Tag: #indigenoushistory
History
I am a survivor – yes, a survivor of history, a survivor of residential school. Though I did not attend, I was never the less there. I survived it. I was there, I was there before I was born.
This is not ancient history, a story, it is real and it is my history.
I survived the hurt, the anger, the fear – the tears – the sorrow – the betrayal of trust. A child’s trust, the loss of that innocence.
I survived. I survived the wicked behaviour called “discipline”. I survived the shame, humiliation, self-hatred and the loss. “You are nothing, you dirty Indian”
I survived the losses.
The loss of language, culture, history and pride.
THE LOSS, THE LOSS, THE LOSS!!!
The loss of safety, security, and the loss of family, for generations.
How can this be? How did I survive, you ask???
I did, I survived….
I am a survivor of my fathers pain and my Mosom’s shame. I am a survivor of the betrayal, two generations of “education”.
Yes, I did not go to residential school but my family did. My family was sentenced there. The terms were carried out over several generations, sentencing that carried a legacy, holding us, stealing life from us, slowing us, paining us.
It taught my family not just reading and writing. It taught shame, self-hatred and created the need to forget.
It taught my Mosom Self-loathing, it raised him up in foreign ways. It told him “remember your place” “say your prayers, you’ll go to hell” and it created shame, shame, shame.
It taught my father to forget. The only direction to turn – ANYTHING to help you forget. But it was not gone. It never leaves, it was ALWAYS there. It is always there.
It is there in the fear and the tears and the sorrow. It is there in the behaviours, the promises and the inter-generational sorrow. The trauma that still holds.
Yet I have survived. I walked into that building, feeling the fear, struggling to make myself go inside. I cried. I cried for those children who never left, whether that was through experience or death. I cried so that I could be free. I survived.
I will not let the former shame claim another generation. “I will be okay, we are okay” “TAPWE” this generation grows strong because I survived. My father and my Mosom lived and I am here in spite of the fear. I am a survivor of residential schools.
Tell me a story
This mixed media piece includes a telegram sent in 1888 from the Chief’s Alexander, Alexis and Michael telling John A MacDonald that their community members are starving and that they had to break the law and kill the cattle in order to save the lives of they and their children and includes parts of the responses from the government. This piece includes images of piles of bison bones and hides from when the bison were slaughtered to show the impact of the loss of an important resource to all plains peoples. The pictures also show the use of the railway to transport the bones to factories to make fertilizer.
The man painted over top has his head down in reflection as he contemplates the telling of our history.
The words of the telegram show through to demonstrate how the history of colonization continues to impact us. The past will always sit with us, and it is important that we remember and tell our own history. The inclusion of archival documents shows a record supporting oral traditions about the impact of signing treaties, the neglect of treaty obligations especially after the 1885 resistance, the loss of access to the land and the loss traditional food resources. It demonstrates the loss of autonomy through the need to ask permission to slaughter their cattle and that without asking permission, they had broken the law and were at risk of being arrested. It is called “Tell me a story” because we continue to speak about our past and the impacts it has had on our communities.
Transcriptions of archive RG10, Volume 3794, File 46,205
Telegram:
Feb 23, 1888
From Edmonton, NWT
Sir John A. MacDonald. We are starving. We cannot get help from the agency, have killed cattle on reserve to save our lives so far. We don’t want to kill anymore but will have to unless we get help at once. We don’t want to break the law but we and our children are dying of hunger. We ask for a commission to investigate the truth of what we are saying but need food at once.
Alexander, Chief of River Qui Barre
Michael Callioux, Chief of Sturgeon river reserve
Alexis, Chief of Lake St. Ann Reserve
At that time, it was illegal for Indigenous people to slaughter their cattle without permission. Even though the cattle had been given to the people as their own to encourage farming, the Indian agent and the government did not consider the cattle the property of the people it was given to. The file this is from includes other documents that explain why the Indian agent decided not to have them arrest for fear it would cause another uprising.
This piece also includes the responses from the governments Indian department to this situation.
Response 1
Feb 24, 1888
To Major de Balinhard Indian Agent
Edmonton, NWT
Chiefs Alexander and Michael telegraph Indians are starving, cannot get help from agency. Killed cattle to save lives, will have to kill more unless assisted at once. They and children dying of hunger need food
at once. Please write facts. See Chiefs and inform them that you have been communicated with by dept. This reply questions the validity of the statement they are starving.
