Rekindling the Sacred Fire

Chantal Fiola

• Editore: University of Manitoba Press
• Anno: 2015
• ISBN:
  9780887554803
• Argomento: Social Sciences
• Categoria: Native American Studies

Why don't more Métis people go to traditional ceremonies? How does going to ceremonies impact Métis identity?

In Rekindling the Sacred Fire, Chantal Fiola investigates the relationship between Red River Métis ancestry, Anishinaabe spirituality, and identity, bringing into focus the ongoing historical impacts of colonization upon Métis relationships with spirituality on the Canadian prairies. Using a methodology rooted in an Indigenous world view, Fiola interviews eighteen people with Métis ancestry, or an historic familial connection to the Red River Métis, who participate in Anishinaabe ceremonies, sharing stories about family history, self-identification, and their relationships with Aboriginal and Eurocanadian cultures and spiritualities.

CHAPTER 1

Seven Fires Prophecy and the Métis: An Introduction

Many years ago, seven prophets came to the Anishinaabeg. Each foretold a prediction of what the future would bring. Each prophecy was called a Fire, and each Fire referred to a particular era of time that would come in the future....

The first prophet said to the people, “In the time of the First Fire, the Anishinaabe nation will rise up and follow the Sacred Shell of the Midewiwin Lodge. The Midewiwin Lodge will serve as a rallying point for the people and its traditional ways will be the source of much strength.”…

The Fourth Fire, given by two prophets who came as one, told of the coming of the Light-skinned Race. It was said that the future of our people will be known by the face of the Light-skinned Race. If they come wearing the face of brotherhood, there will follow a time of wonderful change and the two nations will join to make a mighty nation…. But, if they come wearing the face of death, there will follow a time of great suffering….

The seventh prophet said to the people, “In the time of the Seventh Fire an Osh-ki-bi-ma-di-zeeg’ (New People) will emerge. They will retrace their steps to find what was left by the trail. Their steps will take them to the elders who they will ask to guide them on their journey…. The task of the New People will not be easy…. If the New People will remain strong in their quest, the Waterdrum of the Midewiwin Lodge will again sound its voice. There will be a rebirth of the Anishinaabe nation and a rekindling of old flames. The Sacred Fire will again be lit.

“It is at this time that the Light-skinned Race will be given a choice between two roads. If they choose the right road, then the Seventh Fire will light the Eighth and Final Fire—an eternal Fire of peace, love, brotherhood and sisterhood. If the Light-skinned Race makes the wrong choice of roads, then the destruction which they brought with them in coming to this country will come back to them and cause much suffering and death to all the Earth’s people.”

— Edward Benton-Banai, The Mishomis Book, 89–93

The Seven Fires Prophecy (above) was given to the Anishinaabeg in the distant, pre-contact history by a series of prophets and triggered a great migration among the Anishinaabeg who would heed its warnings. Some Anishinaabe Elders believe that each of the fires (or eras of time) that were predicted has come to pass and that we are currently in the time of the Seventh Fire. They believe that the two paths mentioned in the Neesh-wa-swi’ ish-ko-day-kawn (Seven Fires Prophecy) are interpreted as the path of technology and the path of spiritualism—the former representing the rush to technological development (devoid of spirit) leading to destruction, and the latter representing the slower path of the traditional spirituality of our ancestors, which many are seeking anew and which does not lead to a scorched earth (Benton-Banai, 93). Our traditional teachers are encouraging us to recognize modern challenges to mino-bimaadiziwin (good, balanced life) and the ongoing importance of our ancestral ways of seeing, sometimes termed 360-degree vision, a holistic, interdependent world view (Dumont 1979, 11). A return to traditional spirituality among Anishinaabe people today represents one form of contemporary agency, as well as the unfolding of an ancient prophecy. As foretold in the prophecy, such a return is not easy.

