Dancing on Our Turtle's Back
Page 7
Andrea Smith reminds us that a critical interrogation of heteropatriarchy must be at the core of nation building, sovereignty and social change.[26] I would argue that this requires a decolonization of our conceptualization of gender as a starting point. Nishnaabeg thought compels us to place the sovereignty of Indigenous women at the core of our movement; but it also compels us to critically evaluate how we are contributing to raising our boys as agents of patriarchy, instead of agents of Biskaabiiyang.
In my own life, I recently used Biskaabiiyang, Naakgonige, Aanjigone and Debwewin to decide whether or not I would wear a long skirt to a sunrise ceremony that took place in my territory. This is an issue full of tension in my territory and I am guessing perhaps in other Nishnaabeg territories as well. In the reclamation of this ceremony, women are generally asked to wear long skirts as a way of showing respect to both our traditions and the conductor as acknowledging our innate power as women and life givers. I have always felt conflicted about this issue. At times I have worn my skirt to demonstrate respect to the Elders and knowledge of those teachings. When I was pregnant and nursing my children, I wanted to be the in skirt to honour those processes. But I have never believed that my value as a woman was tied to my ability to reproduce; and there have been many times when the idea that I was required to wear a skirt frustrated and angered me. So a few months ago, when I decided to go to the sunrise ceremony, I decided to listen to the part of me that was profoundly irritated with the required attire.
I first spoke to one of my Grandmother Elders. She explained the teaching, but also said that no one should be forced to wear something or do something they are uncomfortable doing. I put semaa (tobacco) down. I prayed. Then I thought about why I felt so irritated about the skirt in the first place. I thought about how in colonial society, the skirt carries meaning that maintains the rigid boundaries in a two-gendered system. My understanding of gender within my own culture is one that was much more fluid. I thought of my Ancestors and how they might feel watching me at the ceremony in pants. I thought of a photo that hangs in my parents’ house of my great great Grandmother, on her trap line in pants. I thought of the some of Nishnaabekwe my own age—how we roll our eyes at the skirt rule—and I tried to think of a more ethical response. I thought of how my being would appear to the spirits if I wore the skirt but resented it. I thought of Gzhwe Mnidoo, the one that loves me in total acceptance and understanding, in warmth, in protection. I thought that Gzhwe Mnidoo cared about who I was, not what I was wearing. I thought about the coming generations. I thought about my four-year-old daughter Minowewebeneshiihn, and then I made my decision.
Gdi-nweninaa
Listening to the sound of our voice means that we need to listen with our full bodies—our hearts, our minds and our physicality. It requires a full presence of being. It requires an understanding of the culturally embedded concepts and teachings that bring meaning to our practices and illuminate our lifeways. In regenerating our languages, an enormous task in and of itself, we must also ask our Elders and fluent speakers to teach us through the language, using specific words as windows into a deeper, layered understanding. We must listen and take with us those sounds that hold the greatest meaning in our own lives and in our resurgence.
