Indigenous scholars have shifted the discourse away from simply negotiating respectful relationships with Indigenous communities to the development and implementation of methods that originate from Indigenous epistemology and worldviews (Battiste, 2002; Kovach, 2009; Wilson, 2008). In this chapter, I reflect on the experience from my dissertation of analyzing and interpreting stories from Inuit parents regarding sexual health and relationships among young people (Healey, 2014a, 2014b, 2016). In this project, I analyzed and interpreted stories through a story and text-based narrative technique that originates from the Inuit concept of ᐅᓂᒃᑲᐊᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅ Unikkaaqatigiinniq, and through an immersive analytical experience originating from the concept of ᓴᓇᓂᖅ Sananiq, which means to craft or make something.
This study was developed at the request of community members who participated in consultations conducted between 2006–2008 in Nunavut Territory, Canada. The request was prompted by high rates of sexually transmitted infections, (Chlamydia and Gonorrhea) and a high rate of teenage pregnancy in Nunavut communities compared to the overall Canadian population. The research project was designed and implemented in partnership with three independent community wellness or research centers in three regionally and geographically distinct Nunavut communities. I worked with community health and wellness centers in the participating communities to engage community members in the study and to offer the opportunity to be project partners if they so desired.
In three geographically, regionally, and historically distinct Nunavut communities, 20 interviews were conducted with Inuit parents who had at least one son or daughter between the ages of 13 and 19 years. Three of the parents were fathers and 17 were mothers. Parents were asked open-ended questions about what terms such as: relationships and sexual health mean to them, and whether they discussed these topics with their children.
In the analyses, four primary concepts crystallized in the analyses:
For more detail, see Healey (2014a, 2014b, 2016).
Crafting and storytelling are important aspects of life for Indigenous peoples the world over. They can be the root of a cathartic experience to convey the reality of loss, grief, and traumatic stress in Indigenous communities. Digital storytelling, restorying, sewing/beading, and crafting/art-making are all methods being promoted in Indigenous communities, and increasingly recognized for their value in academia. Crafting and storytelling are powerful and influential ways to challenge the mind and plant new thoughts, document history and experiences, and transform our understanding by “surprising our consciousness into a new way of seeing” (Dion Buffalo, 1990, p. 120). Such methods are an essential contribution to our understanding of the world and the knowledge that can help move our communities forward in achieving wellness.
For as long as Indigenous peoples have been the subject of research, tension has existed among many researchers and their research subjects on the interpretation, ownership, and protection of data (Alfred & Corntassel, 2005). In Canada, a number of protocols have been developed to help researchers and Indigenous communities enter into respectful negotiations about how research takes place with and for Indigenous peoples, such as the CIHR (Canadian Institutes for Health Research) Guidelines for the Ethical Conduct of Research with Aboriginal Peoples, and the Tri-Council Policy Statement II (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2010).
In the following section, I discuss two analytical processes applied to understand and interpret the shared/collected stories for a study exploring the perspectives of Inuit parents on sexual health and relationships, their perceptions of their relationship with their children, and their perceptions of their role in, and comfort with providing sexual health knowledge and relationship guidance to their teenage children. First, I describe how stories were analyzed and interpreted through a text-based narrative technique that I used in writing my dissertation. Second, I describe a concurrent process of immersion in crafting a decorative beadwork piece for the front of my amauti, a traditional parka used for carrying babies and toddlers. Through these two concurrent processes, I was able to explore layered and meaningful interpretations of the parents’ stories that contributed to my greater overall understanding of the health phenomena under study.
Indigenous knowledge and research epistemologies have been the focus of discussions in Western and Indigenous research education and learning theory (Kovach, 2009; Wilson, 2008). This literature contributes perspectives on the assumptions implicit in different research approaches and provides models for doing or interpreting research based on Indigenous worldviews. For example, Wilson (2008) describes the process of interviewing Indigenous colleagues and conveying a research process aligned with ceremony. Alfred (2004) uses the term warrior scholarship to convey the process Indigenous scholars can follow to ensure their communities’ values are present in academic work by working to empower individuals and communities.
