Dreamkeeper Citation

Martin Luther King Jr. (MLK) said, “We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.” Where did such inspiration come from? Dreams like MLK’s can only be dreamed by men and women who know what it feels like to be persecuted and oppressed, to live in extreme poverty and to have known the agony of seeing their fellow man hanging from the branch of a tree, only for being black.

MLK dared to tell the world of his dream, a “promised land” where bigotry and racism did not exist. And it cost him his life. His beautiful dream was looked upon as a nightmare to people with hate-filled hearts. One of them was prepared to load a rifle and use it in the hopes of stopping the dream from materializing.

I believe MLK’s dream speaks of the love he had for all the people of the US of A. He loved each and all of them, regardless of the colour of their skin or their cultural background. All were clearly visible to him in his dream. It was this powerful love he had for human beings which created the words of his grand oratory at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. Today the love we have for freedom, for justice and for valour all grew mightier and filled the nooks and crevices in all corners of our hearts with pride and with a refreshed and re-invigorated devotion to peace because of the fact that MLK lived and because of the way he died.

MLK was an extraordinary man. His message left his heart, passed through his lips and flew over his audience like a beautiful songbird who let fall from its wings words which directed the people who heard them to rally in peaceful protest.

receiving plaque 16Jan12017I admire MLK and was so very humbled today to accept the DreamKeeper Citation for Excellence in Leadership. Activists like me do not say that we stand in MLK’s shadow. We are not worthy to do so. The same ballpark? Maybe. I will strive to be more like him though. You can bet on that.

I have my own dream. It is not as mighty as that of MLK. My dream cries to the people of Ottawa to open their eyes to the fact that Creator does not see the colour of our skins but sees only the beauty of our spirits. I too believe in equality. I am fully 100% aware that equality will never be realized until the day arrives where white people harbouring superiority complexes are not allowed anywhere near our justice system, nor in classrooms where children learn. How foolish does a person appear before God who believes that having white skin will make him/her a better police officer, jail guard, parole board member, judge, teacher, etc. than someone else whose skin is of a darker shade than theirs.

I am certain that there will be continuing hardship and more grief for the impoverished and for the working poor of our villages, towns and cities until such a day where politicians no longer allow themselves to be the puppets or the lapdogs of the rich and powerful of the land’s Ivory Towers. There will never be equality until all communities, minority and white folk alike, rise as one and say “no more, enough is enough”.

I said today that if politicians (municipal, provincial and federal) vote to destroy the Chaudière Falls site (Akikodjiwan) by endorsing development of them (Zibi condos), it would tell me that gatherings such as the one today honouring MLK are not real. A day like the one today would be nothing more than a veneer of brittle scales made of pretty lies and clumps of hair from the coat of the beast of greed. Neither MLK nor Jesus Christ would endorse the destruction of a sacred place created so a wounded people could heal.

Were any politicians listening? Time will tell.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind

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Black Direction House Concert

What a wonderful and memorable evening (January 7, 2017) was had by all who attended the Black Direction House Concert held in La Pêche at the home of Bettina and Andrew Johnston. Our hosts graciously welcomed many good people made up of activists, environmentalists, friends and visionaries to a moment in time where an audience allowed their hearts and spirits to melt into the songs sang for them by Phil Jenkins and Tito Medina. Our time together began with a smudging ritual and ended with a prayer. The highlight for me (I can’t help it) was when Phil surprised me, and I assume everyone else, with him singing a song featuring the words of my poem “When the cedar is gone.” The words are as follows and can be found in my book “Of Trees and their Wisdom”:

When the cedar is gone
Who then, will speak of our spirituality
When the oak is gone
Who then, will speak of our strength
When the maple is gone
Who then, will speak of our generosity
When the birch is gone
Who then, will speak of our creativity
When the pine is gone
Who then, will speak of our legends

Thank you, Phil! Thank you, Tito! Thank you my new friends, Bettina and Andrew. And it was so nice to see Benjamin Ramirez Arancibia (and hear him drum the Unity Song!) and Luc-Anne Salm again. God bless all of you and let’s rock this country in 2017.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind

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J.B., The Cat Who Thinks He’s A Dog

A friend of mine lives in an old farm house on the outskirts of the city. A cat (I’m almost 100% certain it’s a cat) lives with him. The cat’s fur is the colour of a freshly shined black shoe, the hair, growing only long enough to keep him warm on those long, frosty winter nights. The cat’s name is Jack Black, better known far and wide as J.B.

