For the first time in a long time, there’s a real, healthy debate going on in Canada about Indigenous peoples and rights. An awakening for some. Re-awakening for others. A discovery and an education for most — including a lot of Indigenous people. Almost every big name in Canadian journalism has had their say, along with a whole lot of academics and politicians, from one end of the country to the next, and among every hue and body type.
Now, it’s your turn, for good or for ill, or any point in between. I’m asking you to complete the following sentence: “Idle No More has…” Here are some examples to give you an idea of what I mean.
Idle No More has…
…changed my life.
…changed my country.
…opened my eyes.
Maybe you’d like to say a lot more. Please do. Take it however and whichever way you wish, though constructive is always nice. All you got to do is just complete this simple sentence:
Idle No More has…
Note: to do this, you’ll have to utilize our DISQUS comment system. No worries, though: you can sign up for an account using either Google or Twitter log-ins, or an email address.
I didn’t really mean to be too provocative with that headline. (Okay, that’s a lie. Still, if it got your attention…) But, I have to say it: all these calls of late for nation-to-nation relationships between the Crown and Indigenous peoples? They don’t appear to have been backed up in practice on much if not most of the Indigenous side. (The Canadian side is a whole different kettle of Kanata.)
Here’s what I’m talking about. Below you’ll find a list containing the majority of what we might call the higher-level political Aboriginal organizations. Look it over, then see if you don’t notice a pattern. (Hint: there’s something ‘linking’ them all together.)
Spot a thread there? Well, besides their being fairly workmanlike names, they’re also pretty darn derivative — in more ways than one. Indeed, every one of these ostensibly independent organizations has opted to fashion and form itself according to the inherently dependent boundaries of non-Indigenous provinces (and one territory). The Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations, the Chiefs of Ontario, the Council of Yukon First Nations… you get the picture. But, in principle, shouldn’t this picture be painted differently, i.e., more in accordance with our traditional borders, ones that are closer to what existed prior to contact? (Métis homelands obviously emerged post-contact but the principle here is the same.)
So, what is meant by an Indigenous or Aboriginal Nation? The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP) laid it out pretty plainly in 1996:
An Aboriginal Nation should be defined as a sizeable body of Aboriginal people that possesses a shared sense of national identity and constitutes the predominant population in a certain territory or collection of territories. Thus, the Mi’kmaq, the Innu, the Anishnabe, the Blood, the Haida, the Inuvialuit, the western Métis Nation and other peoples whose bonds have stayed at least partly intact, despite government interference, are nations. There are about 1,000 reserve and settlement communities in Canada, but there are 60 to 80 Aboriginal nations.
(FYI, the Assembly of First Nations, or AFN, is made up of about 630+ reserve communities, or about a 60 per cent chunk of that 1,000 figure that RCAP mentions.)
Now, as AFN’s list of ‘provincial/territorial organizations’ (PTOs) reveals, they don’t all necessarily confine themselves to strictly non-Indigenous parameters: some approximate the Nation ideal, such as Denendeh (Dene Nation) and the Innu Nation. Others opt for what we might call a ‘sub-Nation’ approach, a regional federation of smaller communities who, generally speaking, share the same language and culture. The Confederacy of Mainland Micmacs and the Eeyou Istchee (Grand Council of the Crees) are examples of this.
Treaties 1763-2005 (Click to enlarge)
Then there are those Indigenous organizations who have opted to set up according to Treaty boundaries:
That Treaty basis of self-organization speaks to the nation-to-nation notion in that only nations can enter and negotiate treaties.
Last up in this crude effort at a basic (and no doubt incomplete) typology of large-scale Aboriginal political organizations, are those regional federations whose geographical and/or political situation (but not necessarily cultural ties) made an alliance attractive to its constituent communities. In some cases, their membership overlaps with some of the other entities referenced here (for example, the Atlantic Policy Congress of First Nations Chiefs, whose Mi’kmaq, Maliseet, Innu and Passamaquoddy Chiefs hail from 38 Communities in Atlantic Canada, Quebec, and Maine). The Association of Iroquois & Allied Indians, another such cross-cultural entity, considers itself “unique among [PTOs] in Canada, because it is an association of several different member Nations; the Oneida, the Mohawk, the Delaware, the Potawatomi and the Ojibway.”
