There probably hasn't ever been a high school graduation ceremony in Anchorage like this one. Yes, there was pomp and circumstance at the Alaska Native Heritage Center on May 18. But it was a marriage of village and city life that came about — not by choice — but because of a 2025 storm that ravaged coastal communities in Southwest Alaska.
For the families who were forced to leave, it's been a healing journey. And the graduation of seven students marks an important milestone along the way.
The storm, a presence in the room
"That was some storm that we went through," said Jesse Tanqik Igkurak, a teacher's aide and coach who was in Kwigillingok on Oct. 12, 2025 when hurricane-force winds and flood waters struck the village. With a dry touch of Yup'ik humor, he joked, "It was exciting, scary — but I don't want to go through it again."
The storm, Igkurak said, was very much a presence in the room on graduation day. Memories of the trauma are still fresh.
Igkurak recalled how his house was swept off its foundation and pushed across the flooded tundra into the swift currents of the Kwigillingok River.
"Our house went really fast," Igkurak said. "And when the wind gusts, our house would turn around – one, two-and-a half spins."
"We are all survivors"
Since the storm, Igkurak has worked in the Lower Kuskokwim School District's Anchorage office at College Gate Elementary School. After families were moved to Anchorage, he served as a student advocate, Native Youth Olympics coach, and an unofficial counselor, known affectionally by his nickname, Dunn. He was also one of the main organizers of the graduation ceremony.
Igkurak couldn't help but hover over the students as they donned their caps and gowns. He offered words of encouragement.
"We are all survivors," Igkurak counseled them. "I know we want to graduate back home, but we're not. Just be happy that we are able to walk tonight as one, as survivors."
Community comes together again
Six of the seven graduates attended the ceremony at the Alaska Native Heritage Center, which was packed with about 200 people. It was almost like a reunion for the people of Kipnuk and Kwigillingok, a rare opportunity to be together as a community again.
Normally in a small village, people live and work closely together. But since the evacuees arrived in Anchorage they have been scattered across town. In the months that followed, they went from emergency shelters to hotels, and finally into more permanent housing in different neighborhoods. Also, some families relocated in Bethel, Fairbanks, and other villages.
"Tonight is like a coming together again," said Lori Trussell, the principal of the Kwigillingok school. "This is where the community excels."
After the storm, Trussell spent six days with most of the community at the village school, where they took refuge. She called it a textbook case of cooperation.
Honoring village traditions in the city
"There is a deep respect for the Elders and their wisdom, and a great strength in the younger generation," Trussell said.
Those are the values that Trussell said are celebrated at village high school graduations, where the entire community crams into the school gym to cheer on the graduates, who walk past walls covered with balloons and banners to receive their diplomas.
"There would be a feast after the graduation as well. Native foods such as dry fish and bird soup," said Jason Dan Lewis, a Kwigillingok graduate.
While the elegance of the Alaska Native Heritage Center lacked the intimacy of home, if you closed your eyes you could almost imagine you were in the village — with the sound of babies and small kids in the backdrop and a recording of "Pomp and Circumstance" coming through a scratchy sound system. Almost like home.
Although she was 500 miles away from Kipnuk, a wave of emotions washed over Sophie Paul, waiting for the moment to watch her son, Miisaq, walk down the aisle.
"Several times, he wanted to say, 'Mom, I want to be done.' I said, 'No, Missaq, I want to see you graduate. You can pull through,'" Paul said, her voice choked with tears. "And here he is going to graduate, representing Kipnuk."
Rose ceremomy, a symbol of gratitude
Like a high tide, feelings swelled during the Rose Ceremony, a tradition from Kipnuk and Kwigillingok that Igkurak insisted upon. Each student was given red roses to hand out -- one to each of the five people who helped them the most on their journey.
"I'm going to give my first roses to my parents, because they helped me get here," said Lewis, who gave the remaining roses to other family members. "They've helped me come along this long journey — and it wasn't easy — so I appreciate all their support and all that motivation gave me the confidence to finish school."
Lewis said that his family kept him going as he adjusted to life at Bettye Davis East Anchorage High School, which has 2,000 students, nearly 10 times the size of his school in Kwigillingok.
"I want people to know that there are a lot of students who came a long way, especially coming from all the way from the villages and adapting to the city," Lewis said. "I want them to know that they did an awesome job adapting to the changes."
The ceremony had a mix of speakers from the Lower Kuskokwim School District and that Anchorage School District, who praised the students and their families for their perseverance. "To our graduates, I hope you carry the courage, strength ,and resilience into the next chapter of your life that brought you to this moment today," said Jaime Galvan, Director of Indigenous Education for the Anchorage School District.
Galvan helped to shape the ceremony — one meant to do more than hand out diplomas, but to remind the students of who they are.
"Never forget where you come from, the communities that raised you, and the strength that you carry within you," Galvan said.
Galvan instructed the students to turn the tassels on the caps from the right side to the left side. "This now symbolizes that you guys are all graduates," she said as applause filled the room.
"I don't think there was a dry eye in there," Cheryl Beaver said. Tears welled up in her own eyes, as she watched her son, Kenton Oscar, walk down the aisle.
What endures
As the graduates stood in line to greet friends and family and top off the celebration with cake, Igkurak was busy carrying out one other village tradition. He delivered individual cakes to each graduate, so that they could take them home and enjoy the sweet taste of success with their families. In the village, they would have been homemade cakes made from scratch. But Igkurak presented the Anchorage cakes, decorated with the words, "Class of 2026," to cries of surprise and delight.
"There's this saying that's been passed down: Ilatenata kenkurluki yuukina unaumek, ilavet-llu pikaten anangluten piyaqunak tauggam tunullukuk uniskui," Igkurak said before translating. "Keep loving the person next to you today. Show your love to that person."
In the ceremony, Igkurak said, those words came to life.
"You saw the love coming out of each person, young and old alike," Igkurak said.
The flood may have taken the students far away from the tundra, the rivers, and the rhythms of home. But for Igkurak, what endures is as strong as ever: family, culture, and community — proof that what matters most can't be washed away.