J.B. is no regular run-of-the-mill cat. Reason being, J.B. thinks he’s a dog. Like a friendly dog, he excitedly greets visitors at the door. He jumps up and down, runs in circles, all that nonsense! And one of his favourite things to do is to rest his head on a human being’s foot. If you whistle, J.B. will come running. “Ya got a treat for me?” he seems to be saying. He’s quite the critter! Visitors to my friend’s house often remark, “Hey man, your cat thinks he’s a dog.”

Although J.B. (the cat?) often carries on like a dog, he gives himself away as a cat when an obliging visitor rubs his belly. J.B. loudly purrs away, totally lost in ecstasy, to the point that the walls of my friend’s kitchen vibrate in response to the sheer power of the purring’s rhythmic eloquence. He gives himself away as a cat, too, when he presses his arched frame up against a welcomed visitor’s leg (I’ve never seen a dog do that). It’s at times like these that some people say, “Hey man, your dog thinks he’s a cat.”

Because he has so many traits usually reserved for canines, there are some people who truly believe J.B. is a dog. “If he has even 1 drop of dog blood,” said one person, “then that’s good enough for me. He is in fact a DOG!!!”

A dog? A dog you say? He doesn’t look like a poodle nor a hound. He doesn’t resemble Lassie nor Rin Tin Tin in any way, shape or form. Fetching? Forget it! J.B. retrieves neither stick nor ball nor frisbee for no man.

jb-the-catOne day a visitor brought two dogs with him to the farm house. The dogs were curious, you know how dogs are and what dogs do! It was for this exact reason that the dogs were called in. The visiting dogs gave J.B. the ol’ sniff test. It was hoped their findings would prove at long last, one way or the other, whether or not J.B. was a dog. If nothing else, a dog knows what another dog smells like! Well sir, the dogs each took their turns with gusto, eagerly pressing their large wet noses under J.B.’s elevated long tail. One of the dogs snorted and sneezed after doing so. It was as if the many years of sniffing out the truth had finally caused a foreign irritant to wedge itself into one (or both) of his nostrils. I felt sorry for the dog, but what the hay, nobody was forcing him to do it. We, the folks gathered there hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery, were beside ourselves with the suspense of it all. The results of the smell test weren’t long in coming. The conclusion, J.B. is not a dog. He is a cat! The sniff test proved it!

You’d think that this silly controversy would have been laid to rest right then and there, but no, there are still some people who believe that J.B. is a dog. “If he has only one drop of dog blood in his veins …”

Some folks are convinced that J.B. is a cat, others are not. What do you think? Let me know. Meow!

UPDATE, UPDATE!

I’ve just been informed that J.B. (the cat?) has begun to write a novel titled “The Dog”. It tells the heart-wrenching story of a proud sleigh dog, the alpha, overcoming attempts at mutiny, the merciless elements of the north of 60 landscape and the cruelty of the desperate man leading the team of dogs into frozen tundra in his lust for gold.

Turns out that J.B. is a hell of a writer. Watch for the release of “The Dog” sometime in 2017. Accolades and awards are expected. J.B.’s next book “Wooff, I Have Spoken” is scheduled for release in 2018. I can hardly wait!!