(I do need to be honest that I am unclear as to where I might slot the Council of Conne River Micmacs, akaMiawpukek, which, as the lone, somewhat small, reserve community on the island province of Newfoundland was listed on AFN’s website as a PTO.)
Permit me to return to my larger point, which applies in the main to those Indigenous organizations who remain attached to and aligned along a provincial/territorial border, a boundary of their own choosing but not at all of their own making. For I do think an argument can be made that structuring yourself according to another political entity’s borders is both counter-intuitive and contradictory to the case for sovereignty. If ‘First Nations’ are in fact different, should they not act and organize differently here?
While it is entirely possible that I am being needlessly reductive (and would in that instance sincerely invite some course correction in the DISQUS comments section below), I ask that you examine each entity I have listed here to see if what I say might apply.
Moreover, none of this is to say provinces, territories, and other sundry borders don’t matter or should be utterly disavowed: they very much matter. But just like many political bodies allow for some form of internal clustering or sub-groupings (caucuses, committees, etc) on a permanent or temporary basis, so too could Indigenous bodies.
Take my peeps — Nehiyawak or Crees — as an example. If there was a Cree Nation, a confederacy comprised of Cree now living across multiple provinces, a territory and one US state (see the map; click to enlarge), all those non-Cree boundaries cutting through our traditional lands and waters would likely give rise to the need for specific caucuses to address concerns unique to a region. (In a sense, replicating what the Grand Council of the Crees in Quebec have already done in their part of ‘greater Cree-dom.’)
My somewhat scurrilous headline aside, none of this has been meant as a criticism so much as an observation. And frankly, it would be less confusing to others when they hear the calls for recognition of our respective nation-hoods if they could see us walk our own talk. Arguably, Idle No More has opened a space for this sort of discussion. Or should I say re-opened that space — as Métis blogger extraordinaire âpihtawikosisân recently pointed out, when it comes to imagining the terms of a renewed relationship, RCAP has already done much of the heavy lifting. Here’s some of what the Commission had to say about restoring the Nation model to Indigenous peoples:
the right of self-government cannot reasonably be exercised by small, separate communities, whether First Nations, Inuit or Métis. It should be exercised by groups of a certain size — groups with a claim to the term ‘nation.’ The problem is that the historical Aboriginal nations were undermined by disease, relocations and the full array of assimilationist government policies. They were fragmented into bands, reserves and small settlements. Only some operate as collectivities now. They will have to reconstruct themselves as nations.
Now, our messy histories together — Indigenous and Settler — means that all of this is waaaayy more complicated than I admittedly present it here (for example, I know that in largely treaty-less British Columbia it’s reasonable for Indigenous communities there to have found common cause in a common problem vis-a-vis BC and affiliate accordingly, co-existent with tribal councils spanning smaller areas). But, I hope my basic point has been made and found to be of some use. May it fit beneficially into a larger discussion about truly operationalizing our quest to live out Indigenous Nationhood as we see it, not necessarily and automatically as others would have us do it.
As people frantically try to get a handle on the explosive, never-a-dull-day developments in Indian Country lately, one recent exchange in the media caught my attention: the battle to characterize and frame the semi-spontaneous events on the ground collectively known as ‘Idle No More.’
The exchange began when National Post columnist Andrew Coyne asserted the following in his Jan. 7 column, “Meeting with Harper won’t settle aboriginal people’s problems”:
“the longer Idle No More has gone on, the more it has become clear it is not so much a dispute between aboriginal Canadians and the Harper government, but between rival factions in the aboriginal community”
“Factions”— as in, ‘divided,’ or ‘split,’ or ‘to be without common purpose.’ And, depending on how it is deployed, the term can be meant to imply confusion or inconsistency on the part of those so factionalized. Read Coyne’s piece for yourself to decipher and decide his intent.
