Taningnaq: Half-Inuvialuit, Half-White

Words by Christina King (Taalrumiq)

While looking through my Siglit Dictionary one day, I came across a word, ‘Taningnaq,’ and it got me thinking: what a funny word, we even have a name for Inuvialuit who are half-Inuvialuit/half-white... I had never heard of ‘Taningnaq,’ so I wondered if this word was an accurate way to describe some of our people today, and if it had a positive or negative connotation. It must have been common in our culture for us to even have a word for it.

Then I thought of my children.

What does it mean when you’re half-Inuvialuit and half-white? Blood quantum, or the percentage of your DNA that is a certain “race,” is an assimilation tool used by the government to determine one’s eligibility to claim Indigenous status, and its accompanying “benefits.” According to the Inuvialuit Final Agreement, to be a beneficiary, you must have at least 25% blood quantum.

But why are we still using this colonial way to determine who is and isn’t Inuvialuit? Why don’t we honour the way our ancestors determined that? Considering countless historic events from the arrival of Fur Traders and Christian Missionaries up to the 1970’s and 2000’s oil and gas explorations, intercultural marriage, and custom adoption of Gwich’in and other non-Inuvialuit children, many of today’s Inuvialuit are of mixed ancestry. This was common for at least the last 100 years, and is still today. Back then, people were just accepted into a family or community without having to prove their racial lineage. This is why you can have a blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned Inuvialuk, or a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-complexioned Inuvialuk—and every shade in between.

I myself had 2 blond, blue-eyed boys, and often was asked if I took the wrong baby home from the hospital! It seems like us lighter-skinned or mixed Inuvialuit sometimes face ridicule or feel pressure to prove how “Inuvialuit” we really are. Rather than focus on blood quantum or how much traditional knowledge one holds, or other ways we think proves how Inuvialuit someone is, why don’t we do as our ancestors, and accept all Inuvialuit to work together for our future? After all, we are only about 5,000 strong— and there is strength in numbers.

As a young adult, I was simply living my life, pursuing my goal of post-secondary education, and trying to figure out who I was. At the same time, I was trying to heal from my trauma and intergenerational trauma. Around this time, I met a kind, loving man, who treated me with respect and dignity, and made me laugh. Others would simply see a white man—a Tanik, a Southerner. When we fell in love and began planning our life together, I didn’t really think about our cultural differences, or what our future children would experience, being ‘Taningnaq.’ We just knew we loved each other—and that was enough.

Fast forward 15 years later: we have 5 beautiful children, each with a traditional Inuvialuk name. Part Inuvialuit, part Gwich’in, and half white—they just meet the IFA requirements for being Inuvialuk. If they marry outside our people, my grandchildren will not ‘officially’ be Inuvialuit.I fear that I will be the typical, “oh, my grandmother/great-grandmother was Inuit” stereotype of people who know of a vague lineage of Indigenousness in their family history. Maybe that’s a selfish feeling, but my culture is important to me, and I want to pass that love and pride of Inuvialuit culture on. While my husband is respectful about the importance of my culture, he says what matters most is how we raise our children.

Inuvialuit today, including ‘Taningnaq,’ descend from the strongest Inuvialuit—those who survived the flu epidemic, starvation, residential schools and strict government rules which treated them as less than human. My maternal grandparents, Eddie and Alice Gruben, were children in the 1920s when many Inuvialuit were dying from influenza. They were 9 and 5 respectively, working together to fetch water from the river to provide some relief for the dying. Once they survived that, and then the horrors of residential schools, they grew up, got married, lived simply, and raised a large, typical Inuvialuit family. My Nanuck Alice birthed her babies in tents, packed them on her back, and spent her time tanning hides, sewing, fishing, and preparing traditional foods. My ataatak Eddie hunted, fished, and provided for his family and community—as is the Inuvialuit way.

My ataatak Eddie passed away in 2016. He was the owner of E. Gruben’s Transport Ltd. He started his business on foot, working his trap line, which slowly got bigger with a dog team, bombardier, and eventually vehicles and heavy equipment. He was well-known throughout the North as the first Inuk millionaire, and even had people come to meet him from around the world! His success story makes many Inuvialuit proud. Why? Because he helped his community? Because he helped build up Tuktoyaktuk as we know it today? Because he was rich? Or because he was a typical Inuvialuit man?

You’d be surprised, then, to find out that he would be considered ‘Taningnaq.’ His biological father was John Gruben, a Swiss-German white man, working for the Hudson’s Bay Company. His biological mother was Mary 'Taalrumiq' Gruben. Ataatak Eddie was adopted out to an older Inuvialuit couple, Paniksak and Annatchiaq, who raised him Inuvialuit, with no second thoughts of him being ‘Taningnaq’ because it simply didn’t matter at that time. It doesn’t matter today either because he lived traditionally, and greatly contributed to our Inuvialuit way of life as we know it today.

