Albert Dumont

Winter, according to Algonquin tradition, is a time of peace and appreciation of spirit – yours, mine and that of all our relations. We are instructed by Creator to be as quiet as we possibly can whilst pass the cold moons of winter. We do so to allow sacred Mother Earth time for rest so she can rejuvenate her energies properly. The so-called Freedom Convoy is disturbing the peace, not only of the sleeping land but also of many decent, kind-hearted, law-abiding people living in Algonquin territory. The supporters of the convoy don’t seem to give a damn about that fact.

I wonder just what kind of ‘freedom’ they want to defend. Whose freedom? Theirs only? How can an individual claiming to stand up for freedom feel righteous in interfering and obstructing the freedom of innocent people so callously and so cruelly as some of the convoy supporters have done? The leaders tell us the convoy is a peaceful one. Explain then, who among them is going out into the streets and businesses of the city, terrorizing innocent citizens?

The supporters of the convoy don’t seem to give a damn about the fact that some among them are violent and mean-spirited. They have forgotten that in a democracy, it’s the majority that rules, NOT the minority! A protest supporter declared on CBC Radio that Parliament Hill was the hill she was prepared to “die on”. The horns of gigantic trucks pierced the sky in the background, the peace flame shivered meters away, a freedom fighter had spoken and the tone of the protest was set!

There are convoy supporters on the Hill at this moment who believe that Macdonald’s plan to ‘kill the Indian in the child’ was a good one. Some of them believe that Donald Trump is a saviour sent to earth by God to make America great again. Some deny that the Holocaust ever occurred! Hundreds of the protesters have hate in their hearts for black folks, for government, for peace and for democracy. But still, Ottawans brought coffee and food to pay homage to the protesters. “These people are the salt of the earth,” they declared in defending their actions.

Let’s consider a possible outcome to this protest. Let’s imagine (though it’s not possible) that in the end the protesters win and all mandates connected to COVID are scrapped. The convoy participants go home happy as larks only to discover that a new convoy, much larger than theirs ever was rolls into Ottawa, spearheaded by truckers who believe certain healthcare mandates are keeping Canadians safe. The new protesters state, “We are not going anywhere until sensible mandates are restored.” What would the supporters of the Freedom Convoy do then? Keep in mind the fact that a vast majority of truckers in Canada support most of the mandates the governments have put in place.

The war on COVID is a war not yet won. The vile virus plaguing Canada’s provinces has found an ally in the people of the Freedom Convoy.

To them I say this:
Stop behaving as if YOU are the centre of the universe. You are not! You are no more and no less special than I am, nor are you more special than any other human being anywhere on this planet. Your ‘rights’ do not override mine! The protestors’ definition of ‘freedom’ has a repulsive stench around it. It reaches my home and sickens me, though I live 135 km from the city. Theirs is the kind of freedom I don’t want anything to do with.

It’s winter! The season calls on you to go home (and stay there). You’ve made your point. Live with the results!

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Freedom
Albert Dumont©

The “Freedom Convoy” 10,000 strong
Rolled into Canada’s capital
Like the army of 1945
Entering the City of Berlin

The Freedom Convoy, 10,000 strong
Bombing the City of Ottawa
With the screaming horns of gigantic trucks
Protesters, claiming that Parliament Hill
Is the hill they’ll “die on”

The Freedom Convoy, 10,000 strong
Bringing to the City, their gift
“The sound of freedom”
Bringing their logic
“My body, my choice”

The Freedom Convoy, 10,000 strong
Canada, a land of 38,000,000 souls
“Freedom”
Who defines it
Is it as defined by thousands
Or is it as defined by millions
Like the army of 1945
Who entered the City of Berlin

Dedicated to and inspired by Justin Ranger
For his siblings, nieces and nephews
© South Wind (Albert Dumont)

He was a good brother
Loving, supportive, gracious, funny
To you, he was the wings
Of your human heart
He was the bear, the wolf, the turtle
And the smoke, arising
From a thick braid of smouldering sweetgrass
To you, he was all of those things
And so much more
And now you mourn his passing

But do not despair too much, for
He is still there, a good brother
Bringing forth his kindness and his generosity
His gentleness and the great respect
He had for the women and girls
Of all the First Nations Peoples