Questions that focus on what people perceive as important aspects of health, what variations exist, and what lived experiences mean to individuals and groups are ideally suited for qualitative methods (Crabtree & Miller, 2004). A qualitative approach also incorporates the fact that the phenomena under study are inextricably bound within the social order and the context in which people live. In qualitative research, researchers usually start with a problem or issue that emerges from a story or some experiential context (Borkan, 1999; Crabtree & Miller, 2004), which gives rise to research questions. This aspect of qualitative research is in harmony with Indigenous methods (Kovach, 2009). Indigenous ways of knowing are formulated on understandings of the world based on human interactions as well as interactions with the land, animal, and spirit worlds (Chilisa, 2012; Wilson, 2008). In what Battiste (2002) referred to as Eurocentric thought, Indigenous knowledge was often represented by the term traditional knowledge, which suggested a body of old data handed down generation to generation relatively unchanged. However, Indigenous knowledge is not static but dynamic, and embodies the following characteristics (Battiste, 2002; Grenier, 1998). Indigenous knowledge:
Knowledge is viewed as something people develop as they have experiences with each other and the world around them (Chilisa, 2012; Wilson, 2008). This definition of knowledge is similar in many ways to social constructionism in sociological theory (Burr, 2003). Ideas are shared, changed, and improved upon through the understanding derived from experience. Fundamentally, this knowledge is rooted in a relational epistemology—a foundation for knowing based on the formulation of relationships among the members of the community of knowers or knowledge holders (Thayer-Bacon, 2003).
Knowledge is perceived, collected, and shared in ways that are unique to these communities. Indigenous knowledge is rooted in the long inhabitation of a particular place that offers lessons for everyone’s benefit, from educator to scientist (Barnhardt & Kawagley, 2005). Many of the core values, beliefs, and practices associated with these worldviews have survived and are beginning to be recognized as just as compelling for today’s generations as they were for generations past. The recognition and intellectual activation of Indigenous knowledge today is an act of empowerment by Indigenous peoples (Battiste, 2002). For this reason, Indigenous knowledge and methods are of critical importance in public health, where many Indigenous communities in Canada and around the world report greater health disparities than their non-Indigenous counterparts (Young, 2003). These knowledge and methods are important for self-determination and decolonization. However, despite decades of research into Indigenous health inequities, few advances have been made in achieving a deeper understanding of the underlying issues. Applying evidence-based public health solutions to build on the strengths of Indigenous communities and mitigate the challenges are essential (Healey & Tagak Sr., 2014; Martin, 2012). Delving more deeply into our understanding of what can be achieved when we immerse ourselves in an Indigenous worldview is a part of that process.
The research study was conducted within an Indigenous knowledge framework with a focus on Inuit ways of knowing, specifically, the ᐱᓕᕆᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅ Piliriqatigiinniq Partnership Community Health Research Model (Healey & Tagak Sr., 2014). In this model, five Inuit concepts form the foundation for a research approach:
These theoretical aspects of the study are described in greater detail elsewhere (Healey & Tagak Sr., 2014).
This research emerges from a lifelong pursuit to understand the ways in which young people in Nunavut can be supported to be and feel well. I was born and raised in Iqaluit, Nunavut. My ancestors are not Inuit. I was raised as a member of the community—a community that did not point out to me in any way that I was not Inuk. As a result, I did not grow up feeling that I was different. My husband and my children are Inuit. My worldview is embedded in Inuit ways of knowing and understanding. I love my community and where I come from. I recognize and acknowledge that I am on a learning journey as a researcher and academic, and that my understandings of Inuit philosophy and theoretical perspectives are far from being as developed as that of our Elders. I feel privileged to have been taught and mentored by elders of my community including Aalasi Joamie, Martha Tikivik, and the late Andrew Tagak, Sr.
My role, as the primary researcher for this project, was to meaningfully engage in methodologies that wove ethical approaches, participatory research, self-reflexivity, and a critique of my own social subjectivities. Indigenous research practices and worldviews, with particular emphasis on implementation in Inuit communities, were particularly important to me, because they reflect the worldview I was raised in as well as the worldview of the participants in my project. Recognizing my motivations for this research was important for the bracketing process and to help me to reflect on my interpretations of the findings.
