The Sáme of Norway, often marginalized, have felt for years that their voice isn't heard in far-off Oslo. With a powerless elected assembly budgeted a mere 200 million Kroner, is it a case of money for nothing?

By Nathaniel Tishman

Amidst endless stretches of fir trees groaning under their snowy burden, frozen rivers covered by the tracks of Arctic Cat snowmobiles, and icy drifts of more than a meter lies the tiny community of Karasjok, Norway, a long way from almost everything. Almost 2,000 kilometers north of Oslo, it is hard to see how Karasjok can be in the same country as the cosmopolitan home of The Scream and the Storting Parliament. What few people know, however, is that Karasjok has a parliament of its own, the Sámediggi, the highest elected body of Norway's 50,000 strong Sáme population.

Existing in invisibility...

Since Norway became officially independent from Sweden in 1905, the land that was known as Sápmi, the land of the Sáme has been completely conquered. There has been token representation in the Norwegian government from the Sáme since independence, but nothing truly influential- the first Sáme Member of Parliament was a man named Isaac Saba, who represented the people of Finnmark county for the Norwegian Labour Party in 1928. Despite a history of Sáme legislators, the average Norwegian had little, if any, knowledge of the people who'd come before them.

" The Norwegian government is beginning to understand that their state is founded on the territory of 2 peoples," says Johan-Mikkel Sara, 49, of the Executive Council of the Sámediggi, a 5-person body responsible for the parliaments day-to-day operations.

Considering the policies of the past, it is hardly surprising that even today, many Norwegians know virtually nothing about the Sáme.

"Respectable people, or Sáme..."

For more than 100 years, from 1851-1959, the Norwegian government was engaged in the policy of Norwegianization, which was meant to impose Norwegian culture and values on everyone in the country, including the Sáme. The government encouraged the belief that Sáme culture was outdated, savage, and belonged in the past. All education was to be conducted only in Norwegian, forcing Sáme children to learn in an alien language. Sáme culture began to be seen as the stuff of postcards, with shots of reindeer and the midnight sun, but with little meaning.

Alta and beyond...

Although the Norwegianization regulations were abolished in 1959, the Sáme still found themselves on the outside, looking in. It wasn't until the Alta River conflict in 1979, when a controversial power dam was proposed which would inundate a Sáme village, that people finally became aware that there was an 'indigenous issue' in Norway. In perhaps the most memorable of the protests, a small group of Sáme erected a traditional lavvu (tipi) on the lawn of the Storting and staged a hunger strike for several days. Although the dam was eventually constructed, the Sáme message was out.

"Without a doubt it put the Sáme on the map," says Terje Tretnes, 42, representative of the Sáme People's Party in the Sámediggi. "There wouldn't be a Sáme parliament today if it wasn't for Alta."

As a result of Alta, the Sáme Rights Committee, and the Sáme Culture Committee were created in 1980, and in 1987 the Storting passed the Sáme Act, which stated that "The Sámi people shall have its own national Sámi assembly, elected by and among the Sámi people."

In 1989 the 39-member Sámediggi was established in Karasjok, long considered the heart of Sáme territory. The main assembly is composed of representatives from 13 districts which cover all of Norway. A new building made to resemble a traditional lavvu was opened in 2000...

Toothless...

Despite the outward appearance of things moving ahead, there is a problem. The Sámediggi, which is supposed to represent between 50-60,000 people has absolutely no power. Rather than having authority, the Sámediggi is instead responsible for advising the Norwegian government on issues which concern the Sáme, such as language, culture, and education.
As an advisory body, the Storting has no obligation to listen to the will of the Sáme people, or their representatives. Much of the Sámediggi's 200 million Kroner (approximately $27.5 million) budget is earmarked by the Norwegian government for programs which the Sámediggi has no control over.

"Today the national Sámi parliament has to beg the Norwegian government for everything, and they give us 200 million Kroner, which pays for very little," says Tretnes. "If they gave us even 1% of their budget, we'd have 700-800 million Kroner, and then we could really start dealing with some of the problems."

According to the International Labor Organization Convention #169, which concerns Indigenous Peoples in Independent Countries, representatives of indigenous peoples must be consulted whenever there is an issue which concerns them. This convention has been ratified by only 8 nations, but of those, Norway was the first to do so, in 1990.

"We are frustrated, because the Norwegian government doesn't follow international conventions, which they've ratified," says Sara. They won't fulfill their responsibilities."

Critics of the Sámediggi have used this as proof that the Sámediggi is useless, and that it was established merely to placate the Sáme. Leaders of the Sámediggi would disagree with that statement, however.

"We have achieved a lot through the Norwegian authorities. We've made them understand that we have to work together," argues Egil Olli, leader of the Labor Party, the second largest faction in current Parliament.




Continued