* * *
I would like to acknowledge that the title of this chapter came from a language book of the same name written by Shirley Ida Williams, Gdi-nweninaa: Our Sound, Our Voice, Neganigwane Company, Peterborough, ON, 2002. In this chapter, I explore four interrelated Nishnaabeg concepts that provide a window through which people who do not speak Nishnaabemowin (and I am a language learner, not yet a speaker) can begin to understand how concepts of decolonization, resistance, resurgence and truth are expressed within Nishnaabeg existence. While these concepts were not chosen randomly, they are not the only windows into these ideas within the language; there are many, many others. ←
Explained to me by my language tutor Vera Bell, Peterborough, ON, June 19, 2010. ←
Wendy Makoons Geniusz, Our Knowledge is Not Primitive: Decolonizing Botanical Anishinaabeg Teachings, Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY, 2009, 9. ←
Wendy Makoons Geniusz, Our Knowledge is Not Primitive: Decolonizing Botanical Anishinaabe Teachings, Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY, 2009, 9–10. ←
Doug Williams, Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation), July 15, 2010. ←
Wendy Makoons Geniusz, Our Knowledge is Not Primitive: Decolonizing Botanical Anishinaabe Teachings, Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY, 2009, 159, 196. This term was also familiar to Doug Williams, Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation), July 15, 2010. ←
White person. ←
I’ve read about this in Kiera Ladner, “Women and Blackfoot Nationalism,” Journal of Canadian Studies, 2000, 35(2): 35–61; and it has been demonstrated to me through example by several Elders including Doug Williams Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation) and Robin Greene-ba (Iskatewizaagegan). ←
As described by Rupert Ross, Dancing with a Ghost: Exploring Indian Reality, Reed Books Canada, Markham, ON, 1992, 11–38. ←
I am borrowing the term “implicate order” to refer to the spiritual world, from Sákéj Youngblood Henderson, First Nations Jurisprudence and Aboriginal Rights, Native Law Centre, University of Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, SK, 2006, 144–153. ←
Doug Williams, Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation), July 15, 2010. Shirley Williams corrected my spelling of this word September 12, 2010. ←
I am using the verb Gzhwe rather than Gchi or Kichi because according to Doug Williams, Gzhwe represents awe, warmth, love, total acceptance, protection and understanding, rather than an authoritarian Creator that is imbued with fear and punishment. Doug Williams explained this to me in Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation), July 15, 2010. Shirley Williams had the same understanding of the word in Peterborough, ON, September 12, 2010. ←
John Borrows, Drawing Out Law: A Spirit’s Guide, University of Toronto Press, Toronto, ON, 2010, endnote 2, 233; Taiaiake Alfred gives us a real world example of how differing opinions and dissent was handled in contemporary times within the traditional decision making of his community in “The People,” The Words That Come Before All Else: Environmental Philosophies of the Haudenosaunee, Haudenosaunee Environmental Task Force, Akwesasne, n.d., 12–13. ←
Naakgonige was explained to me by Elder Doug Williams, Waawshkigaamagki (Curve Lake First Nation), July 15, 2010. Shirley Williams translated this word to mean “to plan” to make plans after deciding what is going to be done, a decision to follow what was said, a plan, a law or a rule. ←
Edna Manitowabi, Stoney Lake, ON, December 13, 2010. ←
Shirley Williams, Peterborough, ON, September 13, 2010. ←
Explained to me by Shirley Williams, Peterborough, ON, September 19, 2010. ←
Peter O’Chiese interview, translated by Harold Cardinal, Office of Specific Claims, Hinton, Alberta, March 1, 1976. Available online at ourspace.uregina.ca/bitstream/10294/2193/1/IH-198.pdf. Also see Jim Dumont’s “Anishinaabe Izhichigaywin,” in Sacred Water: Water for Life, Lee Foushee and Renee Gurneau, eds., North American Water Office, Lake Elmo Minnesota, 2010, 13–57. ←
Shirley Williams, Peterborough, ON, September 15, 2010. ←
Jim Dumont, Presentation, Elders Conference, Trent University, Peterborough, ON, February 20, 2010. ←
Murray Sinclair, “Aboriginal Peoples and Euro-Canadians: Two World Views,” in John H. Hylton, ed., Aboriginal Self-Government in Canada: Current Trends and Issues, Purich Publishing, Saskatoon, SK, 1994, 19. ←
Final Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Volume 3, Chapter 2, available online at www.ainc-inac.gc.ca/ch/rcap/sg/sh14_e.htm. ←
Basil Johnston, Anishinaubae Thesaurus, Michigan State University Press, East Lansing, MI, 2007, x. ←
Kiera Ladner, “Women and Blackfoot Nationalism,” Journal of Canadian Studies, 2000, 35(2): 35–61. ←
Emma LaRoque, “Métis and F
eminist” in Joyce Green, ed., Making Space for Indigenous Feminism, Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, NS, 2007, 63. ←
Andrea Smith, Native Americans and the Christian Right, Duke University Press, Durham, NC, 2008, 255–272. ←
Niimtoowaad Mikinaag Gijiying Bakonaan (Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back): Aandisokaanan and Resurgence
Perhaps the most epic narrative in Nishnaabeg thought concerning the processes of mobilization or migration in relation to colonialism, decolonization and resurgence, is communicated through the Seven Fires Prophecy. In a time of peace and flourishment, seven prophets came to the Nishnaabeg people and made seven predictions for the future. The seven prophets also outlined an epic journey from the east coast of Turtle Island to the western shores of the Great Lakes; they encouraged our people to make that journey as a protection against the coming colonizers. The First Fire of the prophecy set in motion the greatest mobilization in Nishnaabeg history: the great migration, in which the nation moved west in waves, taking an estimated five hundred years or ten generations to complete.[1] The migration mitigated the impact of conquest and colonialism on the Nishnaabeg nation by spreading the nation out over a much larger territory, enabling the north and the west some protection from the centres of colonialism in the south and east. As a social movement, the Gete-Nishnaabeg[2] were able to maintain a strategic and organized mass mobilization over an incredibly long period of time. Thinking about the prophecy in this way has made me recognize that we are a culture of mobilization. We are a culture that embodies both movement and collectivity.