I feel like, when Inuvialuit are of mixed heritage, some people go to great lengths to prove that ‘Taningnaq’ are not truly Inuvialuit, unless they have something significant to offer, such as money, talent, fame, or success. Otherwise, they say things like “But your grandparents were white!” “You’re only half!” as if it negates the fact that ‘Taningnaq’ are Inuvialuit. If a ‘Taningnaq’ has light hair, fair skin, and light eyes, they get called “white man” or “Tanik,” and are praised for being able to “pass” for a white person... As if that’s the golden standard on what a human should be!

On the flip side, when people find out you are Inuvialuit, or part Inuvialuit, they say, “wow, you’re doing so good!” Doing good for what—an Inuvialuk? Or they are surprised: “You’re so smart!” “It’s amazing you have succeeded!” So smart—for an Inuvialuk? Succeeded—despite being Inuvialuk? Being told these things makes you think that being Indigenous in any way is a negative, undesirable thing, and a barrier to achieving success. But the truth is: Inuvialuit were naturally smart, successful, and usually always “did good.” Their very survival—and ours today—depended on it.

After years of living in the South, I’ve been told all of these things many times, and I see my older children going through it. When I was younger, I didn’t know how to handle it. I wasn’t comfortable with who I was nor confident in my heritage. As an adult, I am prouder and more confident of my Indigenousness and who I am. My children are in a big, modern world; they are figuring out who they are, where they come from, and where they’re going. I tell them that, as mixed children, they are walking in two worlds. They have the strength of their Inuvialuit culture, ancestors, family, community and traditional knowledge behind them, as well as the opportunities of the “white world,” such as a good education, access to stable and timely healthcare, and the privilege to actualize their dreams. These are things that not many people in my generation nor previous generations could have experienced.

Now that my children are growing older, they ask more and more questions. They are learning the truth about the history of our people, and our First Nations and Métis brothers and sisters. They are learning about colonization, residential schools and many injustices in Canadian history. As they are being raised in the South, in a mainly white community, they sometimes struggle with being culturally different from their peers. When we visit the ISR, some people say that they are just little white kids; they laugh when my children don’t know Inuvialuktun words or use the ‘Tuk accent’ to fit in. They say, because my children aren’t raised in the north, they don’t understand Inuvialuit life in small ISR communities. These words often hurt—they really hurt. My children are both Indigenous and white, and it’s already a difficult thing to be without others being mean about it.

So, I tell my children that they are like a cake: a little of this, a little of that—chocolate cake, vanilla cake, some filling, fresh berries, icing, and sprinkles. All ingredients are great on their own, but also great when put together. They like this analogy.

I tell them that they are ‘urban Inuvialuit’: far from their ancestral homeland, yet still learning and holding on to pieces of their culture that I can teach them. They proudly wear traditional clothing made for them: Aunty’s fur mitts, Nanuck’s moccasins, and my parkas. They savour small pieces of muktuk/pipsi/mipku, or aqpiit/kimmingnat harvested in Tuk. They learn to cut fish and enjoy smoked tea during summer visits. They love and treasure every bit of their Inuvialuit culture.

They enjoy the stories I tell them about my childhood growing up in Tuktoyaktuk, and my Mom’s childhood. We marvel at how far Inuvialuit have come in just 2 or 3 generations. To go from living in tents, igloos, using dog teams and subsisting off the land, to living in a modern home where electricity, heat, internet, hot water, vehicles, and tablets are all readily available is just amazing.

I realize that we are not the only urban Inuvialuit. There are many others in the same position—living in the South for various reasons: jobs, opportunity, or family. They might go through similar experiences as us. Many of my family and friends are strong, educated, and successful people: teachers, artists, business people, business owners, healthcare professionals, administrative professionals, pilots, hunters, trappers, fishermen, seamstresses, parents, and grandparents. Some could be considered ‘Taningnaq’—but they are Inuvialuit! They are amazing role models who embody our culture, reflecting that Inuvialuit are successful, smart, strong, and resilient. We are humble, yet proud when we have to be. We are traditional and modern—no matter where in the country we live.

I recently asked my Mom and aunty about this funny word: ‘Taningnaq’. They both said it didn’t matter, that my children are Inuvialuit—period. So, I tell my children that, at the end of the day, what matters most is what’s in their hearts. Yes—be proud of being Inuvialuit! Celebrate your culture, even though you live in the South! Practice the Inuvialuktun words that you know! Savour our traditional food! Treasure every bit and piece of your culture! At the same time, I tell them to appreciate their white lineage—to ask Dad about his family and their history, and Grand- Mémère about growing up on a farm.

Be proud of all sides of your heritage and learn as much as you can, but what’s in your heart is what truly matters. It costs nothing to be kind and to love others; this needs no official racial definition or minimum blood quantum. Kindness does not need to be officially registered nor only applicable in a certain region. It doesn’t matter where you came from or what your background is—people will remember how you made them feel. They will remember kindness and love. If you’re Inuvialuk, Tanik, or Taningnaq—be a kind and loving one. If you’re a human being—be a kind and loving human being. This is what truly matters.

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AUTHORS NOTE: It is not my intention to hurt or offend anyone of any background as I write these words. My words are based on my personal experience, my family’s experience and I write to share our truth. Quyanainni.