Albert Dumont

If there is anything I’m 100% sure of in this so dysfunctional and troubled world, it is the fact that babies and toddlers are sacred representatives of the purity and wisdom of Creator. Even the most holiest of religious leaders, not the Pope, nor Imams or Rabbis, is closer spiritually to God, than is a child of only days or short months old. Our Indigenous spiritual beliefs tell us that human beings whose earth walks have just begun, are still in constant communion with the spirit world from which they came. To hurt them as an act of retaliation or vengeance, is to doom oneself to the worst of the worst of spiritual reckoning human beings will face after the hour of their death takes place.

I am compelled by my human heart, to record my feelings on the horrors ripping the emotional health of the Palestinian children in Gaza, to shreds. I can’t help but look at my grandchildren who are safe in Anishinabe Algonquin territory, and imagine with my mind’s eye, what would be going on spiritually within me if they lived where bombs are falling.

I travel spiritually to Gaza and hear the screams of a child whose body has been torn apart by a bomb. I weep! I do the best I can do for her/him, I pray, “May the power of my offering of sacred tobacco save her mind. May she recover and live long and contribute to restoring humanity to those responsible for her injuries.”

No matter what kind of horrors anyone could do to me, to my daughters or to my grandchildren, I would never, ever attack their babies and toddlers to get revenge upon them. Doing so is against the human heart and spirit.

My Indigenous spiritual beliefs tell me that there is no such place where eternal fires burn human beings whose actions in this life were against humanity in the worst of ways.

Our belief is that no one and I mean no one escapes justice. The soul/spirit lives forever. Those people who do not object to the blowing to smithereens, the bodies of little children in Gaza will answer for not speaking out, I have no doubt about that.

The eternal spiritual life of such people might be finding themselves in a dark place where sunlight never goes, where no song is heard, only the final screams of the children of Gaza, forevermore present. I would rather burn in hell’s fire for eternity than hear forever the torturous screams of children. There is a spiritual price to pay for not speaking out when little children suffer because of the actions of adults. The babies who died from shrapnel wounds will tell about how death took them from this world to Creator. Their testimonials will be spiritually acted upon.

I ask all who read this to hear the speech in Congress by Bernie Sanders (see link). I ask that you tell your political leaders how you feel about it.

At some point in the future, the bombs will stop falling on the children of Gaza. They will no longer fear starvation or dying from thirst. Will it mean the war is over? For the children, the war will not stop for perhaps many, many years.

The bombs will keep falling in their nightmares and when they hear planes in the sky, when they see anxiety in the eyes of their mothers. After the bombs stop falling on the children of Gaza, they will need help. I intend to be generous in my support for them. I think all people of good and kind hearts will do likewise.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

When Buffy’s song ‘Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee’ first hit me in the centre of my soul, oh so long ago, a gigantic tear washed over my entire being. Her song had such power over me, for different reasons. One reason was that the book of the same title ‘Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee’ by Dee Brown, was the first book I had ever read from cover to cover. Man, what a life-altering read it was for me! Another reason was that Anna Mae Aquash (the Mi’kmaq activist, killed execution style on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota at 30 years of age) is mentioned in Buffy’s song. To this very day, I keep a photo of Anna Mae in my home but it was there before Buffy’s song came out. I saw/see Anna Mae as one of the people who demanded, because of how she lived and died, that my activist spirit step forward. Buffy’s song brought it all to a head and I became a fan of Buffy who called herself ‘a sweet little Cree” (I heard her saying it in an interview back then).

Question, true or false: Is Buffy Sainte-Marie Indigenous? Yes or no?
A simple DNA test done on her would instantly declare which answer is the correct one! As a long-time human rights activist I have fought for and have made enemies, in demanding that all of us, you, me, Joe Blow, whoever, is innocent of any and all charges against them until proven otherwise, beyond a reasonable doubt. As for Buffy’s claim to have an Indigenous bloodline and the contrary view presented on the Fifth Estate, there is no doubt now in most peoples eyes that Buffy is a human being of only Caucasian ancestry.

I can say it is true that Buffy inspired and motivated, thousands upon thousands of Indigenous Peoples across Turtle Island since her career began in 1963. However for me, so too did the quotes of our long dead chiefs and those of our ancestors also bring that gigantic tear to wash over my heart and soul with much more force than Buffy’s songs ever did.

