Katłı̨̀ą is a northern Dene woman who spends her time between her ancestral homelands in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories and Lekwungen speaking people’s Coast Salish Territory. She recently published her fourth novel, Firekeeper. She is a mother, grandmother and articling lawyer.
Katłı̨̀ą’s forthcoming work, Mother Earth is our Elder, is a non-fiction collection based on interviews with Dene people from across the Northwest Territories. Carefully compiled from oral histories, prophecies and teachings about the environment, Katłı̨̀ą amplifies Indigenous voices in connection with climate research. Finding hope in ancestral knowledge while frankly discussing the devastation wrought by colonialism, the result is a thoughtful yet vital text on the climate crisis.
Interviewed by Sarah Roberts (SR).
SR: I wanted to start by thinking about writing in general. You’ve done many amazing things and been involved with activism and housing advocacy. How does writing intersect with these things, and why start writing?
K: I started writing to bring these topics forward in a way that was tangible for readers to enjoy, or to see in a different way. What I found in many research papers, reports, and data was that there wasn’t a whole lot of emotion. I was hoping to eliminate the boring stuff and get to the heart of the matter and what was important.
SR: Reading the extract, I was struck by this taking away of the “sciency” perspective, and the difference in approach to climate issues. You were framing them in a way we don’t necessarily think of in Western, colonial culture. I wondered if you could talk more about this approach and what we can learn from it?
K: Gathering evidence of voices that have been marginalized and oppressed for centuries is important. They’ve been silenced for a reason because they have knowledge that cannot be found anywhere else, and that knowledge directly plays into the need to rethink society and the way we live. How we’ve capitalized on everything, how many material things we own, what we consider progress. It’s really turning the tables around to say that those things shouldn’t be prioritized and there’s another way of living. Especially with how things are going on the planet right now.
These voices, these stories, are very spiritual. Even though some might say they are not “scientific based,” they are scientific in their own right. The science of Indigenous, Dene people has been around for much longer than what we consider science now, for thousands of years. It’s bringing in those voices, amplifying their stories, and making connections.
For instance, [in the extract] Elder Alfred, said that he had noticed that the sun had moved, and when you look at the evidence, it has. The world always looks to the “experts” for that knowledge, but that knowledge is already there and waiting to be told and shared.
SR: Something that came up from me reading the extract was the idea of place-based learning. For your upcoming book, you spent time in Yellowknife Dene territories and visited Elders. Can you expand on how your writing builds on learning in place, in connection to the land?
K: I have to be there to write about it, I’m from the north so I’ve been to most communities there. A lot of them are very remote, a lot of them are majority Indigenous people. For the end of this book, I’m going to Inuvik, I’m going to drive the Tuktuyaaqtuuq (Tuktoyaktuk) highway, so, I can see for myself and write, sort as a travel writer.
I’m going to end my trip in Great Bear Lake, one of the biggest in the world. There’s a well-known prophecy among the Dene people that it will be the last freshwater lake in the world when the water dries up, and the people will flock to it. So, it’s serendipitous that I’m ending my trip there because that’s a common thread throughout the book, about prophecies and what would happen if we don’t change things.
It all ties back to the land, the water, the people, the language, the laws of the land and the spiritual aspects. It’s not linear; it’s all connected. Right now, I’m sitting with these stories and piecing them together, trying to pivot to a more holistic way of writing.
SR: When I read the extract, I was struck by how things aren’t linear. Issues like residential schools are relevant to the way we talk about the climate. Could you speak about how these issues are so deeply connected, can seeing climate as a social issue help us or shift our view?
K: I’m really fascinated by what some would call magic or myth. For the Dene, our stories are full of what would be deemed “mythical” beliefs. We have been so far removed due to the interruption of colonization that many of those beliefs have been infringed upon or indoctrinated into the mainstream of religion or social norms. Uncovering them is important; it’s aligned with new evidence that suggests quantum theories and different possible dimensions. It’s what the Dene are speaking of: we have stories of time travel, portals, and giants who live in mountains. These things may seem very far-fetched, but in fact they’re real and we’ve been blinded and distracted.