Those ways, uniquely of his spirit
Are present near you
On the branches of every pine tree
And in every breath you take
Bring them once more into your heart
Those powerful, energy filled wings of his
Do not despair
Celebrate instead that he was your brother

Justin Ranger often looked at the wrongs of his past perpetrated by him at a time in his life when a reckless lifestyle was the only one made available to him by society. He had the wisdom though to keep the negatives from long ago close by, to act as constant reminders of what to steer clear of in his future decisions and deeds. He had no desire whatsoever to going back to a life of nonsense. Justin understood the meaning of honour. Very few among us could live up to the standards Justin held as sacred ingredients defining what it is to be an ‘honourable man’. He was much loved because of it! Most everyone who knew him regarded him as a generous, empathetic and hardworking hero, who in recent months, seemed to carefully place his spiritual beliefs in the forefront of all his worldly decisions. Yes, he was all of these things and more, yet Justin Ranger, at age 37, is now deceased. Dead from an apparent drug overdose. It is difficult to process.

I first met Justin at Millhaven Institution (M.I. maximum security). At the time of our first meeting, Justin was in segregation, having been sent there by prison officials for his part in a fist fight. Justin and I connected! Although he wasn’t the leader of the ‘Indian Brotherhood’ at that time (he did become the leader about a year later), he still pulled a lot of weight with the inmates, not just the ones of Indigenous bloodlines but also others regardless of colour or cultural background. It was Justin I turned to the most to stand with me in establishing rehabilitation goals for the Indigenous inmates on the range. In my view, there are two kinds of people in this world: you are either a leader or you are a follower. Justin Ranger was a leader, a brave one, willing to listen and respect the ‘common sense’ in the words of those in an opposing camp. He was at the right place at the right time. If not for Justin’s leadership at M.I., I truly believe that blood of guards and I’m sure of many inmates, would have been spilled if not for him working with me in calming things down after a young Indigenous inmate was shot dead during a violent outbreak which took place in the prison gymnasium shortly after I began working at M.I.

Justin Ranger wanted a better life for himself, one of sobriety and one providing a close spiritual relationship with the forest. I contributed to his spiritual betterment by introducing him to Algonquin friends who allowed him to visit with them in the deep woods of our territory. Justin loved the experience! Before setting out to the forest, Justin stayed a couple of nights at my home. I saw firsthand how ambitious he was and how much he wanted to mentor and present himself as a role model for young Indigenous men who had lost their way. I don’t know what went wrong in the final hours of his life. I wish he had reached out to me!

Somebody who loved Justin wrote on Facebook “I’d happily take his place if it meant bringing him back.” All of you who read those words please have no doubt in hearts of hearts that Justin Ranger would have become a great teacher and leader in his senior years if only he were still alive. We have lost a good man. Let us not allow him to have died in vain. Let us do honourable things in his memory. Let us honour him for the super friend that he was. There will never be another like him. 

Hunt well Justin, in that sacred place you find yourself in now, my friend. May your feasting plate be filled with game prepared for you by the Grandmother who welcomed you home. Be forever at peace and know that I will sit with you again in the circle at some point in the future. Keep the fire burning bright, Justin Ranger “Good Friend”, we will never forget you.

Note: There will be a memorial for Justin in the spring after the snow is gone. All who respected this remarkable young man are invited. Stay tuned for info.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Be happy for me my friends, for at 71 years of age, I can at long last, declare with great pride and humility that I have graduated from high school. Some good people at Hillcrest High School (Ottawa, ON), honouring the true purpose of ‘Reconciliation’, took it upon themselves to make this extraordinary milestone occur in my life. Geordie Walker, Principal at Hillcrest and one of his teachers, Marilyn McMillan (her students Shom, Akaash, Hajara, Gracie, Dalaa also contributed), carefully reviewed highlights of my life, attached credits where necessary, until the 30 credits required to graduate high school were in order. And this is why I have been floating amongst cirrus clouds since being told the good news!