Response 2
Edmonton Feb 25, 1888
Contractors behind delivery provisions, Saddle Lake, Edmonton, and Whitefish Indians were hungry, now fully rationed, Lac La Biche also now receiving rations. Starvation extreme word. Edmonton and St Ann’s complaining all winter of short supplies of rations, not sufficient. Hard winter for all, fur scare, fisheries a
failure, no rabbits, will find next two months more. Samuel, member and spiritual advisor, [is] working this up
[This response downplays the lack of ration, providing an explanation for the provisions not being provided. This treaty
has a clause that stated provisions would be provided in times of famine. It also states that one member is overreacting and getting everyone worked up. It seeks to invalidate the experience of starving people.]
Searching for history
History is interesting. It is both written and spoken. History is remembered, and some events will always be spoken of. Those events that continue to be spoken about have had huge impacts on those that tell the story.
The stories we tell are connected to where and who we come from. Some of those who I come from didn’t have a voice that was ever heard. So now I research their stories so I can speak their truth.
My family always tells the story of when the treaty was signed at Saddle Lake. They say it was at the corner where our family had property. They say the first signers were 7 brothers. They agreed to join the treaty. This is a paylist. I wonder, are these those 7 brothers? Were there sisters? What are the other stories?
History is interesting. Written or spoken, it tells the story of a time and place. It tells the story of what happens to people. We must remember to tell the stories.
Medicine Gifts
Medicine has been gifted to people. Every culture has its own understandings of medicine and what that means. Medicine is learned, it is taught, it is lived. In Nehiyawak culture medicine can be plants, it can be ceremony, it can be spending time in nature or with others. The word medicine has many different meanings. In this way there are many different ways to seek healing. Medicine is what makes you better.
One summer several years ago we went camping at mile seven. My Aunt Alsena, my father’s first cousin, met us there. Our purpose in going there’s was to pick medicines, there are several different kinds in that area.
We had spent the afternoon picking medicines and auntie Alsena told us that her friend Diane was going to meet up with us. She had camped there with us before. When Dianne showed up she had brought sage and sweet grass with her.
We learned about creating sage bundles and sweetgrass braids. Once we finished making the braids and bundles we took them and hung them up to dry in the breeze off the lake.
Then we began to clean the roots and preparing the medicines. As we were cleaning the medicines, Dianne and auntie Alsena were telling stories of the medicines and how we got them. We learned how the medicinal plants were used and why we are so connected to the land. This connection itself is a form of medicine. Just being out on the land brings healing in various ways.
One of the medicines we learned about was spruce gum. This spruce gum is used as an antiseptic. It fights infection. It helps to hold skin together when someone is injured. It is used to treat colds and is added to other medicines. It can be used for food too.
We were told the story of the gift of spruce gum and how badger gave it to us. Badgers are fierce and dangerous animals. A long time ago they were very big, much larger than they are now. They were bigger than people, and they used to kill and hurt people. The people prayed to the Creator for help, because we are weak and we need help to survive. The Creator told badger to stop harming people. That did not happen. Eventually the Creator had to do something about badger. The people had chased two baby badgers up a tree. Creator told them that because badger had not respected the request to live peacefully they would be changed. They would no longer be bigger than the people, they would remain the size of their babies. They would provide help to the people through the warmth of their fur, etc. The baby badgers were grateful that the Creator allowed them to live and they promised to help the people. When they slid down the spruce tree their claws cut open the bark and the tree sap came out. The badgers told the people that this was their medicine that they were sharing it with the people as a way to make amends. They taught the people what its used for and how to use it. There are stories for all medicines. Storytelling helps you to remember the medicines and how and why they are used.
Auntie Alsena also told us about a man was lost in the bush for two weeks in the winter. His snowmobile ran out of gas and he tried to hike out of the bush. He got lost and ran out of food and water. To survive he ate spruce gum and drank melted snow to help sustain his body. He survived and was rescued. She told us all that spruce gum is full of vitamin c and will help us if we need it.
All of these activities were each a form of medicine. Each thing gave us something different to heal us. It balanced our spirits through the camping and story telling. It taught us ways to help ourselves in a crisis. We learned the medicinal properties and usage of plants. We laughed and found purpose in what we did. We built connections and created memories that will last a lifetime. All this is good medicine.
The Warrior
In 1990 when I was 18 there was a stand off in Oka. I watched the news every night worried for the people who were fighting for their land. I watched as the government criminalized the Indigenous people. I watched as racism raised its ugly head and hate filled the hearts of many people. I ended up writing this poem about the warriors that were fighting.
Tall, brave, defiant stand the young warrior. Praised by his people for his valor, fighting for his cause.
