And they're not “wannabes” - pretending to be indigenous people of North America.
These reindeer hunters and salmon fishers - many of whom were sent to boarding schools - manage their cultural and community affairs within an elected political system. They are intent on preserving their language, land and customs.
“As white indigenous people, we can choose to disappear,” said Egel Olli, president of the Sami Parliament in Karasjok, the elected assembly of the Sami in Norway.
But 30,000 to 50,000 people in Norway have chosen to maintain the lifestyle of their Sami ancestors who inhabited the polar regions of Europe for more than 10,000 years.
I visited with President Olli on a recent trip to Karasjok, the seat of Sami political power in Norway.
We spoke through an interpreter, IngaMarja Matsdatter Steinfjell, as we sat in a conference room of the Sami Parliament building.
It is a stunning piece of award-winning architecture that incorporates the design of the traditional lavvu - tepee-like dwellings used in mountains and tundra while herding reindeer - with the Sami world view.
Inside, a galaxy of lights hangs at different levels from the ceiling, a modern interpretation of stars in a land where I felt I could touch the Northern Lights. The Sami call themselves People of the Sun, the brightest star in our lives.
These days, the Sami don't openly practice any form of traditional religion. But they once “believed in a cosmos of three spheres: the underworld, the real world and the celestial world. Shamans foretold the future and communicated with the gods with the help of sacred drums,” according to the National Sami Information Centre.
Several Sami told me the sacred drums still exist, but are rarely mentioned. It's a part of Sami life that has been repressed. Several years ago, a group of Sami drum keepers died in a bus accident, taking with them the knowledge and location of some of the Southern drums.
It's only been 18 years since the Norwegian government allowed the establishment of the Sami Parliament, an elected assembly whose primary responsibility is to protect and develop the Sami language, culture and community life. The Sami have retained at least three distinct languages, despite colonization by the Norwegians.
I visited Alta, Norway, earlier this month as a speaker at an international indigenous journalism conference titled “Same Voice, But Different.”
The meeting allowed me to visit three Sami towns and villages, including Masi, Karasjok and Kautokeino.
While at a dinner in Masi, considered one of the most traditional villages in Sapmiland, the men and women sang “yoiks,” short songs that told stories of people, places, birds and animals.
On the drive to Masi, we followed the Kautokeino River, which led to the village. In the 1980s, the Norwegian government announced plans to relocate the Sami villagers so they could flood the land and put a dam in place.
This led to hunger strikes and protests among the Sami. Today, they remain on their traditional homelands. They were fortunate, unlike my own tribe, the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara Nation in North Dakota.
In the 1950s, the U.S. Corps of Engineers flooded thousands of acres on the Fort Berthold Reservation. Even though our tribal leaders objected and submitted alternative plans, our pleas fell on deaf ears.
Many of our sacred sites are submerged under hundreds of feet of water - Lake Sakakawea - behind Garrison Dam, one of the largest manmade dams in the U.S.
Tribes all along the Missouri River share similar stories, but no tribe suffered the consequences to the extent we did. Ninety percent of the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara communities had to be moved to higher ground.
Olli shared his stories of the Sami with me. He didn't speak English, and even learning Norwegian had been an unpleasant experience. Many Sami learned this second language at Norwegian-run boarding schools.
Olli said one of his greatest regrets in life is keeping “the mother tongue” away from his children, who now blame him for being stripped of a vital part of Sami life.
Jodi Rave covers Native issues for the Missoulian. Reach her at (800) 366-7186 or jodi.rave@lee.net
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