The Journey of Nishiyuu

What a story! What a story I have for you today, kids!!!!!!!!




At Poets United, for Verse First, Kim has set us the prompt: Passion. Monday's leading news story here in Canada fills the bill. It stirs my heart with passion, pride, inspiration, humility and sadness, at the lengths to which our beautiful and HEROIC First Nations people have to go, to try to get an apparently uncaring government to recognize their plight. My poem will follow, but I will try to nutshell it here - the newsbyte above gives the broader story. It will warm the cockles of your heart. Warning: it may also make you weep!

Chief Theresa Spence - Globe and Mail photo

You may remember Attawapiskat Chief Theresa Spence's wintertime hunger strike in front of Parliament, requesting a meeting with Prime Minister Stephen Harper. She wished to plead for assistance for her impoverished people, many of whom are living in Third World conditions in  the frozen north, in  one of the most affluent countries in the world. The P.M. refused to meet with her, one on one, but did find the time to welcome Justin Bieber to Ottawa. (Yes, my teeth are gnashing.) Her heroism inflamed the Idle No More movement that spread like wildfire all across Canada. She finally appealed to the United Nations International Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination. No results yet on that appeal.

David Kawapit - CBC photo

Up north in the  James Bay Cree community of Whapmagoostui, a seventeen year old youth, David Kawapit, decided to walk through January's blizzards, on snowshoes, to the doors of Parliament, to raise awareness of the issues facing aboriginal youth. Six people and a guide, named the Cree Walkers, began their journey, the Journey of Nishiyuu (Journey of the People), and, as they walked, others joined  till they were 400 strong. By the time they reached Capital Hill Monday, thousands more arrived. 

Sean Atleo, the National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, addressed the crowd. "We talk about youth as the leaders of tomorrow. I'm here to tell you, these are the leaders of Right Now!" The crowd roared in agreement.


P.M. Harper was - unsurprisingly - in Toronto, rather than on-site to meet with the youth.


The news item immediately following this, said the government is accepting a "gift" of two pandas, to "celebrate the friendly relations between Canada and China". It will cost EIGHT BILLION DOLLARS to bring the pandas here and care for them, since they require bamboo to eat, to survive. (Who knew bamboo was so expensive?)

I love pandas, but cant help thinking that eight billion dollars would improve the living conditions of the First Peoples of our land.  Possibly THEY could eat better, then, too. What does this say about this government's totally screwed up priorities?

The question remains: will this government EVER bring this strong, ancient and beautiful people into their share of the Canadian dream? Stay tuned. 

Journey of the People reaches Parliament Hill

photo by Andrew Foote/CBC

My haibun:

The Cree walkers began their lonely trek in the bitter January cold of a northern winter. On snowshoes, one step after another, they walked 1600 kilometres. They walked and, as they walked, the small flickering ember in their hearts took hold, growing greater than the cold.

My heart walks with
their every footstep.

Across the snowy miles they marched, to shine a light on the plight of their people,  the many who live in unheated shacks, without electricity or water, the many others  in poverty and lack of hope in the future ~ Third World conditions in the midst of an affluent society. And as they walked, others joined them.

My heart walks with
their every footstep.

They walked through blizzards, the Siberian wind at their backs, and as they walked, their numbers slowly grew. They were marching to Parliament Hill, to ask the dominant society for a share of the Canadian dream.

My heart walks with
their every footstep.

They walked, more coming from far and wide, and as they walked, their hearts took fire. They marched, now, to the beat of the drum. They walked, chiefs in full headdress, young braves who needed a future to keep them from despair, young ones with sudden hope in their hearts, world-weary Old Ones, who had  endured a century of pain and poverty, broken treaties, unfulfilled promises, placations and deferments. They walked, newly invigorated by the passion in the young peoples' hearts, at the scope of their dreams.

And my heart walks with
their every footstep.

They walked, four hundred strong, to the very doors of Parliament, joined by thousands more, who cheered and wept with them. Thousands of flaming hearts, on behalf of all of their people, who had waited so long in poverty, pain and despair, for their rightful, proud and honored place on the Canadian landscape.

Their walk now ended,
may their future be much brighter
than their past.

All My Relations

History in the Making

image from google

Yesterday, Shawn Atleo, First Nations activist and current national chief of the Assembly of First Nations, whose brother is a dear friend of mine from Tofino days, met with Prime Minister Stephen Harper, with all due ceremony, at the Crown-First Nations Gathering in Ottawa.

Shawn Atleo is proposing the immediate need to smash the status quo  between First Nations and the government, which still operates according to the ancient paternalistic Indian Act , when it comes to governing First Nations.

