| This article, “The Gwich’in: Caribou People,” was originally published in the Winter & Spring of 2002, Issue 150 of Indian Affairs. Minor edits have been made to correct certain terms. In 2002, the Gwich’in Nation was speaking out against oil development in the calving grounds of the Porcupine Caribou Herd within the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, naming what was at stake for their culture, their food system, and their responsibility to the next generations. In the nearly quarter-century since its publication, the landscape surrounding the Porcupine River Caribou Herd — and the federal policies that govern its use — have continued to change. In 2025, federal land management policy shifted again toward expanded oil and gas development in Alaska(1). Large portions of the Alaska Coastal Plain were reopened to leasing, and regulatory protections that had previously limited industrial activity in this region were rolled back. Additional decisions approved expanded development across much of the National Petroleum Reserve in Alaska, further increasing pressure on northern ecosystems(2). |  |
These policy decisions directly affect the same lands described in this article as the sacred place where life begins. Reopening calving and post-calving grounds to industrial activity alters the ecological conditions that sustain the Porcupine Caribou Herd and, in turn, the lifeways of the Gwich’in People who depend on it(3). Decisions about land use and stewardship continue to be made without fully recognizing the authority of Alaska Native Peoples, as they were when this article was first written.
We are sharing “The Gwich’in: Caribou People” again because it remains clear in its purpose and grounded in responsibility. We have only made minor edits to update terminology. The Gwich’in did not frame this struggle as a political dispute, but as a matter of relationship and kinship — to the land, to the caribou, and to generations yet to come. For readers today, this article is not a historical record alone, but a living statement of what continues to be at stake.
What follows is not a look back, but a reminder of what we must have for our healthy futures.
The People
We Gwich’in are an Alaska Native Nation who live in Northeast Alaska and Northwest Canada. We are an Athabascan Tribe. There are more than 7,000 Gwich’in. We live in fifteen isolated villages in our traditional homelands.
We Gwich’in are Caribou People. From caribou we get food, clothing, handicrafts, shelter, medicines, and tools. We tell caribou stories, sing caribou songs, and dance caribou dances. Caribou bring our people together. We Gwich’in are among the most traditional of surviving Native cultures.
Our relationship with the caribou is like the relationship of the Plains Indians to the buffalo—before the buffalo vanished. Now we fear that the Porcupine River Caribou Herd will go the way of the buffalo. Our future is dependent on the future of the Porcupine River Caribou Herd.
Most of our villages are hundreds of miles from the nearest road. We live off the land. Places like Arctic Village have no salmon and few moose. Arctic Village depends on the caribou.
When caribou are first seen near a village, we celebrate. In Arctic Village, an Elder watches for the caribou from the village, and each day the young people ask, “Where are they?” Once the caribou are seen, the news spreads quickly, and the people begin to prepare for the annual fall hunt.
The first bunch of the herd are allowed to pass without being disturbed, for they are the scouts and leaders of the herd. If the scouts sense danger, the herd may turn a different direction and the whole hunt could be lost.
Once the scouts pass, the people then begin to move up to the mountain. The mountain will be covered with campsites for the fall hunt. Once the caribou are taken, we give thanks to the Creator for allowing a successful hunt again. There is a ritual for the hunt that is centuries old.
The meat is taken to camp, and once brought there, the women begin to dry meat. Every part of the caribou is used. The meat that is not dried is taken to the village and stored in the community freezer, which is run on solar energy.
The Elders are always provided for first and are given the choicest parts. Gwich’in Elders prefer traditional foods. The caribou taken in the fall hunt provides meat throughout the winter.
Hunters teach young boys the skills needed to provide for the people. Women teach young girls the skills of tanning skins to make clothing, preparing traditional foods, and fashioning tools from bones. Young people are taught survival skills throughout their youth. This is the way of the Gwich’in.
Caribou are a gift. Villages with caribou meat share with other Gwich’in villages, who may share moose or Yukon River salmon in return. Caribou bind village to village. We have little money, but we have strength from the land. We treat the earth with respect, as taught by our Elders, and we pass these ways to our children. Caribou also bind generation to generation.
The Circle of Life
To understand our way, you must stop for a moment and feel the rhythm of the land, for we are a part of it.
As winter gives way to spring, pregnant cows of the Porcupine Caribou Herd leave their wintering grounds, breaking trail through the snow and heading to the place where every Porcupine Caribou begins life. From Alaska, they travel east along the south side of the Brooks Range before turning north, joining caribou migrating from Canada.