Getting back to spirituality and the way things were is important for living day-to-day in alignment with our laws, which are tied to the land. I’m trying to convey this message of getting back in tune with our spirit. All of us, as human beings, are very spiritual, very connected to the earth. We’ve lost that through agriculture and through industry, so finding that connection again is very important.
SR: I’m curious: How has it been listening to stories shared through oral storytelling? How has that process been of transferring them to the written word?
K: It’s tricky because most of our stories are oral. Some would say that we shouldn’t share them or that they shouldn’t be shared with certain people because they’re sacred information. I think we’re getting to the point where we need to share that knowledge for the greater good, and that’s why Elders are willing to share it widely.
There are still some things we’re not going to share, but I’m thankful that I’ve been entrusted to be able to listen to these stories and put them down on paper. They’ve trusted me that I won’t misconstrue things. Some of it may not seem related to climate change, when it very much is. I’m making those connections while trying not to go way off the beaten path. Part of that work is going back to the Elders, after I’ve written, to get clarity and to be sure.
For example, Elder Alfred mentioned that there’s a lion’s tail, in one of the land formations, where the tundra divides toward the Boreal Forest. We’ve never had lions in the north, until recently. We’ve had an invasive species, invasive cougars. So, I’m trying to understand, is this a prophecy that one day the cougars will cross that boundary, into a territory where they don’t belong. I’m trying to get into that, and decide if that is a legend we need to dig deeper into.
SR: When you think of it that way, it’s such a disruption to the balance and ecosystem, with species being where they’ve never been before. In your process of returning to where you grew up to write, have you found your relationship to it has changed?
K: I feel like I’m trying to find my way back home eventually. Right now, I’m down south writing a lot. Sometimes, I have imposter syndrome, but my main goal has always been to live on the land once I have the means to. I feel a disconnect, but it’s still possible to do this work through memory, talking to the Elders and knowledge carriers, though it’s not the same on the phone as talking in person.
For instance, last week, I talked to the chief of my nation on the phone. On the call, I could hear different birds on the deck chirping a crow, then a raven, a seagull. I was documenting and writing about the birds in the background. At the end of the conversation, he said, “When the birds go silent, that’s when we know something is seriously wrong.” He said one day the birds may stop singing altogether because of climate change. It was nice to hear him end that way; to hear how important the birds are to him, and to have that full-circle conversation. I can make that connection, even when I’m not there.
SR: That’s also kind of heartbreaking. So much of your work includes difficult topics, including residential schools and intergenerational trauma. I wondered how you take care of yourself as a writer when you work with such affecting subjects?
K: I spend a lot of time alone and I spend time in silence. I go to saunas; I do ceremony in my own way. I walk a lot and spend time reflecting. I really try to stop and slow down throughout the day. Especially when I’m working and transcribing, I make sure I’m really devoted to listening and even to the things that are not said. You need self-care to do that.
SR: I was really intrigued by the title of the work Mother Earth is Our Elder, it is referenced in the text, but could you expand on what it means to you?
K: Mother Earth is old, she’s very, very old. In our Dene culture we respect our Elders and care for them first, for example, we make sure the Elders eat first when we’re at a feast. Now in some of our communities, we’re seeing Elder abuse. We are supposed to cherish our Elders; we’re not supposed to abuse or treat them poorly.
We’re abusing Mother Earth, so we need to understand that Mother Earth is our Elder and take good care of her. Without humans, if we end up eradicating our species, Mother Earth will go on, but Mother Earth wants us here; we’re part of her, and we’re part of the animals as well.
SR: I know this project isn’t done yet, but where do you see your writing going next, will you go back to novels?
K: I don’t think of my fiction as entirely fiction; it pulls in our legends and histories. In terms of my next book, Harper and Penguin have the rights to my next nonfiction work, but I will eventually go back to write the second and third parts of the Land-Water-Sky: Ndè-Tı-Yat’a, as a chronicle.
But these things take time. I don’t want to rush. I’m going to take my time on Mother Earth is our Elder for now. I think this book will be cherished, especially by the Indigenous people of the North. My number one priority is doing this work in a way that will reflect their voices and bring them into the conversation. I’m just the messenger; my great-great-grandmother was a messenger. There’s only one of me, but there are many voices who have contributed to this work.
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Katłįà Lafferty is on Instagram @Katlia_111
Aspects of this interview have been shortened for clarity and concision.