Examples from my past work Geordie and Marilyn looked at, are that by age 22, I could brick a house all the way around on my own. The math skills needed to do so are pretty intense! I have proven my management and organizing skills by bringing a program I called the ‘Harmony Circle’ to inmates at Millhaven Maximum Security Prison (where I worked for 3 years). The Harmony Circle was a life-saving success, tension decreased on the Range and lives were forever changed for the better because of it. I have done mediation work, not by way of the ‘book’ but by the old ‘common sense’ way of the grassroots First Peoples as it was done before colonization of our territories occurred. I have created logos for committees which stand to prove a natural talent I have in the arts. I have facilitated many Restorative Practices Circles and delivered many workshops related to this critical area of the justice system. I have stood by many a death bed, reassuring and inspiring a dying human being with a troubled mind. None of the people I counselled left this world in fear of the afterlife! I am a special advisor to Bishop Shane Parker of the Anglican Church and for Beth Bretzlaff, the Dean of Christ Church Cathedral. I am at this time, the English Poet Laureate for the City of Ottawa. Because of these facts my friends at Hillcrest High School and the Ottawa-Carleton District School Board saw that I qualified to receive the 30 credits needed to graduate high school.

I have up until today, stated many times that I did not complete the 8^th Grade. School days ended for me a long time ago when I and four white students were caught smoking an Export A cigarette on the school grounds at the beginning of the school year. All of us were guilty, but only I was kicked out of school for it. “Dumont you’re out, the rest of you go back to your classrooms,” declared the male teacher who caught us. It wasn’t fair and I protested! Push came to shove and I was told to ‘never come back’ to St. Mary’s in Quyon, Québec. I wanted to finish high school. It was a goal I set for myself in my early childhood. The thought of not doing so, frightened me!

A Catholic nun was the principal at the school at the time. I went to the convent that evening and ‘with hat in hand’ as the old saying goes, to speak with the nun, a towering woman. I pleaded with her, I literally begged her to allow me to return to school. I recall very vividly now as I recount the memory, the cruelty in her eyes and the satisfaction in her voice when she said, “You were told to never come back to St. Mary’s and you never will.” I was crushed!

I never did return to the school but yet I stand before you today a proud high school graduate. It feels so good! Kichi migwech Geordie and Marilyn. Kichi migwech to the Ottawa-Carleton School Board, I hope you are aware what this milestone means to me. I am also so very pleased to say that my siblings, my daughters and grandchildren were all present for this life-altering event in my life. I am a man in the winter of my time. It seems so strange to me that in my winter of life I feel I am more at peace now than I have ever been before. A high school diploma? It works wonders!

Let me say this to all students (especially Indigenous students) who struggle to put in a day in the classroom: Take it from me, you will regret it later in life if you don’t do all in your power to complete your schooling. Pay attention to the teacher! Study hard! Do homework! Read poetry! Write poetry! Build a trust with someone of authority at the school. I will pray for your success!

I want to express my gratitude also to my granddaughter Kyrstin who delivered an amazingly powerful speech in my honour. Kyrstin is for sure making her mark as an activist and advocate. I am so proud of her.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

Well, the poetry contest I promoted (I am a Human Being) is over now and the winners have been selected. Deanna Young, who was the Poet Laureate for the City of Ottawa before my tenure as Laureate began, acted as judge. The poems submitted were amazing and so very much appreciated. The words of the poems were eloquently crafted and carefully put together. Powerful statements, strong perspectives of what it is to be a human being were produced. It made me very proud!

What I will ask of all the poets who took time out of their lives to write a poem about their human emotions, that they allow me to place their poems into a book which will be published at some point in the new year. I will personally edit the poems compiled from the book and will only proceed with publishing the poems after receiving full consent of the poet. A book will be produced and sold with 100% of the proceeds going towards promoting poetry as medicine and as a healer.

The winners are: 
1st Place: Mark Frutkin
2nd Place: Seané D’Argencourt Printup
3rd Places (5):
Danielle Printup
Cara Goodwin
Andrea Vasile
Chris Olson
Quiver Poucachiche-Racine

Please find below, the winning poems:

Mark Fruitkin:

I Am a Human Being
Everything is falling exactly
as it should this morning –
the shadow on the windowsill,
the sunlight on the same,
the present moment
falling precisely
between past and future,
the mountain
bringing together
heaven and earth,
each of us exactly
at the centre of the circle
of the horizon,
the love,
the need for love.

