GOD AND THE INDIAN - A Play by Drew Hayden Taylor

“I don’t know who I am!”

How often have I heard that desolate cry from the heart of a First Peoples person struggling through an adulthood ravaged by the memories of residential schools or of foster care from the Sixties Scoop era?

I heard it again in the voice of Johnny Indian one recent Sunday afternoon as she engaged Assistant Bishop George King who Johnny remembered as the man who had abused her in residential school many years earlier.

And how often have I said to my First Peoples friends after listening to their stories of residential schools: “I am sorry – so sorry - for what my people, and my church, did to you and your families through the residential schools”.

All the pathos of both these heartfelt cries were caught in Drew Hayden Taylor’s play, GOD AND THE INDIAN, though 75 tension-filled minutes, with no pause, in the intimate setting of the Aki Circle Theatre in the downtown Toronto neighbourhood where so many of those same lost and lonely souls exist; where St. James’ Anglican Cathedral raises its lofty spire to the sky.

It has been my privilege, my duty, and my agony, as a life-long Anglican who has walked with the First Peoples for almost 50 years, to listen to many, many stories of IRS survivors, and the survivors of the Sixties Scoop, First Peoples children taken from their homes by social workers and placed in non-First Peoples foster and adoptive homes across Canada and beyond.

Watching the talented Lisa Ravensberger share Johnny Indian’s story with us, I was remembering so many women I had met over the years who had walked the same path, suffered the same nightmares and pain, but not all of whom had the chance to confront their abusers in later life.  Watching while sitting with a young Anishinabe Kwe (Ojibwe woman), shedding tears as she experienced once again the tragedy of intergenerational IRS trauma, remembering her grandmother who raised her but was unable to give her the love that every child needs to grow into healthy adulthood.

 So many men and women came out of the IRS with no understanding of how to nurture children in love, since they had never experienced love in the institutional setting, separated from their parents, and siblings, and their language, culture, ceremonies and the spiritual and traditional teachings of their people.

I had read the play, just recently published http://www.drewhaydentaylor.com/books/god-and-the-indian/, so I knew what was going to happen, in a way.

What I was not prepared for was the shock of hearing Assistant Bishop George King, trying to defend himself as the charges of sexual and other abuse are raised by Johnny, and he shows her the words of the apology spoken by Anglican Church Archbishop Michael Peers:  “I accept and I confess before God and you, our failures in the residential schools. … I am sorry, more than I can say, that in our schools so many were abused physically, sexually, culturally, and emotionally.  On behalf of the Anglican Church of Canada, I present our apology.”

How many times have I listened to that apology, spoken on my behalf, by a friend and a highly respected leader whose lot it was to steer the Anglican Church though those tumultuous days as we began to hear the truth of our shared history stretching back over many generations.

I sat in the darkened theatre with tears in my eyes, because I had walked with the members of the Anglican Council of Indigenous Peoples in those dark days – the sense of betrayal as the lawyers took over the management of the Indian Residential Schools Settlement Agreement. 

It’s true, we were not the lone defendants: the Agreement was signed by the Federal Government of Jean Chretien, the Assembly of First Nations, the four church entities (Anglican, United Church, Roman Catholic and Presbyterian), and the Indian Residential School Survivors Society, but as a life-long Anglican, I carry the responsibility for the legacy of the Anglican Church’s involvement with the historic relationship between Anglicans and the First Peoples for the past 400 or more years.

GOD AND THE INDIAN helps me to understand ever more deeply the full import of that relationship.  God grant that I and my fellow Anglicans will begin the work of healing that broken relationship under the leadership of the First Peoples, especially those now claiming that position of leadership in our midst.

Thank you, Drew, for offering us one more step along that path of healing.

Making New Friends

It was busier than usual when I arrived at the salon for my hair appointment, so I shared the seating space with a young man and  his two little girls as they waited for Mom to have her hair styled.  Dad had his five-month old daughter on his lap, who gazed at me with that steady look that only little folk can fix on one, waiting to see whether I'm worth a smile or not.  I cooed at her, as I always do at babies, and she smiled so I knew we were friends.  Her two-year old sister sat quietly in the stroller, also checking me out, but after her Dad and I had spoken about the weather, and I had asked about the children's ages, she began to show me her bunny rabbit, which was purple, she told me, and eventually we had conversation.  I knew she was telling me a very important story, so I listened with appropriate reponses as I watched the changing expressions on her face, and her purposeful arm gestures - I don't think either of us said any real words of any language, but we were certainly connecting through her story-telling and my story-listening!  It was delightful!

