In Nunavik, leadership rarely belongs to one person. It moves across organizations and between communities where everyone is, in some way, connected. In a region of roughly 13,000 people spread across 15 villages, the idea of standing alone as a leader is not only unrealistic, but it runs counter to a deeper, long-standing way of doing things.
What is now often described as “collective leadership” is, for many in the region, simply continuity.
For Makivvik Corporate Secretary Alicia Aragutak, that reality is grounded first in numbers. “It’s not about what I want it to be,” she says. “It’s about how many people we are, and there’s not a lot of us.” In Nunavik, the same individuals are often called upon to lead in multiple spaces: municipal councils, school boards, regional bodies, committees. Every file, whether it concerns housing, education, or mental health, draws from the same limited pool of people.
That overlap forces a kind of shared responsibility. Leadership becomes less about authority and more about coordination about how people step in for one another, fill gaps, and carry work collectively when human resources are stretched thin.
Aragutak sees this not as a modern invention, but as some-thing rooted in Inuit practice. She recalls an Elder describing annual gatherings in Kuujjuaraapik (Great Whale River), where families would come together for baptisms, marriages, and community check-ins. People assessed each other’s wellbeing, identified needs, and offered support. A family struggling one year might find help from another, with the understanding that the balance would shift again over time.
“It was kind of like a celebration,” she says, “but also to assess, and ask, ‘how are we doing?’”
That question still shapes how Nunavik’s institutions operate today. At Makivvik, it happens in regular all-organization meetings, where leaders from across the region come together to share updates, raise concerns, and align priorities. These meetings, often held ahead of annual general meetings, create space for deeper discussion than formal presentations allow.
“We see what our pressing issues are, what we’re going through as a region,” Aragutak explains. “How can we help each other out?”
At the centre of that network sits Makivvik, responsible for protecting and implementing the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement. Over time, its role has expanded beyond administration into coordination. When gaps appear in services or when pressure needs to be applied to governments, Makivvik often becomes the bridge between communities and provincial or federal decision-makers.
For Makivvik President Pita Aatami, that role depends entirely on teamwork. “Collective leadership is teamwork,” he says. “It’s something I really try to make people understand. It takes a team to make it happen.”
Aatami has worked to embed that philosophy internally. One of the changes he introduced when he returned to Makivvik was to rotate the chair of executive meetings. Instead of the president always leading discussions, every executive member is given the opportunity.
“So, everybody is a leader,” he says. “Every time there is a meeting, it’s not just me being president, it’s everybody else.”
The intention is not only to share responsibility, but to reinforce a mindset. Leadership is not a title but a role that shifts depending on the moment and the need. Even when one person appears to be leading, Aatami insists the work is always collective. “Some people think they do things by themselves, but there’s a whole team behind the scenes.”
That approach has shaped how Makivvik engages with other regional organizations as well. Nunavik’s institutional landscape is complex, with bodies responsible for health, education, municipal governance, economic development, and culture. While each operates independently, their mandates often overlap, and their success depends on coordination.
To manage that complexity, Aatami has prioritized regular communication through meetings, conference calls, and direct outreach to leaders across the region. “I want to make sure that we’re all working for the same goal,” he says, “which is to help out people living in Nunavik.”
That goal, he emphasizes, extends to everyone in the region, regardless of background. “These organizations are for everyone, not just for Inuit, but for everyone who lives in the region.”
In practice, that means listening as much as leading. Aatami describes a willingness to step back when others bring forward stronger ideas. “If your idea is going to help people and it’s better than my idea, I’ll run with your idea and give you credit for it.”
That openness is critical in a system where no single organization holds all the answers. Aragutak describes the network as something like an octopus: Makivvik at the centre, with multiple “tentacles” reaching into different sectors. Each has its own expertise, but all are connected.
Yet that interconnectedness can also create tension. Collaboration, both Aragutak and Aatami acknowledge, is not always easy. “It’s easier and faster to work alone,” Aragutak says. “But the end result is always better when you collaborate.”
At the same time, the sheer number of organizations in Nunavik presents its own challenge. Over the years, new bodies have been created to address specific issues, like land management, culture, recreation, and social services which can strain limited human resources.
In smaller communities, the impact is especially visible. A handful of individuals may be expected to sit on multiple committees, manage programs, and maintain administrative responsibilities. “There’s almost an organization per capita,” Aragutak jokes.
For her, this raises questions about efficiency and sustainability. Rather than continuing to expand, there may be a need to streamline by finding ways to reduce duplication and better align efforts. “No one organization has all the expertise,” she says. “We need to utilize each other.”
That idea of complementarity, of each organization acting like a tool in a larger kit, aligns closely with Aatami’s emphasis on teamwork. Both point toward a model where strength comes not from independence, but from coordination.
The importance of that model becomes even clearer in discussions about Nunavik’s future. As conversations around self-determination continue, the structure of governance may change, but both leaders agree that the principle of collective leadership must remain.
“It has to continue,” Aatami says. “It will be even more important when we have our own government in place.”
Aragutak envisions a system where roles are more clearly defined, where Makivvik could function as a central government, with other organizations acting like departments. But even in that scenario, collaboration would remain essential, not optional.
In the end, collective leadership in Nunavik is not just a strategy but a necessity shaped by history, geography, and community. For Aatami, the principle is simple. “We do it together,” he says. “And we succeed together when we do it together.”
