The Buddhist and the Alaska Native Chief

This story was produced by two of my former employees - Andrea Gusty and Brian Hild

While I don't remember the exact day, I do remember the details of the first time I met Chief Paul.  It was about a week before this story was shot. I had been fully prepped as to what was "culturally acceptable" when meeting a Chief.  I must have done it right - seven years later, we are still friends.
Chief Paul is one of the last "traditional" Chiefs in Alaska.  He was identified and trained by his elders, not elected by his people.  When he was a child, it was the younger generation who took care of the Chiefs as they got older. But his traditional ways are viewed as outdated and unwanted - as a result, he finds himself facing his remaining years somewhat alone.  

As he sits in his tattered recliner looking up at the pictures of long gone Chiefs and respected elders that line his walls, he holds his bible and quietly asks me why I think he is still here.  I know it is a question he asks himself several times a day.  I grab his hand and tell him, "Your job here isn't done".

We make an interesting pair.  The Althabascan who will not leave his house without his Chiefs' necklace and me, the white - American Buddhist who is rarely without my protection locket and at least one mala.  He talks of his medicine-man powers that can be used for good or evil - I tell him there is already enough evil in the world, what we really need to do is to open up our hearts just a little bit more.  We discuss religion, the environment, my work, his past, the land, his people.
After spending time with Chief, I find myself exhausted.  Not because it is so much "work" to be around him but because (as Richard puts it) being with Chief is like being in a constant state of meditation.  His slow speech, his somewhat broken English lull you into an "other-worldly" dimension.  He often sings to Richard and me - singing songs that have been sung by his people for hundreds of years.  I feel honored to hear his stories, to hear his songs.
After spending time with him this weekend, he spent a few minutes in silence and then looked at me and said, "You say the Kalahee of Knikatnu are your people.  Your name is Cha-ta-nee".
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly....it means,  what does that mean....because you are always so full of questions."
I just laugh and give him a hug, telling him I will call him later in the week.
When I see Chief, I often wonder if it will be our last visit. The pain and anger he feels watching his culture die is, at times, almost unbearable.
What I do know is that I will always have at least one more question for him to answer.
Sometimes people just need to know their story, their knowledge, their life DOES matter.