are central not only to cultural continuity, but to how knowledge is created, understood, and carried forward. That means when an Elder passes, a research community must also acknowledge that their loss changes the shape of what’s possible. It shifts timelines, expectations, and priorities—not as a disruption, but as a realignment.

This is not just deferring to emotion. It is actually recognizing the structure of Indigenous knowledge systems—where knowledge is embedded in relational practices, and where loss affects not only people, but processes.

When local organizations chose to cancel an international gathering to attend an Elder’s funeral, they didn’t pause their contribution to Arctic policy. They modeled it. They showed what ethical, values-led action looks like—not just when it’s convenient, but when it costs something.

This is a reminder to funders, partners, and institutions alike: If you say Elders matter, then you must also make room for what it means when one is gone.

🧭 TYB Framework

Know Who You Are
This week, we acted from identity—not productivity. We grounded our choices in kinship and community accountability.

Do the Next Right Thing, Even Imperfectly
It wasn’t perfect. There were grants to finish, presentations we missed, people left waiting. But we chose what was right for us, not what looked right on paper.

Invest in a Community of Support
We didn’t do this alone. Everyone showed up—neighbors, family, coworkers, friends. In grief, as in research, showing up for each other makes the difference.

Reinforce Hope with Grit
This is hard work. Letting go of “important” things to do the most important thing. We do it anyway.

This Week’s Challenge: Act on What You Say You Value

If you say you care about relationships in Arctic research, what would it look like to prioritize them when things get hard? Who do you owe a check-in? A gesture? A decision made with care?

Post your ideas for first steps in comments, on our EAR Facebook Group, ARCUS’s Connect the Arctic portal, or simply reflect on the idea that grief and memory have a place in the world of ideas—and that love belongs in research too.

Remembering Forward

Loss and memories are part of the research journey—not a detour from it. They remind us that time is sacred. That people matter more than plans. That good research is built on relationships that outlast deliverables.

If we want our work to last, it must be rooted in care. That’s what we carry forward.