What Spiritual Beliefs Mean to Me

Posted on November 10, 2013 by South Wind

Spirituality? Salvation, yes! And it has a great deal to do with our ability to walk on waters which would blur our vision to what is truly sacred if ever we sunk into them.

Without my spiritual beliefs I would have most certainly ended up in prisons. I was caught in a death grip by a severe addiction to alcohol. Escape from it didn’t seem possible. I was in a rage and I was dangerous. But it all changed for me when I discovered the ancient spiritual beliefs of my Anishinabe ancestors.

I had the ability to see, hear, smell and taste like most other human beings as I stumbled without purpose through life. Today I no longer take the blessings my eyes, ears, nose and mouth allow into my life, for granted. My spirituality directs me to heap praise on all goodness God gives, so I can experience the four seasons of life with health and vigour by my side.

My spirituality points to the land as a place to go, to retrieve wisdom and hope. A lake surface freezes over in the winter months. A thick ceiling of ice, snow and crust block out light from where the fish live. A time of darkness befalls the perch but he does not despair. He is aware that in time, sunlight will once again enter his world. And when it does, he rejoices and is thankful. With this I am taught to stay strong, knowing that healing will eventually occur for me no matter what amount of pain might press into my heart today.

The birth of a human being is a miraculous occurrence. And because it is women who provide the womb and water in which the heart of a human being begins to drum, women hold a special place of honour in our spirituality. Long before other peoples came here, women of the Anishinabeg nations were entrusted to be keepers of the waters. It was they whose prayers, rituals and ceremonies were believed would keep the lake, river and stream free of poisons. Women were honoured as leaders and were feasted as gatherers of the many medicines the land generously provided to the Peoples so all would enjoy good health.

The duty of the men is to gather, and make ever ready for future generations, the kindling that keeps the fire of “life’s purpose” burning brightly.

The children are wise teachers and a constant reminder to us as to why we must keep the land healthy. My spiritual beliefs direct me to honour the children and to stand with humility before the old people of my community who dedicate the last years of their lives towards the health and wellbeing of our future generations.

After life has left my heart and the memories I held dear have been placed into the care of my children, I will awake to a world anew. My ancestors will greet me with honour songs and a great feast will take place. And forevermore, I will be surrounded by love and peace.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Question? Period!

Posted on November 5, 2013 by South Wind

The Reform Party, guised as the ‘New’ Conservative Party, held their convention in Calgary this past weekend. The delegates cheered, danced and humbled themselves before their king, just returned from the battlefield known as the ‘House of Commons’. The delegates sang in praise of their illustrious leader. And it warmed their little hearts to see that the rumour they’d heard of their king being wounded by the swords of opposition forces were not true. ‘Wounds?’ They saw none. “Our King is invincible. He cannot be slain,” they shouted as they voted to pass ultra-right wing conservative policies. Poor, poor Reformers, they don’t get it, do they! The rest of us do not view the world through their tainted lenses. We see what’s real. We know when the freedom and democracy our young people fought and died for in two World Wars is being mocked. We won’t stand for anything less than ethical, responsible leadership. Leadership that protects the human rights of all and stands against those who would needlessly destroy the little of what’s left of our once pristine homelands.

A week ago today, I was invited to sit in the galleries in the House of Commons to bear witness to the debates taking place below. “Lucky me!” I thought! Turned out I wasn’t so lucky, just disappointed. If the House of Commons is there for debate, none occurred on the day I was present. Question Period? Better to call it “Question? Period!” I can tell you that though many questions were asked, none were answered. Harper came across like the village idiot. Those folks who lived long ago, whose dream it was to have a place where duly elected leaders could debate issues important to the health and wellbeing of Canada’s citizens would have done somersaults in their graves had they borne witness to what I observed last Tuesday. What a farce! A pathetic contempt for Parliament if ever there was one, brought to us by Prime Minister Stephen Harper and the Government of Canada.

How can anyone respect a system like that? How can anyone respect a prime minister who tells ‘his’ followers, “I couldn’t care less,” referring to what Canadians who do not embrace his doctrines think. “I’ll do what’s right.” Right? Yeah, the far right! Sorry, Mr. Prime Minister, but us simple grassroots folks don’t want anything to do with the far right.

