The wind struck me like a mild right hook the moment I stepped out of the hotel. It intensified the further I walked out into the street. I was unaware this intersection – Portage and Main – had a notorious reputation of being the “windiest corner in Canada”. I pulled my hat down tight to take a walk and see all that Portage Avenue had to offer. This was my first ever visit to Winnipeg, and I wanted to make the most of it.
It was the winter of 2006 and I had just flown in for a job interview at Canada’s public broadcaster. I was scheduled to leave the next day, hence the eagerness to see as much as possible. I walked westward on Portage, and within minutes saw a bundled-up Aboriginal couple coming my way. I nodded at them in acknowledgement, but they gave me an awkward glance in return. I didn’t think much of it and carried on. Within seconds I noticed another young Aboriginal dude in a leather jacked with long hair. Again, a nod, and no reciprocation. This continued for blocks. I saw Natives, and nodded at them. This is what we did in Toronto, because Aboriginal people rarely crossed paths on those massive streets. Some nodded back, some didn’t. After a few minutes I realized I must have looked like an Ojibway bobblehead. Feeling ridiculous, I stopped.
It took walking just a few blocks along Portage to understand why people call Winnipeg “Capital Rez”. Aboriginal people are an especially visible and increasingly crucial part of the social fabric in the city and across the province of Manitoba. Up to that point, I lived most of my adult life in Toronto, where Aboriginal people are the biggest in numbers compared to other Canadian cities, but largely invisible, diluted across thousands of neighbourhoods. So whenever First Nations people crossed paths on the street, it was a big deal. But experiencing this presence on Winnipeg’s streets was invigorating. I ended up getting the job, and over the next four years I learned why Winnipeg is the most culturally important city in North America.
That large Aboriginal population means many non-Aboriginal people in Winnipeg are more familiar with the culture and background of First Peoples than in other much larger North American cities. The odds are more people have gone to school, worked or at least socialized with someone who’s Cree, Ojibway, Dene, Metis, or Inuit (and et cetera). It’s naive to think all these encounters have been positive. But I’ve come across people in other bigger cities who didn’t know “Indians” even existed. Even just knowing someone different than you is the first step to building a bridge between cultures. Because of all this shoulder-rubbing in Winnipeg, there’s a stronger foundation than anywhere else.
Winnipeg is also one of the most diverse and culturally-rich places in the world. It’s home to the largest concentration of people from the Philippines than anywhere outside of that country. Many neighbourhoods have strong connections to waves of immigration from the Ukraine and other eastern European countries. Subsequent waves from southeast Asia and many African countries have left the city with a colourful face that on the surface, is strikingly beautiful. That diversity is rooted in the positive relationships spawned by the fur trade, resulting in a powerful Francophone community.
However, putting those facts and the rose-coloured glasses aside reveal a city that is struggling with a cultural transition. This is reflected mostly in what we see in the media. Stories of gang warfare on downtown streets, violence against sex trade workers, racially motivated attacks, and random beatings and killings. Sadly, most people immediately assume the characters in these stories are Aborginal. And a lot of the time that’s true. Therefore, stereotypes are still very alive, floating through the air. But on the ground, there’s hope, and it’s pretty easy to find.
I was fortunate enough to have a job that kept me on the ground and introduced me to dozens of people who taught me about that hope. Like a former prominent gang member who learned about his Metis culture and storytelling to escape that life. Like the two teenaged sex trade workers who surprisingly gave us an interview on Manitoba Avenue. Their sole reason was to warn others about the dangers of the life and how they wanted help out of it but worried they were trapped. Like the residential school survivor who told me that despite all of our problems, he’s the most hopeful he’s ever been in his life because now he finally feels at home in Winnipeg among other Anishinaabe people.
I felt immediately at home upon my arrival in Winnipeg. Not only thanks to the diverse and welcoming Aboriginal communities in the city, but also to the innate warmth of everyone else. All those colourful open arms embraced me. I fell in love with the city and the province and I firmly believe nothing can tarnish that. I’m proud to have called it home for four years and I think everyone who lives there should be even prouder of the great things that are coming. Winnipeg will be an example of cultural harmony that other North American cities will follow.
I walked down Yonge Street in Toronto yesterday. It felt like the first time again because it has changed so much. The city is alive, colourful, and vibrant and I will always love that. But I already can’t wait for my next stroll down Portage Avenue. If you see me, just try to nod back.