I begin by describing the first analytical approach, which was ᐅᓂᒃᑲᐊᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅᖅ Unikkaaqatigiiniq (storytelling), and the narrative analysis of stories through immersion in text. I then describe the second approach, ᓴᓇᓂᖅ Sananiq (the art of crafting), and the analysis of data through the creation of a beadwork for my amauti.
ᐅᓂᒃᑲᐊᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅ Unikkaaqatigiinniq is an Inuktitut word for the Inuit concept related to storytelling, the power of story, and the role of story in Inuit ways of knowing and learning. Kovach (2009) states that a defining characteristic of Indigenous methods is the inclusion of story and narrative by both the researcher and research participant. In an Indigenous context, story is methodologically congruent with tribal knowledge (Wilson, 2008). Inuit have a very strong oral history and oral culture. The telling of stories is a millennia-old tradition for the sharing of knowledge, values, morals, skills, histories, legends, and artistry. It is a critical aspect of Inuit way of life and ways of knowing, and allows respondents to share personal experiences without breaking cultural rules related to confidentiality, gossip, or humility. Inuit stories and storytelling are rich with metaphor, lessons, and knowledge about time and place. When a story is told, each listener may interpret the story differently depending on their life experiences, where they come from, and where they are in life. Stories are not always explained clearly. It is up to the listener to interpret and seek understanding in the meaning of the story. Indigenous scholars Kovach (2009) and Wilson (2008) have underscored the importance of story in a research setting. Understanding this approach for sharing knowledge allows for greater insight into the meaning of the stories. It is for this reason that the recognition of the power of story is particularly important in the context of Inuit communities.
In a relational epistemology, stories are shared not collected (Thayer-Bacon, 2003). Interviews are experienced as conversations conducted in a natural, comfortable setting. The researcher’s willingness to listen, quietly and carefully, without interrupting the storyteller is vital. Listening and observation are important values in Inuit society, and are part of a learner’s pathway to understanding (QHRC, 2014). During interviews, I asked open-ended questions about where participants were from, their families, and their perspectives on relationships among young people. As part of the exchange, I also told them about where I was from and my family. In return, they told me about their families, life experiences, and feelings about different events in the community. We talked about residential school, harvesting, family relations, relationships in the community, their observations of youth in the community, and feelings of love for children and grandchildren. In much the same way as we might have a conversation around a kitchen table, the dialogue resembles a conversation more than a formal interview. This process of data collection is congruent with Indigenous storytelling traditions. I listened with an open heart and an open mind, as is expected in Inuit culture.
Parents defined the term sexual health largely in relation to community and social context. They identified specific events in community history, then shared stories of personal experiences related to the events. Historical events most frequently discussed in the interviews included settlement and residential school. Settlement refers to the time period in the 1950s and 1960s when Inuit families were forced and/or coerced into abandoning seasonal nomadic camps for habitation in year-round settlements or communities. Parents shared specific experiences of childhood trauma, hardship, and sexual abuse related to these events, and often highlighted their desire to create a different path for their own children as a result of these experienced traumas.
Data were analyzed through a process of “immersion and crystallization” (Borkan, 1999, p. 179), which is analogous to the Inuit concept of ᐃᖅᖃᐅᒪᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅ Iqqaumaqatigiinniq, “all knowing coming into one” (Healey & Tagak Sr, 2014, p. 1). The goal of data analysis is to find meaning and understanding in the stories, return to the research question, and examine the data in the context that was set at the beginning of the study. To accomplish this, often a multi-stage process is needed (Creswell, 2013). Thinking about, interpreting, and analyzing dialogue at the time of the conversation with a participant is part of the process, allowing for some understanding to develop in the immediate moment of the conversation.
