The contrast

If you plan to be in Manitoulin Island for the Wikwemikong Powwow, look for the opportunity to see "The Honour Song" at Holy Cross Mission Ruins, Wikwemikong, July 23 to August 14th. My dear friend, Audrey, tells me her four-year old granddaughter will appear in this production, along with her father, Joe Osawabine. What a wonderful way to teach the young children their history, culture and spiritual teachings - and what a contrast to the sad, devastating legacy of the Indian residential schools. Congratulations to everyone involved.

Blessings,
Jean.

Racism

Take a look at this: http://tinyurl.com/257fbo2


Deja vu - a repeat of the situation faced by the folk who tried to launch the Argyle Centre in Peterborough, Ontario, a couple of years ago.

I have just "returned" from the annual general meeting of the Assembly of First Nations in Winnipeg earlier this week. One of the key speakers, Truth & Reconciliation Canada (TRC) Commissioner Justice Murray Sinclair, told the delegates that while the Canadian government was spending 150 years to convince the Indian residential school students that it was necessary to "remove the Indian from the child", they were also raising up a population of Canadian citizens to believe that the First Peoples were a "problem" to be gotten rid of ; that there were two levels of "citizens": "Indians", and the rest of us.

It is this mindset with which Canadians have been indoctrinated. It is this mindset that must be removed if there is ever to be healing and reconciliation in Canada.

And how do we remove or alter that mindset? It must begin with listening to, and sharing in, truth-telling

There are a number of people working at that, including the TRC. Let us pray that Alberton and environs will soon raise up people who can begin this work in their neighbourhood.

Unfortunately, it will not happen overnight, probably not in my lifetime - but I have hope that it will happen one day.

Blessings,
Jean.

"Uprising" by Douglas Bland

Go to your library or bookstore to find this book. It's a fascinating read for those of us who follow Indigenous justice issues. See http://tinyurl.com/26xqutl for an excellent review. I started reading it in Calgary but didn't finish it so now I have to ask for it at my local library - or go out and buy it.

For those of you who regularly follow my comments, I consider this a kind of "companion piece" to John Ralston Saul's book: "A Fair Country: Telling Truths About Canada", although I'm not sure either of those authors would want to be told that.

However, for me, both books say some very important things that we Canadians need to know. And I was excited to see that Chief Terry Nelson, at the Assembly of First Nations general annual meeting in Winnipeg yesterday, held up the Bland book as he spoke to the more than 600 Chiefs of First Nations across Canada about "how important we are". He offered "Uprising" as one way in which First Nations people can grasp the power they have because "you are the real owners of the resources that are being sold by Canada to other people, especially the Americans".

Chief Nelson suggested asking the Chinese government "to open trade with us" (the First Nations of Turtle Island - not the rest of us.) "Tell Canadians to solve these problems," he ended his presentation, with the "Uprising" book held high in his hand. "I believe in Shawn Atleo (AFN National Chief chosen last year) - he's on the right track!"

More about the AFN meeting later. Meanwhile, look for "Uprising" asap.

Blessings,
Jean.

Assembly of First Nations Meeting, Winnipeg, July 20-22, 2010

Dear Friends:

Take the time to tune in to http://tinyurl.com/2u6h4jk to follow the 31st Annual General Assembly of First Nations webcast this week. There will be media coverage also, of course, with Aboriginal journal Trevor Greyeyes adding to the Winnipeg Free Press coverage, but watching the action unfold on the webcast is exciting too.

Last year I attended the AFN Assembly held in Calgary when Shawn Atleo was chosen National Chief. At that time, he declared: "It's our time", and today in his opening speech to the Assembly, he showed how the AFN has moved towards taking over its own destiny, breaking away from the detested Indian Act and proposing a new relationship with the federal government under a "Ministry of Crown Relations".

There's more, and I will hope to add further to this blog in coming days.

Meanwhile, my best wishes to all delegates as they consider the future.

Blessings,
Jean.

Reflections on my first Sweat Lodge experience

I don't think this article has been published before.

My friends, Dan and Mary Lou Smoke, and I attended the opening day of the Ipperwash Inquiry in Forest, Ontario, April 20, 2004. The Elder-in-residence was Lillian Pitawanakwat, Birch Island First Nation, who on the next day asked Dan if he could arrange a sweat. This was set for Thursday evening, and to my surprise and delight I was invited to take part, a great honour because while I have heard of sweats for many years, I have never experienced one! Still, I spent a sleepless Wednesday night thinking of all the reasons why I, at 81 years of age, should perhaps not take such a risk. The next day, Dan said he had arranged a ride for me so I spent the rest of that day experiencing all the positives of putting myself into the hands of loving and trusted Aboriginal people and from then on, just went with the flow.

