Chatter Marks

In this episode, Cody and co-host Aurora Ford talk to Heidi Huppert. Aurora is a former journalist and currently works at Covenant House Alaska; Heidi is the Chief Program Officer at Covenant House. Heidi’s perspective on homelessness in Alaska is unique because, in her younger years, she spent time on the streets of Anchorage. Her mom had a violent and abusive boyfriend and Heidi didn’t feel safe at home. So, one night after an especially brutal domestic situation, she found herself wandering around Spenard, trying to figure out what she was gonna do. She was about 12 years old and she had school in the morning. Because it was open and because it was familiar, she ended up just hanging out at McDonald’s.

She says that, for a long time, she didn’t tell her story. It was just too hard to relive those memories, and the violence and the pain that came with them. But right now, she’s at a point in her life where she sees how much power and strength there is in telling her story. How it can potentially help a young person understand that they might be in the middle of the worst moment or moments of their life, but it won’t last forever. Things can get better.

Heidi says that the issues of homelessness and human trafficking — another issue that she deals with a lot at work — are ones that we have to care about because they involve young people and they are the future of Alaska. They will one day hold the political, economic and social power. So, if we want our state to be healthy, we have to care about what is happening to our young people.

In the late 1990s, Buddy Bailey became the face of his dad’s furniture business, Bailey’s Furniture. He was 7 years old when he appeared in his first commercial — the crew filming it realized that the furniture itself didn’t have much character, so they suggested that Buddy get in front of the camera. He was a natural — his charisma and affability came easy. He’d chat about furniture and deals, and he’d even spin a basketball on his finger while he did it.

As the years went on, he became a local child celebrity. He continued being in Bailey’s Furniture commercials, and he was becoming a rising basketball star. When he was 15 or 16 years old, he remembers the Anchorage Daily News came out with a list of the most recognizable faces in Alaska and Buddy was number two, right behind U.S. Senator Ted Stevens.

Buddy says the lessons he learned from working at Bailey’s Furniture helped him on the basketball court. In basketball, like in retail, you’re dealing with personalities and egos, but you’re not always worried about money. So, basketball was easy. All he had to do was focus on scoring points and winning. This mentality, as well as his skill on the court, brought him all the way to playing college ball.

Today, he no longer works at Bailey’s Furniture, he quit in 2013 to pursue a career in finance and then in 2020 he founded a virtual lease-to-own business. He no longer plays ball semi-professionally either, but he does play recreationally. He says he’s probably a better shooter than he ever was and a better overall basketball player. He plays one-on-one almost every day at his local gym. He also coaches both of his kids’ basketball teams, teaching them that it’s not always about winning, it’s about learning life lessons and values —accountability, work ethic, the ability to fight for what you believe in, and how all of that will eventually filter over to your family.

Cody and co-host Aurora Ford talk to Josie Heyano. Aurora is a former journalist and works at Covenant House Alaska; Josie is a member of the United States Advisory Council on Human Trafficking, a presidentially appointed position. She was the first Alaska Native person to be on the board. Every member of the board is a human trafficking survivor and advises and makes recommendations on federal anti-trafficking policies. Josie’s perspective and contribution to that conversation is Alaskan. She’s often thinking about rural communities and the human trafficking issues they face — she says that most of the trafficking she’s seen there has an element of substance use coercion, mental health coercion and/or forced drug trafficking. And because of the remoteness of these communities, it could take three days and a float plane and a boat ride to respond to a crime. In 2022, Josie, Charlene Apok of Data for Indigenous Justice, Prevention Now and Ride My Road started a yearly gathering called “The Alaska Data Summit: Translating Data into Action Against Trafficking Exploitation and Missing and Murdered Indigenous Relatives.” One of the missions of the summit is to decolonize data so that, in the future, Native communities can reclaim and own their own data. It’s about taking back information so that it can be used for healing. Josie says that it’s about “making the data tell our stories” and “making it be representative of who we are.” Because data is a universal language, it doesn’t matter what field you work in, we all can understand numbers and their prevalence. So, by creating a universal data system throughout Alaska, information can be shared within the community, paving a path for a deeper understanding and better solutions to human trafficking.

For years, Shyanne Beatty has wanted to move back home to Eagle, Alaska. It’s where everything started for her — her love for culture, language, art and music. Today, she sits on her property in Eagle, along the Yukon River, and she imagines herself as a young girl, running down the river banks with about 20 sled dogs or trapping marten out at 40 Mile or walking to school, singing to herself to ward off any curious wildlife. Reflecting on this, she realized that music has been foundational for so much in her life, it’s carried her and it’s protected her. Radio too. She remembers one Thanksgiving out at 40 Mile, she and her dad were listening to “Trapline Chatter” and they heard her grandparents wishing them a Happy Thanksgiving. The reach of radio had made its impression on her. So, when she left Eagle, that passion for radio and love for culture, language, art and music manifested itself in “Earthsongs,” the radio show she hosted on KNBA in Anchorage. It highlighted indigenous artists, musicians, and it was the first nationally-syndicated show out of the state of Alaska.