For this year’s winter Olympics in Vancouver, the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network is broadcasting live events in Cree, Mohawk, Mi’kmaq, Ojibway, Dene, Inuktitut, Michif and Oji-Cree. It’s a remarkable and ambitious initiative that’s had lots of people across the country tuning in. I watched tonight’s gold medal curling match between Canada and Norway in Anishinaabemowin (Ojibway) and it was sort of like coming home. My native language skills aren’t the greatest (I understand it way better than I speak it) but it was pretty fun to follow along to a sport that I’ve always been pretty complacent about. But more importantly, hearing Anishinaabemowin spoken on such a grand scale fostered a great sense of pride in me that’s no doubt resonating even more with our elders in communities right across Canada.
There’s an ominous statistic that keeps getting kicked around whenever the topic of Aboriginal languages comes up: of the 55 native languages spoken in Canada, only three – Ojibway, Cree, and Inuktitut – are expected to survive into the 22nd Century. Linguists, anthropologists, and Aboriginal leaders and elders argue about how legit this speculation is. Regardless, a lot of languages are hanging by a thread and it’s really up to us to make sure they survive. Hearing them broadcast during the biggest sporting event in the world will go a long way in keeping that pride and ambition alive.
That pride was scrubbed from a lot of our elders a long time ago. Generations before us were beaten for speaking their language. Canada established residential schools to make sure these languages were killed. Even people who didn’t have to endure that nightmare were shamed to forget the words they grew up speaking – their closest tie to their heritage. In my family, my grandmother and her siblings grew up speaking primarily Anishinaabemowin. My dad and his siblings grew up speaking both that and English. My brothers and I grew up speaking primarily English, with a few traditional words and phrases peppered throughout our conversations. In just a few generations, Anishinaabemowin could have completely disappeared from our family and our community.
But over the last 20 years there’s been a linguistic revival in communities across the country. And this new Olympic initiative should be a rallying cry to make sure the languages don’t die. I can’t imagine what it’s like for our elders to be witnessing these games in their traditional tongues. It’s almost like a total vindication of who they are and why they’ve never forgotten those timeless words at the core of their spirits. They’ll never have to be ashamed of what they say – or who they are – anymore. Now it’s up to us to make sure these words never die.
For a translation of the title of this blog post, visit Anishinaabemowin and follow @Anishinabemowin on Twitter.
Working at Canada’s public broadcaster has allowed me lots of pretty cool opportunities, and one of them is to collaborate on a summer radio show called ReVision Quest. When it launched in 2008, its original concept was to bust myths about contemporary life in Aboriginal Canada, and today it focuses more on the day-to-day issues we face. There’s a great crew of really talented Aboriginal journalists behind it, and it’s hosted by the always hilarious Darrell Dennis. We’re always looking at different things to cover, and last week my fellow producer Ruth pointed us to YouTube for material. It’s a gold mine.
Mainstream popular culture has always had an odd infatuation with “Indians”, even though that’s never really carried over to real life. It’s more of an obsession with the imagery rather than some of the wholesome ideals all of our cultures are based on. Take the following Cher video, for example:
Granted, Cher claims to in fact be a half-breed (half “Cherokee”, as many of them say). But this must have been early on in her own personal cultural renaissance. The video opens with a totem pole, and then cuts to Cher in a Lakota-like headdress and getup – two things that have nothing to do with each other. Pure exploitation of the image. Don’t get me wrong, I love the song. I’ve belted it out more than once at karaoke bars (I’m a half-breed myself). But Cher wasn’t doing any of her native brothers and sisters any favours with this video. For me, the real star is the totally stoic horse, who’s obviously totally gooned on PCP.
Then there’s this gem from Loretta Lynn called “Your Squaw is on the Warpath”
I’ve always been a big fan of Loretta Lynn for blazing a trail for female musicians. And this song is kinda awesome, if you follow the narrative in the lyrics. You can easily argue she’s simply using Indian metaphors for the plight of a frustrated woman. But I can’t excuse the use of the word “squaw”. It’s one of the most offensive terms out there referring to Aboriginal women. I have trouble even saying it. Apparently she’s also part “Cherokee”, which is her supposed license to sing such a song.
But you’d be hard-pressed to find any Cherokees in this crowd…
Shifting from pop music to sports, baseball fans will be familiar with this. It’s the “Tomahawk Chop”, insensitively popularized by Atlanta Braves fans in the early 1990s. This dumbfounded me as a 12 year old, and it blows my mind even today. I made a more comprehensive commentary (see “Indians Finally Win One!) a few years ago on Native American imagery in pro sports (originally an article turned down by VICE Magazine), so I won’t go more into this now. But the chop is alive and well, proving white suburbanites in Georgia still want to be Indian. Scalp those Pittsburgh Pirates!
