Storytellers skilled in specific Indigenous cultural traditions weave narratives together in a particular way based on the audience themselves and their response to her or his presence. Neal McLeod writes that there is also a critical reflection or examination that is woven into the experience for both the storyteller and the audience.[4]
Meaning is derived from the presence of both the storyteller and the listeners. Storytelling is an emergent practice, and meaning for each individual listener will necessarily be different. The relationships between the storyteller and the listeners become the nest that cradles the meaning. The storyteller creates both the context and the content and collectively a plurality of meanings are generated through the experiences of the audience. The “analysis” and the “critical examination” are done with the utmost care and respect. Nishnaabeg storytellers, when telling in English, will use phrases such as “maybe it happened this way,” “some people say that’s what happened, I don’t know, I wasn’t there” or “I heard it happened that way, but I don’t know.” Revealing that one can only speak about what they know to be true from direct experience. The “critical examination” follows the protocols of Aanjigone with phrases such as “this is when my big mistake happened” or “this time in my life I was flying in circles.”
The process for integration into the experience of the storyteller and the audience is one that is slow in comparison to western standards. It can take many years after hearing a story to know the meaning of that story in one’s heart—for it to become a truth—yet the process of it becoming heart-knowledge or Debwewin is the process of integrating that echo into one’s experience. This is critical in a Biskaabiiyang context because our Elders are constantly telling us (particularly writers and academics) that one has to live the knowledge in order to know it. McLeod recalls a story that reminded me of this:
The late Jim Ka-Nipitehtew, an elder from Onion Lake, said that what he knew was like an “echo of older voices from a long time ago.” Once, when Edwin Tootoosis was visiting my father, he told me “moy e-kistawet” (“it does not echo”). He was referring to the land, and the fact that the land no longer had sound in the same way it had before.[5]
If we do not live our stories and our teachings, the echoes become fainter and will eventually disappear. When the land is not being used in a respectful and honourable away, the power of her teachings are lost. Healers know that plants will disappear if one takes too much, and also if one does not use them at all. The more we tell stories, the more stories there are to tell, the more echoes that come up to the present. In the old days, stories connected our families to one another; they stitched together our collective consciousness; they stitched together our nation.
I have been telling stories informally within my family and my community since my children were born. I began telling stories to them as a way of telling them about myself, our family, our community and our culture. Storytelling then grew for me, and I began using it as a way of teaching in the university classroom, and at local cultural events. What follows is one of my Dibaajimowinan related to the birth of my two children, Nishna and Minowewebeneshiinh. Both my children were born at home under the care of midwives so that I could participate fully in the ceremony of giving birth and ensure that entrance into this world was as gentle, loving and following Nishnaabeg traditions of birth as much as possible. I have breastfed children continuously for the past eight years. These three experiences (the two births and the breastfeeding) have had a profound impact on my being, as has mothering. As an intellectual, I’ve wanted to write about these experiences because I have learned a great deal through these engagements, but it has been difficult. I have been asked to remove sections talking about breastfeeding because they are irrelevant to the academic work I was discussing. I have also been asked by Native women academics to remove the academic components of papers discussing birth and breastfeeding because only the actual birth narratives were relevant. This leaves me to believe that there it is still pressure to separate theory and academics from Dibaajimowinan and the personal, despite the fact that Dibaajimowinan are recognized as a valued and important source of knowledge within Anishinaabe-gikendaasowin.[6]
Biskaabiiyang means that new stories often come from old stories. Breastfeeding as an act of nourishing is a prominent part of our Creation Story. There are some very old stories about how Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg people relate to our land and our neighboring nations, ones that I would like to share because I believe that those old stories hold the beginnings to the new stories we are about to create. Thinking about those old stories, dreaming and visioning a different future, those are the seeds that we will use to plant our new garden. As it is so often in my culture, the old story this time begins with the women.
Breastfeeding and Treaties
About seven years ago, I offered Edna Manitowabi some tobacco and asked her to guide me through my first pregnancy and birth. Edna is an Elder and a Grandmother and one of the Spiritual leaders of our nation. She taught me a lot of things; and her teachings got my two children safely through the doorway and into this world. But it was her teachings about nursing and breastfeeding that got me thinking about treaties in a much different way than I had before.