The baby began to fret a bit, so Dad began to sing softly to her, and I recognized one of the songs I often hear my Anishinaabe sisters singing, so my thought that they were a First Nations family was confirmed, and I hummed a bit very quietly along with him.  Baby Girl stopped fussing immeditely and sat quietly listening, and Little Girl in the stroller was singing gently along with her Dad, and I thought how restful and comforting that was for all of us.  The hairdressers continued their work around us, but I could tell that no one was upset by this - in fact, they probably all found it restful and soothing.

When the song finished, I said "gchi miigwech" and "nishin" so the Dad shook my hand, and told me his name which, unfortunately in my old, old age, I don't remember (I hate that part of being old!) and I introduced myself in Ojibwe - just a few words - but I sensed that he appreciated that.

So we talked a bit more - he is from Bearskin Lake First Nation, in Treaty #9 territory, not far from the Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwug First Nation (Big Trout Lake) and I told him of several people I know in those communiti4es and he knew them too, so it was easy to see that we were really neighbours and also friends.

Then Mom's hair was done, and she looked lovely, so they were ready to go, and we shook hands and said goodbye.  They are living in Peterborough at the present time, so I'll hope to meet them again before too long.  Kaa waab min N'wiijkiwenh - Farewell, friends, until we meet again!

Panel Presentation at Pre-Gathering of Elders – Enweying< Trent University, Peterborough – Feb. 27/15

Boozhoo.  Aanii.

Jean ndi-zhinikaaz.

Windsor ndoo-njibaa.

Peterborough megwaa ndoo-daa.

Zhaaginaashii-kwe ndaaw.

Gchi-gbeying ngii-wiiji-mosemaag Nishinaabeg.

Ndoo- gjitoon waa-zhi Nishnaabemyaanh.

Aapiji go ngchi-nendam miinwaa waabminaa. 

I introduce myself in the Ojibwe language to honour the Anishinaabekwewag who have been willing to teach me their beautiful language, beginning with Elder Rose Peltier who gave me my first Odawa lessons in Wikwemikong almost 50 years ago.  And now, since coming to P’boro 11 years ago, I have been happy to be able to meet her grand-nephew, Beedahbun, who lives and works here.  And that is but a small part of the story of how the circle of my life continues to bring me happy memories of the past.

There are many things I could tell you about the past half-century during which I have been walking in solidarity with the First Peoples, and how long it has taken me to reach my current understanding of the meaning of my relationship with First Peoples brother and sisters, but I shall speak of only one experience.

Until I stopped driving about five years ago, I spent a lot of hours in my car, which I always found was a good time to think.  One day, I was thinking about how much time I have spent with First Peoples.  I thought of how sorry I am about the devastating effects that my church and my governments have had on their lives; of how I have tried to show that I am sorry by standing with them, and speaking out for justice on their behalf; of trying to help my people to understand just how badly damaged is the relationship between us. 

And as I thought about all this, I suddenly had an “aha” moment. 

I thought: But why do I think that I have to be the one to fix things?  Why do I think that I have to be the one who cares for others by taking the lead, and telling other people what to do?  If there is one thing I have learned during the years I have been in relationship with First Peoples – and more importantly – the years when they have allowed me to be in relationship with them – it is that the First Peoples are totally capable of caring for themselves.  They have leaders among them who have so much knowledge, so much experience, and so much wisdom that has been handed down to them from their Elders – they have everything it takes to give leadership to their people – and more than that, they have the ability to give leadership to me and to my people.

Now many of you may think that this is a no-brainer, but I admit that to me, it was a revelation.  Maybe it comes from being the eldest in a family of four children, used to assuming leadership in that small community.  Or maybe I’m just a slow learner, which I know in many ways I am.  I’m still trying to learn how to manage my computer – not to mention learning how to speak in Ojibwe.

But for me, that moment was a turning point in my life.  Since then, especially when I am in meetings where First Peoples are present, I am remembering to say to myself: Okay, Koning, keep quiet and listen.  What are the First Peoples saying?  How are they offering to take the leadership role?  And can I put myself in the position of being willing to accept that leadership?

It has offered me a whole new way of life!  But – and again I have to ask for mercy here – that role does not come easy to a privileged white woman like me who has so often assumed a leadership role whether I was asked to or not.  My British ancestry hasn’t helped, either – my Victorian grandmother imparted to my child’s mind a lot of the “Rule, Britannia” history that she grew up with. 