Examples: “Life is the flash of a firefly in the night, it is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is that little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” Spoken by Blackfoot Chief Crowfoot on his deathbed. Another example: “The sap coursing through the trees of the forest carry the memories of our ancestors”, Chief Seattle. These quotes touched the universe of my heart and even inspired and motivated me to stay strong in keeping my vow of sobriety. Our People are wise and strong! It’s them we need, not imposters!

What is greater to us as Indigenous Peoples than a real sense of who we are as human beings? So much emotional and spiritual harm was done to us because of the oppression heaped on us by the Indian Act, that today, in 2023, we are still trying to discover our identity as it was long ago.

What if our world was such that white folks (like Buffy) were our only source of discovering who and what we are? What would it say about us if this was the case? I’m sorry if anything I said in this blog has hurt anyone’s feelings but this is how I see it. I speak my truth while standing in the heart of Anishinabe Algonquin never-surrendered territory. I have a “right” to do so, do I not?

Also on my mind, I believe there is a connection:

For over 23 days now, the state of Israel has been dropping bombs by the hundreds on Gaza, in retaliation for an attack by Hamas fighters who, according to news reports, entered Israel to viciously and mercilessly kill over 1,400 Israeli citizens, children included.

News sources also say that over 2,100 Palestinian children are now dead because of Israeli bombardment on Gaza. We must ask ourselves, whose hands are stained with the blood of those innocent children? How does a world leader cleanse his/her hands of the blood of children, mangled by bombs? Any world leader who does not object and demand that a ceasefire occur a.s.a.p. will spiritually face a reckoning at a future time, of this I have no doubt. It is being called a “war”. Is this war? Really?

The people of Palestine have no bomb shelters to go to to feel safe from the bombs dropping on them. I’m not OK with this. I want Canadian leaders to object to bombs killing children. I will contact my Member of Parliament (a Liberal) and let her know my vote next election is going to the NDP unless the Liberals do what is right. I ask that all readers of this blog do the same.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

To the delight of countless children, the night of witches, ghosts and goblins will soon return, to frighten little hearts once again as it has done in the past for generations of Canadians. Oh how I can identify with the excitement felt by children on Halloween night as memories of trick or treating fly into my 73 year old mind, like a witch riding side-saddle at supersonic speed on a broom of straw.

Back in my day, when it came to children running like antelopes from one door to the next, no child was left behind. The children of the well-off families and those of the impoverished, stood side by side as equals at the homes of candy givers (actually, in my day the treats were mostly apples and candy kisses, one each per bag). Still, Halloween was a fun-filled few hours for all the youngsters of the town. And I stress, no child was left behind.

I remember well that after teen years began, Halloween was no longer about treats and scary customs. It became a night where the focus was more on the ‘trick’ part of the night. Some of the teenagers went too far. I vividly recall a Halloween night when some boys, likely raised by Bonnie-and-Clyde-type of parents, broke into a chicken house down the street from the Dumont household. The ruthless, wayward teens violently let all the hens loose, sending the panicked birds clucking hysterically into the deep, dark night, some of them never to be seen again. The old bachelor brothers who owned the chickens weren’t impressed. They were elderly men living hand to mouth! The old guys didn’t deserve such a “trick” to be played on them. All their neighbours were upset as well, the Dumonts included. In those days, an assault on one neighbour was seen as an attack on all people living just doors away. Such pranks/tricks often happened in small-town Canada on Halloween night in the 1950’s and 1960’s. Not good!

Back in the 1950’s I recall white people saying that Halloween had its origins with the Indigenous Peoples of this land. It was said that the “Indian” medicine people would put a frightening mask over their faces to scare away sickness from a family or community member. Any truth to this? You tell me!

Maybe it was about 25 years ago or so that stories of pins and razor blades being found in Halloween apples began circulating. A lot of parents believed the stories and took the extreme measure of no longer allowing their children to go door to door for trick or treating. A foolish decision in my opinion. Was a razor blade or pin ever found in a Halloween apple? Not that I’m aware.

Halloween should be safe, exciting and joyful and perhaps a little bit scary to a child. Good memories, happy ones are so very important for a child to experience. If children have them, we can be more confident that they (the children) will grow up to be sensible and mature adults.

