A kuspuk of solidarity: tradition, community, and advocacy

“I think I started helping (my mother) when I was about eight or nine, doing the laundry and the dishes and stuff like that. But I would also have to soak these empty flour sacks in water and scrape off the label,” Agnes reminisced when we talked earlier this year. “At the time, the reason they made (kuspuks) was there was a lot of mosquitoes and a lot of gnats. They would get in your eyes, your nose, your ears and mouth and hair and they would just bite you.” So, her mother, alongside the other mothers of her village and the generations before them, made them kuspuks. “I don’t know how she ever made them, but she made each one and they would fit us really perfectly.” 

Akin to the modern-day “hoodie,” a kuspuk, or qaspeq in the languages of the Yup’ik and Dena’ina people, held much of the same utility as its modern counterpart. These were not the vibrant, decorative pieces we often see today. These were born from a necessity and made from the sacks of the flour which helped feed their family. 

The story behind my personal kuspuk is twofold. In the same way Agnes’ mother made her kuspuks to meet the specific physical needs of her family, I chose my fabric with a different kind of important purpose in mind. 

While inspired from earlier movements, the 1988 announcement of the World Council of Churches Ecumenical Decade of Churches in Solidarity with Women (1988-1998) brought with it the Thursdays in Black initiative, to raise awareness for and address gender-based violence within and outside of faith communities. It is because of this that one of the colors of my kuspuk is black.

But when I wear my kuspuk for the World Council of Churches, I still sometimes get questions about why I am wearing it because it is not strictly black. It is also red. 

Since the idea was first introduced as part of a 2010 University of Winnipeg art installation called The REDress Project (and later more widely picked up a few years later), red has come to represent the lives of missing and murdered Indigenous women.

Receiving this kuspuk was a tangible sign of care from my community, but it has become much more than a gift; it is a cultural touchstone for our advocacy. It serves as a symbol of remembrance and resistance that connects generations and movements for justice. Wearing it (or even just reflecting on it) is an invitation to stand together and honor heritage while working toward a world free from violence.

“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony.” (Colossians 3:14 [NLT])