I was picked up by about 8 p.m. Thursday - and did not arrive home until 3:30 a.m. Friday so it was an exciting and powerful time! It was dark by the time we reached the location about an hour’s drive west from London. From the lighted farmyard, we drove part way, then walked to the gathering place. We had a flashlight, but my eyes had to get used to the dark, and my ears to the sound of frogs and other creatures singing at the top of their lungs in a pond alongside the lane. It was a happy, welcoming sound, creating the sense that Mother Earth was indeed stirring with new life on this cloudy, cool spring night.

We came to a clearing in the bush where a large sacred fire was burning, with the stones (Grandfathers/Grandmothers) circling it, heating up for the work they were to do later. Some men were already there since one or two, with their helpers, were engaged in a four-day fast. They would remain outside the sweat lodge, engaged in their own activities, but we were able to visit while waiting for the others to arrive. I was happy to see that almost all of them were young men from the urban and First Nations communities whom I had known now for many years so it was good to renew acquaintance, and they seemed glad to see me.

There was one other non-Aboriginal person, a man, who was also experiencing his first sweat and I was honoured to be sharing this time with him, since I know he has been working tirelessly in support of Aboriginal justice issues for most of his career, and also that he is from the Christian faith, as I am. There were others involved in the Ipperwash Inquiry and so it was easy for me to hold that event and the people involved in my thoughts and prayers throughout the sweat.

Finally, we were all assembled and it was time to enter the lodge. The women had changed into “granny gowns”, a light, loose-fitting garment (of their own choice) covering them to their toes, and the men into swim shorts. Tobacco ties were offered to the sweat conductor, and we crawled into a space of about 10 by 12 feet, and about three to four feet high, constructed with “ribs” of saplings over which tarps and blankets had been placed. The “floor” was covered with cedar boughs, surprisingly soft and springy to sit on.. I sat with my knees-to-chin for about three hours, quite astounded that I could be so relaxed and at ease in such a position for such a prolonged period of time.

There were times when the door was left open so there was some light from the fire outside, or the sweat conductor turned on a shaded flashlight to allow the Grandfathers/Grandmothers to be brought in, three, four, or seven at a time, and placed in the fire pit in the centre of the lodge. At other times the door was closed and we sat in total darkness. I felt a sense of great peace, and a feeling of being close to other people in ways that I have rarely experienced before. Not that we were touching physically for we were not, but there was energy and power flowing from one to another of us within that sacred space, bringing a wonderful sense of oneness and peace and connectedness. I think I will never again look at those people in quite the same way. I think we have shared a sacred moment which binds us together as brothers and sisters which will forever colour the way I see them and experience their friendship in the rest of my days.

As the hot stones were placed in the lodge, the conductor sprinkled pinches of medicine on them - they sparkled briefly and smelled wonderful!

We smoked the pipe of peace, brought in by pipe-carriers in our midst and passed from one to the other. Then they were handed to the firekeeper to place on the altar outside. We were fed with strawberries - the first fruit of Mother Earth - soaked in maple syrup, the first cleansing liquid of the maple tree. Delicious! We shared water, the lifeblood of Mother Earth, passed from one to the other in the circle. Then the door was closed and in total darkness, the conductor prayed in her language, and then explained to us about the prayers to the East, the direction of new life, new birth, of children and new growth. We sang a song in Ojibwe accompanied by drums and rattles.

Three more times the red hot stones were brought in, and each time the sweat conductor sprinkled medicines, prayed to the south, the west and the north, and then poured water on the stones which created steam which became hotter as time went on. It was easy to see where the name “sweat” came from. The water simply ran off me in rivulets!

Each direction has a colour, a medicine, an animal, and is representative of a part of the circle of life of the Anishnabe - children, new birth in the east; woman, teenagers’ growth and energy in the south; middle-age, the gaining of knowledge and living in the west; and the wisdom of the elders, the Grandfathers/Grandmothers, the Great Spirit in the north; and so the circle of life begins again.

We were instructed to pray for the people; and then for special needs of the people we knew; and then for ourselves. I prayed for my people in particular, that we would one day learn to open our hearts and minds to some understanding of our Aboriginal brothers and sisters, their culture and traditions and spiritual values. I felt the Great Mystery in our midst, in the soft, gentle voice of the conductor and her obvious concern for our well-being and comfort as we sat curled within that black, womb-like structure. I felt at peace.

Eventually, it was over, and time to open the door, crawl out into the cloudy night, the sacred fire now beginning to fade to embers. I was glad of a strong hand to help me to my feet as I emerged, but I felt fine physically, and mentally alert and relaxed at the same time. I was happy that I had been able to experience this part of my Aboriginal friends’ lives which is so important to them and helps to bring them back to the people - the Anishnabe - the Great Spirit created them to be.

