Read an Excerpt
On June 21, 2009, a community procession of Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg dancers, artists, singers, drummers, community leaders, Elders, families and children walked down the main street of Nogojiwanong. With our traditional and contemporary performers gently dancing on the back of our Mikinaag, we wove our way through the city streets, streets where we had all indirectly, or directly, experienced the violence of colonialism, dispossession and desperation at one time or another. Our drummers provided the heartbeat; our singers provided the prayers. Settler-Canadians poked their heads out of office buildings and stared at us from the sidelines. “Indians. What did they want now? What did they want this time?” But that day, we didn’t have any want. We were not seeking recognition or asking for rights. We were not trying to fit into Canada. We were celebrating our nation on our lands in the spirit of joy, exuberance and individual expression. Our allies lined the streets offering smiles and encouraging shouts of approval. Flanked by huge, colourful puppets and a flock of sparkling bineshiinyag made by local children, the procession was both strikingly disarming and deeply political at the same time. This was not a protest. This was not a demonstration. This was a quiet, collective act of resurgence. It was a mobilization and it was political because it was a reminder. It was a reminder that although we are collectively unseen in the city of Peterborough, when we come together with one mind and one heart we can transform our land and our city into a decolonized space and a place of resurgence, even if it is only for a brief amount of time. It was a reminder of everything good about our traditions, our culture, our songs, dances and performances. It was a celebration of our resistance, a celebration that after everything, we are still here. It was an insertion of Nishnaabeg presence. As I walked down the main street of the place where I live with my family, I felt a mixture of strong emotions. As I saw my Haudenosaunee and Cree colleagues from the university walking with us, I felt a deepened sense of solidarity. This was a time in my life I felt most connected to my community. But I was also afraid. I was afraid of the response of the non-Natives in my community. I was afraid they would throw things at us, that there would be confrontations, that there would be violence. I was afraid that my kids, having only known joy and beautiful things from their culture, would suddenly have their bubble burst and they would see the violent assault my generation of Indigenous assumes as normal. The idea of a celebratory community procession is incredible to my eighty-something Nokomis. Growing up on the reserve, and then living in Peterborough, the idea of “Indians” marching down the main street in a celebratory fashion seems fantastical to her at best. She can’t believe that her great grandchildren feel proud, that in her words, “It is OK for them to be Indian.” And in many ways, that was the point of the procession. The Nishnaabeg have been collectively dispossessed of our national territory; we are an occupied nation. Individually, we have been physically beaten, arrested, apprehended, interned in jails, sanitariums, residential or day schools and foster care. We have endured racist remarks when shopping or seeking healthcare and education within the city. We have stories of being driven to the outskirts of our city by police and bar owners and dropped off to walk back to our reserves. But that day we turned inward to celebrate our presence and to build our resurgence as a community. For me, it was a beautiful day. I’ve never walked in solidarity with all of our Nishnaabeg families before, regardless of our individual political orientation. I’ve never had the opportunity to celebrate our survival, our continuance, our resurgence: all of the best parts of us. For an hour that day, we collectively transformed the streets of Peterborough back into Nogojiwanong, and forward into Nogojiwanong. For an hour that day, we created a space and a place where the impacts of colonialism were lessened, where we could feel what it feels like to be part of a united, healthy community, where our children could glimpse our beautiful visions for their future. The procession made its way to the shores of Zaagigaans, where we held a Powwow and artistic festival. The cycle of our Grand Entry into the streets of Peterborough was repeated as our Elders and dancers danced their way around the cedar arbor, and we started over once again. Together, we transformed National Aboriginal Day into something about resurgence for our community, instead of a shallow multi-cultural education day for Canadians to feel less guilty about their continued occupation of our lands. For me, our procession was a political act. We built a day where we put the health of our nation first. We strengthened our culture. We strengthened our relationships with each other and with Nogojiwanong. Nishnaabe Elder Edna Manitowabi says that one of the reasons our cultures and ways of life are important is that our culture brings our hearts great joy. Our culture is beautiful and loving, and it nurtures our hearts and minds in a way that enables us to not just cope, but to live. We always feel good after being out in the bush, or after ceremony. I thought of this that day as I walked. I thought of the word e-yaa’oyaanh, which means who I am, the way I am living or becoming, my identity. In order to have a positive identity we have to be living in ways that illuminate that identity, and that propel us towards mino bimaadiziwin, the good life.