Shyanne is in the process of revitalizing her Native language, Han Hwechin Athabascan. There are only four people left who can speak the language, and she says the process of learning it has been difficult because people have been resistant to teaching her. This is because land, subsistence rights, language, culture and even children were taken away from her people. So, the insistence on guarding these things is understandable. To learn the language, Shyanne resorted to a more academic setting, mainly through classes.

Lately, for about six hours a week, she’s been working with her aunt to continue learning and documenting the language. Usually they get together and cook, chatting with each other in Han Hwechin the whole time. And for all this, she wanted to be back in Eagle, on her traditional lands; to have that sense of place and belonging. Because learning and documenting her culture and lifeways is one thing, but it’s also about creating a reservoir of culture that future generations can learn from.

Mario Chalmers is part of a small group of Alaskans to be drafted to the NBA, including guys like Carlos Boozer and Trajan Langdon. He’s won championships at every level: Two high school championships, one NCAA championship — the one where his 3-pointer put the game into overtime, with his team taking the win — and two NBA championships. He was in the NBA for nine seasons — seven years for the Miami Heat, one for the Memphis Grizzlies and one waived because of an injury. In those nine years, he was part of 99 playoff games. He played alongside guys like LeBron James and Dwyane Wade. He was the starting point guard for the Miami Heat when they won two championships in 2012 and 2013. He says that the only thing he has left to win is an Olympic gold medal.

In 2016, Mario tore his achilles tendon. It was a pivotal moment in his career, one that eventually led to him retiring from the NBA. But before he was comfortable with retiring, he tried making his way back by way of playing in G-League and overseas. Overall, he enjoyed his time playing outside the NBA, but he found himself reflecting on his career more than he was trying to regain it; he found himself being proud of his accomplishments and accepting this new chapter of his life, where he’s a full-time dad. He says it really dawned on him in 2021 when the Miami Heat signed him to a 10-day contract. He says that even though he didn’t get to play, it gave him the closure he was seeking — being able to walk off the court, healthy and on his own terms.

Angela Gonzalez is an artist and a writer, and through her beadwork, her blog — the Athabascan Woman Blog — and the Fish Camp Barbie dioramas she creates, she shares her heritage. She says that it’s all a reflection of the way she grew up. Fish camp was a big part of that. As a kid, that’s where she spent most of her summers, about 16 miles from her home in Huslia, along the Koyukuk River. While the adults were harvesting the fish, her grandma would put Angela’s Barbies in settings that resembled what was happening all around them — catching the fish, hanging the fish, preserving it, cooking it. And then once she was old enough, she helped out with those chores. Angela says that she didn’t realize how special fish camp was until she started creating Fish Camp Barbie dioramas for her own daughters. It was a way to share her life with them and to teach them how to be proud of who they are.

From her time at Fish Camp, Angela also learned the importance of work —that if you want to succeed, then you need to work. Today, this manifests itself in her beading. It’s easy for her to sit down for a few hours and focus on a project. She’s beaded earrings, pins, the tops of gloves, slippers, coasters. A recent project she finished included caribou tufting, raised beadwork and silverberry beads that she harvested herself. She says she’s inspired by the beadwork of her late grandmas and aunts. Their color choices, designs, and techniques. She likes to think about the stories and the experiences that led them to create their art.

Robert Stark is a former army infantryman and the author of Warflower, a book about his upbringing in Alaska and his time in the military. His upbringing was a turbulent one —his dad was absent, his mom struggled with addiction, his brother spent time in prison and his step-dad is serving life in prison for murder. He says he was known as the kid with the family of degenerates —people who drank alcohol, did drugs, stole, and went to prison. Eventually, he found himself struggling with his own alcohol and drug problem. So, he joined the army to travel and to learn more about himself. It was a part of his life that altered his way of thinking and understanding of the world.

It’s been 20 years since he served in Iraq, and he says he’s still working through it. He talks about an experience when one of his fellow infantrymen shot and killed an Iraqi man under questionable circumstances. It was a moment that made him start questioning everything —what they were really fighting for, and how was this man’s act so much different than the one that put his step-dad in prison for life? There was so much to work through after finishing his military service — on top of his family history, he was now thinking about the fog of war. So, he found himself dissociating from his memories and isolating himself for days at a time, smoking weed and drinking.

It took him years to step away from his substance abuse and to gain some clarity and accept the things he had seen and the things that he had done. He spent some time in India and Nepal doing yoga retreats and meditations. He would sit there and visualize the situations he struggled to understand —he would work through them as if he were the people acting them out and then he would embrace them with love and understanding of what led them to making the decisions they made. It’s a technique that helped him understand what he didn’t understand.