Many Aboriginal families today, including Métis people, are disconnected from our ancestral spiritual ways as a result of colonization. Métis people have sometimes been referred to as the “New People”—for instance, in Jacqueline Peterson and Jennifer Brown’s 1985 book, The New People: Being and Becoming Métis in North America, which remains one of the most seminal academic sources on Métis studies to date.1 However, most Métis are unaware that we are included in the Oshkibimaadiziig (New People) spoken of in the Seven Fires Prophecy and that we are welcome, to name just two examples, at the Sundance and in the Midewiwin Way, a spiritual society based on ancestral Anishinaabe teachings and ways of life (Gaywish 2008, 1).2 It would likely come as a shock to many to learn that Louis Riel—arguably the most famous Métis leader, the Father of Manitoba and a devout Catholic—was, according to oral history, adopted by a Midewiwin family and became Midewiwin himself (Chapter 2). The Seventh Fire speaks of the importance of the work of the Oshkibimaadiziig as contributing to the potential for an Eighth (and final) Fire, an eternal fire of unity to be lit by all humans (Simpson 2008b, 14). Métis people can contribute significantly to this work in contemporary times. Hence the title of this book; it refers to Métis participation in the work of the Oshkibimaadiziig (rekindling our sacred ancestral ways) spoken of in the Seven Fires Prophecy.

The colonial agenda of assimilating Anishinaabe peoples into dominant European settler ways dates back to early contact and continues to this day. European religions have played a central role in this assimilative agenda, the history and consequences of which have played out in both similar and unique ways across Aboriginal groups in Canada. In this book, I illustrate how Christianity was encouraged among (often forced upon) Aboriginal peoples, including the Métis, in many ways—missionary efforts, the residential school system, and the child welfare system—and has greatly influenced Métis relationships, or lack thereof, with Anishinaabe spirituality. Given this history, it is not surprising that so many Métis people today are Christian, including especially high rates of Catholicism among Red River Métis families. It is not my intention to discourage Métis people (or anyone) from pursuing Christianity; rather, I am providing an opportunity to learn about the Anishinaabe ways of our ancestors that historically (and contemporarily) we as Indigenous people living in a colonial world have not been free to choose. A consequence of this history is that many Métis (and other Aboriginal) people who are disconnected from these ways worry that we “don’t have the right” to participate in ceremonies and feel unsure about seeking them out. This book is an effort to expose and counter this history and these all-too-common worries; it is a reminder that Anishinaabe spirituality is a legitimate option that remains open to us. Our ancestors worked hard to ensure that these ways would still be here for us today, and, despite all odds, they succeeded. You are welcome to respectfully seek out these ways. In these pages, you will also learn about this journey, the challenges, and insights learned by others who have found meaning and fulfillment in Anishinaabe spirituality.

Anishinaabe perseverance and the will to survive have always existed alongside assimilative pressures. Contemporary examples abound, including increasing numbers of people “newly” identifying as Aboriginal and Métis (reasons for not self-identifying in these ways in the past may have to do with persecution by the government and internalized racism, as discussed in Chapters 2 and 3). From 1996 to 2001, according to Statistics Canada (2003a; 2003b), while the Canadian population grew by 3 percent, the population self-identifying as Aboriginal grew 22 percent. In the same five-year period, the Métis population increased by an astounding 43 percent (with the highest populations in Alberta, Manitoba, and Ontario) (Statistics Canada 2010).3

Agency and resistance are also found in court cases where Aboriginal people are demanding acknowledgment and protection of our rights. In March 2013, in Manitoba Métis Federation (MMF) v. Canada, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled in favour of the Métis by declaring that the Government of Canada failed to uphold its constitutional obligation to the Métis under section 31 of the Manitoba Act of 1870 (Chartrand 2013, para. 1). The court case, launched by the MMF in 1981, argued that due to unscrupulous government and surveyor tactics, the 1.4 million acres of land promised to the Métis in section 31 was swindled from us. As a result, many Métis argue, any supposed extinguishment of Aboriginal title to land and rights that went along with the “land exchanges” are null and void. Therefore, contemporary Manitoba Métis, as descendants of the historic Métis Nation whose ancestors received scrip, should be compensated (financially and/or otherwise) for the massive theft of our land. Two months before this decision, the Federal Court ruled, in Daniels v. Canada, that “Métis and Non Status Indians are defined under the term ‘Indian’ for the purposes of Section 91(24) [para. 619]” of the Constitution Act, 1867 (Henry 2013; Daniels v. Canada 2013). Yet another case—Alberta (Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development) v. Cunningham—played out in 2011 involving members of a Métis family whose membership in an Alberta Métis settlement was revoked when they obtained registered Indian status. This case is controversial among Métis people themselves, with some supporting the Cunninghams’ plight and others siding against them. These court cases, discussed at length in Chapter 3, illustrate Métis resistance to ongoing colonial control over the lives of Métis people.