Seané D’Argencourt Printup:

Oh, Creator!
My good heart, it lives in the eyes of each child
Where we hug and squeeze and somewhere (not too far)
A sweetgrass breeze eases a weary spirit.

I pour the flour (smiling), tuniit on these hands, 
The oil fills the frying pan, bannock in the home
And in feeding family my good heart bursts.

When I go home, place this vessel beside my father,
And our good hearts to dust will become the soil for sage
And your granddaughter might pluck it, burn it, we hope.

Creator, qujannamiik for our breath,
Meegwetch for berry-stained smiles, filled to ripe with water
That carries this spirit home, to you. 

Danielle Printup:

i remember my dad telling me about the thunder-beings 
stories that connected me to the sky
he stands by the kitchen window, smoking and watching the storm 
i remember feeling so small existing within the vastness of those sounds
he says to me
there is nothing to be afraid of my girl
opening my heart to the unseen

my dad’s stories were filled with depth and beings that my young mind tried to imagine 
his words created worlds that made my little body feel so big and full 
i asked so many questions, not able to tangibly hold their truths 
there are things beyond our knowing, my girl
reminding me again and again
his stories gave me comfort through mystery
a ‘nish form of love that was shown to him

as my dad’s spirit makes its way home
i hold him and say
there is nothing to be afraid of

Cara Goodwin:

Beans 

When my brother was three or so he was always getting in trouble
for having emotions in public places, like grocery aisles

With fat tears rolling down his cheeks he’d say something like:
“I’m a human bean! A human bean, Dad!”

Dad, always recently returned from military service 
and never up-to-date on all the words we were learning 
would move us along

irritated, uncertain, cold 

no clue about little human beans 

What my brother meant was, I made a mistake
or I didn’t understand or I’m just small and the world is so big

Are you mad at me?

Dad this is the human condition

Dad, Dad, Dad

I hurt

Andrea Vasile:

I Am a Human Being

The light reflects
off a single strand of wampum string

The most exquisite blue
like the river that
brought you to me

Strong vivid clear water
shimmers, glints, and flows

Reaching, stretching outward
leading to another bigger

wave of brilliance
Giving back to its source
the light usurps the energy

takes you from me
Slowly fading
but never gone

Reflecting on the single wampum string
the brightness returns
along the river

And brings new light
to shine again

Inspired by “Dark String” by Gregg Staats on display at The National Gallery of Canada 

Chris Olson:

I’m a Human Being

up early, 
pre-dawn dog walk past the Mission
fellow pushing a cart stops me:
“I’m a human being…
and a teacher you know.”
He looked up into the sky, 
then back to me.
“Got a word for you… your homework:
find joy.”
I handed him some money – 
he pushed it back with both hands.
“Give that to the next saint you meet,
there’s one just up the street.”

He gave his cart a big inertia breaking push
turned the corner singing.

Quiver Poucachiche-Racine:

Anishinaabe is not just a name for my people, 
it represents who I am. 
The one who carries the arrows in his pouch. 
The one who picks medicine for his family.
The one who goes out at night to hunt for food in the wild.
We are Anishinaabe.
The people who walked on this land before time. 
We help each other when needed. 
We drum to the Creator to ask for guidance. 
Creator gave us the Red Road,
which most of us still follow.

Let us celebrate the winners and also express hearty expressions of thanksgiving to all the talented poets who presented their poems to the contest. I salute you for your skill with words and your big human heart.

I look forward to further collaborations with all of you.

All the best,

Albert Dumont

Souvent, la vie nous émerveille – telles que les surprises offertes par les collines du territoire Anishinabeg en cette saison automnale. 

Chacune des feuilles offre leur bénédiction de beauté et de grandeur à chaque être qui le constate. 

Nous observons un véritable festin, ces montagnes offrant leur coloris automnal, symbolisant le renouvellement spirituel ainsi que la guérison – qui permet de passer outre et d’oublier cette détresse qui nous afflige de temps à autre. Les couleurs de la terre sont un cadeau offert par Mère nature qui s’étire et s’endort tranquillement.

A vrai dire, comme êtres humains nous devrions toujours nous préparer à confronter et traiter les afflictions qui nous tombent dessus comme une pluie torrentielle. Nos être chers qui nous quittent. Les scènes de dépendances dont nous sommes témoins – l’intimidation, l’envie, la vengeance, la cruauté, sans les nommer toutes. Parfois, souvent, la paix d’esprit nous semble tellement éloignée qu’on pourrait la croire irréelle, comme un fil qui nous tient en vie, comme un rêve qui existe sur une autre planète. 