Traveling as much as four hundred miles, tens of thousands of cows stream onto the coastal plain to give birth. This place of birth is sacred. In our language, we call it “Gwihil’ee dehk’in niji’ gwandaii goodlit”—the sacred place where life begins.
Here, early plants grow where wind has kept snow thin. There are fewer large predators, and the coastal plain provides escape from clouds of mosquitoes that hatch shortly after calves are born. Every Porcupine Caribou gets its start in life on this narrow strip of land.
After giving birth, cows graze steadily on lichens to maintain their milk supply. Calves must gain strength quickly to keep up with the herd. A bond forms between cow and calf; a calf that cannot keep up will die.
Soon bulls and yearlings arrive, birds hatch their young, and the coastal plain fills with life. Not since the buffalo roamed the Great Plains has North America witnessed anything like it.
By late July, the herd breaks into smaller groups and moves east and south into the mountains or into the Yukon. Fall migration traditionally brings the caribou near our villages, many of which were established near old hunting sites along migration routes. Ancient caribou fences still mark these paths today.
When winter comes, caribou wander less, and their wintering grounds vary year to year as food becomes harder to find. When snow melts, the cycle begins again. A cycle centuries old.
The Problem
Our Gwich’in culture and the ecosystem it depends on are threatened by oil development in the birthplace of the Porcupine Caribou Herd—the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
We are taught that a birthplace is sacred and should never be disturbed. We believe that if people understand what is at stake, they will not allow the calving grounds to be destroyed.
Oil companies, however, continue to push for development. There have been repeated efforts by the Alaskan Congressional Delegation to open the Refuge, including attempts to insert provisions into federal budget bills to avoid public debate. These efforts failed due to public outcry and a presidential veto, but the threat continues.
Just as the caribou has ensured the survival of the Gwich’in, we must ensure the survival of the caribou. Our future generations are at stake.
In 1988, the Gwich’in Nation came together for the first time in a hundred years. Elders, youth, and leaders from across our regions gathered and took a united position opposing development in the calving and post-calving grounds.
From this gathering came the Gwich’in Steering Committee, with representatives from each region. Its mandate is to educate the public about our way of life and the threat oil development poses to the caribou—and to do so in a good way.
Since then, we have gained support from over 200 Native Nations, environmental groups, church organizations, human rights organizations, and international allies.
For we all live on this earth, and we must ensure a healthy environment for future generations.
– Hai’ Shàa Nii (With thanks, all my relations)
Sources
We are sharing “The Gwich’in: Caribou People” again because it remains clear in its purpose and grounded in responsibility. We have only made minor edits to update terminology. The Gwich’in did not frame this struggle as a political dispute, but as a matter of relationship and kinship — to the land, to the caribou, and to generations yet to come. For readers today, this article is not a historical record alone, but a living statement of what continues to be at stake.
What follows is not a look back, but a reminder of what we must have for our healthy futures.
The People
We Gwich’in are an Alaska Native Nation who live in Northeast Alaska and Northwest Canada. We are an Athabascan Tribe. There are more than 7,000 Gwich’in. We live in fifteen isolated villages in our traditional homelands.
We Gwich’in are Caribou People. From caribou we get food, clothing, handicrafts, shelter, medicines, and tools. We tell caribou stories, sing caribou songs, and dance caribou dances. Caribou bring our people together. We Gwich’in are among the most traditional of surviving Native cultures.
Our relationship with the caribou is like the relationship of the Plains Indians to the buffalo—before the buffalo vanished. Now we fear that the Porcupine River Caribou Herd will go the way of the buffalo. Our future is dependent on the future of the Porcupine River Caribou Herd.
Most of our villages are hundreds of miles from the nearest road. We live off the land. Places like Arctic Village have no salmon and few moose. Arctic Village depends on the caribou.
When caribou are first seen near a village, we celebrate. In Arctic Village, an Elder watches for the caribou from the village, and each day the young people ask, “Where are they?” Once the caribou are seen, the news spreads quickly, and the people begin to prepare for the annual fall hunt.
The first bunch of the herd are allowed to pass without being disturbed, for they are the scouts and leaders of the herd. If the scouts sense danger, the herd may turn a different direction and the whole hunt could be lost.
Once the scouts pass, the people then begin to move up to the mountain. The mountain will be covered with campsites for the fall hunt. Once the caribou are taken, we give thanks to the Creator for allowing a successful hunt again. There is a ritual for the hunt that is centuries old.