What can we learn from the Seven Fires Prophecy about modern-day Nishnaabeg resurgence? To begin, let’s focus on the prophecy itself in a little more detail. During the Fourth Fire of the Seven Fires Prophecy, two prophets came to the people instead of just one. The prophets explained the coming of a light-skinned people who would either come to Nishnaabeg territory with the face of goodwill, or they would come wearing the face of death. The prophets came with many warnings of manipulation and dishonesty, and instructions were given to not trust the light-skinned people until they had proved their goodwill. “You will know that the face they wear is the one of death if the rivers run with poison and fish become unfit to eat.”[3]
The Fifth and Sixth Fires were periods of immense destruction. European conquest and occupation permeated our territory, yet the prophecy played an important part in the resistance Nishnaabeg people showed during this period. The prophecy of the Seventh Fire foretold of a time when the most oppressive parts of the colonial regime would loosen and Nishnaabeg people would be able to pick up the pieces of their language, culture and thought-ways and begin to build, in essence, a resurgence. So during the Fifth and Sixth Fire, people planned for the Seventh Fire. Scrolls were hidden. Ceremonies were practiced underground with children present. Stories were passed along through the families. Families retreated to the bush whenever possible, as a strategy to avoid Indian Agents, residential schools and child welfare agencies. Some people hung onto the language. Our Grandmothers and Grandfathers planted the seeds of resurgence in the Fifth and Sixth fires. Our responsibilities for resurgence pre-existed before we were present on the earth. In our greatest period of destruction, our Grandparents resisted by planting the seeds of resurgence, just as Gzhwe Mnidoo planted the seeds of life in the Fourth Fire of Creation. For Nishnaabeg thinkers, resistance and resurgence are not only our response to colonialism, they are our only responsibility in the face of colonialism.
Resurgence is our original instruction.
Many Nishnaabeg thinkers believe we are in the period of the Seventh Fire. It is the responsibility of the new people, the Oshkimaadiziig,[4] to pick up the pieces of our lifeways, collectivize them and build a political and cultural renaissance and resurgence. It is also foretold that if this is done in a good way, it has the power to transform settler society generating political relationships based on the Indigenous principles of peace, justice, and righteousness as embodied in mino bimaadiziwin.
Chibimoodaywin
Three Fires Midewewin leader Eddie Benton-Banai refers to the Seven Fires mobilization as Chibimoodaywin.[5] When I asked Nishnaabe Nokomis and Elder Shirley Williams what chibimoodaywin meant, she said, “Not mobilization or migration. It sounds like a long, slow, painful crawl!”[6] This tells us that mobilization, resistance, and resurgence involves sacrifice, persistence, patience and slow, painful movement.