Now I can’t be sure, but it does appear that MEDIA INDIGENA’s own Hayden King has likely read Coyne’s column. In his Jan. 9 commentary (“We natives are deeply divided. There’s nothing wrong with that”) for the Globe and Mail, King notes that
“while [Indigenous peoples] share a lot of important traits, there is also much that differentiates us. … the fact that there are 60-odd unique Indigenous nations in Canada (scattered across 600 communities) is lost on Canadian punditry, media and most of the public generally. Recent attempts to interpret the Idle No More movement has resulted in conclusions of sudden divisions, fracturing and ‘chiefs losing control.’”
Here, King seems to be re-stating the obvious: the basic fact that, like most folks, not all Indigenous people agree on everything all the time. Some pursue one path (encompassing certain goals and/or tactics), and some pursue another. And what’s true between Indigenous peoples is also true within their ranks as well: so, not all Nehiyawak think like Haida, and not all Haida think precisely the same as other Haida.
Which, when you think about it, is kind of like how not all Canadians agree on whether to support or slam the Idle No More movement. If only they could get their acts together. I kid.
That said, I have no doubt Coyne would readily acknowledge and allow for such diversity of opinion and action among Aboriginal people, but where he clearly differs with King is on what meaning or significance to attach to those differences.
The court that handles claims against the federal government swatted Ottawa on the back of the head today and took 175 pages or so to state the constitutionally obvious. Essentially, what they said was that all people in Canada must be recognized, consulted and negotiated with by Ottawa when it makes decisions affecting our lives. (You can read the full judgment here.)
The numbers matter because the scope could feasibly change the identity of the nation. If we’re all Métis or Aboriginal in some way, then we’re consulting with ourselves about fiduciary responsibility and environmental protection and land claims, and theoretically we should get what’s fair and that will mean a big change for most of us. And let’s face it: when one party is reminded they have to take everyone in the other party into account, everyone is affected. Everyone wins. And everyone pays.
But I suspect there will be some dancing on the head of a pin ahead.
The Minister who heads the department that’s supposed to be handling Aboriginal Affairs says he’s reviewing the ruling. But, he gravely noted, it shouldn’t be interpreted to have anything to do with Aboriginal rights. It just opens the definition of “Indian” to include some people who have heretofore been known as “Métis,” along with those who have a sort of curious “Indian-without-Indian-identity” status. Analysts say that now means the feds will have to offer an explanation as to why some “Indians” are going to be treated differently than other “Indians.” But the probability remains that the treatment will be different.
Some native leaders, Manitoba Métis Federation chief David Chartrand among them, aren’t precisely laughing out loud about the ruling for other reasons. Chartrand notes that being identified as a “title Indian” under the Constitution isn’t exactly a ticket to the First Class lounge — or even to the airport. And he’s rightly very protective of the singular identity forged by the people born of the dueling factions of native and non-native, an identity he doesn’t want to see eroded by court decree.
So there will be some careful jockeying around the “relationship” we have with one another in the weeks, years, and aeons ahead.
Harry Daniels
The national chief of the Congress of Aboriginal Peoples, Betty Ann Lavallée, says this is a ruling about dignity, pride and self-worth. The man who launched the entire shooting match, Harry Daniels, is no longer with us to comment, but it was his fight and he was fierce about ensuring Ottawa lived up to its responsibilities so I suspect a smile might cross his lips.
Still, successive federal governments of this land have a history of spending money to dodge some of those responsibilities.
Let’s just say the strategy of divide-and-conquer took a hit today.
Jane Glennon (Woodland Cree), B.A., B.S.W., M.S.W., is a retired social worker, counsellor and teacher who currently lives in Prince Albert, SK. A member of the Peter Ballantyne Cree Nation, her published work includes “Traditional Parenting,” a chapter in the book, As We See… Aboriginal Pedagogy (University of Saskatchewan Extension Press, 1998).
= = =
“The only way to save our dreams
is by being generous with ourselves.”
—Paulo Coelho
= = =
It has taken me a long time — literally decades — to try and tell my story, a story that I’ve never disclosed in its entirety to anyone, not even family. Accompanying me on my first steps down this path are the words of Paulo Coelho, the brilliant Brazilian writer whose works have sold over 100 million copies in sixty-nine languages. Coelho is among the authors I most admire and his writings truly inspire and motivate me, and after reaching out to him for counsel on the writing of my biography, Mr. Coelho shared with me the words you see above. It is in the spirit of his words that I now share mine.
