On the edge of Canada’s Arctic, the small hamlet of Tuktoyaktuk faces a crisis like no other. Nestled along the increasingly aggressive Beaufort Sea, residents are grappling not just with shifting landscapes but with the looming reality of becoming the country’s first climate refugees. This precarious situation has emerged due to rapidly thawing permafrost beneath their feet, prompting growing concerns about the future of their homes, their histories, and even their burial sites.
For the Indigenous inhabitants known as the Inuit or, locally, the Iñuvialuit, the changes are personal. They’re not abstract figures depicting climate change trends on distant charts; they’re families with deep roots—and perhaps too soon, deep graves—hostage to the relentless effects of global warming. Jaden Cockney, just 17, found himself on the frontline of this environmental upheaval, excited to explore the thawing permafrost, albeit with hints of anxiety about what the future holds.
"I don’t know, not really, kind of," Jaden admitted when asked about his worries of having to leave Tuktoyaktuk. Those scattered doubts and fears echo throughout the community, as no one wants to concede defeat to nature, yet the evidence each day is hard to ignore.
Permafrost—which once solidly supported Tuktoyaktuk—now appears increasingly fragile, characterized by sudden and dangerous land movements like thaw slumps. These massive land collapses, some hundreds of feet wide and deep, have begun to leave behind yawning craters on the tundra, altering the terrain dramatically. For decades, the permafrost lay just inches beneath the surface, but now its icy grip is weakening, pushing it ever lower. Sandra, one of the local monitors, mentioned how her probes can rarely find the permafrost, underscoring the thaw's rapid pace.
It’s not just the land where families have lived for generations. These climate-related disasters pose serious existential threats, leading to discussions about relocation, which many are reluctant to have. Residents understand the urgency—after all, around 1,000 people currently call Tuktoyaktuk home—but they clash over when and how relocation should occur. Long-time resident William Dillon captures this sentiment, stating, "Nobody really wants to take the responsibility for saying we have to move, but the whole hamlet will be relocated." It’s as if everyone wants to cling to their history, to their land, even as it slips away beneath them.
The growing insecurities extend to the local cemetery, where increasing land erosion has directly affected graves—a concept foreign to Iñuvialuit culture, which traditionally does not relocate final resting places. Mayor Erwin Elias somberly remarked, “We don’t want kids to be seeing coffins floating out to the ocean.” Each grave tells personal stories of lost families, but concerns mount as graves begin eroding, with skeletal structures visibly leaning or collapsing. Faithful relatives have been forced to fill some graves with gravel to keep their loved ones from disappearing entirely.
Like many coastal communities, Tuktoyaktuk is not equipped to handle the rapid advancements of climate change. Recent efforts even included relocating three homes last year, utilizing once-available ice roads. The process highlighted how rushed relocation plans can be, burdening families with fear and uncertainty. Even with federal investment supporting coastal erosion prevention efforts, residents realize it’s only buying them time. Mayor Elias poignantly described the government’s attempts as Sisyphean, aware they can never fully stem the tide of climate-driven change.
Tuktoyaktuk is part of the broader Arctic locale, where average temperatures have soared to four times the global average over the past forty years. This area alone contains about 25% of the world’s permafrost, much of which is now melting and releasing stored gases, adding fuel to the climate change fire. Dustin Whalen, a Canadian government scientist, resonates with urgency when he explains how previously restricted thaw slumps now become commonplace throughout the region. His findings highlight how just twenty years ago, climate change effects were still somewhat localized. Today, virtually every corner of the region shows signs of thawing, overwhelming scientists and residents alike.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Tuktoyaktuk stands out as a unique case, allowing climate scientists to observe permafrost interactions at ground level—the community has become something of a laboratory. The local monitoring effort, starting years back, underlines the resilience and resourcefulness of the community, but it also indicates a troubling trend. Scientists estimate the gases released from harmful permafrost will likely turn Arctic regions from being carbon sinks to carbon sources within the next decade to 15 years. Researcher Christopher Burn warns, “By the end of the century, we will have emissions from permafrost equivalent to some of the world’s most prominent polluters.”
But even disparities among residents emerge with each new day. Calvin Pokiak, another local, similarly maintains his own residence precariously perched on permafrost. At the same time, he interjects some humor to lighten truly heavy issues, stating, “If I have to move my house, I would do it,” laughing heartily about the idea of his house resting on pontoons. This laugh, though, only partially stifles the underlying worry he and others feel about their homes and futures, particularly as they already see undeniable signs of shifting ground every day.
With each thawing permafrost turmoil and resultant loss of the familiar, the people of Tuktoyaktuk face immense uncertainty together. Relocation remains tabled as more than just physical movement; it becomes entwined with ancestry, culture, and belonging. These are their roots, and uprooting them means more than losing the ground beneath them; it would mean surrendering their very identities.
While their home pushes them to adapt rapidly, residents find strength within their tightly-knit community. They’re monitoring the land together, facing challenges with grim humor, and determining what could lay before them. Their culture, heritage and stories intertwine with the unforgiving Arctic land, and it’s these connections, perhaps more resilient than the permafrost itself, which leave them hopeful for the future, even amid inevitable transformations.