The meat is taken to camp, and once brought there, the women begin to dry meat. Every part of the caribou is used. The meat that is not dried is taken to the village and stored in the community freezer, which is run on solar energy.
The Elders are always provided for first and are given the choicest parts. Gwich’in Elders prefer traditional foods. The caribou taken in the fall hunt provides meat throughout the winter.
Hunters teach young boys the skills needed to provide for the people. Women teach young girls the skills of tanning skins to make clothing, preparing traditional foods, and fashioning tools from bones. Young people are taught survival skills throughout their youth. This is the way of the Gwich’in.
Caribou are a gift. Villages with caribou meat share with other Gwich’in villages, who may share moose or Yukon River salmon in return. Caribou bind village to village. We have little money, but we have strength from the land. We treat the earth with respect, as taught by our Elders, and we pass these ways to our children. Caribou also bind generation to generation.
The Circle of Life
To understand our way, you must stop for a moment and feel the rhythm of the land, for we are a part of it.
As winter gives way to spring, pregnant cows of the Porcupine Caribou Herd leave their wintering grounds, breaking trail through the snow and heading to the place where every Porcupine Caribou begins life. From Alaska, they travel east along the south side of the Brooks Range before turning north, joining caribou migrating from Canada.
Traveling as much as four hundred miles, tens of thousands of cows stream onto the coastal plain to give birth. This place of birth is sacred. In our language, we call it “Gwihil’ee dehk’in niji’ gwandaii goodlit”—the sacred place where life begins.
Here, early plants grow where wind has kept snow thin. There are fewer large predators, and the coastal plain provides escape from clouds of mosquitoes that hatch shortly after calves are born. Every Porcupine Caribou gets its start in life on this narrow strip of land.
After giving birth, cows graze steadily on lichens to maintain their milk supply. Calves must gain strength quickly to keep up with the herd. A bond forms between cow and calf; a calf that cannot keep up will die.
Soon bulls and yearlings arrive, birds hatch their young, and the coastal plain fills with life. Not since the buffalo roamed the Great Plains has North America witnessed anything like it.
By late July, the herd breaks into smaller groups and moves east and south into the mountains or into the Yukon. Fall migration traditionally brings the caribou near our villages, many of which were established near old hunting sites along migration routes. Ancient caribou fences still mark these paths today.
When winter comes, caribou wander less, and their wintering grounds vary year to year as food becomes harder to find. When snow melts, the cycle begins again. A cycle centuries old.
The Problem
Our Gwich’in culture and the ecosystem it depends on are threatened by oil development in the birthplace of the Porcupine Caribou Herd—the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
We are taught that a birthplace is sacred and should never be disturbed. We believe that if people understand what is at stake, they will not allow the calving grounds to be destroyed.
Oil companies, however, continue to push for development. There have been repeated efforts by the Alaskan Congressional Delegation to open the Refuge, including attempts to insert provisions into federal budget bills to avoid public debate. These efforts failed due to public outcry and a presidential veto, but the threat continues.
Just as the caribou has ensured the survival of the Gwich’in, we must ensure the survival of the caribou. Our future generations are at stake.
In 1988, the Gwich’in Nation came together for the first time in a hundred years. Elders, youth, and leaders from across our regions gathered and took a united position opposing development in the calving and post-calving grounds.
From this gathering came the Gwich’in Steering Committee, with representatives from each region. Its mandate is to educate the public about our way of life and the threat oil development poses to the caribou—and to do so in a good way.
Since then, we have gained support from over 200 Native Nations, environmental groups, church organizations, human rights organizations, and international allies.
For we all live on this earth, and we must ensure a healthy environment for future generations.
– Hai’ Shàa Nii (With thanks, all my relations)
Sources
- Bureau of Land Management. Progress on Public Lands: BLM 2025 Trump Administration Accomplishments | January 20 – December 31 2025. January 6, 2026. Bureau of Land Management blog. https://www.blm.gov/blog/2026-01-06/progress-public-lands-blm-2025-trump-administration-accomplishments-jan-20-Dec-31-2025
- Drew McConville. A Historically Bad Year for Public Lands Under President Trump. December 11, 2025. Center for American Progress. https://www.americanprogress.org/article/a-historically-bad-year-for-public-lands-under-president-trump
- Nicole Segnini. Alaska’s Iconic and Vital Lands Are Under Attack. October 30, 2025. The Wilderness Society. https://www.wilderness.org/articles/blog/Alaska-iconic-and-vital-lands-are-under-attack
