This issue of Root & Stem explores the relationship between cultural heritage, language and innovation, from the point of view of both youth and elders. Those Inuit youth and Elders all have their own perspective around language when it comes to identity, tradition and community. This issue shows the reader how Indigenous language preservation restores connections, shapes worldviews, inspires innovation, and nurtures community resilience.
This issue was funded in part by the Government of Nunavut, Department of Culture and Heritage.
Guest Editorial
Life Between Knowledge and Absence
There is a particular kind of silence that exists between generations. It’s not anger, it’s the silence of interruption. It appears unexpected in moments like when a word is stuck on the tip of your tongue, or when your hands somehow recognize how to complete a task, but you hesitate, your mind burdened with self-doubt because you were never properly taught the hows or whys of the task.
Many of us Inuit today live in this in-between space, not fully severed from our Inuit knowledge, but not raised entirely in it either. We carry fragments of knowledge passed down unevenly through time, like gestures without full explanation, or values without language. The inherited fragments are just enough to feel the absence and not enough to feel fluent.
The in-between space is not a void. Rather, it’s a space shaped by history, through deliberate disruption shaped by policies and pressures that did not simply remove our culture but broke the ancient systems under which it could be passed down intact. What remains is not only loss; there’s discontinuity, too. This space is often mistaken for failure. We are taught that culture is something you either have or don’t, but the in-between space is where colonial disruption is functioning by design. This is the silence of interruption.
Living this way means we are learning as adults what was once taught through childhood observation, and we feel both grief and gratitude at the same time. Sometimes it carries quiet shame because we are aware that we should already know this, yet the middle is not empty. It is active. It is where we, as older-learners, listen more carefully and ask more deliberately while we learn with intention. It’s where respect becomes practice rather than performance, and those of us in this in-between space are not trying to recreate the past, but we are trying to move forward honestly and practice humbly.

I’ve noticed that what is often overlooked is how much responsibility comes with living this way, because we’re forced to learn without entitlement. Instead, we approach elders, knowledge-keepers, and community members with uncertainty, knowing that knowledge is not guaranteed. You learn along the way that some knowledge is not meant for everyone, and we must practice being patient in a world that prefers immediacy.
In my opinion, the in-between space is where continuity is being rebuilt through careful listening, repetition, and care. Culture doesn’t require perfection in order to be passed down; it requires relationship and honour. Living between knowledge and absence is not eternal, and it is not shameful. It is a mere moment in the longer autobiography of time. While it’s true that the in-between space is shaped by disruption, it’s also shaped by persistence, gratitude, and emotional joy when you’ve successfully reclaimed something small, like sewing a pair of mitts using ancient stitches and ancestral patterns. Harmony lives here. The middle is not where culture ends. It is often where it begins again.
Featured Content
Below is a collection of stories, and comics featured in the twelfth issue of Root & STEM.