For the occasion, I saw a pumpkin, round and orange. I said to myself, “Hey, it looks like Trump.” So I carved a face into it and said, “Behold, a Trumpkin!” It isn’t a Jack-o-Lantern though, it’s a “Wacko-Lantern”.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

The Anishinabe Algonquin Nation

The People of the Anishinabe Algonquin Nation have never been conquered! (Show me the Terms of Surrender.) No military force ever chased us off our traditional lands. We never gave up our lands in treaty nor did we trade it away to any representatives of the settler people. We never surrendered our lands to any other First Nation nor to the Inuit nor to the Métis! We never gave control of our lands to any organization (Algonquins of Ontario = AOO) or to any real estate company (AOO).

We never agreed to allow lumber companies the right to cut even one tree in our territory. We never agreed to allow Hydro companies the right to dam the Kichi Zibi (Great River) nor any other river of its watershed. We never agreed to allow any mining companies the right to plunder the minerals, gold, silver, copper etc. contained under the soil of our lands! We never surrendered the wealth of real estate value of our lands to any province nor municipality!

Is there something about the words “never surrendered” we don’t understand? It’s time for the Algonquins to start making demands. No more Mr. Nice Guy! We need to stop living our lives as if we have been conquered! We offend our beautiful ancestors when we do so.

Donald Trump

At first glance of Trump’s mugshot I thought, “Ugh, how the mighty have fallen.” 

In the photo, he looks grotesque! He looks deranged! He looks pathetic, like a spoiled brat in the midst of a tantrum! How did such a person ever become the president of a country like the USA? How could so many (millions upon millions) apparently sensible, level-minded people ever be fooled into believing that Trump actually cares anything at all for them. Isn’t he nothing more than a selfish, self-centred egomaniac? It’s so obvious!

The face on the mugshot!

To me it is representative of the look, the horror, the rage of an extremely racist white man as he bears witness to the moment a black man walked into the White House as the president of the USA. “America is no longer great,” he tells himself over and over again, “not until a white man is again the leader of this country.”

It’s the face of the most vicious slave owner of a bygone time, watching as the people he once used and abused walk away from the plantations as “free” men and women. It’s a face no one with kindness in their hearts for their fellow man expects to see someday by the side of Creator.

Bloodline

I wrote an authentic account about how the vile and oppressive Indian Act impacted my family lineage. I compiled the facts of my lineage into segments and with the advice and guidance of Phil Jenkins (a seasoned playwright) created Bloodline, a play. It’s a true account, no fact stretched for the sake of empowering the message, no lies told. Bloodline is a statement revealing the despair, agony and the hope in the heart of a boy coming of age. It journeys into dark crevices, where the seeds of dysfunction and alcoholism are found. It travels on the wing of a hawk to salvation and healing.

I have performed (yes, I’m the actor, it’s a one man play) four times thus far. It seems that all who have seen it had only good comments to say about it to me. The fact that I bring in my abilities as a storyteller and poet to help strengthen the play, I believe, helped greatly in making it a success.

Somebody, I’m not sure who (I have my suspicions), sent a poison-pen letter to a church group where Bloodline was performed. The coward (she/he didn’t sign it) wrote the nastiest things about me.

“His mother is white,” they wrote. Not true, my mom had much more Algonquin blood in her veins than she did that of her European ancestors.

“He misappropriates prayerful openings with his political views.” What does this person mean by these words? I have never gone up to any podium and hollered to those gathered, “In the next election, vote NDP!”

I swear on the honour I have for my eagle feather that I have never hated anyone in my life. Hate is destructive! There is no pay off to hate! I refuse to hate.

The poison-pen writer wrote, “He is full of hate”, “He teaches his grandchildren to hate.” Wow! Those sentences just about ripped my heart out! I guess I’m fair game to the people who dislike me, but for Creator’s sake, keep my family out of it!

I am well aware that there are those who hate me. I accept that fact and do not lose any sleep over it. I’m an activist. I believe I am a good one. Having hate and negative feelings directed at me as such comes with the territory. Bring it on! Give me your best shot! I won’t back up. I never have and I never will.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Carter Jay Dumont
born May 29, 2023 at 10:57 am (Wàbigon Kìzis – Flower Moon)
passed away July 9, 2023 at 2:15 am (Odeyimin Kìzis – Heartberry Moon)

The Dumont family holds him up today as we would a great chief at the time of his passing: Carter Jay Dumont, son of Kyrstin Dumont and Cameron Shaver.