Chibimoodaywin was a social movement that was inspired by a spiritual vision, debated and planned by spiritual leaders, intellectuals and political leadership, and ultimately carried out by our families. Again, our Elders estimate it took five hundred years to complete ten generations of Nishnaabeg people. The commitment, persistence, solidarity, and determination of ten generations carrying out a single vision is outstanding. Debate, respect for dissenting voices, consensus, and the respect for the sovereignty of individuals, families and clans, allowed the spread of Nishnaabeg people as a movement of energy over the land, branching out through the Great Lakes region. Their community procession lasted five hundred years. Imagine what we could accomplish with a committed, strategic persistent resurgence movement over the next ten generations. Chibimoodaywin inspires me to begin to try and reclaim the community-based processes that inspired generations of Nishnaabeg people to mobilize and to carry out this prophecy.
Chibimoodaywin tells me that spiritual visioning, followed by individual commitment and action, is a cornerstone of Nishnaabeg mobilization, resistance and now, resurgence. But our ancestors must have also had a fantastic ability to generate mass support for individual visions, and to carry out those visions over long periods of time. To realize and build resurgence we not only need visionaries, but our visionaries must also have the skills to excite, inspire and illuminate our peoples to unite, committing to transform that vision into sustained and committed action.
Re-creation: Niimtoowaad Mikinaag Gijiying Bakonaan (Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back)[7]
In the last section of the Seven Fires Prophecy, there is a mirroring of the cycle of creation-destruction-re-creation within Nishnaabeg thought. This cycle sets the stage for interpretation of re-creation as a new emergence or resurgence. This theme is also echoed to current generations through our Re-creation Stories. Within Indigenous thought, there is not a singular vision of resurgence, but many. Elders direct our people to live their lives in a way that promotes positive relationships with the land, their families and all of Creation.[8] This is performed by individuals within the web of the Kokum Dibaajimowinan.[9] These teachings include: Aakde’ewin, the art of having courage; Dbadendiziwin, humility; Debwewin, truth or sincerity; Mnaadendiwin, respect; Nbwaakawin, wisdom; Gwekwaadiziwin, honesty; and Zaagidewin, love (these are discussed in detail in Chapter Seven). Using the theoretical foundations presented in Chapter Two, it means that we all carry responsibilities in terms of resurgence; and that we are also responsible for re-creating the good life in whatever forms we imagine, vision and live in contemporary times. The process of starting over, Aanji Maajitaawin is embodied in our Re-creation Stories.
Waynabozhoo and the Great Flood[10]
This narrative starts with a phase of destruction: the Nishnaabeg had lost their way; they’re relationships were imbalanced; and the their lives were permeated with violence and conflict. As a restorative measure, Gzhwe Mnidoo brought a large flood to the lands, not as a punitive act, but as purification designed to re-align the Nishnaabeg with mino bimaadiziwin.
Waynabozhoo managed to save himself by finding a large log floating in the vast expanse of water. In time, more and more animals joined him on the log. Floating aimlessly in the ocean of floodwater, Waynabozhoo decided that something must be done. He decided to dive down in the water and grab a handful of earth. Waynabozhoo dived down into the depths and was gone for a very long time, returning without the earth. In turn, a number of animals—loon, helldiver, turtle, otter, and mink—all tried and failed. Finally Zhaashkoonh (muskrat) tried. Zhaashkoonh wa
s gone forever, and eventually floated to the surface, dead. Waynabozhoo picked the muskrat out of the water and found a handful of mud in Zhaashkoonh’s paw.
Mikinaag (turtle) volunteered to bear the weight of the earth on her back and Waynabozhoo placed the earth there. Waynabozhoo began to sing. The animals danced in a clockwise circular fashion and the winds blew, creating a huge and widening circle. Eventually, they created the huge island on which we live, North America.[11]
Although I have heard this story a number of times, I wasn’t able to relate it to resurgence without the help of Edna Manitowabi. In her retelling of it, she asks us to think of ourselves as Zhaashkoonh, the muskrat. This emphasizes the idea that we each have to dive down to the bottom of the vast expanse of water and search for our own handful of earth. Each of us having to struggle and sacrifice to achieve re-creation is not an easy process. We each need to bring that earth to the surface, to our community, with the intent of transformation. Colonization has shattered the fabric of our nation to such an extent that each of us must be Zhaashkoonh; each of us must struggle down through the vast expanse of water to retrieve our handful of dirt.