Yet people once friends now label him an enemy. Insulting things that they do not understand. They call him names and laugh in scorn at the proud warrior
“What is this they fights for?” they ask. “A piece of land, what possible meaning could it have?” They suggest to give up; for they believe it is a lost cause.
Still he, the warrior, remains resistant, standing with gun in hand, ready, waiting for the tanks to lumber across the land, his ancestral home. The burial ground of his grandfathers. That is why he fights.
He fights for that final resting place, his historic homeland. He, the warrior is fighting for something that belonged to his forefathers. His land by right, snatched from the hands of his predecessors. Into a corner his ancestors were pushed; now his generation comes out fighting.
His people were forgotten, pushed away until now. For now his people have taken a stand, wanting to get back what is rightfully theirs.
I wrote this on August 28, 1990 during the Oka stand off. For those who were on the front lines and those that were there in spirit.
We remember
We remember when we used to walk free to gather medicines, hunt for food, have our ceremonies and raise our families.
We remember.
We remember when we were asked to share the places where we walked free as a nation, where our ancestors walked before.
We remember.
We remember when freedom was taken, and we were confined.
We remember.
We remember when our children were taken and we had to have permission to visit them.
We remember.
We remember when after we were confined we needed permission to pick berries, gather medicines, hunt for food and practice traditions.
We remember.
We remember these things, we know how it impacts us. We remember. Now it’s time you learn our history, our losses and acknowledge your gain. We remember, you should too.
We remember.
Truth and Reconciliation
I paint as an expression of what I feel that I cannot always explain with words. Sometimes these paintings come to me very clearly as this one did. I had been thinking about how much my family has been impacted by residential schools, how colonization has affected us and how these things are passed on generationally.
This painting represents how imposing blue quills has been on my family. There is a lot of intergenerational trauma because of it. We had multiple generations of family members attend this s hool.
Flowers represent medicines to me. The flowers are growing over the photos and bringing healing and change. Medicine comes in many forms.
The photo of blue quills is large because it had a huge impact. It’s not covered because it will never go away.
The smudge and eagle feather are clearing away the pain through reconnection to culture. Culture is medicine.
Each one of the flowers represents someone in my family. The purple ones are my dad and his siblings. The yellow ones represent myself and my siblings that’s why there are 5 of them. The orange ones are my parents grandchildren. The pink dots represent all of my cousins. The berries represent change and new growth. The sage also represents growth through healing. There are two photos of my family members as youth when they would’ve been in Blue Quills Indian Residential school
The background colours are there because of how this painting came me. Red is understood to be connected to healing, it is also understood to be the only colour that spirits can see.
Overall the painting is like a prayer for healing, separating my family from the school and the impact it’s trauma created.
Nista Mina
I wish I could speak my language. I know words but not conversations. I hear words I recognize but cannot understand. Some words come to me.
Pikiskwe – speak
Astum ota – come here
Awas – go away
Mitsoh – eat
I know words and sometimes I hear answers in my mind…
Tansi -namoyananto ekwa kiya
…but my mind says “I’m fine, how about you?”
Someone gives me something, my mind says ay-aye but I answer in English and say thank-you.
Kekeway oma? What is this?
I have lost my words. I have lost my conversations and now only in my mind I speak.
Connections with the Land
Do you carry the land or does the land carry you?
Are you immersed and infused? Do you feel it in your blood?
Do you carry the land?
Does it walk with you?
Does it heal you?
Do you feel it within you? I feel the land, it is ever present in its beauty, in its calm and even in its wild freedom. The land exists in my heart and my spirit.
Where is the land in you?
Do you carry the land or does the land carry you?
When you walk through the bush do you feel the land? Can you see its gifts, it medicines, its life?
Do you feel it carrying you, sustaining you and healing you?
Does the land carry you? Are you connected to the land? Are you part of the land? Is it part of you? Do you hear it speak and feel its heartbeat?
It speaks through the rustles of the wind in the trees and grasses. It heals through connection. It heals through plant medicine and the water. It heals through its spirit. When I walk barefoot on the land, it sustains me with its gifts. I am infused within the land. My ancestors walked here, healed here, bled here, ate here. This land gifted my ancestors with life.
The land speaks to me. In the winter it speaks in the cold and the silence. The the spring it speaks when it awakens with new life. In summer it speaks in its beauty. In the fall the land speaks, with its gifts, relaxation and promise of restoration.
It carries me, it sustains me, it heals me.
I feel the land, it flows within me, I carry the land with me.
I carry the land and the land carries me.
What about you?
Do you carry the land or does the land carry you?
Sakaw Iskwew 