The recordings of interviews/conversations were listened to and transcripts reread to ensure the transcripts were verbatim and to fill in missing words (Creswell, 2013). Then, to make the volumes of text easier to manage, I used software. Although I had been trained in NVivo, I found the newest version unwieldy and overcomplicated. It was difficult to organize text the way I wanted to and when I tried to use the visualization tools, I became frustrated with the different and confusing arrangements. In the end, I used HyperRESEARCH software, which was one of the few text-management software applications available at the time for the Apple operating system. HyperRESEARCH was very simple, with a code and retrieve function. I was able to organize transcripts by individual and by community, and I was able to select large amounts of text (i.e., a full story), and code it, or assign that story to one or more ideas (see Figure 3.1 for a screenshot of HyperRESEARCH software and coding text). For example, one parent told a story about knowledge from elders about how children follow in the footsteps of their parents and their parents in the footsteps of their grandparents, much like the way caribou will follow a single path through the snow. This was coded to “ancestors.”
The text was coded with short words or phrases such as “grandparents,” “violence,” “lost generation,” and “sexual assault,” which began to feed into bigger concepts such as “words from elders,” “adolescent development,” “knowledge about sexual health,” “community economics,” “intergenerational relational knowledge,” and “what happens when relationships are severed and the path can’t be followed.”
The following excerpt was assigned to a category of “explain sexual health to child,” which then became part of a larger concept called “knowledge about sexual health.”
My son and I have a very open relationship. My 17-year-old one. Um, cause I was a single mother with him for 10 years. And um we tell each other everything … growing up with my parents, I thought that like you know it was so … they lied to me so much about stuff like that. (laughing) I just wanted to be honest with my son. Tell him the truth and … that way he doesn’t get any misinformation from anyone. (Laughing) … I tell him you know to wear protection and be respectful of girls when they say no and um like never—never force yourself on anyone. And if you get any kind of um discomfort or anything he has to go see the nurse or … But he knows. (laughing)
In the analysis, codes that had only appeared once in the complete analysis were reviewed to determine if they belonged to a larger concept or if they were independent ideas of their own. Codes tied to only one reference and not linking with another concept or group of codes became less of a focus in the analysis. I spent time reviewing the concepts and, in particular, looked closely at concepts appearing more than once in more than one story. I looked for the meaning of those stories, not just a literal interpretation of the words of the participant, but the deeper meaning as a part of a collective narrative about sexual health and relationships among young people in Nunavut.
During this process very few patterns emerged. Separating segments of text and assigning them to a category felt disingenuous. I was reminded of a passage in the book Research is Ceremony in which the author describes the breakdown of relationships when we break things down into their smallest pieces (Wilson, 2008). This process severed the relationship between the learner and storyteller. I abandoned the coding exercises and instead reflected upon the interviews and stories in their entirety in comparison to the original research question and examined them in the context of the literature review, similar to the processes described by Kovach (2009).
Data analysis followed a rigorous, respectful, and mindful process that included comparing findings to the known literature (Creswell, 2013) and reflexivity and bracketing of my perspectives before and during the study (Mays & Pope, 2000). This included reflecting on my motivations, the emotions I felt when listening to the stories, and my experiences growing up in my community. The data collection and analysis process was iterative because I started to analyze the story as it was being told to me, which informed future interviews. Placing the ideas in the context of the literature, the experiences of others, and the experiences of the community is part of finding meaning and understanding. I would write bullet-point reflections down in my notebook, and then go back into the narratives that evening or the next day, and review the stories that stood out to me in relation to that topic.
Discussing these ideas with others, colleagues, collaborators, or participants was also a critical part of the analysis at this phase from a relational perspective (Kovach, 2009; Wilson, 2008). After I finished data collection and went more deeply into the analysis, I discussed early findings with local Nunavut-based advisors who included representatives from two community wellness centers (the Arviat Community Wellness Centre and a second center that will remain anonymous), the Chief Medical Officer of Health for Nunavut, a Community Health Representative, and a public health nurse. For these conversations, I presented the findings in person or over the telephone to each individual. We discussed the findings in the context of their life or work. They provided support and indicated that the findings better helped them interpret and take action on their work activities.