Canadians are taught that treaties are legal agreements through which Indians ceded our lands for cash. The Canadian characterization of treaties is almost like a receipt for a business transaction. From the perspective of the Canadian state, treaties are about obtaining title to our lands “legally,” or at least “legally” according to the traditions of the British legal system. Indigenous Peoples, however, have a different perspective on the meaning of those treaties and we have a different history in treaty making. At the time of contact we had been making treaties with animal nations and with other Indigenous nations for generations. Like our other political traditions, the family was the teaching ground for these understandings, with women carrying the responsibility for first sharing these teachings with our youngest citizens.
Breastfeeding is the very first treaty. Edna explained to me that breastfeeding is where our children learn about treaties, the relationships they encode and how to maintain good treaty relationships. Of course as someone who didn’t have children at the time and who had never nursed, I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
When my first child Nishna came along, I started to understand. Nursing is ultimately about a relationship. Treaties are ultimately about a relationship. One is a relationship based on sharing between a mother and a child and the other based on sharing between two sovereign nations. Breastfeeding benefits both the mother and the child in terms of health and in terms of their relationship to each other. And treaties must benefit both sovereign independent nations to be successful.
When my second child Minowewebeneshiinh came into our lives, she brought with her a deeper understanding of these teachings. She taught me about balance—that if relationships get out of balance, then that imbalance can effect the health and wellness of the mama and the baby. She taught me that those early years set the tone for the entire relationship. That’s why that time is so important and we have to be so careful and so gentle with our children. Minowewe taught me that both the mother and the child have to be taken care of, in order for the relationship to work. So in treaties, the relationship must be one of balance. One nation cannot be dominant over the other. One nation cannot control all of the land and all of the resources. Those early days were important, when our peoples were first meeting, because they set the tone for the relationship between the Nishnaabeg nation and the Canadian state—a relationship that hasn’t changed very much at all in contemporary times.
Three years ago, I became an Auntie for the first time. And little Aanjinokomi once again deepened my understanding of our first treaty. I had been nursing at this point for nearly seven years, so I thought that I was some sort of an expert, but Aanjinokomi brought me some humility. For me, the beginning of the nursing relationship had come easi
ly; but not for my sister. She was in lots of pain and feeling very overwhelmed. The latch wasn’t quite right, and it was partly my responsibility to help the two of them negotiate their new relationship. My family had been back and forth and back and forth from Toronto so that I could sit with her, help her get positioned properly, help her get his mouth opened wide enough. And so the teachings were deepened. Aanji taught me that negotiating treaty is about patience and persistence. It is about ensuring the relationship for the long term. The relationship comes first above all else, above the pain. It is about commitment and compassion. It is about a love of the land and a love for the people. And it requires the support of your family and your community. Treaties cannot be maintained without the support of your family, your community and ultimately, the nation.
Before there were humans on earth, a female spirit being came to the earth. Her name was Wenonah, which means the first breast feeder—nonah is to breastfeed; we is “the one who.”[7] Wenonah took the responsibility of creating humans on earth. She came to earth, and with struggle, eventually created humans. Nishnaabeg people are her descendants. We exist today because she united with w-bngishmog (the west wind) and created the first humans. She created and then nourished us by nursing us.[8] When women breastfeed they are aligning themselves with this sacred story, engaging in the act of creating a new life. Breastfeeding was so important in this Creation Story that Wenonah carries it as her name. To me, this means that as a people, Nishnaabeg have a great deal to learn by being breastfed, by breastfeeding, and by supporting and honouring breastfeeding women.
This has even greater resonance because for Nishnaabeg people, our political culture begins at home. It begins with nursing and how we parent our kids. In the past, our people practiced a form of governance that was at its core non-hierarchical and non-authoritarian. Our leaders guided our nations not by force or authority, but by following the will of the people. Our leaders were responsible for building consensus amongst the people and they were responsible for the sustainability of the nation.
So these values were reflected in our parenting and in our families. In order to reproduce those qualities prized in a traditional leader, carried in Kokum Dibaajimowinan, our ancestors practiced relationships with children that embodied kindness, gentleness, patience and love. Children were respected as people, they were encouraged to follow their visions and to realize their full potential while living up to the responsibilities of their families, communities and nations. This was the key to creating leaders with integrity, creating good governance, and teaching future leaders how to interact in a respectful manner with other human and non-human nations. My ancestors knew that maintaining good relationships as individuals, in families, in our nation and internationally was the basis for lasting peace. This was the foundation of mino bimaadiziwin or “living the good life.”