Il y a plusieurs années, j’ai écrit un livre intitulé ‘With the Wind and Men of Dust’. Les poèmes qui s’y trouvent ont été créés avec des messages qui touchent particulièrement certaines, voir plusieurs personnes. Rapidement, toutes les copies se sont envolées. 

Un éditeur français à Maniwaki, QC, La Note verte, a trouver bon de publier l’ouvrage en français. ‘Avec le vent et les hommes de poussière’ a été présenté vendredi, le 1er octobre, au Chateau Logue à Maniwaki, près de Kitigan Zibi. J’en suis très reconnaissant à Madeleine Lefebvre, l’éditrice, ainsi qu’à Geneviève Calvé qui a fait un travail remarquable et excellent en traduisant ma poésie. 

Dans ce recueil de poésie je m’exprime sur la dépendance, l’amour, la culture, l’amitié, et j’en passe. Je suis très fier de voir mon ouvrage traduit en français. Vous pouvez vous le procurer sur mon site Web au http://albertdumont.com/books/avec-le-vent-et-les-hommes- de-poussiere/ ou directement chez l’éditeur au https://lanoteverte.ca/produit/avec-le-vent-et-les-hommes-de-poussiere/.

J’adore cette vieille expression : “Écrivez vos tristesses sur le sable, inscrivez vos bénédictions dans la pierre”. Même si je vis avec une douleur chronique insupportable, je ne la condamne pas. Par la grâce de mes ancêtres je n’ai pas été tué ou plus grièvement blessé le 25 avril 1991. Si aujourd’hui je me trouvais en chaise roulante, paralysé des jambes ou pire, j’aurais raison de me plaindre. Lorsque j’ai eu mon accident, j’ai été béni de la protection de mes aînés spirituels. J’espère que vous parcourez la version française de mon livre.

En vous souhait tout ce qui est de meilleur, 

South Wind (Albert Dumont) 

Life oftentimes brings spectacular wonders into our lives such as those offered by the hills of Algonquin territory at this time of the year. The leaves, each and every one of them, play their part in sending forth blessings of beauty and grandeur for the enjoyment of all human beings who look upon them. We feast our eyes on the mountains of colour, a gigantic symbol of spiritual reinvigoration and healing medicines capable of conquering episodes of emotional distress for those of us who find themselves in such a state as time goes by. The stunning colour of the land truly is a healing gift to us by the season of autumn.

The realty too is that we as human beings must always be on the ready, prepared to confront and deal with the ugliness life pours down on us like torrential rain, every so often. The passing away of loved ones, the addiction issues we see around us, the bullying, the envy, the vendettas, the cruelty, the list goes on and on. Sometimes it seems that peace of mind and peace of spirit, is so far away from our grasp that it might as well be floating like a lifeline on a turbulent sea somewhere on a distant planet.

Many years ago, I wrote a book of poetry called ‘With the Wind and Men of Dust’. The poems in the book were created to bring emotional comfort into the lives of people who connected with the messages of the poems. The book sold out long ago.

A French publisher, La Note verte from Maniwaki, QC has seen it fit to republish ‘With the Wind and Men of Dust’ and make it available to their French speaking readers. ‘Avec le vent et les hommes de poussière’ was launched Friday, October 1^st at the Chateau Logue in Maniwaki near Kitigan Zibi. I am grateful to Madeleine Lefebvre, the publisher and her team with a special acknowledgement to Geneviève Calvé who did such an excellent job in her translation of my poems.

In this book of poetry I write about recovery from addictions, love, identity, culture, friendship, family etc. etc. It makes me very proud to have my works translated into the French language. You can purchase a book through my website (http://albertdumont.com/books/avec-le-vent-et-les-hommes- de-poussiere/) or directly from the publisher (https://lanoteverte.ca/produit/avec-le-vent-et-les-hommes-de-poussiere/).