I also reviewed findings in person with three participants who wished to be recontacted. We met in a comfortable setting where I explained all the topic areas I felt were crystalized in the analysis and asked for their perspectives on whether these accurately captured the experiences they shared and that of others in the community. Their responses were overwhelmingly positive. One participant stated,
You were able to explain very clearly what I was not able to say. I know in my heart that what you have found is here is true. This is what has happened in our community. You have given voice to that.
Most importantly, I honored the stories shared by parents by keeping their words intact as often as possible in the presentation of results without breaching confidentiality (Healey & Tagak Sr., 2014; Kovach, 2009).
Finally, part of my analysis process involved taking a break from the text and audio data and working on something physical. For example, I would break from the computer to exercise, walk, sew, bead, or cook. During these activities, my hands or body would be busy (see next section), which left my mind free to roam and think about the stories in different ways, possibly seeing different meanings crystalizing in different ways as described by Borkan (1999).
Documenting my own story is part of preserving my research process and both grounding my study in Inuit knowledge and acknowledging the inherent relational philosophy of ᐃᓄᐅᖃᑎᒡᒋᐃᑦᑎᐊᕐᓂᖅ Inuuqatigiittiarniq. Here I explain how the stories and analysis that were part of crafting my dissertation, by chance, became part of my own parallel story involving the process of crafting a beaded centerpiece for my amauti.
Storytelling and crafting are strongly linked concepts in Inuit culture. McGrath (2011) stated,
Craft culture is not just about sewing, it is about making things of all kinds. Epistemology is a theory or philosophy of knowledge, a way of looking at knowledge and understanding it as knowledge and knowing. What are the metaphors for knowledge, knowing, and skill, and how are those metaphors organized in Inuit culture? In my understanding the main one is sananiq—craft. Sananiq is primarily relational and social. Skills are observed, taught, acquired, refined and developed through relationships; so is knowledge. It is also practical in its essential relationality; people make things that are needed by others or themselves in the service of others. So is knowledge. What is available is used to make things, and if what is needed is not available, qanuqtuurniq (innovation) is a natural way to think. In sum, sananiq/craft for me, is a metaphor for thinking, thought and knowledge.
(McGrath, 2011, p. 283)
My crafting story began in 2011 after I completed the data collection for the sexual health study and my second daughter was born. In an effort to get out of the house, I joined an evening sewing group for women who wished to learn more about beading for an amauti. Beads were introduced to Inuit by traders in the 19th century (Driscoll, 1984). Inuit in different Arctic regions incorporated foreign objects like beads, coins, and spoons, into clothing, jewelry, and tools in different ways (Driscoll, 1984). An amauti is a traditional Inuit women’s parka with a pouch on the back in which the baby or toddler is carried. Amautiit (pl) are very common today and almost all Inuit, and some non-Inuit, mothers (and many fathers) have one in Nunavut and Nunavik. The sewing group was taught by an elder in the Inuktitut language to a small group of women. I knew all of the women in attendance through one aspect of my life or another. During our sewing sessions, I discovered a relationship between my daughter’s namesake and one of my fellow sewers, and I enjoyed listening to stories about the person for whom she was named. This is one of the joys that we derive from sharing stories in our northern communities in an informal setting like a sewing group.
I had learned the basic principles of beading as a child in elementary school when elders would visit the school and work on projects with us related to sewing, carving, building, or cooking. We would rotate through a schedule, which would allow us to spend time with each elder on different days of the week and develop different skills. Beading was one of the projects I remembered, but it had been over 25 years since I had tried it. I appreciated the opportunity to revive the skill as an adult with a group of women in my community.
Rather unintentionally, I started planning and crafting my beading project for the front-piece of my amauti at the same time that I crafted my dissertation. I analyzed data and wrote about the findings of the study while picking up beads on the thread and placing them on the fabric. The beading was part of my reflexive process. This is important because the crafting of the dissertation and the crafting of the front of my amauti were intertwined. The processes were linked, and the stories of the people I interviewed were in my head as I sat at the computer and wrote, and while I sat at the table and beaded. In Figures 3.2 to 3.4, the progression of the beadwork is documented.