Our relationships extend out from the mother and child, through our families, our clans, and our community. They also extend to the land and how we interact with the natural world. Breastfeeding my two children deepened my understanding of Nishnaabeg treaty relationships. The telling of this experience then led me to other stories about Nishnaabeg political relationships; and so I want to share with you another old story from this territory about how we relate with the land. A long time ago our clan leaders negotiated particular agreements with animal nations or clans to promote mino bimaadiziwin and balance with the region.
Gchi-dbaakgonigewin[9]
The 1850 Robinson Huron Treaty, covering a region on the north shore of Lake Huron, is referred to in the Nishnaabeg oral tradition as Gchi-dbaakgonigewin—a big law or law-making agreement, but an agreement that is open, with matters to be added.[10] From the perspective of Indigenous Peoples, treaties were viewed as sacred relationships between independent and sovereign nations, including agreements between humans and non-humans.[11] The land specifically reminds me of these relationships. For example, in Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg territory, the people of the fish clans, who are the intellectuals of the nation, met with the fish nations[12] twice a year for thousands of years at Mnjikanming,[13] the small narrows between Lake Simcoe and Lake Couchiching. The fish clans and the fish nations gathered to talk, to tend to their treaty relationships, to renew life just as the Gzhwe Mnidoo had instructed them. These were important gatherings because the fish nations sustained the Nishnaabeg nation during times when other sources of food were scarce. Fish were a staple in our traditional foodway. Our relationship with the fish nations meant that we had to be accountable for how we used this “resource.” Nishnaabeg people only fished at particular times of the year in certain locations. They only took as much as they needed and never wasted. They shared with other members of their families and communities, and they performed the appropriate ceremonies and rituals before beginning. To do otherwise would be to ignore their responsibilities to the fish nations, jeopardizing the health and wellness of the people. In contemporary times, Mnjikanming remains an important place in our territory because it is the place people of the fish clans came and continue to come to renew their relationship with the fish nations. Similarly, Nishnaabeg scholar John Borrows retells one of our sacred stories in Recovering Canada: The Resurgence of Indigenous Law and further illustrates the importance of these diplomatic agreements between human and animal nations.[14] A time long ago, all of the deer, moose and caribou suddenly disappeared from the Nishnaabeg territory. When the people went looking for them, they discovered the animals had been captured by the crows. After some negotiation, the people learned that the crows were not holding the moose, deer and caribou against their will. The animals had willingly left the territory because the Nishnaabeg were no longer respecting them. The Nishnaabeg had been wasting animal meat and not treating animal bodies with the proper reverence. The animals knew that the people could not live without them. When the animal nations met in council, the chief deer outlined how the Nishnaabeg nation could make amends, telling the Nishnaabeg that they must honour the waawaashkeshigook in both life and death: by not wasting their flesh; by preserving their habitats; by leaving tobacco to acknowledge the anguish humans have brought upon the waawaashkeshigook in order to feed themselves; and to engage in ceremony to nurture this relationship.[15] The Nishnaabeg agreed and the animals returned to their territory. Contemporary Nishnaabeg hunters, when they kill a deer or moose, still go through the many rituals outlined that day. Judy DaSilva, Nishnaabekwe from Asubpeechoseewagong Netum Anishnaabek (Grassy Narrows) in northwest Ontario, explains how these teachings are still relevant in her community today:
When a hunter kills a moose, there is a certain part of the moose that the hunter takes off, and leaves in the forest, and with that the hunter will say a few words to thank the moose for providing food for his family. …My brother said our grandmother told him that you do not get an animal because you are a good hunter, but because the animal feels sorry for you and gives himself to you to feed your family. This is why when our people hunt, these thoughts are ingrained in their minds and their hearts and they have great respect for the animals they get.[16]
According to Nishnaabeg traditions, our relationship with the moose nation, the deer nation and the caribou nation is a treaty relationship like any other, and all the parties involved have both rights and responsibilities in terms of maintaining the agreement. The treaty outlines a relationship that, when practiced continually and in perpetuity, maintains peaceful coexistence, respect and mutual benefit. These are but two examples of treaties between the Nishnaabeg nation and the non-human world, but it serves to illustrate several important Nishnaabeg values regarding this process. First and foremost, treaties are about maintaining peace through healthy relationships. They require commitment and work, but when done correctly can bring about a lasting peace for all involved.