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind

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New Year’s Eve On Parliament Hill 2016-2017

A special moment occurred for me New Year’s Eve on Parliament Hill. I held a torch, along with The Right Honourable Melanie Joly, Canada’s Heritage Minister. His Excellency, The Right Honourable David Johnston and his darling wife held a second pole with a flame burning at its end. We extended the torches slowly and carefully towards the bubbling oil of the Hill’s Centennial Cauldron and as one, reignited it to honour Canada’s 150th birthday. I look at this event as a grand statement of proof that Canada is serious about establishing a new relationship with this land’s original inhabitants. A proud moment for me to be sure. (Check out the CBC video, below, to see this moment.)

My oldest granddaughter is 16 years old now, the age I was when Canada celebrated her 100th birthday. Times were sure different in 1967. Many politicians, the hate mongers, and, it seemed to me, the community at large, had succeeded, through the promotion of hate literature and outright lies, into making some of the First Nations Peoples feel shame. Shame about the special blood flowing like a mighty river through the vessels of their hearts. Children were still being horribly abused in Residential Schools. The 60’s Scoop was in high gear. Our identity as a unique people was being crushed. Our very souls were being grotesquely violated.

But it wasn’t all bad. The big grandfather drum was back in the Ottawa Valley. Brought here by our young people who had gone south and joined the American Indian Movement (AIM). The pulse of pride began to pound in the hearts of those of us who weren’t afraid to renounce religion in favour of our own ancient spirituality. The “Return of the Red Man is at hand” some magazine articles stated!

So Canada is 150 years old. Do I celebrate it? Not me! I’ll celebrate Canada when I begin to see evidence of promises being kept. Are you listening, Prime Minister Trudeau? It was good to be on the Hill. It’s a start.

I hope I represented my family with the dignity and pride deserving of them while I was on the Hill. A new year has begun (according to the calendar). The year for me begins with the Sugar Moon, the first moon of spring climbing the sky. “Wake up, wake up,” she sings to the earth. “Welcome back,” she cries to the song birds. “Let the sap flow,” she urges the maples on. Life stirs, my heart swells, I hold my grandchildren close and promise them that I will do all I can to be their great guide and confidant. I walk barefoot on the earth. I feel the medicines of the land being absorbed into the pores of my feet. I sing my honour song in acknowledgement of Creator giving me the heart of a human being.

Let us together, stand as one nation and do all possible to bring about peace and harmony to all people, wherever they are and whatever their roots of origin might be. The dead fish on the Nova Scotia shoreline call to us to do it.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind

 

 

CBC video of New Year’s Eve On Parliament Hill 2016-2017
I took part at around one hour and eight minutes in.

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My Feelings on Joseph Boyden

Twenty-five summers ago at Lebreton Flats, I stood in circle with 70 good people at 5:15 a.m. to welcome the rising sun with offerings of heartberries and tobacco. At least 35 of the sunrise ceremony’s participants were white folk. This impressed me immensely. I thought, the white people are coming on board, they’re turning on to our spirituality. How nice is that! When I mentioned the ceremony a few days later to an elder I have great respect for, he said, “The white man will never be happy to just take his place in our circle. He won’t be happy until he is running them. Mark my words.” I look around today and I think, yeah, there was something to what the old man said. Pirates, liars and cons are ruthlessly pillaging programs put in place to assist those of us whose lives were knocked off balance by the great wrongs of the past i.e. Residential Schools, 60’s Scoop, destructive propaganda geared to promote hatred against us, etc., etc.

I worked in the Ontario prison system for 3 years (2010-2013), all of them in a maximum-security jail notorious for its many violent outbreaks. After being there for 1 1/2 years, Quebec Corrections contacted me and asked that I check out a low-medium security prison in the Laurentians to see if they might be able to convince me to transfer there from Ontario. The Quebec prison had a Pathways program which often means early parole for any inmates fortunate enough to be selected for one of the ten positions made available to them in the program. The Pathways was put in place for Indigenous offenders. A great initiative to be sure. Such programs exist so that our people serving time will not have to be incarcerated any longer than necessary. What I saw at the Quebec prison, however, was that all the ten Pathways spots were made up of men who had self-identified as “Indian”. All of them appeared to me to be white men. The status (full-bloods) of the prison were on the outside looking in at a program meant for them. The Status Indians were bitter about it and complained to me also about the disrespect the “white guys” had for the drum and the healing songs. “If we express any anger, however slight, at the white guys for mocking the drum the way they do, we can expect a week in the hole for it,” is what they told me. I wrote letters to Quebec Corrections but didn’t receive any response to the demand I made for an explanation. I worked only 8 days in the Laurentians and left extremely frustrated at what I witnessed there. The maximum-security prison, though brutal, at least kept the lines of communication open.