Let’s make a promise now! Let us promise to vote in 2015. Can you imagine another six more years of Harper and a government with an ultra-conservative agenda? I don’t even want to go there.

“I couldn’t care less” – his words will surely sound the prime minister’s political death knell.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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An Agenda of Hate – Michael Coren

Posted on October 27, 2013 by South Wind

Hate monger Michael Coren dished out another hate promoting column for the Ottawa Sun newspaper on Friday October 25. I am sure Ol’ Lucifer is real proud of Ezra Levant’s little lapdog for doing so. Coren, being a Christian convert, believes in the existence of the devil. This doesn’t deter him in the least, however, from writing hate-promoting trash. He extends his greedy little hand after putting the boots, through an editorial, to the First Nations Peoples, “Gimme my cheque,” he says to Ezra. The dollars are his alone for now, but after Coren’s hard, cold heart stops ticking, Satan will collect his due. Beware Coren, you won’t wiggle free before God when your life is reviewed. Cash means everything to people like Coren. Jesus had better not get between Coren and his ilk and their money lest he wants to experience another crucification.

In his latest tirade about the Elsipogtog Anti-fracking protest, ‘Let’s end the politically correct fantasy’, Coren states, “I am so sick and tired of First Nations activists’ self-pity, the saccharine sentimentality, and their sheer inability to be grateful for the great country Canada is.”

Man, in my 63 years of life I have never, and I mean, ever, met a First Nations person, activist or not, who wallowed in “self-pity” because of the many injustices heaped on him/her by Canada. That we do is a myth created by mean-spirited Canadians who see First Nations, children included, as vermin who interfere with the economic progress of this country.

Ezra Levant wrote a couple of months ago that “Indians” could learn something from the Jewish people who have struggled and been persecuted against and still have found success through their determination to get ahead. The thing is this though: Jews were first elected to political office in Upper Canada in 1837, whereas the First Nations were only given the “right” to vote in 1960. Things would be a lot different for First Nations today, if we had been part of the decision-making body in the Parliaments of this country since 1837.

I want Michael Coren to know that I am sick and tired of something, too. I become sick to the point of almost vomiting, when people like Coren tell me, a First Nations citizen, that I should be grateful to Canada. Grateful for what? Do you expect First Nations Peoples to be “grateful” that thousands upon thousands of Aboriginal children died of abuse and neglect in those horrible places called “Residential Schools”? All manner of abuses took place there. Perverts and mean-spirited people were kept on staff to prey on defenceless children, living far from their families and loved ones. Broken treaties and the theft of our lands and resources, we can get over those things, but the deaths and cruel abuses of our children? I will not get over it, not in a million years. Does Coren as a Christian, believe that Christ blessed the abuses which occurred at the Residential Schools? Is he not ashamed as a Christian? And be motivated by what Christians did to children and contribute how he can in the way of reconciliation. The type of people who nailed Christ to the cross were of the same type who allowed children, sick from disease, to die alone and afraid in their sick beds at Residential Schools. Let there be no mistake about it.

People like Michael Coren forget that the First Nations People have been abused and oppressed in Canada for over 150 years. Our recovery will not occur overnight. It will be a slow process. It may take a few generations before we are healthy again and living as God wished us to. But we need friends and allies to help us. If only those people who really understand the teachings of Jesus would come forward and denounce the frauds among them like Michael Coren. If they did, it would be a sign that the bible truly is capable of saving souls.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Fracking – Against God

Posted on October 23, 2013 by South Wind

I recall speaking to a man in midlife who had criss-crossed North America many times over the course of his life. On the shoulder of a highway, he would extend his right hand, fingertips pressing onto his palm, the thumb pointing down the road asking, “Going my way?” This wanderer and I chanced to meet at the edge of an old forest, from which the trees and birds could be heard singing in harmony. I asked him what it was that had motivated his travels. “I am in search of solitude,” he answered. He went on to say that he had yet to find it, at least not in its purest sense. If only he had stepped into the nearby forest, he would have found what he was looking for. The voice of his spirit would have immediately lent to the choir singing with vigour in the forest. And the wanderer would have discovered spiritual peace at long last.

