Old Places and Old People

Dramatic population aging and decline is, in historical terms, a relatively new phenomenon in the history of Newfoundland and Labrador – it is fair to say that the critical turning point occurred in 1992, with the cod moratorium (a turning point for many things). Nonetheless the phenomenon is much talked about. It even gets a mention on the Heritage website.

For years the talk was about outmigration. It seems like I grew up with the word, actually, being a teenager in the 1990s. But outmigration has apparently tapered off somewhat these days, and the discussion has shifted to the fact that Newfoundland is getting to be an island full of old people.

In a recent article by political writer Jeffrey Simpson, the subject got some attention at the national level. Simpson’s demographic data was gleaned from a recent paper by MUN’s Keith Storey, which is accessible on the Harris Centre website as a presentation: “Help Wanted”: Demographics, Labour Supply and Economic Change in Newfoundland and Labrador. Gary Kelly also published a recent blog post focused on similar demographic issues in the Corner Brook area in particular.

Some of the most troubling facts are:

• Population has declined by 12% since 1992
• Newfoundland has the lowest birth rate in Canada (down from the highest a few decades ago)
• Our death rate is higher than our birth rate
• Our population is rapidly aging: the median age in 1971 was 20.9, in 2008 it was 42.

And, to top it all off, despite these facts, the urban areas of the province (primarily Town) are stable and actually growing. Which underscores the fact that population age and decline are primarily happening in the outports and in rural Newfoundland and Labrador generally.

The purpose of Storey’s presentation was to identify the looming macroeconomic issues which are a natural consequence of the demographic shift (such as labour market imbalance, health care costs, and declining municipal revenue bases) and to address the policies and possible strategies to deal with those issues. I don’t mean to discuss any of those practical concerns here – although they do weigh heavily on my mind – but really only feel compelled to share my personal reaction to all this.

The Fading of Old Places

One of the consequences of the slow aging and trickling away of people in the outports is the death of places. The capital-’R’ Resettlement we all know about happened in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s (my mother-in-law is from a resettled community). But in recent years resettlement has quietly returned. 2002 saw the resettlement of the residents of Great Harbour Deep. Next year will see the upcoming resettlement of Grand Bruit.

In terms of recorded human history no European settlement in the New World is very old. So, Great Harbour Deep couldn’t as easily have been called an old place in comparison to, say, Athens, which has millennia of continuous human settlement. But there were people (French people) in Great Harbour Deep in the 17th century, which, in New World time, made it pretty old in 2002. And there is something very sad about a place that has had people as long as that suddenly disappearing from the map.

People leave their homes all the time to pursue opportunities elsewhere in their countries or in the world. But usually they leave a place full of people behind them. What does it feel like to be the last person in a once-lively place to close your door and never go back, knowing the place is empty save for ghosts, memories and the wind?

I think of the places that I have a personal connection to that have seen more vibrant days: Bishop’s Falls, where I was a child, Norris Arm and Comfort Cove in the Bay of Exploits (my mother’s side), and Hillview and St. Jones Within in Trinity Bay (my father’s side). Although I rarely visit these places now, imagining the possiblity of their complete abandonment by people is – so to speak – unsettling.

Detail from Samuel de Champlain's 1612 map. Great Harbour Deep appears as Baye dorge.