Dewe’igan, the Heartbeat of the Nation[17]
Two years after my son Nishna was born, my sister took me to a drum-making workshop at First Nations House at the University of Toron
to. Steve Teekens taught the group the appropriate teachings for hand drums, and also told us his version of the following story while we made our drums.[18]
The Nishnaabeg nation, in addition to living up to their treaty relationships with the non-human world, also made political agreements with their neighbouring nations. I am reminded of this every time the ancient teaching of how the drum came to the Nishnaabeg is retold. In one particular version, the Nishnaabeg nation was in conflict with the Dakota nation. After several years of strife, a young woman dreamed or visioned the drum. She was taught several songs to share with the people. Following her vision, she constructed a drum, and taught both the Dakota and the Nishnaabeg peoples the songs. The drum became more than a symbol of peace between the two nations. By carrying out the ceremonies given to her, and by sharing them with the people, peace between the two nations has been maintained ever since.[19] All of these values and processes are reflected in the Nishnaabeg nation’s pre-colonial treaty-making practices, and these practices provide us with important insights into the kind of relationship our Ancestors intended to have, and intended us to have with settler governments.
Gdoo-naaganinaa, Our Dish[20]
Gdoo-naaganinaa, meaning “Our Dish,”[21] is another such relationship Nishnaabeg people in the southeastern portion of the territory had with the Haudenosaunee Confederacy.[22] Our Ancestors intended for this relationship to continue perpetually, and it is relevant today because it provides us with a model for building solidarity with our Haudenosaunee neighbours and renewing our ancient and historic friendship. It is also highly relevant in contemporary times because it sets forth the terms for taking care of a shared territory while maintaining separate, independent sovereign nations. Gdoo-naaganinaa acknowledged that both the Nishnaabeg and the Haudenosaunee were eating out of the same dish through shared hunting territory and the ecological connections between their territories.[23] The dish represented the shared territory; although it is important to remember that sharing territory for hunting did not involve interfering with one another’s sovereignty as nations. It represented harmony and interconnection, as both parties were to be responsible for taking care of the Dish. Neither party could abuse the resource. It was designed to promote peaceful coexistence and it required regular renewal of the relationship through meeting, ritual and ceremony. The Nishnaabeg nation and the Confederacy related to each other through the practice of Gdoo-naaganinaa. It was not just simply agreed upon, but practiced as part of the diplomatic relations between the Nishnaabeg nation and the Confederacy. All of the nations involved had particular responsibilities to live up to in order to enjoy the rights of the agreement. Part of those responsibilities was taking care of the Dish. Nishnaabeg environmental ethics dictated that individuals could only take as much as they needed, that they must share everything following Nishnaabeg redistribution of wealth customs and no part of the animal could be wasted.[24] These ethics, combined with their extensive knowledge of the natural environment—including its physical features, animal behaviour, animal populations, weather and ecological interactions—ensured that there would be plenty of food to sustain both parties in the future. Decisions about the use of resources were made for the long term. Nishnaabeg custom required decision makers to consider the impact of their decisions on all the plant and animal nations, in addition to the next seven generations of Nishnaabeg. The Haudenosaunee refer to the treaty as the “Dish with One Spoon” treaty and there is an associated Wampum Belt.[25] The concept behind the Dish with One Spoon Wampum reflects the principles that were given to the Haudenosaunee by the Peacemaker in the Kaienerekowa (Great Law of Peace).[26] Again the Dish represents shared hunting grounds, but in the Haudenosaunee version there is One Spoon, not only to reinforce the idea of sharing and responsibility, but also to promote peace. There are no knives allowed around the Dish so that no one gets hurt.[27] Again, Haudenosaunee people understood the treaty as a relationship with both rights and responsibilities. Haudenosaunee land ethics also ensured the health of the shared territory for generations to come.[28]
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