In one form or another, people who love the land cry when they are told news of environmental disasters caused by the outright negligence of buffoons unqualified for the task placed before them or because a corporation cut corners to enlarge their already inflated profits. We cry because we feel the pain of the birds, animals, insects, fish, waters and all else of nature whose health has been forever destroyed or laid in a critical state because of what was done to them.

I wonder where we will find enough tears when we cry for and with the land enduring the fracking process. We can hardly bear to even imagine the pain fracking brings to our relations on the land.

Shale rock is more than stone. It is the place where Mother Earth stores her memories. It is a sacred place where lives the oldest of the old, the wisest of the wise, and where the most gentle and loving of all grandmothers and grandfathers wait to assist us in our circles of life. It is a place which has known the touch of the oceans and seas, the bubbles of life of fish and the songs of creatures great and small who travelled over them. It is a place where the caresses of the south winds and the healing rays of the sun have melted into them since the creation of the earth. It is a place where a line is spiritually drawn. A line that tells greedy corporations, “Do not tread here.”

I do not believe that it was First Nations protestors who brought guns or bombs to the protest site in Elsipogtog. I believe that the person who set the police vehicles ablaze was either an infiltrator or a police officer acting on the orders of his superiors. Remember Ipperwash? The police reported to the press after Dudley George was slain that the Aboriginal protester had opened fire on them first. It was all proven to be a bunch of lies.

I stand for peace and for the lighting of our pipes to protect the pure waters and pristine landscapes of our indigenous territories. Even when those who stand against us break our bones, we will mend and return to make our stand as stewards of the land. We can and will defend ourselves if we are forced to do so.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Raging? Not Me!

Posted on October 21, 2013 by South Wind

It shook me up a bit on the weekend to hear a woman I hardly know tell a group of people, “the North is where our friend Albert would stand because he is raging and angry.” I’m quite certain that the lady who spoke the words did not have malicious intent when she did so. She had sized me up as someone, perhaps just a bit out of control, and relayed her view of me to the people in an attempt to bring clarity to the message of an exercise she had initiated involving the four directions.

Let me be crystal clear on this. I am not “raging” about anything. Rage is an emotion I shed from my life along with the dark days of imbalance and addictions which were crushing me spiritually, over 25 years ago. When I think of what creates rage I imagine the top of a person’s head being lifted up and trowels, filled with anger and frustration being packed into the exposed brain of an individual ill-equipped to deal with the invasion because of being emotionally crippled by the actions of an unjust society. Rage would consume every thought the person had, effecting them even to the depth of their bowels. I do get angry. Anger is healthy, I keep it under control.

Part of what I said previous to the assessment (“raging”) made of me, was this: “If the people who came to our continent (Turtle Island) from afar really had our best interest at heart when they rounded up our children, and by force placed them into Residential Schools, they would have been better advised to grant us the right to vote in 1850 instead of waiting until 1960 to do so.” My identity as a member of an Anishinabeg nation does not weaken when I vote to oust politicians whose beliefs are such that if they maintained power, it would be at the detriment to the health of my children. To vote yea or nay to the laws of a government does not mean you have agreed to take your place in the whitewashed corridors of a foreign society. You have lost nothing of your rights as an Aboriginal person when you exercise your right to vote.

Something else I said to the group is the following: “I renounced my Christian beliefs when I was twelve years of age. By then, I had been under the relentless attack of a cruel teacher for two years. The teacher was a Christian held in high regard by others of the Christian faith. I was left deeply scarred, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. The teacher told me that my ancestors were in hell. I did not believe this to be true. If Christians were people who condoned vicious attacks on the most vulnerable human beings (children) around them, it signalled to me that I could not have anything to do with such a religion.” I did let the group know that even though I renounced Christianity, I still believed in God.

I felt back then, and the feeling is around me yet, that the breath of the Great Spirit engulfs me as it does all other life placed here on Mother Earth. Let us all be honourable and humble before the greatness of the land and we will do well as human beings. Respect for one another will finally come to pass.