Though Carter was with us for only a short while, he left us with a great legacy. Because of him, we will, from this day forward, be more compassionate human beings. No elders, no matter how old they lived to be, no matter the amount of wisdom they acquired over a long life, could never, ever have in their teaching bundles, the knowledge Carter shared with us. Carter reminded us with each breath he took, of the message passed from one generation of Anishinabe Algonquin to the next: “never give up!”  He reminded us also that the “Encouragement Song”, sung many thousands of years ago, is needed today more now than at any other time in the past. Carter taught us through his mere presence, to keep well the purity and innocence alive in the human heart, to bring forth a helping hand when you see a young human being in a state of despair. Carter inspired and motivated! All who met him were instantly in awe and in wonder of him. He was so very brave! He was so very courageous! He was the physical presence of a Good Spirit! He had the most beautiful Algonquin eyes! The doctors were all amazed at his strength and willpower. His heart was small, but what a powerhouse!

I have a place in my mind’s eye (we all do) which allows me the gift of seeing spirit. Today I see a glowing Carter, he is in a cradleboard made of fine cedar, being proudly carried by my mother (deceased March 27, 2002). Thick dark coloured hair, adorns his handsome head. My mother came to me in a dream before Carter was born. “I will look after Kyrstin’s baby,” she told me. She keeps her promise now! Carter is safe with her in this sacred space where many long dead relatives spiritually stand, in a line stretching for miles, waiting to take Carter into their arms. A grand feast in his honour will surely take place.

The day Carter was born I went to the forest to perform ceremony with the placenta. His spirit name was revealed to me, “Asin” meaning “Rock”. A few days later I awoke from a deep sleep with a lullaby on my lips. I shared it with Kyrstin and sang it to Carter many times over the short days of his blessed life. I awoke at 3 o’clock one morning and wrote a poem about Carter (see below). I say this now to all, if I live 100 summers, my heart, with every vibration it sends forth, will carry in it the memory of Asin. Kizàgìhin (I love you) is a word I repeated many hundreds of times as I sat near Carter’s bedside. Carter will forever be in my heart as will all of my other grandchildren.

Carter, through my spiritual travels with him (something we did together while I sat close to him at CHEO) takes with him to his new home the songs of my favourite birds, the robin, the oriole, the blue jay! He knows so very well now, the softness and healing energy of the touch of his parents and grandparents. His mom and dad saw a shooting star one night outside of the Roger Neilson House. No doubt, I say, a sign of reassurance from loved ones in the great Spirit Land. Kyrstin and I gave Carter a cedar bath, together, to cleanse him of any negative energy lingering in a palliative care ward.

They say “it takes a community to raise a child.” If this is true, then I say it also takes a community to mourn a child as well. Babies should never be regarded as only “young” human beings. Babies are spirit! They are the wisest of the wise, the strongest of the strong! They are blessed by Creator! When they die, they should be properly grieved by the community, for a great loss has occurred. When we fail to recognize this, it means we have lost our way. Asin, Rock touched many hearts. Tears were shed and sadness entered the hearts of both family and friends. Now that this extraordinary little boy is gone from our midst, let us cast a mournful heart into a swift moving cloud passing over our sky and replace it with a heart filled with gratitude, for a beautiful baby who came among us, to make us better.

In the final hours of my great-grandson’s life, I sang him songs, I recited funny rhymes to him from old country songs, I shared memories, the good and the not so good. Carter laughed with me and he cried with me, of this I am certain! We should never take the life of a child for granted, nor should we take the death of one for granted either. A child dies. There are trails in the human heart that have never been journeyed upon. We must be careful on such a pathway, lest we allow despair and heartache to destroy us. May my beloved great-grandson rest in peace (I know he is being fussed over now by my mother). May his parents, Kyrstin and Cameron, heal in a good way. May Creator bless everyone who cared about us in the weeks of Carter’s short life.

Though physically only a small bundle of human flesh, blood and bone, Carter was a full universe of Creator’s purity and innocence. I spoke to him as such and also as a representative of my future bloodline of my past wrongs and my regrets for perpetrating them. I spoke to him also about my hopes and dreams and joys of life. We, their loved ones, can have such conversations with a dying baby only days old, for they are so in harmony with Creator’s grace and we trust fully that they will speak on our behalf to those of that great spiritual council in the Land of Souls who decide if we are deserving or not of an Honour Song, at the time of our passing. What on this earth is more spiritually powerful than a dying baby? Nothing!