Joseph BoydenAll of us know that jobs specifically posted at worksites for our people are being stolen all the time by applicants who self-ID. They (the job thieves) check off the “Are you Aboriginal” box and rob an individual, family, a community from benefitting. Their selfish, greedy act is often responsible for some of our people being on the welfare rolls. In the arts, our voices, those of the “Status Indians” are often pushed aside so that the voice of a self-ID artist can be heard. It has reached epidemic proportions. Believe it or not, there is a growing number of people (self-ID) who are promoting themselves as our “elders”. When will it all end? How will this nonsense impact the emotional and spiritual health of our young people? I shudder to think about it!

My grandfather was Samson Commonda. He took the name Dumont long before I was born. Samson and my grandmother Therese were Algonquin Anishinabe. Their marriage resulted in my Dad being born. My Mother’s mom was a non-status full-blood Algonquin, her husband a Métis who could have easily passed for a full-blood. The blood of my heart is mostly that of the red people. I do not claim to be better or more important than anyone having less blood quorum than I but I honour and respect the full-bloods far more than I do myself or the other mixed bloods around me. Do they not deserve it? Are they not the ones who suffered more outrages by far than any of the rest of us? Are they not the ones that the hate-mongers zero in on? If I have European blood in my veins, does it mean I can self-ID as a white man? The white man of my time would never have accepted me as one of them. This I know with all certainty.

The people with that sweet and gentle bloodline, still untouched by that which arrived here from afar, are special to me. My eyes delight in the art they produce with beads, hide and porcupine quills. The way they fill a canvas with scenes only the minds, hearts and spirits of they of special blood can possibly produce. What mixed-blood or self-ID Indian could have created what Norval Morrisseau did? Our full-blood Indigenous writers and playwrights are in a league of their own. They are the best of the best so far as I’m concerned! Buffy Sainte-Marie is beautiful, unique and a graceful earth shaker, not because she is a First Nations singer and songwriter, she is what she is because the blood of her heart is 100% of the land. Only a full-blood has any chance of replacing her someday! If ever she can be.

The spiritual DNA of the land is more profound in those of us fortunate enough to carry blood, pure and sweet and here since our creation story began. I for one want to hear them. Their voices are more important to me than those of the people who self-ID. Am I wrong to feel this way? Should we not do all we can to promote the artist with that ancient blood so that the world can hear, see and benefit from an authentic voice coming from the land?

If Joseph Boyden really does have Indigenous blood in his veins, then I stand with him and will protect him from those who would work to destroy him. If Joseph Boyden does NOT have the blood of the land in his heart and only said so to spell success for himself, then I would regard him as being nothing more than a pirate, a liar and a con. A wise woman said recently in regards to those people who self-ID as being Indigenous: “It’s not who you claim to be which is important. It is whether or not a community claims you.”

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind

Note: Click here for the APTN article on this subject.

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Asinabka: A Compromise

At the beginning of the night, through the loft window of my cabin I saw them, three women dancing, illuminated by Kokomis’ lantern. How gently their skirts swayed, as if pushed forward by the swelling and deflating lungs of a hibernating four-legged. Such was the softness of the caress they gave to the earth with their moccasined feet. I watched the dancers until my eyes gave in to peaceful sleep. In the morning I awakened before dawn. The women were there yet, near the old yellow birch tree, dancing, paying homage to the generosity of the forest and to the healing ways of the land. Soon, light came from the eastern sky and with it came a signal that the dance, the beautiful prayer, was complete. The women ceased to move. They had danced ‘till dawn and now they could rest. With the light of day filling the forest, they disappeared.