But I believe that this is one of the most important insights from my experience I can share with you today.  But for some of us – like me – it may have to be an intellectual exercise – one that we have to go through in our minds before it can reach our hearts.  But when you get to that point, you will then be able to join in the Water Walks or Idle No More events to appreciate the way in which First Peoples are offering us leadership across Canada – going out among the people in the streets and shopping malls, and even at blockades and in protest marches - to sing and dance and to offer the hand of friendship that will allow us all to join the Circle – to restore health to Mother Earth and to one another.

I pray that you will not have to take as long as I have, to reach your place in that Circle.

Thanks for listening.

Jean Koning.   

First Peoples Rights in the Hospital Setting

Have a look at this item:  http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/hamilton/news/judge-rejects-application-take-aboriginal-girl-from-family-for-chemo-1.2834674 – and then think of what would have happened if McMaster Hospital authorities had managed this situation differently – which is what the judgment is really pointing out to them.

 

The hospital authorities could have recognized and respected the constitutional right of the First Peoples to be self-determining about their own and their children’s lives.  Then they could have said to the family and the girl:  “we recognize your constitutional right to be self-determining in the management of your child’s health.  Now, tell us how we can  help you to fulfil that responsibility.”

 

I dare to say that the outcome would be quite different – and in fact, if the hospital authorities are willing to have that conversation now, having acknowledged that they had previously missed the step of respect and recognition of First Peoples constitutional rights, then a different outcome for the child may still be possible.

 

As media reporters begin to consult "experts" to try to help their readers/viewers/listeners understand what has happened in this court judgment, we will be subjected to professional people who, though well-educated, have no understanding of the law as it applies to the relationship between the First Peoples and The Rest of Us.  Thus, the professionals will bemoan the fact that a child will probably die because her Mohawk family is claiming the right to follow Indigenous Knowledge, instead of placing the child totally in the hands of Scientific Knowledge.  Thus, even the professional scientific knowledge carriers do not know their Canadian law, and do not respect the Indigenous Knowledge carriers who minister among their own peoples.

 

What the judge's finding indicates is not whether the child will live or die according to the kind of treatment she receives, but that the First Peoples have the consitutional right to manage their own lives, and it is that right that must be respected. 

None of us wants to see a child die unnecessarily, but that is not the issue this Canadian judge is facing.  Rather, he faces the issue of whether Canada is going to live up to and respect its own constitutional law, or whether it is going to continue to ignore the terms of the historic treaties under which our settler ancestors came to this country.

 

My heartiest congratulations to the Mohawk families, and the Brant CAS, for recognizing, respecting, and upholding this very important right of the First Peoples in whose homelands The Rest of Us "live and move and have our being", 

 

 May it lead to a deeper understanding of how we are to live together in harmony. 

THE BROCK STREET BURIAL in Peterborough, Ontario

Date:  September 2007

The stone – granite I think – measures 50” long, 38” wide, and 31” high.  It sits on Brock Street, P’boro, between the sidewalk and the edge of an asphalt parking lot across the street from Price Choppers.

The words on the plaque attached to the face of the stone are:

THE BROCK STREET BURIAL

Here on December 6, 1960, the skeletal remains of a man who lived in this area about 2,000 years ago were discovered by Douglas Yaxley of Peterborough.  Buried with the man were 29 artifacts attributed to the Point Peninsula culture which occupied the Trent River system before the Christian era.

See P’boro Examiner, December 7, 1960:

“Expert Says Indian Bones ‘Important Find’”,  and “Indian Grave Uncovered” – “Royal Ontario Museum archaeologist Walter Kenyon examines an excavation where bones believed to be 2,000 years old were found under the Brock Street parking lot Monday.  Mr. Kenyon describes the find as “a most exciting discovery”.  Another picture and story on front page, second section.”  [Cutline with photo of Kenyon]

Recorded by Jean Koning, Peterborough, ON, in my computer files, September 2007

Further comment, January 6, 2014:

While this refers to the presence of First Peoples in the territory we call Peterborough some 2,000 years ago, it may not cause Canadians to realize that the ancestors of those same First Peoples are still living among us today.  Neither does it help us to recognize the fact that the First Peoples were never “conquered” and that they are, in fact, a nation of sovereign peoples within whose homeland we now reside.

This is why it is important - nay, imperative - to observe the protocols concerning the relationship between two sovereign nations: The First Peoples by whatever name they call themselves in their own language  (in Peterborough territory it is probably the Mississauga Nation of the Anishinabek  - or Ojibwe) and Canada, as we settler/immigrants call our nation.