I love the old saying “Write your sorrows in sand and your blessings in stone”. Though I live with chronic pain which is at times almost unbearable, I do not condemn it. It is by the grace of my ancestors that I was not killed or more severely injured on April 25, 1991. If I was in a wheelchair now, paralyzed from the waist down (or worse), then I would have reason to complain. I was blessed to have the protection of my spirit helpers on the day of my accident. I hope you will check out the French version of my book.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

I give notice today, to the Government of Canada and to the National Capital Commission (NCC) that commencing September 30, 2022 (a year from now) I will lead a walk on the John A. Macdonald Parkway, going from the War Museum to Parkdale Ave. and then back again to the museum. The walk, protesting the parkway’s name, will become an annual event continuing until such a time in the future when Macdonald’s name is finally removed from the parkway.

Macdonald has the deaths of thousands of children tarnishing his wailing soul. He set out to commit genocide against Human Beings who had done no harm to him nor to his loved ones. He believed that by erasing the culture and spiritual purpose of this resource-rich country’s original inhabitants, he would forevermore be regarded as a hero to Canada’s future generations of white-skinned citizens. The people of Canada were in line with Macdonald’s plan of genocide for a long, long time. The British monarchy, happy as larks with what their man in one of the colonies was doing, even knighted him for his efforts! NO MORE! The first prime minister of Canada is finally being recognized for the monster he really was. Anyone who has anything to do with the deaths of thousands of children is not a human being in my definition of what a human being is. A human being, male or female, old or young, black, brown, red or white, protects children from those who would torment them to their deaths. Only a monster would go about his business as if all was well and good after being told (see Dr. Peter Bryce book ‘A National Crime’) that thousands of children were dying in Canada’s Residential Schools. He fired Dr. Peter Bryce from his job as Chief Medical Officer for bringing the news of the deaths to the Canadian public, so determined was he to continue in his plan of genocide. Macdonald’s heart might have pumped blood through his veins and kept him from collapsing onto the ground, dead as a door nail, but it was not a heart like the one beating in my body nor like that pounding in yours.

The walk, planned for September 30^th, 2022, will need your support. Let’s work together towards getting at least a thousand people walking with us next year in memory of the children who didn’t survive Macdonald’s Residential Schools. Make a commitment to it. You have a year to prepare! All activists and defenders of justice are welcome to join us. You can join us in a motorized wheelchair, riding a bicycle, roller skates or with the power of your own feet. Come in your traditional attire (jingle dress, shawl dancer etc.), dance, bring your drum or rattle. Sing songs while you are walking if you wish to. All I ask is that you come with a good heart and with a vision that Macdonald’s name will be removed from the parkway because you took part in a walk.

I am 100% certain that the first prime minister of Canada will have his name removed from the parkway at some point. Will it be next year? Maybe not! It will occur however. Young Canadians in high schools get it, so do university and college students, only Stephen Harper and John Baird types do not.

In the meantime, let’s swamp Justin Trudeau and the NCC with letters demanding the name change. WRITE THAT LETTER!!

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

There is little doubt that Orange Shirt Day (Sept. 30^th, 2021) will be far different in its intensity than any other experienced by the Indigenous Peoples and Canadians in general than ever before. Past trauma is being relived, the hearts of our Nations are swollen with pain and sorrow! The number of unmarked graves of innocent Indigenous children who perished within the walls of John A. Macdonald’s Residential Schools grows in its tally with each passing week. Warren Kinsella, a former advisor to prime ministers and today a celebrated writer with The Sun newspaper chain predicts that by the end of the search for children graves, the count will be as high as 35,000. Bill Curry (Toronto Star) investigated deaths in Residential Schools many years ago and estimated that over 50,000 children died in the schools. Time is short for the making of plans which fully speak to how our collective hearts are processing all of this. Many people are hurting! Thankfully we, the Indigenous Peoples, need not look too far to find human beings, not of our culture or heritage, offering our communities sincere words of sympathy and actions supporting what we want to do in the way of bringing peace and healing for all who are in despair.

I believe that we should begin to plan now for Orange Shirt Day 2022. The good people living in unceded, never surrendered Algonquin Territory want to stand in solidarity with Indigenous Peoples at this time of reflection and contemplation. Our friends and allies of varying skin colours are eager to help us (Indigenous People) to realize whatever plans we make to honour all children who suffered untold miseries and death in “the place where our children went to die”.

