Little People

Tales of diverse humanoid beings of short stature can be found the world around. Gnomes, trolls, and dwarves have been known to dwell throughout Europe. The Irish have leprechauns; the British have hobbits, and the Yup’ik maintain that the mysterious lights appearing on the dark, wintry, Southwestern Alaskan nights belong to the little people whom reside in the outlying regions of the tundra villages.

The notion of Hobbits and leprechauns can be easily digested given the fact that these tales are typically placed neatly within the confines of fantasy, myth, legend, and folklore as opposed to the not-so-palatable notion that little people are current phenomenon, dwelling in the outskirts of one’s home town.

For some time I had heard about these little people, but only in passing. I had developed some questions as I was unclear at the moment, as to whether what I was hearing was true or if it was merely a notion conjured up to take gussicks on the proverbial “ride”. Fortune was on my side, however. The topic was broached in one of my classes and I was afforded the opportunity to probe the minds of the Yup’ik youth. What occurred went a little something like this:

Me: “Has anyone caught one?”
Students: “They’re too fast. They ride snow-machines.”

Me: “They ride snow-machines?”
Students: “Yes.”

Me: “How did they get them?”
Students: “Naam” (Translation—I don’t know).

Me: “Where do they live”?
Students: “In houses”.

Me: “Then surely we will be able to find them”.
Students: “They can’t be found”.

Me: “Well then how do you know they exist”?
Students: “My cousin/auntie/brother/neighbor has seen one near the store/out in the tundra”.

Me: “Bull”
Students: “You don’t know. You don’t believe. They’re real”.

Now, Yup’ik people are story-tellers, fibbers, or liars, depending on how one chooses to look at it. Asking a question, making a statement, or any other prompt directed toward a Yup’ik person will lead immediately to a false response. For whatever reason, not telling the truth at the outset has become so ingrained and so habitual that one begins to believe that this fine art had been employed as a survival tactic and had been subsequently honed over generations.
In instances such as these, playing the “bull” card (similar to our BS) is sufficient enough to inspire a giggle (the response to being called out) and a purge of the truth. Given the responses to some of the questions I had posed, I felt certain that I was being had, if you will, and that by playing the card I would finally relieve myself of what was, to me, nonsensical gibberish. To my surprise, my statement was not replied to via the means I had anticipated. In place of laughter, I received anger and frustration of the variety that comes as a result of a long-held belief coming to blows with the faculties of reason. As the students became more tense and the atmosphere a bit more hostile, I decided that the conversation needed to be deterred from its present course. The topic was no doubt, a sensitive one.

I emerged for the encounter with the sense that these students believed wholeheartedly in the existence of little people and I began to formulate theories as to why or how this came to be. The best I could come up with was that this must be a story that had been contrived by parents so as to keep their children from wandering too far out in to the unforgiving, ice-covered wasteland.

Time passed, as time does, and nothing more was mentioned of the little people until I was confronted by the mother of one of my students. I had anticipated the conversation would center on the student’s performance, but was surprised to find that the mother’s focus concerned my disbelief of the presence of little people. Reason is unfortunate in that, if used successfully, it can be used to bolster any “truth”. As such the reasonableness of my theory eroded when possessed by a look of grave concern, this mother began to restate many of the arguments made by the students as well as share additional affirmations for the existence of the little people. Clearly, this notion was not one held solely by students, but by adults as well. As I encountered more villagers, more stories surfaced, coupled with the sharp, concerned look that spoke of a deep, enduring conviction that seems to persist despite the fact that no little person or even an artifact for that matter has ever been recovered. Nevermind such trivialities. These people it seemed, for some reason truly believed. As such, I began to question myself. What proof did I have that little people didn’t exist, anyway? Who was I to come in and start shelling out “truth” about a locality I know little about? Moreover, why was I so vehemently anti-little people? Could it be that I was the delusional one?

Then it dawned on me. At the outset it seemed that I had been pursuing this idea as an open, objective observer, but a closer look led me to the horrid truth that I was merely trying to utilize the faculties of reason to rationalize away the existence of little people so that I could, at least in my own mind, free myself from the notion that I was, at any given moment, amidst an unknown-sized population of David-inspired-ankle-biters whose vehement assaults on large people has perpetuated ever since the tainting of Goliath’s good name.

So even now, despite a smattering of testimonies by countless sources, I remain with my delusions so as to avoid the catatonic despair that would undoubtedly set in if I were to wake up and realize the "truth" of the events transpiring around me. Or better yet, maybe I'll "get a grip", become pro-active, set a trap, catch one, come to terms with its existence, follow in the footsteps of the great P.T. Barnum and set my sights on the largly untapped Alaskan-bush freak market.