To learn about the protocols in your territory, please consult the nearest Indian Friendship Centre or First Nation.  There are people who would be most willing to help you learn about these protocols, such as presenting tobacco to an Elder, or how to listen effectively within the Talking Circle.  

I always ask, in the same way that I now share this blog, by saying that I am speaking and writing in the spirit of peace, respect and friendship.

Thanks for listening.

Jean Koning.

“The Orenda” by Joseph Boyden, Hamish Hamilton Canada, 2013,490 pp., $32.00

There are a number of excellent reviews of this book available; this is not a review but  are just some of my reflections after reading it during Christmas week.

Forty or so years ago when my husband and I lived in Manitowaning on Manitoulin Island, we became friendly with the Jesuit fathers who ministered to the Anishinabek (Odawa) of Wikwemikong First Nation.  I remember them telling us that it took 17 years for a man to become an ordained member of the Society of Jesus, and part of that time – perhaps about one year – would be spent in a place like Wikwemikong so the “scholastics”, as they were called, could learn how to engage in their Roman Catholic ministry in places that were culturally different from what they would have experienced when growing up.

So I was fascinated to read about Joseph Boyden’s description of those early years of the Jesuit missionary work among the Huron, recognizing the kind of faith position that motivated young men like Christophe to leave comfortable homes in France in the 17th century to come to the New World to Christianize the “sauvages”, Christophe’s word.

I have said, in recent years, that if we, as Christian missionaries, had been able to listen to the “Indians” we met here when we first came to this territory, we would not have found ourselves setting up residential schools, but “The Orenda” points to my naiveté, for there is no way, with the vast differences in our cultural understanding of who we were at that time, whether First Peoples or settler/immigrant/missionaries, we could ever have been able to listen to one another – not with a view to living peaceably together, anyway, until we had spent a long time learning how to listen effectively.  And I suspect that the zeal of those days simply would not have allowed for the kind of listening that today, we know is crucial to our learning to live together.

For me, Joseph Boyden has written in masterful prose the story of two separate cultures which were always going to struggle to find common ground, as we still do today.  Of interest to me also is the way in which, as the two peoples begin to interact, there is some willingness on the part of each to learn the language.  I have studied the Ojibwe language for over 40 years, because out of that same naiveté, I suppose, I sensed that if I wanted to know how to understand the First Peoples, I should learn the language.  And for me, that has been true.  Over the years I have gained immeasurable knowledge about the humanity and the spirituality of Anishinabe brothers and sisters, since in many ways, to me the language is the people. 

That does not seem to be the reason the Jesuits learned the language.  They had only one purpose in mind, and that was to bring the “sauvages” souls to Christ, and they were happy to die in the attempt.  I find it interesting to think of how I view my understanding of my Christian faith as I live out my life into its ninth decade, compared to the purposeful way in which Christophe and his fellow “crows” lived their lives in the 1700’s, according to Boyden’s meticulous research, which incidentally, undergirds the whole book.

At least one book reviewer has admitted she could not read in full the descriptions of torture, which was why I almost didn’t attempt to read “The Orenda” at all.  I had tried to read Boyden’s earlier books: “Three Day Road” and “The Black Spruce” and I could not read past the first two or three pages because I could not take the descriptions of violence.  I haven’t met Boyden in person, but on TV he looks and sounds so gentle and kindly, I could not imagine him as a violent person.  And yet, the images of torture are so exquisitely written as an integral part of the whole story, so why can his mind write those descriptive passages and my mind can’t let me read them?  Then I remember that doctors and soldiers and emergency workers on battlefields and accident and terrorist sites also see the same kinds of damage done to the human body, so I have to believe that the difficulty lies with me, the reader; not with the author.

So while I find myself relating to the Jesuit characters through my understanding of my Christian faith; my sense of relationship to the First Peoples characters happens simply as human being to human being.  As I know myself to be woman, daughter, wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, niece and aunt, and as I recognize all the feelings of joy and pain, serenity and anxiety, satisfaction and hunger, and of being once young and now old; so I relate directly to the women, especially, but to the men as well, simply as fellow-human beings.  As the lives of Snow Falls and Gosling, Bird and Fox, and their families unfold, I feel the same kind of love, anger, trust, hope and longing in my heart and mind as I feel it is in theirs.  That is simply part of the human condition.

This is far too long, and does not do justice to this elegantly crafted book, but I offer these thoughts just from my own reflections, with my gratitude for the creative genius of writers like Joseph Boyden.

Jean Koning,

Peterborough ON,

December 30, 2013.