To bead in this fashion, the beads are sewn into the fabric in groups of four. Four beads are picked up on the needle, pushed down the thread into position next to the previous row, and anchored. The grouping of four beads is then anchored again, by two additional stiches that run perpendicular to the row. If a tear develops in a thread, the anchors keep the whole piece from unraveling. Instead of losing a series of beads, one might only lose one or two. To repair such a tear, the loose string can be reknotted underneath and replacement beads can be sewn into the gaps in the pattern. It may not look exactly the same, but it will be strong and beautiful nonetheless.
Sitting at the table and beading led me deeper into thought about fabric—the fabric of society. When something happens to fabric to tear it or damage it, what do we do with the fabric? Do we throw it out? No. Do we repair it? Yes, because torn fabric is still beautiful, useful, and valuable.
I began to see the contextual events of our Inuit communities, which were embedded in the stories of the people I interviewed, as tears in Inuit relational fabric. Settlement, residential school, and medical evacuations tore families apart and ripped the relational fabric. Kinship, extended family bonds, and attachments, were metaphorically the anchor stitches in the beadwork that had become severed through the separation and relocation of families during these historical events in our communities. Intergenerational trauma and the systemic perpetuation of colonial policies continue to feed the unraveling of the threads, much as environmental elements and trauma wear away at sewing threads. In this analogy, the threads must be reanchored. To find new anchors, our community members need support to heal from trauma. The holes can be filled with other colors and other beads, such as the innovations and initiatives of the people in our communities. Such initiatives grow out of revitalized relationships between individuals, among parents and children, within and between families, and in the greater community. With time, effort, and skill, repairs can be made to the fabric. It will look different, and that is okay. What is important is that the fabric retains its beauty, strength, and story. This process of reformation acknowledges the past but also builds toward the future, cultivating hope.
Beading led to me to a place where I could develop this deeper understanding and vision of relational fabric. While I was beading, I would write down or draw the ideas that would come to me on an iPad and revisit them later in the analysis of the narratives.
The stories shared in the study were also metaphorically woven into the beadwork. That is, as I was beading in the evenings I was also immersed in the stories, thinking, analyzing, and reading and rereading transcripts. As McGrath (2011) notes, sananiq is not about crafting and making an object, it is a metaphor for thinking, thought, and knowledge. My interpretations of the narratives become more developed as I placed beads on the needle and anchored them to the fabric. The combined processes furthered my understanding of the topic, context, and impact of the health issue on societal and relational levels. Thinking deeply about this perspective on craft-knowing was an important part of the research process and is part of the concept of Unikkaaqatigiinniq (the power and meaning of story) described in the Piliriqatigiinniq Community Health Research Model, the theory upon which this study was based.
This data analysis process involved two concurrent analytical approaches, each of which contributed meaning and understanding to the findings. ᐅᓂᒃᑲᐊᖃᑎᒋᐃᓐᓂᖅ Unikkaaqatigiinniq and ᓴᓇᓂᖅ Sananiq were not mutually exclusive analytical processes; they built on each other and fed into each other in different ways permitting layered interpretations of the phenomena I was seeking to understand. Additionally, our age, the lands we come from, our knowledge, and our individual and collective experiences will influence our interpretations at any given time. This does not compromise the validity of the analysis, because each interpretation is equally legitimate. Crafting and storytelling are important aspects of life for Indigenous peoples the world over (Battiste, 2002; Kovach, 2009; Wilson, 2008). Conveying the reality of loss, grief, and traumatic grief or stress in Indigenous communities through digital storytelling (Iseke & Moore, 2012), restorying (Corntassel, Chaw-win-is, & T’lakwadzi, 2009), sewing/beading (Hanson, 2016), or crafting/art-making (Lavallee, 2009; Pauktuutit, 2012) can be a cathartic part of a healing journey. Crafting and storytelling are powerful and offer ways to challenge the mind and plant new thoughts, document history and experiences, and transform our understanding by “surprising our consciousness into a new way of seeing” (Dion Buffalo, 1990, p. 120). Such methods are an essential contribution to our understanding of health and the knowledge that can help move our communities forward in achieving wellness.
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