Then, at the end of 2012, the Idle No More movement seemingly came out of nowhere, commanding media attention throughout Canada and abroad. This grassroots movement birthed and led by (mostly young) Aboriginal people (especially Nina Wilson, Sylvia McAdam, and Jessica Gordon) with non-Aboriginal supporters (notably Sheelah McLean), began with extreme discontent over the Canadian government’s proposed omnibus Bill C-45 (Jobs and Growth Act), which received assent on 14 December of that year. Controversy over this Act included its size (over 450 pages), its inclusion of many disparate issues, and an overall lack of consultation with Aboriginal peoples. Many argued that the government was trying to sneak harmful changes into law, hiding them in the massive document and hoping no one would notice. Such harmful changes include those made to the Navigable Waters Act (only a fraction of Canadian bodies of water are now protected), the Indian Act, and the Environmental Assessment Act. In contrast, “Idle No More calls on all people to join in a revolution which honours and fulfills Indigenous sovereignty which protects the land and water” (“9 Questions about Idle No More” 2013). Attawapiskat Chief Theresa Spence went on a six-week hunger strike (ending on 24 January 2013) to raise awareness about First Nation issues including poverty, substandard housing, and unsafe drinking water on reserves, as well as to protest Bill C-45 and raise awareness about the Idle No More movement. In no time, and thanks in part to communication via social media, thousands of people were participating in a National Day of Action; flash mob round dances in shopping centres, airports, and intersections; sit-ins and teach-ins; rallies, marches, and protests; and road, bridge, and mine blockades across Canada and in other countries. The prime minister agreed to a meeting with a delegation organized by the Assembly of First Nations (AFN) on 11 January 2013, but many criticized the meeting as lip service with no concrete outcomes and because the Governor General did not participate (except in a “ceremonial” manner afterwards). Treaties were signed between First Nations and the reigning monarch of Canada; as a representative of the Queen, the Governor General should participate in such meetings. While Idle No More is no longer in the headlines every other day, it is still very much ongoing, often taking the form of smaller local events and projects aimed at cultural, linguistic, and spiritual resurgence and regeneration. Idle No More did not spring forth from nowhere; it is the latest grassroots movement in a history of Indigenous resistance to colonization that is as old as contact itself.

Another example of contemporary agency, one likely less obvious to non-Aboriginal Canadians, is occurring on a spiritual level. More and more Aboriginal people (Métis included)—newly identifying or not—are becoming curious about Anishinaabe spirituality or strengthening their commitment to it. Increasingly, Elders and spiritual teachings are being sought out and participation in ceremony is on the rise. Some spiritual teachers are becoming more vocal and visible in an attempt to reach out to more of our people and to encourage them to come to ceremony. A noteworthy example occurred recently; Spruce Woods Sundance Chiefs David and Sherryl Blacksmith, with the blessing of Sundance Elder “Grandpa Joe” (Esquash)—Sherryl’s grandfather, by whom they have been given the right and responsibility to conduct Sundance—gave permission to Aboriginal Peoples Television Network (APTN) reporter Shanneen Robinson and a camera crew to film segments of the Sundance and create a three-part documentary about the ceremony, which aired on APTN National News in mid-August 2013 (Robinson 2013a).4 Reaction to the controversial documentary has been strong and mixed, with some condemning and vilifying the Blacksmiths for filming a sacred ceremony, accusing them of contributing to the commodification of ceremony for personal gain, and arguing that to participate in ceremony requires soul-searching and spiritual work including approaching Elders and participating in person. Others praise the Blacksmiths’ efforts to show positive images of healthy Aboriginal people on the news (instead of the usual negative images that promote stereotypes) and gratitude for helping more Aboriginal people find their way to ceremony as a result of seeing the documentary.5 It is my belief that these concerns are important and can help protect ceremonies, but we must also take care not to be so “protective” and secretive that we fail to pass on the ceremonies to subsequent generations for whom they are intended.