Loved ones never left Carter’s bedside. He was never alone! His gigantic spirit will relate to all relatives, those from Kyrstin’s bloodline and those of Cameron’s, how the love of people in the room with him comforted him every  moment of his short life. Migwech Carter, for all you did in making us stronger and better than we were before you came into our lives.

To me
He is a fearless warrior
He is my Little Big Man

He is my Rock
Now and forever

He will inspire and motivate me
I will draw strength from him
All the days
That remain in my life
He is Asin, my Rock
He is Asin, my son

Though I have yet to hold him
Close to my bosom
He is fully aware
Of the love contained
In the drumming of my heart

He has been loved
For many thousands of years
I know it is so
For I have loved him
Long before his first breath of life
Was taken

We are a People
Who love our future generations
My ancestors, his ancestors
Love him as they love me
I too
Love all my future generations
It is the way of our People

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Yesterday, June 14, 2023, I held for the first time my great-grandson, who is at this time, in bad physical shape at CHEO. In the hours that I held him, Carter and I travelled together to the wondrous places and experiences I keep in my heart and spirit. The account of where we went together is described herein!

South Wind

Carter, my Great-Grandson, Love Never Ends
by Albert Dumont ©

A sleeping innocent child
My blood, warming the vessels
Of his heart
His blood, flowing freely
In mine
I take him through the power
Of my spirit
To the rushing waters
Of my healing place
Where Creator touches him
With knowledge and wisdom
I speak to him
Of the Odeyimin (heartberries)
We see now, on the riverbank
Of Anishinabe Algonquin sacred land
And talk of the Odeyimin legend
And the purpose of a vow
I take him into the scientific miracle
Of the birchbark canoe
We float together in the wonder
Of its creation
On ancestral waters
Calm, pure, peaceful, joyful

Together, we listen
To the songs of leaf-bearing trees
To the whistles and chirps
Of birds, great and small
We hear the bark of Laddie
The loyal, Dumont family dog
Who brought such tremendous joy
To my childhood

We walk together barefoot
My great-grandson and I
On a tamarack needle-covered forest trail
We dance in the pouring rain
Our faces pointed
Towards the sky
To receive sacred waters
Into our opened eyes
We taste side by side
Hand in hand
The magic
Of all four seasons
The energy and inspiration
Of spring season
The beauty and abundance
Of summer season
The wisdom and colour
Of fall season
The peace and spirituality
Of winter season

We sing with happy hearts
Ancient healing songs
We feel the warmth of fire
That of the sun
And of a fire, burning
Where we sit, in its sacred circle
After the sun has gone to sleep
Carter’s face illuminated
The light, the one
Glowing spiritually in him
Builds ever greater
Because of the medicines
Of the stories I tell him
In the presence
Of cedar wood, I kindle
I speak to him
Of the love, honour and respect
I, as his great-grandfather
Have for his mother
I tell him, “celebrate little man
That your parents love you
More than all else
Of this world”
I speak to him of his bloodline
While far, far in the distance
We hear chanting and drumming
I whisper
Carter, Asin, Rock
They all love you
A sleeping innocent child
My blood, warming his heart

At 10:57 am on Monday, May 29^th of 2023, my granddaughter Kyrstin Dumont gave birth to a baby boy. Kyrstin and Cameron (the baby’s dad) named their son Carter. My first great-grandchild took his first breaths of life in an Ottawa hospital. The doctors had given notice that health issues were possible for Carter. To what degree would Carter’s health be impacted? Of that the doctors were uncertain. It turned out that the worst of their predictions came to bear! Carter was born with two thirds of his skull missing. Needless to say, my family was heartbroken!

Carter is a fighter! Within his first 24 hours of life he endured a long, complicated surgery. The doctors couldn’t say if he would survive it or not. He did! Carter will however spend at least the next 3 or 4 months living at CHEO. He is so handsome, so perfect! He brings much joy into our hearts! Carter’s parents want to spend as much time by his side as they possibly can. Cameron, who is a hardworking young man, has no insurance or leave-with-pay privilege at his workplace. The young couple were worried about paying bills. A friend, Annika Conboy, organized a gofundme page. The amount Kyrstin and Cameron needed was raised after only three days of being posted!

I write this blog to say ‘MIGWECH’ to all the kind-hearted people who gave so generously of their hard-earned money to help Carter, Kyrstin and Cameron out. You not only parted with money but more importantly, you prayed! You stood in ceremony! You gave from that sacred place in your heart so that a helpless, innocent, tiny human being would have with him, a chance to completely heal and have a good life.