I was gifted that hot sultry night years ago to see, through a window of modern making and with physical eyes, the spirits of women who lived long ago. The dancers too, have a window out of which they can peer at us in the physical realm, to observe our noble actions and deeds and yes, even the wrongs we do. My fear is that the window our ancestors look through to see us is fogging over. Technology and the great force of money rises like the debris of a violent storm from our world to obstruct their view of us. Colour is no longer seen by them, song no longer heard. As we step into the future, the pollution we leave behind stains the window from which all our relations strain to see us. Are we lost? I feel we are close to it.

Lebreton Flats too, is sacred land to us.

The Anishinabe, each and all, once looked to Asinabka with as equal respect and spiritual reverence as Pope Francis of the Catholic church today looks upon the altar of the Vatican’s greatest house of worship. The Falls of our grand river (Ottawa River) were truly seen by the People as an altar touched by the goodness of Kichi Manido, the Great Spirit.

Prayer Ribbons on Victoria Island (Asinabka)The Falls are sacred but so, too, is the area known today as Lebreton Flats. The Flats were a place where visitors from far away nations encamped themselves when visiting Asinabka and where many rituals and ceremonies of high spiritual significance occurred. We, the Peoples of great Turtle Island, must stand together to oppose development of Lebreton Flats and do whatever is necessary to stop the raping of yet another sacred site. Let us call in whoever it is who will inspire us and guide us on the next course of action we will take to assure development of Lebreton Flats will not happen. It is our hope to remain peaceful in our protests but where do we draw the line?

As always, I only speak for myself, but I say here and now that I will only accept the development of Lebreton Flats if Asinabka is left alone! Let the Algonquin contractors who hoped to prosper from work at Asinabka be awarded opportunities to succeed in business at Lebreton Flats. The Algonquin construction companies must be given jobs and training at the ‘Flats’ site. I would respect this compromise and stand with them in their demands for jobs and training. It is a simple solution. Develop Lebreton Flats and grant contracts to our people while doing so but leave Asinabka alone.

Remember June 17! If you cannot make it to the ‘It Is Sacred’ walk, then please send someone, a friend or family member in your place. Be there! We need you to be there!

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind
What you can do to help protect our sacred Asinabka site:
-> Read, act upon, and share this call for support from Four Algonquin Communities: http://bit.ly/1RJB5d2
-> Be there for the Ceremony and Sacred Walk lead by Grandmothers on 17 June: http://www.itissacred.ca/

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Asinabka – Privately Owned? Ridiculous!

It sickens my heart to hear people say, “The islands around the Chaudière Falls (Asinabka) are privately owned.”

I am in total agreement that many things of our dysfunctional world can be bought and sold. There was even a time on this continent when human beings were paraded naked, like livestock, to be sold to buyers who placed the men, women and children they purchased into a life of slavery. In those shameful times money could buy everything from summer berries to the scalps of our Anishinabe ancestors. Though it might be difficult to emotionally and spiritually process today the atrocities I mention above were not only condoned but actually praised by most of the colonizers living back then. The horrors which took place on the back of our gentle Turtle Island in the past are truly shameful!

In more recent times, injustices which occurred in other parts of the planet are coming to light. I draw your attention to a conflict I have been tracking, taking place today in Europe and New York City. First of all, a question! To whom do the priceless art collections belonging to Jews seized by the Nazis during the Second World War now belong? Can descendants of the people who lost the art collections justifiably lay claim to what was violently stolen two or three generations ago and demand that the property be returned to them by whoever claims ‘ownership’ of the artwork today? Who will decide what is fair? To me, it is an open and shut case! What was acquired through thievery must be returned to the rightful owners. Wait and see, the courts will decide likewise, I’m sure.