Spiritually, I know when an action of the government will bring destruction to the life of a forest. Spiritually, I am directed to physically act to stop what it is that would kill all of our relations on the land. For me, my duty to protect the land begins with anger. 

A current example: Members of the Elsipogtog First Nation are resisting fracking on their land (in New Brunswick). When I read the description of what “fracking” is, I cringe physically, mentally, emotionally, and especially spiritually. It’s painful to imagine what this process does to the land. My blood pressure rises, my temples begin to throb. I get angry! Spiritually I am overcome with the desire to protect the land, with prayers or with actions.

Do not confuse the feelings of becoming annoyed or frustrated as something similar with the emotion of anger. There is a huge difference. I know when I’m angry, I know when I’m annoyed or frustrated. I’m an activist and it comes with the territory. Yes, I do get angry. But raging? No, I’m in control. I don’t even like being in the same room where rage is occurring.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

UPDATE: Good news for the Elsipogtog First Nation! On 21 October, a request by SWN Resources Canada to extend a court injunction that prevents some forms of protest near its staging area and and storage facility in Rexton, N.B., has been denied by a judge.

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The Wonders of my Ancestral Land

Posted on October 12, 2013 by South Wind

Travelled by Greyhound to Toronto early on Wednesday morning. It was a beautiful day and the ride was leisurely. My reason for going to the “Big Smoke” was to speak about my poetry book Broad Winged Hawk at York University where a group of students will be promoting sales for it. Met some nice people at York U and got re-acquainted with some old friends, writers I have great respect for. All went well in T.O.

What I write about below are the thoughts and feelings I experienced after the coach I was riding on began the Highway 7 phase of the trip back home.

It’s 3:20 p.m. Thursday and I find myself again on a Greyhound. This one taking me back to dear ol’ Ottawa. As the coach climbs and descends hills, negotiates curves, and overtakes or follows slower traffic on the highway, I pass my time staring out of the tinted windows of the bus onto the majestic beauty of my ancestral homeland. Along the roadside I see shallow ponds, surrounded by large round, moss laden boulders. There are many wetlands, all of them pre-historic looking and full of wonder, and occasionally a lake of striking character appears, with beaver cabins and abandoned osprey nests on her shores. Special too, are the natural forest clearings lined by giant pines whose old limbs stretch further into the east than they do in all other directions, reminding all that the refreshment of a new dawn will give birth to tools and medicines empowered to completely conquer the traumas experienced today, however great they are. I see on the rolling hills white birch trees interspersed among the cedars and pines and poplars. Being a bird hunter from way back, I am aware the rooster partridge is there drumming or dancing to impress the partridge hens. My mouth waters just at the thought of the rich flavours of partridge soup making contact with my taste buds.

Riding the Greyhound with me are about forty other passengers. They are of varying races and cultures. But regardless of where they came from on this planet, and regardless of the amount of time they have lived here, none of them are having the thoughts about the scenery the bus is leaving in its wake that are like mine. When I look at the land, I see something greater than its beauty. I see a place of medicine and healing. I see a sanctuary filled with wisdom and teachings. I see a place of mystery, life and wonder. My heart drums in harmony with the song of the land. My spirit rattles and calls to the spirits of the forest, a cry of blessings for all things living there.

Where I sit on the coach, I see seven people in close proximity of my seat, busy tapping their thumbs into the face of a square shaped gismo. Some are plugged in. The bus moves forward, a large hawk in a field climbs the sky. But the eyes of the people are cast downward. Their thumbs don’t miss a beat. As the hawk is nimble with his wings, likewise are these young folks with their fingers. The “bold new world” promised to the young people is taking hold and is at the same time, robbing them of their natural connection to the land. What a terrible shame.

And so, on this Thanksgiving weekend, we offer a prayer of acknowledgement and honour for all those things alive on the land, which, if they did not exist, then neither would we. We ask You, Creator, to bless the land with health and vigour. We ask for pureness in the winds we breathe and in our waterways which provide sustenance for our bodies. We are thankful, too, for the health and wellness of our children, grandchildren and all of our relatives and all of our relations. We ask that our feasting will be enjoyed by all who take part of it. We ask these things of You, Creator, with great humility in our hearts. Migwech.