Today, in times of personal crisis, he regains his equilibrium by going on walks on his property in Happy Valley, Alaska. Peaceful walks in the woods, among the trees and the birds and the mountains in the distance. He thinks of his wife and his daughters and the man he wants to be —loving, dependable and present.

From the very beginning, Paralympic sit-skier Andrew Kurka was pushing his limits. He was the first sit-skier to ride down Christmas Chute at Alyeska, an in-bounds run with a 45-degree pitch that narrows to about 15-feet. And he’s never been afraid to get hurt. He’s broken his back, his ankles, his wrists, ribs, arm, femur. For him, fear doesn’t factor into his process. When he’s pushing out of the gate at a competition, for example, he’s focused on what he needs to do to win. He’s prepared himself for these moments, so that there are as few surprises as possible. It’s the reason he’s achieved gold medals at the Winter Paralympics, the World Championships and the World Cup. But it took time for him to get to where he’s at right now. He’s always been naturally talented, but he needed to learn how to nurture and develop that talent; He needed to learn how to temper his passion. Among others, he credits Challenge Alaska with not only introducing him to sit-skiing, but helping him realize his potential.

So much of his spirit and his determination comes from the ATV accident that rendered him a paraplegic. He was 13 when it happened, and he says it was the worst thing he could have imagined — going from being a champion high school wrestler to losing the use of his legs. But as time went on, he learned to adapt and the trajectory of his life changed course. He would continue to wrestle for a few more years before getting into sit-skiing.

Years later, trauma visited him again. When he made his first Paralympic games in Sochi, Russia he crashed and broke his back off the first jump. Not long after that, he broke his femur after being hit during training. He says that it was after this last injury — the broken femur —that he learned about the mental and emotional aspect of growth, that just because you failed doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Now, with all the failures and the successes he’s experienced, he looks back on his ATV accident as a learning experience because it made him who he is today.

Kaitlin Armstrong is the host of The Alaska Myth, a podcast that deconstructs the stories created during the Russian settlement and European colonization of Alaska that began in the mid-1700s. Utopian settler stories, stories of the rugged outdoors, ones of monetary opportunity and ones of lawlessness. These stories —often embellished or completely fabricated — have informed the Alaskan identity and sense of place for generations. Meanwhile, overlooking or ignoring the history and the lifeways of the many Alaska Native cultures. Kaitlin says that she’s been thinking about all of this for years, about how the idea of The Last Frontier is subtle and insidious because of what it hides. On the surface, these stories are ones of can-do spirit and gritty individualism, stories that reinforce our idea of Alaskan pride. But underneath all of that, there’s violence, resource extraction and theerasure of Native peoples and their cultures.

Kaitlin grew up in Homer, Alaska. She says she had an idyllic upbringing in the small, tight-knit community. But her understanding of what goes into creating this idyllic place changed over the years. That the land had to be conquered first and then it could be made into the place she grew up in. That knowledge and curiosity extended to her own Honduran heritage, of which she knew little about as a kid. Because, for so long, it was just too difficult for her mom to talk about. But every summer, Kaitlin’s grandma would visit and she would connect with her heritage through her. But, Kaitlin says, she always felt more Alaskan than anything else.

Christopher Michlig is a visual artist and a professor at the University of Oregon, and he recently released a book titled File Under: Slime. In it, he traces the origins of the idea of slime back to the early 1900s, with associations to ectoplasm, femininity, and sexuality. In his research, he found that people like HP Lovecraft and John Paul Sartre helped solidify the concept of slime within philosophy and pop culture, paving the way for it to be an analog, or a proxy, for describing the unknown. In the 1950s, for example, there were movies like The Blob, representing the social anxiety surrounding the atomic bomb. And then in the 1980s — with movies like The Stuff, Street Trash, and The Toxic Avenger — slime represented a fear of toxicity or the handling of toxic waste. Christopher says that what we choose slime to represent evolves over time. More recently, it has entered rap music through artists like N.O.R.E, from Capone-N-Noreaga, and newer guys like Young Thug. The way these rappers are using the word “slime” is different than how it’s been used in the past. It’s positive, it’s a substitute for friend or homie.

He grew up in Girdwood, Alaska, in the ‘80s. He remembers it being a small town back then, maybe about 400 to 500 people. It’s a place that instilled in him the idea of closeness and the importance of a supportive community, sentiments that continue to inspire and influence him. Recently, he’s been doing research on different Aleutian communities, trying to get a better grasp on his family history. He has roots, on his dad’s side, in the Aleutian Islands, before the Russian fur trade. He says it’s been a difficult process, that it’s confusing for him because of the complicated history of Aleutian communities as a result of colonialism and the displacement that occurred during and after World War II. How people who had been living in a place for generations were forced to upend their ancestral ways of living. So, he tries to imagine — even project himself — to the time of his ancestors on the Island of Unga. Without much oral history from his own family to go off of, his research is helping him better understand where he comes from.

Photo by Ilka Sankari