Shawn pointed to some bands who are managing their own affairs and doing well, stating there are 65 bands ready to govern their own affairs. The wish to self-govern comes on the heels of last month's declaration of a state of emergency by the Attawapiskat reserve, whose members are living in unheated shacks in 40 below weather, without water or toilet facilities - Third World conditions for the northern people of Canada.


At the time this news broke, the predictable response was finger-pointing by government, at perceived "mismanagement of funds" by the Band. 


Yesterday, Harper responded to the Chief's plea for a transformation in the relationship between government and First Nations, with the usual words of "respect" and "working together". But he said he would not disband the antique Indian Act, which has kept First Nations people disempowered, "because it would leave a hole". It all sounded like a lot of the usual - words, instead of change, and nothing happens. 


Argh. However, Shawn Atleo is a courageous and committed leader of his people. His message - and the reality - is that it is long past time for change for his people. Under the present system, far too large a percentage of First Nations are impoverished and feeling hopeless. They want the same access to resources, employment and self-determination the rest of Canada enjoys.


What I heard yesterday from Harper was same old/same old. But I place my hope in Shawn Atleo. He'll get the job done.

On Native Land

[image from Google]

Okay, I'm sorry, I have to say something. On the news just now, a cheery announcer chirps: "We celebrate today that, as of midnight, last night, First Nations people now have the same human rights as every other Canadian."

Huh??? And it's only 2011?

Instead of celebrating, these words make me want to crawl on my belly and apologize to the First Nations community, here thousands of years before the rest of us arrived, for what they have endured, as a people, during all that time. Celebrate a long overdue granting of "the same human rights"? Which indicates an unspoken apartheid in Canada?

When I invesitage further, it appears that what this means is that, as of midnight last night, First Nations living on reserve can now challenge their band councils if they feel they are being discriminated against. Or they can appeal to the Canadian Human Rights Commission over inequities on reserve.

Okay, that is a good thing. Many First Nations live in third world conditions on reserve, while some band councils appropriate inequitable portions of allocated funds.

I just choked a little over the celebratory tones and the wording over human rights each Canadian should have had before the law all along.

I have calmed myself down now. I so love the First Nations people and their beautiful culture. I get as wired as Crazy Horse over the long overdue granting of "basic human rights" to our beautiful First People.

A Totally Empty Glass

[emptyglassforwater.ca]

Oh my goodness, kids. On the news this morning, they featured a First Nations reserve in northern Manitoba where the people do not have even the basic amount of water the UN says is necessary for human health. No running water, but some places have holding tanks for trucked-in water, that have tested positive for bacteria. Some people are hauling buckets of water up from the frozen lake. The end result is not enough water for drinking, personal hygiene or laundry and cleaning.

Third World conditions in northern Canada, folks, an embarrassing  fact which comes to light every now and then, when things reach the crisis point.

Apparently a kazillion dollars have been funded to "address this problem". The chiefs in these communities are wishing to know where that money has gone, since there is still nothing coming out of the tap. At least not the water taps!

Sigh.

The news clip showed an international organization going in to look at this problem on the ground. They promise to help. But I wonder: why are these Canadian citizens living in such conditions? Where is our government?

Wounded Healers

image from gotofino.com

Kakawis.
Its name means 'place of berries',
its bay shaped like a basket,
where First Nations
since the long ago
have come in their canoes
to gather blackberries
in season.

the  Christie Residential School image from voicesfromthesound.com

Later,
in the curving bay,
small brown children
were brought
to be schooled
and  abused
at the Christie Residential School.
Their terror and confusion
at being taken
from their homes
and dropped into
this alien landscape
among black robes,
a legacy of trauma
still haunting
their own children
through all
the generations.

When I worked
at Kakawis,
some of those children,
now grown and grieving,
returned
to do some healing.
Now it was
a treatment centre
for First Nations
in recovery,
from substance
and societal abuse.

A controversial
Calvary-sized cross,
left over from old times,
greeted their arrival
in the bay,
reawakening
memories of terror.

Nuu chah nulth leaders,
with respect,
asked that it be
removed.
The mumakli
(white people)
didnt listen.

One night
in cover of darkness
canoes arrived
stealthily
on the shore.
In the light of day
the cross was gone,
dragged and sunk
with finality
in the middle
of the bay.

The people
were growing stronger.
My heart rejoiced
in the simple
justice
of that moment.

