Greetings from Iqaluit
Iqaluit is a remote community in the Canadian Arctic territory of Nunavut, accessible only by air. This is its story.
Words Anubha Momin
Illustration Aaron Nelson
Canada’s smallest capital city was born under serious circumstances. In 1942, the US Army built an air base on Baffin Island called Frobisher Bay, a stopover and refuelling site for trans-Atlantic aircraft en route to the war in Europe. The airfield proved attractive for other purposes as well, and by 1949 the Hudson’s Bay Company had moved its fur and trade operations nearer to the base; in the mid-1950s this was followed by the construction of the Distant Early Warning Line — a network of radar arrays, intended to warn of incoming Soviet bombers.
“Iqaluit’s population is flourishing, layering ethnocultural diversity atop its traditional Inuit foundation, a mini metropolis with Arctic flair.”
During this decade of development, the town of Frobisher Bay steadily grew. By 1957, it had become home to more than 1,200 inhabitants, establishing itself as an important business, defence and communication link for Canada.
Fast-forward to today: Frobisher Bay is now called Iqaluit — an Inuktitut word meaning ‘place of many fish’. The military base is long defunct, replaced by a rapidly expanding Arctic community. As the political, business, and transportation centre of the territory, Iqaluit still functions as an important hub, linking north to south — a gateway to the Canadian Arctic. The city’s growth rate routinely eclipses the national pace (swelling more than 50% between 1981–1991) and now counts over 7,700 inhabitants.
So, who exactly is coming up here? Iqaluit’s range of government, construction and seasonal work draws a variety of bureaucrats, tradespeople and new graduates from across Nunavut hamlets, and indeed the entire country. The result is a social and cultural milieu unexpected of a city of its size, let alone one that is accessible only by plane and with a temperature measuring below zero for ten months of the year. And yet, Iqaluit’s population is flourishing, layering ethnocultural diversity atop its traditional Inuit foundation, a mini metropolis with Arctic flair.
Unfortunately though, the growth of Iqaluit has not come without a cost. Challenged by the climate and limited funds alike, its infrastructure needs often remain unmet (as an example, the city’s ‘dumpcano’, a self-combusting garbage fire, burned for four months). Similarly, social issues like food insecurity and a housing shortage plague the city, creating a distinct social divide based on income and class — with echoes of Nunavut’s colonial past and lived history that stand in stark contrast to the capital’s cosmopolitan present. Such problems are no small complication for a remote northern city that straddles a blurry boundary between tradition and transformation. Wracked with both puzzles and promise, the latter courtesy of the industriousness and resilience of its denizens, Iqaluit’s future is as fascinating as it is difficult to forecast.
This article is taken from Weapons of Reason’s first issue: The Arctic. Read the next article: Global Warning.
Weapons of Reason is a publishing project to understand and articulate the global challenges shaping our world by Human After All design agency.
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