For myself, I was immensely grateful for the quiet sense of loving concern which the young people showed me - especially the young women with whom I drove to and from the sweat. If I had been doing this all my life, that would perhaps have shown itself in other ways, but as a person from outside the culture, experiencing a sweat for the first time in my old age, it seemed to me to be somehow very special for I am usually intensely proud and independent!

We changed our clothes, and gathered in the home of our hosts for a potluck feast which ended about 2:30 a.m. with some pleasant visiting and final farewells (in Aboriginal languages there is no word for “goodbye” - only “until we meet again - In Ojibwe “kaa waab min”).

And so “chi miigwech” and “kaa waab min” - “thank you, until we meet again”.

-- 30 --

Jean Koning

London, Ontario

April 26, 2004

My Trip trip to Florida

It has been years since I was in the USA, and I had never been to Florida, nor had I ever wanted to go there, but when, this fall, some very kind relatives offered me an all-expense paid trip to visit them in their Marco Island condo, I agreed, since it would give me a special opportunity to visit with my sister who has Alzheimer’s disease.

It was a relief to see that I had not forgotten how to change planes in Atlanta, and that my niece was waiting for me when I arrived at Fort Myers airport. We drove to Marco Island, in south-west Florida on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, to a rather luxurious, gated-community condo where I spent 17 glorious days enjoying all the amenities of ocean and pool swimming; walking on the beach and gathering shells; watching dolphins frolic in the water; eagles, turkey vultures, and other seaside birds floating in the air; admiring beautiful sunsets, one or two lovely sunrises (I’m not an early riser); and a full moon casting luminous light over the shimmering beach and water. Not to mention delicious meals, and good conversation, although tinged with sadness as I watch my sister and her family cope with the debilitating effects of that cruel disease.

Before travelling south, I had tried to discover the identity of the original inhabitants of the territory I would visit, which is Seminole, http://www.semtribe.com/. The name, “Seminole” comes from the people’s word for themselves, “yal’siminoli”, or “free people”.
Their history is similar to that of other tribes across Turtle Island (North America), with the Seminole people being driven from their homeland by forced marches and brutal dispersal to areas further west, much like the historic “Trail of Tears” inflicted upon the Cherokee people of Georgia and other parts of the Atlantic seaboard.

One Sunday, I was able to attend worship at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Marco Island and was surprised to be shown the “Harriet Bedell Chapel” by the rector, who said that Harriet had been designated a “saint” by the Episcopal Church at its General Convention earlier this summer. On the wall were several old photographs of Harriet and the Seminole people she had befriended, and the parishioners were obviously proud of their “saint” who had been a member of their parish in earlier years.

Born in Buffalo, N.Y., in 1875, Bedell was a school teacher who later trained as a deaconess and served in missions among the Cheyenne Indians in Oklahoma and in a remote area of Alaska. In the early 1930’s, Deaconess Bedell was invited to visit the Seminole Indians in southern Florida.

“Appalled by their living conditions, she began her campaign to improve the quality of life among the Mikasuki-Seminole Indians by living and working with them, not merely teaching them. She sought to revive the doll making and basket weaving skills which had become nearly extinct. She encouraged the incorporation of the intricate patchwork designs made by Indian women into articles of clothing for both women and men. Sales from the arts and crafts store at Blades Cross Mission helped to provide improved income for the Mikasuki-Seminoles. Bedell emphasized health and education rather than religious conversion in her work with the Seminoles; their spiritual and physical comfort was more important to her than religious conversion, and her work and friendship with the Seminoles of Florida reflected those values.” ( http://satucket.com/lectionary/Bedell.htm)

To date, I am unable to find Harriet Bedell mentioned in Seminole history, and I didn’t have a chance to meet or talk with the Aboriginal people of that territory. A gift store owner (non-Aboriginal) in Napes (Fla) told me he didn’t think there were any “Indian” people left in the state. He sold expensive art work, jewellery and crafts but nothing made by the Seminole people. He said he thought they made money with their casinos. (He was apparently referring to the seven Seminole Gaming facilities owned and operated by the Tribe throughout the state.)

So I wonder what happened to Harriet Bedell’s work among the Seminoles? There wasn’t time for me to ask the parishioners, but would they have known, I wonder?