Such examples are varied and far-reaching, so a post like this could go on and on. But fear not, we’re slowly taking over the mainstream media and we’ll do our best to eradicate exploitation! Cue the pow-wow intro music…
After months of healing, anticipation, and fear/paranoia, Manitobans started getting their H1N1 shots today. The vaccine for the dangerous new sickness was approved by the federal government last week, and the provinces rushed to get it in and clinics in place. In Winnipeg, people lined up for hours. And in remote northern communities, the vaccine arrived early this morning and nurses and community officials rushed to set up immunization centres. Work sent me up to Garden Hill First Nation – one of the communities hardest hit by H1N1 back in the spring. It was a fast trip up and back to the city, but it was a really fun and eyeopening experience. Everyone there was really friendly and accommodating, and it’s an absolutely beautiful part of the province.
Landing at the Garden Hill airport. It’s about 700 km northwest of Winnipeg, so you have to fly there. It took about an hour and fifteen minutes.
The reserve is on a different island than the airport, so we had to take a hovercraft over.
CBC videographer John Einarson.
Johnny getting some scenics.
The school gym became the vaccination clinic.
Garden Hill Chief Dino Flett and MKO Grand Chief David Harper fill out consent forms to get their shots.
Finally…the needle lots of people have been waiting for for months.
We didn’t get to see a whole lot of activity at the clinic before we left. They were opening it up to members this afternoon, and we had to leave at 12:30 to catch our plane back. There was a pretty prevalent atmosphere of relief in the community that the vaccine was finally there. I got the sense that almost all of the 4500 people who live in Garden Hill know at least one person who got the H1N1 flu last spring. Still, there is some apprehension among members; worry about potential side effects from the vaccine. So the leadership is doing their part to encourage everyone to get the shot. It’ll take a lot of people rolling up their sleeves to really stop this virus in its tracks.
An earlier version of this column was originally published in First Nations Voice at the beginning of September.
The fever of H1N1′s second wave is already rising. As we move into fall, health officials are expecting another outbreak of this weird new influenza. And like the first wave, it’ll hit First Nations especially hard. The ongoing H1N1 saga here in Manitoba has been a bitter ordeal of preparedness, health care accountability, and Aboriginal vitality since people first started getting sick in the spring. Over the summer, levels of government argued over what communities needed to deal with the outbreak, and who would pay for it. All the while people were dying from the intense and unrelenting respiratory sickness. Others at the grassroots level mobilized to raise money to buy supplies to send to remote communities. Now that fall is here, health stations on different reserves are stocking supplies, and raising awareness of this deadly illness. The federal government said it committed hundreds of millions of dollars for preparations, but that goodwill was followed by a premature and disheartening shipment of body bags to northern communities. It’s been a confusing and frustrating few months for Aboriginal people at the heart of the H1N1 scourge; many feel abandoned and betrayed. But despite that, it’s up to them to now take command of their own well-being.
One can broadly say that Aboriginal Canadians are unhealthier than the rest of the general population. Diabetes rates are four times higher in First Nations than elsewhere in non-native Canada. Obesity is another issue. And Aboriginal Canadians are twice as likely to develop heart disease or stroke than anyone else. With all these risk factors, health is already compromised in First Nation communities, making people there even more vulnerable to potential pandemics like H1N1. Right now, health officials are trying to make people aware of how to protect themselves from that flu. But this looming threat should be an eyeopener for people to reinforce their physical well-being. To quit smoking. To get active. And to try to eat better.
That’s not to say that some Aboriginal people in remote communities are responsible for their own poor health. The settling of the reserve system put many people in difficult immobile positions. They had to abandon traditional nomadic living, and the healthy, natural food via hunting and fishing that came with it. Today, people in remote communities are reliant on poor, processed foods that are all they can afford – at already inflated prices. That’s contributed to obesity and the high rates of diabetes and heart disease. Health experts have reiterated over and over since the H1N1 outbreak that people with weakened immune systems will be more vulnerable to the flu. With an outbreak weeks away, it’s unlikely people with underlying health issues can turn them around that quickly, but this new sickness should sound a loud alarm in communities across the country.
Although the images of people in isolated reserves wearing masks to shield against H1N1 are shocking, they’ll go a long way in raising awareness. Even the body bag faux pas should strengthen that resolve. This is a scary new sickness that has tragic potential. But it can give us a healthy new perspective of our own well-being to avoid other tragedies in our communities. More and more, we control our own destiny.
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