* * *
I consider myself a product of the residential school era, but I do not consider myself a victim.
What I am is a survivor, and I can honestly state that, prior to being taken away to residential school, life consisted of positive childhood events and memories. I felt secure, safe, nurtured, and protected by my family. Much of those feelings changed in the schools I attended.
If you’ve heard or know little about these schools — launched in the 1870s, officially ended in 1986, when the last institution closed its doors — there is by now plenty of research and books written about the subject. One of the best is John S. Milloy’s A National Crime, in which he painstakingly traces the history and reality of the residential school era. Intent on ‘civilizing’ Aboriginal children by transforming little pagans into brown-skinned white members of society, the federal government enlisted the help of the Presbyterian, Anglican, United and Roman Catholic Churches.
Today, it is clearly evident that Canada has failed in its objective of absorbing First Nations people into mainstream society. But what it has done is seed dysfunction and despair among the thousands of Aboriginal people who’ve passed through the residential school system.
* * *
Click to enlarge
I was born in the late fall of 1940, in a little pine house my father built on a piece of land somewhere between the two northern Saskatchewan reserves of Pelican Narrows and Deschambault Lake (see map: click to enlarge). It was there that my family — Cree speakers all — first resided every fall, and it was there one early November some 72 years ago that a fair-sized baby girl with thick, unusually long black hair came into this world. Assisting in the delivery was my mother’s stepmother, a woman I would never again meet or remember. I was the fifth out of ten children.
Along with my hair, another trait setting me apart from the rest of my family was my medium complexion. As my siblings tell it, that dark hair, lighter skin combination inspired my nickname — sihkos, or ‘weasel’ in Cree, an animal known for its white fur and jet black tail. By the following springtime, my family moved to Deschambault Lake where, with the exception of winters, we lived for much of the next two years.
My older sister Rose told me that I started to talk and walk from a very early age. I was also thought of as a replacement for another infant baby sister who had passed away. From as far back as I can remember, I felt very much loved by both parents: though I received special treatment, I never felt any jealousy from my siblings when extra attention was paid to me.
My parents noticed early on that I quickly understood what they taught me, and how I soaked up everything that I needed to know. Our parish priest used to teach the children Cree syllabics and he marveled at how fast I could learn. He tried to convince my parents that I was gifted and should go to school when the chance came along.
Some of my family’s memories of my first year include this anecdote from my sister Rose. One day, she and my mother were out walking along the shore checking traps. Meanwhile, my mother had me in tow on her back inside a wooden tihkinâkan, or cradleboard. Beautifully decorated, it had been made especially for me by my mother’s stepmother; Rose said it was worthy of being put on display in a museum. But on that particular day my mother had neglected to properly tie the cradleboard’s strings together. Consequently, I slipped out, and was very nearly dropped into the water next to the traps! Alas, that tihkinâkan would one day be stolen from our cabin while my family was away.
Personally, my most vivid childhood memory consists of the summer canoe trips my family took part in almost every year, typically in June, just prior to the beginning of the commercial fishing season. The canoe was filled up with my parents, eleven siblings plus as many as five dogs. With stops at other reserves as our destinations, travel used to take a week between each location. The best part of these excursions for me were the stopovers, whereupon the family enjoyed traditional foods such as moose meat, all kinds of berries, ducks, fish and other wild game. My father and brothers were good hunters and fishermen.
By the fall of 1943, my family had once again re-located, this time to Southend, a small Indian reserve based at the southern tip of Reindeer Lake in Saskatchewan. In winters, though, the family migrated to Jack Pine, a small settlement situated some distance from the reserve. I recall some happy times at Jack Pine, when relatives from other families would also winter there. My cousins and I used to play on the ice, making snow houses. Other times, we’d slide on a hill with pieces of cardboard boxes. One time, I had the bright and holy idea to enact the appearance of the Virgin Mary to three poor children in Portugal. My cousins made a makeshift grotto and each of us had a role to play. The parish priest used to tell us these type of stories; I must have been greatly impressed by this particular one. The Catholic religious indoctrination was certainly being ingrained even at this young age.