Those recent days, when a gloomy sky hung over our heads, the Dumont family remained steadfast in our love of Creator and all around us allowing the people to live well. The songs of birds still delight us as does the sacred melody offered when winds stir the leaves of forest trees. The kindness of your hearts, those of you who helped out in one form or another, sing too. Your song will never be forgotten by us! Rest assured of that!

Community (kind-hearted) people have approached me since hearing of Carter’s health concerns. Some relayed stories of how not much hope was given to a newborn relative of theirs but somehow, the strength and purity of prayers and ceremony proved the predictions wrong. Their babies survived, sometimes fully regaining their health. And at other times, the child, though still being confronted with health issues, is alive and enjoys each day the unconditional love of their families. Some people have told me about how their precious child lived only a couple of weeks and then left this world to go and wait in that place of everlasting joy, for mother’s presence, to once again bring an ocean of peace and solitude into their spiritual domain!

I want all of you to know that the Dumont family flies by your side on the wings of a hawk, to let you be aware, we are in a circle all our own. A life experience bonds us! I thank Cameron’s mom Tara and his dad Darcy for the dedication and tremendous love they have for Kyrstin and for their grandson Carter. My daughter Jessica, who is responsible for making Kyrstin such a strong Anishinabe Kwe, I shout a long and heartfelt special ‘migwech’ to you. Let us never give up. Let us continue to pray and stand in ceremony for Carter. It is the way of our People.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Please share and donate if you can, my great-grandson will be in the CHEO NICU for a minimum of four months. This has been incredibly hard on my granddaughter and our entire family.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-for-baby-carter-and-family?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer&mibextid=Zxz2cZ&fbclid=IwAR00MFr2Pre6HmyzWSk90A6uHUJMU9uXsSYa3WkGDy5C9Owh12uJZX0SbeQ

Recently (May 20) I was asked by the Canadian Unitarian Council to give a keynote speech at their National Symposium. Let me say right off the mark that I was treated with great respect by the Unitarians in all my interactions with them. I feel secure in saying that I 100% believe the Canadian Unitarian Council members are true to their promise of doing all they can to making any and all initiatives put forward in the arena of reconciliation by Indigenous leaders successful. It was made clear to me that my talk be open, blunt and to the point. I believe I did exactly that.

Anyone interested in hearing what I had to say, should check it out:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4Fflyx4SfQ

All the best,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

I visited Benjamin Chee Chee’s grave today, Sunday, April 23. Chee Chee and I were casually acquainted back in the 1970’s. I knew him only as an up-and-coming artist who was making a name for himself in Ottawa. He was never troublesome nor violent! He was generous and kind-hearted! From what I observed, Chee Chee was the type of guy who would give you the coat off his back on a freezing day. From what I know, he had one flaw, he was overly friendly, often sitting down at a table in a bar with strangers. He was just being friendly!

Benjamin Chee Chee had the misfortune of being placed at the Alfred Reform School as a young lad. He was severely mistreated there by the ‘Christian Brothers’ who ran the ‘school’. Long after Chee Chee’s death, a law suit against the school was filed by its former attendees. A monetary settlement was eventually reached. One of the school’s survivors told, in a newspaper interview, about how Chee Chee would be beaten near to unconsciousness by the Brothers. “They wanted him to cry,” said the survivor, “but Chee Chee never did. They kicked him and beat him with their fists but Benjamin never gave in.”

I ask that you ‘Google’ Benjamin Chee Chee. Look into his eyes. Imagine the great degree of suffering this great artist saw in his 33 years of life. Put tobacco down for him to smoke with his ancestors. Feast him for the trailblazer that he was. Look at his artworks! Ask yourself, what inspired him? What spirit stood by his side when his brush touched the canvas?

Benjamin Chee Chee was born in the springtime of the year. A spring baby! His birth season gave him his sweet disposition (maple sweet water, syrup). The northbound geese of spring gave him his love of geese, the respect he had for them (see his paintings). Spring, the season of water, gave him the flowing brushstrokes he rolled across a canvas to create those striking works of art.

Chee Chee left this world during the time of the Sugar Moon. His spirit no doubt swiftly ascended into the sky to fly with the geese of the season to his northern birth home, Temagami. The lake, the old pines, the gray jay, the trout – how grand was their welcoming of his spirit? We can only imagine!

Benjamin Chee Chee was a gentle soul. Men, artists such as he are not celebrated enough.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)