Artwork is what it is! Whatever humankind creates will at some point have a price tag hanging from it! We live in a world where money talks! A sacred site, though, is something created by Great Spirit. It cannot be bought like a bushel of carrots or like one of Picasso’s originals. There is no amount of money existing in the world today, nor will there ever be, that could purchase it. Asinabka cannot be ‘privately owned,’ not even by the People on whose traditional territory it sits upon. Asinabka was stolen away from the Algonquin Anishinabeg at a time when our numbers were few and after our ancestors had been forced away from the sacred site by the ruthless and viscous businessmen of those times.

Painting of Asinabka, wild and free, before the dam.

Painting of Asinabka, wild and free, before the dam.

Asinabka is a place where healing medicine, solitude and culture flow in unison, like the waters of the Great River do. Kichi Zibi carries within it the waters of springs, creeks and of the rain. We need Asinabka to exist so our next generations will have a chance at understanding something about the purity of spirituality and also about the necessity of it in our lives.

Let us look into our own homes. What evidence do we see signalling to us that the spiritual wellbeing of our children and grandchildren is being properly tended to? I ask you to look into the heart of your community. Do you see respect and honour being heaped onto our women and girls? Do you see youngsters who do not know where to draw the line with things of the party world? If we see dysfunction and despair, even a tiny bit of it, and think “money will fix it for money fixes all things,” then we need to be made aware that another piece of what defines us as human beings has fallen away from the light and has been swallowed up by the monster of greed.

Asinabka behind bars. Photo by Julie Comber.

Asinabka behind bars. Photo by Julie Comber.

If we lose Asinabka, we remove from the grasp of our children an enormous chunk of our already shredded culture and identity. Like us, our children and grandchildren will die some day. Our prayer is that their souls will climb the sky to soar like ravens to the place our ancestors dwell. This is the hope I have for my descendants at least. And I will do all in my power to save Asinabka from being defiled to make their journey better. I will do so for the spiritual betterment of my family. They call on me to do so. I answer the call and will fight with all the strength of my heart to protect the healing place of our ancestors.

I hope it’s not the case, but most likely there are people around us to whom it makes sense that an individual could be bought and sold, or that the placing of a bounty on the scalp of a human being assured the creation of a nation. What is worse by far is that there are people walking the Earth today who believe they can actually ‘own’ a sacred site. It’s enough to make me vomit.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind
What you can do to help protect our sacred Asinabka site:
-> Read, act upon, and share this call for support from Four Algonquin Communities: http://bit.ly/1RJB5d2
-> Be there for the Ceremony and Sacred Walk lead by Grandmothers on 17 June: http://www.itissacred.ca/

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Items Of Great Concern To Our Community

I Vow to Protect Asinabka

The Flower Moon has arrived! Once again it is at that special time of the spring season when the rooster partridge drums while clinging to the moss of a long fallen pine and Mother Earth sends forth pretty flowers to surround the trees growing over the rocky landscapes of our forests. It is a good time for a human being to make a vow. Making a vow is something only human beings possess the physical ability to do. The birds, fish and animals and plant life of our territories have spiritually done so long before they even appeared here to help us, the people, live out our lives.

I say to Creator, hear my vow. I promise, with all the strength of my heart to stand in defence of Asinabka. I will do this so our sacred site will never be defiled by development or by the touch of any person who believes that the power of money is greater than the power of Creator. I will stand with the Grandmothers. They will lead and I will follow. Please join me in this vow. On June 17th (note the change from May 30th), let us walk in solidarity with the Grandmothers. For more information, please see http://www.itissacred.ca, and you can request to join the Facebook group by clicking here.

Albert_postcard_30May2016

Note the new date for the Walk is 17 June!

The Eagle Feather

To me, the editorial cartoon (Ottawa Citizen, Wednesday, April 13, 2016) was clear in its negative message to the newspaper’s readers. The illustration portrayed an eagle feather, apparently decaying, its power slowly slipping away and falling into oblivion. The word ‘Legacy’ was scribbled above what remained of the once highly regarded plume. The commentary just to the left of the artwork told of the misery and despair occurring in Attawapiskat.