Do not pity me
Do not shed precious tears
But let your voice rise above a whisper
And tell the citizens
That the song of life which is theirs
Was a song I could never learn

I longed to hear my own song
Where was it
Where was the council fire

I wandered and searched
But never found my purpose
Where was the feast
Where was the honour
The drumbeat had disappeared
Even the wind did not exist

O city fathers and mothers
Gather from the sidewalks my experiences
Tell your sons and daughters
That these are memories
Of a street dweller
Who was taken away by eagles
To soar at last among the stars

(excerpt from “Do Not Pity Me”, Broad Winged Hawk)

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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The Sweet Traits Of Our Teenage Girls

Posted on October 2, 2013 by South Wind

The Sweet Traits Of Our Teenage Girls
dedicated to Maisy and Shannon (who disappeared in 2008)

A pearl, a girl
A wind that whirls

Talk of love, of a dove
Of God up above

Teddy bears, country fairs
Doing things on a dare

Giggles and wiggles
And twinkles in the eye

A sigh, a good cry

A song about “What’s wrong!”
A circle in which to belong

A friend to the end
A shield that never bends

A plan for a clan
A wife and her man

Wonder about blunders
And things that cast a soul asunder

Pow wow dancing, models prancing
Handsome boys glancing

Enter the evil
Our greatest fear
Our girls disappear

Damn those evil men for their lust
They have broken humanity’s trust
And left
Our lives broken
Our spirits shattered
Our hearts hollow

The sweet traits of teenage girls – I know them so very well! I am blessed to be the father of daughters and the grandfather of granddaughters. No sons or grandsons to be seen in this neck of the woods. Many times it seems, I have watched girls emerge from the whirlwind of teen years and land on that minuscule circle of bubbling earth on which only strong and confident women take their first steps as leaders. Our women are regaining their power. I am happy for them and joyful, too, for our communities will benefit greatly because it is so.

My daughters and granddaughters are superbly intact with health and vigor. They are destined to leave their mark, their unique imprint on the soul of the land. The realization of their dreams. I know they will do it.

But I worry about my girls. My hope for them is as great as the hope all parents and grandparents have for the women and girls in their families, that being, they will live long, healthy, happy lives. What causes worry for me is the fact that a great number of our Aboriginal women and girls are murdered or disappear each year in this country, now known as Canada. We want our womenfolk to be safe.

4 Oct 2012 Families of Sisters in Spirit Vigil. Photo: ©juliecomber.com

There is only so much we can do to protect them but it is a lot if we do it right. It begins with showing girls respect right from the time they emerge from the womb. And then we back up that respect with unconditional love each and every day of their lives.

If my teenage girls were to suddenly disappear from my life, a shroud, heavy with the stones of despair would fall over my shoulders. It would cling to me as bark does to a tree. Even the most spectacular dawn could not pull it free. My heart would feel, each hour of every day, as if the nails of sorrow were piercing it over and over again. A right lost to me if my girls vanished would be my right to hold them in my arms, to reassure them and to grant them counsels empowered to heal through the strength of my own life’s experiences.

If evil men stole my girls away from the sanctuary I helped to construct for them, my soul would thereafter suffer a crucification each of my waking hours. My sleep time would be only a time of calling out their names and of the shedding of my tears.

But because you are there, my family, my friends, my community, the healing circle, I would somehow find the strength to carry on.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

Please note: October 4th is the 3rd Annual Families of Sisters in Spirit Vigil 2013. It starts at 6pm at the Human Rights Monument on Elgin at Lisgar. If you are in Ottawa, please attend to show that Aboriginal women and girls are loved and valued.

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Racism stinks; can’t you smell it?