I loved that place
so much,
my privilege
to work among
the people,
to win their trust,
to witness their arrival,
bent and broken,
and to watch,
over the weeks,
as their shoulders
straightened,
their heads came up,
the light
returning
to their eyes.
Their laughter
boomed out
often,
even as the tears
were flowing.
They had suffered
for
forever,
yet were always
ready to laugh.
(This is the passport
of a true survivor.
It is how we
recognize
each other.)

I believed
in the power
of the forest
and the sea,
the wind and rain,
the magic of
that ancient land,
and the Circle,
and the sage,
to heal them.
For the Circle
did its work,
no matter how
damaged and flawed
its wounded healers.

Once, in workshop,
we were to give
a "mission statement".
In groups, the mumakli
struggled
with too many words
and lofty sentiments-
all our good intentions.

Four Nuu chah nulth
warriors,
sons of chiefs, 
stood strong,
arms crossed,
eyes blazing
and delivered,
in unison,
in Nuu chah nulth
language,
a statement
so powerful,
a claiming of
their heritage 
so strong,
it needed
no translation.
It silenced us,
this power
from centuries
of chieftains,
us white people
dithering around
with our text books
and equations
could learn so much
wise Knowing
if we could
only
put down our books,
open our hearts
and Listen.

Kakawis,
beloved place
of my heart
and memory.
Its name meant
place of berries.
A lot of growing
and gathering
happened
in that place.
The scent of sage
wafted in
the morning air.
The drums beat
strong,
and true, broken
and cracked
and dented
survivor hearts
helped each other heal
from the unspeakable
pain
of living.

Every fifth week
there was a
Healing of Memories.
People would throw
into the fire
what they had written
of their pain
and let it go.
The tears would flow,
the sacred smoke would
carry pain away,
and always, without fail,
an eagle would come
and circle the air
above us.

My heart grew
seven sizes
in the years
that I was there,
so full of pain
and laughter,
the memories
now echoing
through
all the empty rooms.
The place stands vacant now.
The mumaklis are gone
with their bumbling
and their book-learning.
Kakawis is returned
to the people
to whom
its always has
belonged,
people of
the forest and the sea,
the ancient ways,
sons and daughters
of the living land,
and my heart,
that cried for justice
through those evolutionary years,
remembering the  tears
on every face
as they threw their memories,
so many of them caused
by mumaklis,
into the fire
while Brother Eagle
circled overhead-
my heart is now at peace
about that place.

POTLATCH

[When I lived in Tofino, I was privileged to work with and among the beautiful First Nations people. I related strongly to their ancient culture, loved the fact that, while their lives contained so much pain, they laughed so much. One of my lives must have been as a First Nations because during the pipe ceremony, and when their drums beat, I felt it deep in my core: a recognition.]

*************************************************

The white dance curtain with the black figures was stretched across the front of the room, which was filled with people. Most of the village had come to support the family in honoring the memory of the twelve year old girl, killed by accidental gunfire on the beach in front of her small village two years ago. She had been crouched down behind a log. Some boys had been shooting targets down below, did not know she was there. The gun went off, as she stood up. Devastation all around, including the young man who held the weapon. All were closely related.



Before the curtain, a framed photograph showed her smiling and confident, young and beautiful. It was incomprehensible she had been snatched away from all who loved her, the promise of her future cut short in one horrible and accidental moment.

Many people smiled and chatted, greeted each other, exchanged hugs. My eyes followed the children, their innocent faces alight with smiles, their dark eyes warm and flashing. Babies and toddlers tried to evade firm parental grasp, escaped to rush down aisles, and were gently returned by the security men. Katina had been just such a laughing, brown-eyed baby once. I sought out her mother's face. The words being spoken were all of putting grief away, but with a mother's heart I knew there would always be a corner of Mary's heart where Katina still lived.

The drums began to beat and men's strong voices rose in song, as from behind the curtain four dancers leaped, each wearing a huge carved wooden mask of a wolf.

They leaped and whirled. From their headdresses, white feathers flew into the air and wafted through the room, to every corner. I watched them swirling gently in the air over everyone's heads as the dancers wheeled and turned to the strong beat of the drum. Everyone craned to watch their every move. While my heart responded to the power of their dance, my eyes were drawn to the center of the crowd where a soft curled white feather spiralled gently down towards a tiny uplifted child's hand, reaching up to catch it as it fel. The hand glowed as if surrounded by light and for a moment it was all I saw in theroom: the white feather drifting down, the small hand reaching up, a symbol of hope, of the promise that life goes on, during the dance of farewell to one who now lived in the spirit world.

I thought of Katina's spirit, so beautiful. And carried away that vision of hope and promise: the white feather falling down into the tiny hand.