The artist who created the cartoon would have us believe that the eagle feather is responsible for what is happening in many of the First Nations communities in the North. The cold hard truth is, what is happening in Attawapiskat is not the legacy of the eagle feather but is that of the Residential Schools. It is the legacy of Prime Minister Sir John A. MacDonald and of whoever else it was who stole away our languages and traditional spiritual beliefs. The blood of any child, dead now because of an act of suicide is on the hands of the politicians who acted to oppress the First Nations of this land in the past and even to this very day. The eagle feather and its power must return to our communities. When it is again held up as a symbol of our spirituality, the misery and despair will cease to occur.

My eagle feather has repaired what was broken in me both emotionally and spiritually. The eagle feather symbolizes truth, peace and healing. I will hold it close to me now and forevermore.

Of Further Concern

A few months ago a young woman living in an apartment with her three children lost all of her belongings due to the misfortune of a fire engulfing her home. Since then she has lived in a motel room with her children. She is trying to rebuild her life as best she can. She is a proud young Anishinabe Kwe who would not ask for help. When the Wabano Centre was made aware of this young woman’s plight, they suggested the idea of an Indian Taco lunch as a fundraiser. It will be held at the Wabano Centre on Friday, April 29th, 12pm to 5:30pm, and see below or click here for the poster you can share on Facebook. If you can make it, please do! If you cannot, send a card or drop it off, with a donation to help the young woman and her children to rebuild. Even a $5 donation would be greatly appreciated. Send your card with your good wishes to Wabano care of Cindy Peltier (staff worker) at 299 Montreal Rd. Ottawa, ON K1L 6B8. For more information, call Cindy at 613-748-0657 ext. 214.

fundraiser_FINAL

Migwech for your generosity,
South Wind.

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Good Luck Marlene Carter

This visit (March 30) with Marlene, likely the last one I will have with her at the Brockville Mental Health Centre, was the best of all the numerous and wonderful times I’ve spent with her. There is so much to reflect on.

Trust is necessary in any relationship where healing is expected to occur. She and I have both discovered new definitions of what life is through our shared circles and counsels. Trust was ever-present. Marlene has taught me much about what it is to be a human being. I am so very fortunate to have been privileged to make her acquaintance.

Marlene experienced an ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) session earlier in the morning on this last visit and said she felt her senses were ‘foggy’ because of it. I noticed, though, that she had an immediate explosion of energy when she saw the rabbit stew and wild blueberry pie I brought for her, not to mention a large cup of hot coffee and a fresh baked lemon poppy seed muffin. Marlene was hungry. The feasting foods didn’t have a chance!

As was a custom of ours, Marlene, me and the chaplain (who works at the Brockville Mental Health Centre), sat in circle and prayed as one for Marlene and for others, too, of the Indigenous communities who suffer/suffered as she does. Jokes and stories were told and much laughter ensued. I watched Marlene gleefully eat the foods of her feast. I saw again the profound gentleness in her eyes as I had seen in them over a year ago. I will miss her terribly.

I want to thank the staff members who treated Marlene with compassion and professionalism while she was in Brockville. God bless them for their integrity and for the dedication they have for their chosen profession. Helping the unfortunate mentally ill citizens around them to heal truly gives purpose to their lives. The chaplain deserves special mention as I believe she went above and beyond what was expected of her while interacting with Marlene. I’m sure Marlene will never forget the chaplain for the kindness and respect she showed her. Kim Pate of the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies (CAEFS) and her colleague Bryonie Baxter also lifted up Marlene’s spirits on many occasions. Thank you both!

Marlene Carter (“Stone Mountain Woman”) is from the West (Onion Lake Cree Nation, Saskatchewan). The medicines of her territory, found in the songs of birds unique to the West and even in the winds and rainwater of her homeland call out to her to enter into them to surround herself with their healing energies. Let her return to her ancestral home to be among them once more.

birdcage-454467_1920Marlene will be heading for Saskatchewan at some time between now and April 14th. I wish her all the best after she arrives back to her home province. Her return to Saskatchewan was something I have been advocating for her for several months now. I would rather not have lead protests denouncing Marlene’s treatment in Brockville, but could see no other options. Marlene’s return to Saskatchewan was central to why the protests took place. Anyone who says different is a liar. Anyone who believes what liars have said to make it appear that I was acting against Marlene’s best interest are allowing themselves to be fooled.