Posted on September 6, 2013 by South Wind

The following is my opinion about the controversy that has erupted because Ian Campeau (of A Tribe Called Red) made a completely reasonable request that the Nepean Redskins change their racist name. I speak for no one else but myself. My thoughts are directed at First Nations and other Aboriginal individuals whose views on racism are contrary to mine. These people do not know my heart, what gives it joy nor what brings sadness into it. It troubles me that someone outside of myself, would think they know my mind when they really know nothing of my life or my experiences of life.

Do I believe the word “Redskins” to be racist? I most certainly do!

Back in the day, I’ve been called a “dirty redskin” and a “fuckin’ redskin”. I heard racist people tell tales of encounters they had with “a drunken redskin” or with “wild redskins”. The names I was called and the stories I heard connected to the word “redskins” were not meant to flatter or to bring a friendly, brotherly chuckle. They were directed at me in the hope of bringing pain and shame into my heart only because I was Anishinabe. If you are of First Nations blood and have never been called a redskin by a bigot, then good for you. Your good fortune however, does not give you the right to tell the world that because “you” are not offended at being called a “redskin”, then neither should I be. I did not ask you to speak for me. You might not give any more of a hoot to my view or opinion regarding what constitutes racism for me than the man who first named a sports team “Redskins” did for the opinion of the Aboriginal people of that time. He just didn’t give a damn what their views were and it saddens me that your stand appears to hold the same grain.

Does the word “squaw” offend you? It is an ugly word and it offends me too. Guess what! There are Aboriginal people living in our community who are not offended by it. Tactics of assimilation used against us were pretty vile and vicious, some of us were overcome. Does this mean the rest of us have to tolerate the word “squaw” being directed at our women? If the answer is “yes” for you, then you need to know it is an unequivocal, absolute “NO” for me!

The first sports team owner who chose the word “Redskins” as the moniker his players would carry into the field of battle did not respect the Aboriginal People of this land. Keep in mind that at the time it occurred we had yet to be given the sacred right to vote, we still had to apply to a white man for permission to leave the rez, the list goes on and on, not signs for sure that society was in “respect” of us as Peoples. The team owner of the day gave his team the name “Redskins” because the belief of mainstream citizens living in those times was that we were a cunning, ferocious and brutal people. You know, much in the same way a lion or tiger or other ‘bad’ animal is when bringing down their prey.

I am against the word “Redskins” as a name for any sports team. I believe it is racist. But even if I did not see the name as such I would still feel duty-bound as a member of a First Nations community to support the stand of those in my community who felt the name was offensive to them. Whatever sensible reasons they had for feeling as they did would be good enough for me.

The blade of racism cuts deep. It has cost me much over the course of my life. I will not sit idly by and watch my children suffer mental and emotional pain because a racist society flaunts their indignation towards them even at a football field supposedly built for the benefit of all communities who make this country great. If someone reading this is keeping a tally, sign me up as a protester.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

UPDATE: On 19 September, the Nepean Redskins announced they will change their name at the end of this season. Congratulations to Ian Campeau and everyone who helped achieve this! And I am glad the Nepean team’s management has chosen to do the right thing.

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Motionless Waters: Poetry

Posted on August 20, 2013 by South Wind

I’m at my cabin again, oh yeah, and feeling quite pleased with myself at how my poetry writing went this morning. A draft of a poem, one of the city’s Aboriginal organizations requested I write, is laying face up on the floor near my lazyboy chair. It is a good first draft. I doubt much change to it will be necessary before I stamp it ‘complete’. Man, it just tickles me when that happens!

Inspiration and poetry came to me this day in the stillness of the dawn. I realized then that the dusk of yesterday had persuaded the lakewater to find its perfect level. The obliging waters lay flat as glass all the hours of the night, until an early morning light broke the day and revealed the majestic calmness of the water to me at that moment. In the light I watched spirited fish shoot from the lake’s depths into the sky. They didn’t get far, gravity pulled them back down into their familiar watery surroundings where the breath of life for them, is theirs without struggle. The bass will never make it to the clouds but it was fun for me to watch them try to do so.

I noticed too, on the shoreline, a small red squirrel darting from the forest into the clearing of my camp. He abruptly stopped and raced just as quickly as his forward dash had been, back into the security the trees offer him. Perhaps he sensed a bird of prey was near and thought it best to stay out of open places for the time being.