I propose that a ‘grassroots’ movement occur! One where the ‘People’ do what they think is right in creating awareness for those Canadians who are ignorant of this country’s brutal and tragic past. To bring them with us to that time when Canada rounded up the most pure, the most innocent of human beings and took them to a place designed to destroy, emotionally and spiritually, children, whose only crime was to be born from people who had lived on these resource-rich lands for thousands of years. Many of the children who survived left the schools feeling as if they had been mentally crucified. A big number of them finished off their lives broken in spirit, never getting the opportunity to give purpose to their lives.

Pamela Naymark, a young married woman and mother of two youngsters, and I are working together to raise money through the sale of shirts (which I designed) to fund initiatives generated to assist in a day of remembrance (September 30, 2022) for the kids who died in the schools. Pamela hopes that this initiative will become a commemoration that has the potential to include activities to encourage advocacy and advance reconciliation.

To be very clear, no one, but no one is profiting from this venture. Not even a nickel from this initiative is going into anyone’s pocket. I myself am buying several shirts and will pay full price for them. We ask readers of this blog to reach out and give us (Pamela and I) your idea on how the money raised should be spent. Examples could be a play acted out by Algonquin band members or a poetry night where poems composed by Algonquins (and other Indigenous Peoples) speaking to how a child might have felt to be uprooted from their loving home and taken by force to one of Macdonald’s schools.

A new dawn is on the horizon! It is present and is being embraced by all Peoples who understand that the new day of healing is now upon us. Let us not give thoughts of turning our backs to it. Let us ask ourselves what the children who suffered and died at the schools would counsel us to do at this time.

To order your shirt contact Pamela Naymark at pnaymark@gmail.com.

They are available in youth and adult sizes. Languages: Algonquin, English and French. Suggested donation is $30. Anyone who wishes can donate more than the $30 price per shirt. Students and people who do not have the means to pay the full amount can contact Pamela to work something out.

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)

As the English Poet Laureate for the City of Ottawa, I am announcing today the commencement of an extraordinary poetry contest. All poets residing within the perimeters of the City of Ottawa or living in any of the Algonquin communities recognized by the Government of Canada as having rights as “Status Indians” are welcome to submit their poems into the contest for the consideration of a juror. The poets will express in a poem, their definition of what it is to be a human being. The title of the poem “I am a Human Being” may describe what occurs in the human heart when ‘love’ between two people is realized or tell about the stamina, eloquence and beauty of the human spirit. The poem you compose can perhaps speak of experiences you encountered in your lifetime which promote emotional wellness for the downtrodden or point to what it is, creating love and unconditional support for family members and for the dearest of friends. If you believe that ‘water is life’ and that all living things have rights, then express how you feel about that in a poem as only a human being can. Ultimately, it is your choice to make. You, as a poet, will decide the contents of your poem, describing in your own words what it is to be a human being. Don’t miss out on this rare opportunity to get involved in making Ottawa a greater city. Get out your paper and pen!

Submission guidelines:  
•  up to 20 lines of poetry (1 poem per participant)
•  submit poem in ‘word’ or ‘pages’ format (written in English)
•  submit to PoeticWaters@outlook.com
•  Deadline: September 15, 2021 midnight
•  Announcement of winners: October 1, 2021  
•  First prize is $300, second prize $200 and 5 runner-ups at $100 each.
Total prize money being offered $1,000!

The 100 best poems will be published in a book of poetry titled “I AM A HUMAN BEING”. The book will be sold with 100% of the proceeds going towards the promotion of poetry as a medicine and healer, not only for the citizens of Ottawa but for lovers of poetry wherever they are found.

Amazing wonders can come into your life as a poet. I urge you to write more poetry! Do it for healing’s sake. Do it as a special medicine. Let poetry become something of your medicine bag. Poetry can bring surprises into your life. It did for me!

Check out the poem I wrote to introduce the festivities for Canada Day. Here is the link: Canada Day 2021. I am so very proud of this special moment in my life! I believe Canadian Heritage took a bold stand in asking me, yes a poet but also a hardcore human rights activist, to compose a poem for this year’s Canada Day celebrations. It doesn’t pull any punches!

Keep the Circle Strong,

South Wind (Albert Dumont)