It is important to keep in mind that the Canadian government, through the Indian Act, effectively made Indigenous ceremonies illegal for approximately a century (Chapter 3), and as a result ceremonies had to go underground and were practised in secret by brave souls who risked persecution if they were caught. Most purposely did not pass the teachings on to their children in an effort to spare them further persecution. I personally attended the Sundance in question and saw the documentary crew filming throughout the weekend, and I listened to the Sundance Chiefs David and Sherryl Blacksmith explain to everyone present that they had been called by spirit to reach out in this way. They reminded us that our ceremonies are no longer illegal, yet the secrecy, once needed for survival, persists. But we no longer need to hide; we can be open and inviting again, which also amounts to “protecting” ceremonies and ensuring they will continue into the future (not through film recordings and books for preservation, but through the increase in participation that may result from such efforts). Anishinaabe Professor Tara Williamson (2013) wrote a blog post, “Of Dogma and Ceremony,” in response to the backlash surrounding the Blacksmiths’ decision to allow the documentary, wherein she states, “without context our practice as Indigenous peoples becomes a dogmatic religion that can no longer adapt and survive the way we have so far through the onslaught of colonialism, nation-statehood, Christianity, and so much more.” She reminds us of the importance of context, and that for Indigenous peoples, “surviving (and, indeed, thriving) involved bending rules,” including learning to whisper in residential schools so that Indigenous languages were not lost and so that “we still have ceremony because we hid ourselves so well that nobody noticed” (Williamson 2013). She comments on how times have changed and how Aboriginal people, especially urban Aboriginal people, have to make decisions that our ancestors never did (including how to give an offering while living in the city). Williamson suggests that using clips from Sundance to reach out to those who are lost (our youth especially) must be considered in context, which includes overwhelmingly negative portrayals of Aboriginal peoples in the media, disconnection from ceremony overall due to colonization, the agreement among the leaders of this Sundance lodge to allow the documentary, and, most importantly, direction from spirit. Sherryl Blacksmith teaches that “change is inevitable, you can fight the process or you can go with it; the most beautiful teachings come from adversity. Accepting that culture changes, like the seasons, helps us to accept growth within ourselves and our Nations” (pers. comm.). We are still here because we learned to adapt.

Long ago, the Seven Fires Prophecy foretold that Anishinaabe people would forget our original ways in favour of those of the light-skinned race, but that we would eventually remember our original ways (Benton-Banai 1988, 93). While this may not yet be reflected in scholarly literature (exceptions include Simpson 2008 and Anderson 2011), the examples of contemporary Anishinaabe agency discussed above, as well as the return to Anishinaabe identities and spiritualities among the participants in this study, suggest that this is indeed happening.

My own spiritual journey is a reflection of this. I share some of this with you now because it explains how I arrived at the topic for this book, but more importantly because introducing myself in this way is customary in Métis Anishinaabe cultures and fosters connections with the reader (for example, through the clan system), but also allows readers to form their own opinions of me and my motivations. I am a descendant of the historic Red River Métis Nation with Anishinaabe, Nêhiyaw, and French-Canadian ancestry.6 On my maternal grandmother’s side, our ancestors include Pierre “Bostonnais” Pangman Jr.7 and Marie Wewejikabawik, one of four founding families of the historic Métis community of St. Laurent, Manitoba. Bostonnais was a skilled Métis bison hunter who was asked to provide food for Lord Selkirk’s settlers so they would not starve during their first winter in Pembina.8 He also participated in Métis resistance to European settler encroachment, playing a key role in the Pemmican Wars leading up to the Battle of Seven Oaks (1816), and was recognized as one of four “Chiefs of the Halfbreeds” (or “Captains of the Métis”) by the North West Company along with Cuthbert Grant Jr. (Gordon 2005; St. Onge 2004; Fiola 2010).9 My mother grew up in a Michif-speaking family in St. Laurent, with three younger brothers and three older brothers. My two sisters and I are the first generation within our family that did not grow up in St. Laurent and cannot speak Michif (an Indigenous language consisting of mostly Cree and/or Sa...