The hunt is good for the hawk at this time of year. All those things he consumes which came to life in spring are beyond sample size at this point of the summer season. They have grown up, so to speak, and have now become the main course. Partridge, Waboose the rabbit, squirrels, snakes and other critters are going about their lives in the forest of late summer and the hawk is strong and well-fed because of it.

The fish who forces its body into the wind, and the squirrel who runs into the light and with it into the glare of a predator are more than poetry in motion. They are teachings with special lessons attached to them. It is for you to learn something good from it in your own way.

The hawk with eyes that capture every turn of the leaves on the trees under his gaze must eat. It wants to soar the winds on open wings in celebration of a fine meal, like a connoisseur of poetry would do after being overwhelmed with emotion because of the power alive in poetry.

Poetry! What would the world be without it?

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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A Tribute to Willie Dunn

Posted on August 13, 2013 by South Wind

The Death Wail
by Albert Dumont ©

Take care the passions I leave behind
Hold them fast, by and by
May they guide you and make you stronger
Remember the love, the kindness, the courage
That flowed mightily through my heart
And were vessels which gave me being
Remember me at gatherings
And on the occasion of a feast
Know sure, I act in ceremony
For your wellness
In the sacred Spirit Land of our ancestors
Live long, dear kindred
And may your path be straight and gentle

(from a Turtle Moons Contemplations greeting card)

Willie Dunn, the activist and poet, the writer and singer of songs which inspired activism among the First Nations Peoples going as far back as the 1960’s, succumbed to cancer on August 5th. Willie would have reached his 72nd birthday this week (August 14). The raspberry moon gave him his first breath and it took away his last.

It seems to me that people born during the moon when raspberries reach their prime are rather unique in the area of word smithing and in their dedication to causes they believe in. They are, more often than not, strong of will, strong of spirit, and strong in pride at who they are as a human being. They possess a natural love of poetry. They write it or they read it and will search a poem carefully to find words in it that might guide their lives in a sacred way. I believe Willie Dunn was such a man. He drew from poetry but he also impacted many thousands of people with the verses and rhymes only he could produce.

Willie was humble. He identified with the grassroots because he was the grassroots. Egotistical, self-centred boars and the First Nations grassroots community don’t mix. Don Cherry? He could take a flying leap. Willie barely tolerated the high and mighty, especially those among us who believe they are exactly that, but exist in such a way in their minds only.

It was said by a speaker at Willie’s funeral service that back in the early 1970’s, when Elizabeth II, the Queen of England, was visiting Vancouver, BC, Willie told her, “We are not your children anymore.” That’s the kind of activist he was. He said what needed to be said. Because of his courage and songs, Willie had the respect and admiration of the leaders of the American Indian Movement (AIM) and members of other red power movements as well.

Please understand that Willie and other activists, singers, and poets of his generation had no role models to direct them. They were the first. Buffy Sainte-Marie, Floyd “Red Crow” Westerman, Duke Redbird and others, they started it all. The drum and our ceremonies came back into the light because of them. Make no mistake, the eagle followed where Willie went at that time, to keep him motivated.

A stream brings life and health to the lake it empties into. If the stream was not present, the waters of the lake would become stagnant. The fish inside the lake would lose their glitter and eventually they would die. Willie Dunn was/is a stream. A stream with a sweet voice. He brought life afresh to a dying lake which was the First Nations Peoples as we were so close to becoming totally assimilated after so many of us having given in to the government’s propaganda machine.

Kichi Migwech Willie Dunn, Sweet Voice, for all you did and for all whom you inspired. You are a man who will never die. You will live forever, a hero among us, pushing us forward, demanding more from our spirits. Dear friend, pray for us to stay strong.

Willie’s family requested that I oversee his funeral service. I accepted. It was a proud moment in my life. One I shall never forget.

In memory of Willie Dunn, please consider making a donation to the Wabano Centre for Aboriginal Health, 299 Montreal Rd., Ottawa, ON K1L 6B8.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

 

One of Willie’s trailblazing music videos: http://www.nfb.ca/film/ballad_of_crowfoot

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