I also met, briefly, a guest visiting the people next door. Fr. Vincent Youngberg is a member of the Passionist Roman Catholic order, living at Our Lady of Florida Retreat House. Ordained later in life, he has never served under a bishop but takes, as his mission, the Gospel message to love Christ to love neighbour as self, to all who will listen. We had very little time to visit but I sensed in him a kindred spirit. You can read more at http://www.ourladyofflorida.org/fr_vince.htm

All in all, it was a wonderful holiday and I enjoyed the chance to experience summer one more time before settling into my small apartment in eastern Ontario where I will engage the winter to come, with fond memories of lying in 95 C degree sun on a warm beach in the sub-tropics - a moment in time spent in la-la land, thanks to the overwhelming generosity and kindness of people who love me.

Thanks be to God
(end)

A Manitowaning Memorial - July 4, 2009

March 28, 1970 was a never-to-be forgotten night in the lives of so many families - a two-car, head-on crash between two cars at the top of a hill just outside Manitowaning on Manitoulin Island, leaving three dead in one car, and six in the other.

At the time, it was called the second-highest death toll from an auto collision in the province. All my husband and I knew was that our 17-year old daughter was clinging to life as our friends and neighbours were coping with the deaths of the other five young people in her car. Miraculously, the teenage son of the local OPP corporal had survived and was still conscious when police arrived on the scene.

Thirty-nine years later, thanks to the perseverance of the sister of one of the teenagers in Val's car, we attended the dedication of a memorial plaque to remember the nine young people who died that fateful night: Robert Green, Ann Harasym, Terry Hembruff, Hugh and Paul Morrison, Celina and Patricia Paul, Wayne Wright and Boyne Van Zant; and those whose lives had been changed forever: Martin Brindle, Valerie Koning, Gerald McGregor, Jean Paul, Joseph Roy, Ronald Thompson and Finian Walker.

The July afternoon sun shone brilliantly as about 200 people gathered on the lawn of the Assiginack Museum for the dedication of the plaque placed there by the Municipality of Assiginack, who co-sponsored the event with the Museum.

The service, led by Rev. Martin Garniss of Knox United Church, offered prayers, readings, remembrances and remarks by Leslie Fields and Debbie Robinson of Manitwaning; George Gardner, Pastor of St. Gabriel Lalemant Catholic Church, Birch Island; and Chief Franklin Paibomsai of Birch Island First Nation.

I found it particularly poignant to listen to the young Chief speak of the ways in which the deaths of the young people from Birch Island affected his community. Situated an hour's drive north of Manitowaning, Birch Island is an Indian Reserve through which we passed when driving from the Island to Espanola and the cross-Canada highway, and I had met a very few people from there, but we were all so caught up in concern for our daughter, lying unconscious in a Sudbury hospital, and the grief of so many bereaved families in Manitowaning, that we scarcely had time to think of how the accident had affected that neighbouring community. Chief Paibomsai said he had lost a brother, and two aunts in the accident, which brought grief to his family, and others as well.

So it was good to have friends and relatives from all across the Island and beyond to meet and mingle with members of the families and friends from Birch Island - to share our sense of sadness about the past, and to show expressions of friendship in the present. And I thought I heard a particular message in Chief Paibomsai's words: "We have been brought together," he said. "It is no longer 'me', but 'we' who are to walk together into the future."

Much credit is due Ann Elliott, of Manitowaning, who lost her brother, Wayne Wright, in Val's car. Ann worked tirelessly to gather information from the bereaved families of both communities, to contact everyone she could find who had been a part of the tragic event, and to bring on board Assiginack Reeve Leslie Fields and her Council when they were reminded of the intention of Council shortly after the accident to consider erecting a plaque, but it had been sidelined and never acted upon, until now.

There is gratitude too for David Smith and Jeannette Allen and other dear folk in Manitowaning who offered refreshments following the service, and provided such friendly hospitality.

Coincidentally, my daughter, Valerie Koning Keelan, had been working for several years on the idea of writing a book - an autobiography - which had finally been completed and published just a few weeks before the memorial event. The Manitowaning Library kindly offered Val space for a book-signing, which took place in the morning of July 4th, and again later in the day. Gary and Wilma Neegan and Wilma's sister, Shirley and her husband Lou Vallant, had travelled from Timmins and from Little Current, respectively, to be first in line to buy Val's book. Wilma and Shirley are from Wikwemikong First Nation, and knew Val when they were young girls.

I was delighted to be able to greet other friends whom I hadn't seen for a very long time. My husband, Rev. Tony Koning, had been sent to the Anglican parish of St. Paul's, Manitowaning; St. Francis of Assisi, Mindemoya; and St. John's, South Bay Mouth, in 1966, where we lived until we moved to Englehart in December, 1970. The accident became, in hindsight, a spectacular, never-to-be forgotten beginning to my husband's ministry, which continued for thirty years. And it was good to be remembered kindly, after the passage of all that time.