I have been a human rights activist in Ontario since 1993. When I see human rights abuses occurring before my very eyes, I act. The weeks on end Marlene spent in seclusion were brutal and unacceptable. Something had to be done! My heart motivates my actions. After all, I am a human being.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind.

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Asinabka: Impossible To Buy!

Waterfowl and fish know where the most sacred places are on a river. The breath of the river rises at such a place. The healing song it sends forth through its rising mist is heard spiritually by all things residing in and around the river’s waters. The songs of the waterfowl and fish join in sacred harmony with that of the river. Such are the instructions of our Creator.

Painting of Asinabka, wild and free, before the dam.

Painting of Asinabka, wild and free, before the dam.

As human beings we need to understand clearly that it is no more possible for a developer to purchase Asinabka (Chaudière Falls and the islands around them) than it is for you or I to purchase it from the birds and fish who honour it with every beat of their hearts. Yet there are people with untold wealth who would have us believe that they are the true stewards of Asinabka. “It is private land,” they tell the courts, “we are the rightful owners of it.” How did it all come to this? What greed and treachery occurred in the past to make it so a colonizer could utter such nonsense today?

The waters of the Falls spilling over the glare rock in the centre of the circle of the ancestral lands of the Algonquin Anishinabe carry the memories of the sturgeon and eels who lived in them since even before the creation of human beings. If we want to see who truly has stewardship of Asinabka, let us look to them. Only when the sturgeon and eels are ready to bargain away Asinabka to a developer, will I finally concede that all is lost and take my place in line with my hand extended, palm turned upwards, waiting for cash to be slapped onto it.

If the dishonourable settlers of the past who stole Asinabka away from the Algonquins were still alive today, I would demand that they be thrown in jail for what they did. What does Creator think of a man who believes money can buy a place of sacredness? A place acquired at the hands of thieves! What do we call a settler society that would allow it to happen?

Since when can a stranger enter your home and defile your sacred bundle as he sees fit, while claiming all along that he has every legal right to do so? As the original inhabitants of this land, are we not entitled to some form of protection of our most sacred place of healing? When the settler community denies us our sacred place, then I must wonder if they even regard us as human beings.

If a tyrannical leader of a faraway land were to oppress a minority of his country in such a way, the settler community here would condemn him even to the point of taking up arms to force his ouster. The Christians of the world call what ISIL fighters are doing to believers of Jesus as a saviour in the Middle East genocide. But here in Canada’s national capital, most Christians remain silent while a developer readies his machinery to destroy a most precious and sacred site of the First Peoples. What does it say about Christianity when Christians pick and choose whose spirituality is worth protecting? After all, it is wrong to do nothing about it in the eyes of God, as well as in the eyes of humankind.

Asinabka behind bars. Phot by Julie Comber.

Asinabka today, behind bars. Photo by Julie Comber.

The storms of life in which money swirls thick and heavy, blind many people from seeing the goodness of their own hearts. The trail leading to the knowledge of what it is to be a human being becomes evermore obscure to them and makes finding it difficult even when a tragedy occurs within the circle of their own families. The development of the Chaudière Falls will prove only that the people of the settler community are at peace with continuing the abuse of Peoples who have suffered far too much already. Let us stand in solidarity as human beings at Asinabka to stop development. With the spirits of the Falls and those of the land by our side, we will not fail.

Keep the Circle Strong,
South Wind.

What you can do to help protect our sacred site:
-> Read, act upon, and share this call for support from Four Algonquin Communities: http://bit.ly/1RJB5d2
-> Sign and share this petition: http://chn.ge/1VB6x3w

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