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In April 2018, the Trump administration announced Alaska’s Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was open for business. By June, two Alaska Native Regional Corporations and a small oil company had already jointly applied to conduct extensive seismic testing in the refuge next winter.Seismic blasts—loud sonic explosions fired through the ocean—map the seabed floor for oil and gas deposits to extract. Opponents, like the Wilderness Society and the group Polar Bears International, say the testing has deleterious effects on the land and the wildlife. The Canadian government has opposed opening up ANWR for these reasons as well.Some Alaska natives support the oil exploration for its economic potential, while others, like the Gwich’in nation, argue that it would disrupt the caribou herd upon which their traditional diets—and much of their culture—depend.Thousands of miles across the icy North, on the east coast of Canada, Inuit hunters several years ago worried about the same outcome in their own oil battle. They fought back—and won. As ANWR exploration draws nearer, the Canadian Inuit victory hints at an alternate path: lessons from a rare win for tribal communities fighting outside interests.When the call on the radio came, the hunters of Clyde River swung into action. In pickup trucks and four-wheelers, they roared toward the tiny marina where dozens of boats bobbed in the current. They grabbed their guns and ammo, swung over the wooden sides of the boats, revved engines, and raced toward the inlet where the narwhal were spotted minutes before. It was the fall of 2016, and the Arctic whaling season was at full throttle.Bruce Hainnu sped through the icy water with the other hunters and then cut his engine, leaning against the steering wheel as he scanned the horizon. His adopted son, Jacques Hainnu-Simard, explained they were looking for the plumes of mist that rise from whales’ blowholes.To continue reading please visit: