Aaron Jansen illustration

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As 2009 draws to a close, so does the yearlong celebration of Alaska's golden anniversary of statehood.

Actually, yearlong is a bit conservative; the celebrations began back in 2008, when the state marked the 50th anniversary of the passage of the statehood bill, and continued through this year. And that doesn't count all the prep work done by the Alaska Statehood Commission, which was formed way back in 2005.

In the past year and a half (or so), we've commemorated statehood using nearly every vehicle of celebration known to humankind. There have been commemorative celebrations, parades, fireworks, galas, lapel pins, artworks, license plates, plays (one of which I wrote), a history walk, even a commemorative airplane. I wouldn't be surprised if there'd been a commemorative rhythmic gymnastics routine or kazoo quartet thrown in there somewhere. If the 2058-2059 centennial celebration is to have a snowball's chance of out-commemorating the golden anniversary celebration, they'd better form that commission early. Like next week, maybe.

So much planning and hard work has gone into planning this semicentennial (or quinquagenary, depending on who you ask) celebration, in fact, that I've been struck by the contrast between how Alaska has celebrated statehood and how Alaska has practiced statehood. After the drafting of our constitution (which is a pretty magnificent document despite its notable failure to deal with the issue of Native land claims) and the admirably organized effort to lobby for admission to the union, it seems as though we barreled right into statehood as though it were a late-season homebuilding project: Get the roof on before it snows and worry about the wiring when you have time.

As a result of some good fortune (turns out we can pretty much suck money right out of the ground) and a free hand with the bureaucratic duct tape, we've managed a pretty good showing on the statehood front over the past 50 years. But as we graduate to the second half of our first century as a state, I want to take a minute to share some goals I'd like to see us strive for in the next 50:

Bridge the urban-rural divide. Like many of my urban-raised peers, I've never had any desire to live in the Bush. That doesn't mean I can't -- or don't want to -- find common ground with Alaskans who make their homes in the state's remote communities. We all have to recognize the unique difficulties presented by the place we choose to call home, whether they're the urban irritations of snow removal and dealing with eBay sellers who don't seem to understand that Alaska is part of the continental United States, or the rural challenges of balancing subsistence and modern lifestyles and affording enough fuel to make it through the winter.

Respect one another. I'm not saying let's all gather 'round the campfire and sing "Kum Ba Yah" (although if you're interested in that kind of thing, I can bring my guitar). But I can't help thinking that there are far too few of us living here, and there are so many more things that unite us than divide us, that it seems terrifically stupid to spend a lot of time dwelling on our differences -- and insulting one another (and here I am looking right at anyone who has ever used a word like "Dumb-o-crat" or "RePUGnican" in a blog or news story comment).

At the same time, we've got to be able to talk honestly about our differences and what they mean. Alaska Natives have frequently been treated unfairly by the succession of governments -- Russian, federal, state -- that have held control of this place that has always been their home. What should that mean for someone like me, a third-generation Alaskan who feels as at home here as someone whose ancestors have been here "since time immemorial"? And how can we work together to make sure the wrongs of the past aren't compounded in the future?