Another early memory dates back to our time at Jack Pine. At about age six, I developed an infection in both ears. With no medical help nearby, my father instructed my mother to sew two small canvas bags. He then proceeded to fill them with sand he had heated up on our wood stove. Covering the bags with towels, he held them on both of my ears, upon which my pain soon subsided and I fell into a sound sleep.
My parents knew a thing or two about medicinal matters, and there is a whole history of Aboriginal peoples using herbs and plants for such purposes. Like many at the time, my parents were familiar with muskrat root or wîhkes, a plant which apparently got its name from the way that this animal liked to chew on its white fleshy roots. Crushed wîhkes could both treat toothaches (when packed into a cavity) and sore throats (when used as a tea). Spruce tree gum was also useful: my mother would melt it in a frying pan with lard, making a creamy substance good for healing cuts and sores. A certain part of the bark of poplar trees was added to boiling water, with the resulting liquid given to mothers after birth to stop bleeding. I used to love gathering wild mint because I enjoyed the fragrance and the family loved its tea; it was also a good cough remedy, according to my grandmother. I remember gathering up moss from the muskeg and then hanging it to dry on a tree, after which I’d clean the moss for later use at home: inserted between two flannel cloths, the moss served as a diaper, a technique I was told would prevent rashes.
Poverty was an issue influencing my young mind at the time but I never expressed any dissatisfaction about my family’s living conditions. I recall how, as a young girl, I’d use a piece of fire wood as my doll because my parents could not afford to buy us toys. My friends and I would use empty food cans and discarded pieces of cloth to set up a store emulating the Hudson’s Bay Company, which operated the only retail outlet on the reserve. I used to have grand scale ideas about building my own house and had figured out all the details about how the home was going to look inside.
* * *
By the late 1940s, I would be of age to attend residential school. With no formal education available at Southend, the only option was for me to join the many other children already attending an institution located far away from home. My parents were Anglicans, and I remember vividly the priest at the reserve telling them, “The school does not take Protestants.” This meant my parents had to agree to get me baptized into Catholicism before I could be accepted into the residential school.
I remember not wanting to leave home. My parents were also reluctant to let me go because I was to be away for ten months of the year. The priest, however, reminded my parents of my potential and how quickly I learned. Meanwhile, the Indian Agent — a representative of the Department of Indian Affairs who dictated the lives of First Nations people through the Indian Act — emphasized the fact that Indian parents were required to send their children to these schools.
My first unhappy trip to a residential school took place one sad day in September 1949. It was a devastating time in my young life, and I have often wondered whether it was worth it. To this day, the sound of an airplane still triggers memories of the first time I had to leave home for school. It’s a sound that would repeat many times in my young life, as the plane came back to gather the children up for another ten months of loneliness and heartbreak.
My parents had insisted that I be accompanied at school by my older sister; her role was to take care of me there. Through the Indian Agent, my mother and father also requested that the school not cut my long black hair, which had always been done up neatly in pigtails.
I shed a lot of tears that first day of my first year of residential school. Even now, my eyes well up every time I remember it. To be separated from my family was beyond heartbreaking: I was so very lonesome and cried every night. My older sister tells me that she used to try to comfort me but would only end up crying with me.
Like so many Indigenous children before and after me, my life was about to change dramatically. Forced to embark upon a journey into a foreign environment and culture, I was now on my way into a totally different way of life. Little did I know at the time that this flight would be just the first of many, as I would spend much of the next ten years of my childhood in three separate residential schools across two Prairie provinces. In my next instalment, I will write of the first of these experiences.
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For the first time in a long time, there’s a real, healthy debate going on in Canada about Indigenous peoples and rights. An awakening for some. Re-awakening for others. A discovery and an education for most — including a lot of Indigenous people. Almost every big name in Canadian journalism has had their say, along with a whole lot of academics and politicians, from one end of the country to the next, and among every hue and body type.
