kumtux blog: Negotiating the Terms of Surrender

Some thoughts and feelings on the current state of "treaty" negotiations in British Columbia: http://kumtux.blogspot.com

a (brief) vision for Nuu-chah-nulth community resurgence

I submitted the following for a scholarship application responding to the question, "What is your vision for your First Nation community?"

I was honoured to give the keynote speech at this year’s Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council Post-Secondary Grad/Scholarship Celebration Dinner. Among the words of advice I shared with my fellow students was that our emerging leaders must challenge themselves to dream, to be idealistic, to be visionary, and to act deliberately. I related the common dichotomy of “theory” and “real life.” In school we are often encouraged to dream and think critically; to take the time to carefully contemplate our decisions with all the information we can access, and make the best determinations possible. Upon graduation this experience changes profoundly. More often than not, we are assaulted with the ubiquitous confines of “reality” and are told, “That is just the way it is.” Obviously this can be very disconcerting and one cannot help but wonder why. There are those who believe that we must be pragmatic and do the best we can with what we have. Indeed these are sound assertions, but I believe they must coexist within a larger vision of indigenous resurgence that includes a broad spectrum of thought and action. It is not without a sense of irony that young people learn of the great sacrifices and efforts of historical leaders, women and men who were visionary and often uncompromising, and yet at the same time our people are subtly yet strongly encouraged to merely get by. We endure immense pressure to tow the line, to plug in, to go along, to get along, and certainly not to rock the boat. I humbly disagree. Now is precisely the time for visionary leadership. Our people need hope, and yes they certainty need the ability to provide for their basic human needs, but I do not believe these to be mutually exclusive. My vision for our indigenous communities is rooted in a resurgence of our own indigenous principles, thoughtful action with a focus on adaptation not assimilation, and leadership that inspires hope for our collective future.

Before I get too far, I will properly introduce myself so that you may better understand who I am, where I come from, and why I say and do the things that I do. My Nuu-chah-nulth name is Na’cha’uaht. It means, “Everyone is watching you.” It was given to me by A-in-chut, from the house of Tlaa-kish-pitl. A-in-chut is my first cousin and one of the three principal hereditary chiefs of the Ahousaht people. His father Umeek is the older brother of my father, Wickaninnish. My mother was born Edna Bolton. Her mother and father were Charlotte and Ed Bolton, from Kitselas and Kitsumkalum respectively of the Tsimshian people. We are of the house of Nishaywaaxs of Kitselas. Who we are and where we come from are of vital importance to the revitalization of our communities. As I’ve alluded to already, there is a subtle yet persistent pressure to be something we are not. Despite the fact that Canada has assumed jurisdiction over our lands, waters, and in fact, our very lives, we have not yet officially surrendered. There exists within each of us, a fighting spirit yet. I believe that we are living in a very important time, one simultaneously filled with opportunity and danger. By reviving our time-tested teachings we keep the hope alive that we will not only preserve our unique indigenous ways of living, but create a space where our people can once again flourish, and perhaps positively impact the newcomers to our lands.

Perhaps two of the most important Nuu-chah-nulth principles are embodied in the terms, iisaak and Hishuuk-ish Tsa’waak. The first means “respect,” indicating a rather universal respect for all things, places, people, and beings. The second phrase is usually translated into, “everything is one.” Umeek states in his book, Tsawalk: A Nuu-chah-nulth Worldview, that creation is complete and that everything is indeed whole and interconnected. While these principles might seem very simple, they are of profound importance to understanding a Nuu-chah-nulth worldview and way of being in creation. There is little doubt that we have adapted over the generations, and must continue to adapt our practices to deal with current challenges. I argue that while adaptation of our practices is necessary and even desirable at times, we must not significantly alter our underlying philosophical principles. To do so would risk losing who we are, fundamentally as a people. Herein lies a tool that can be utilized when contemplating an indigenous life in a predominantly settler society. This approach is not so much prescriptive as much as it provides a guiding reference on how we conduct ourselves as individuals, families and communities. The way of our ancestors was the way of action. After careful contemplation and preparation, our actions were deliberate. The Nuu-chah-nulth term for warrior is wii’uk (wit’waak being the plural). To be wii’uk was to be prepared and to act without fear. Of course it is easy to point to happier times and find what seem like superhuman examples beyond our grasp, but to truly understand our ways is to appreciate the principle of interconnection and practice of preparation.

Among many things, the Atleo family was also a whaling family. My great-great grandfather, Kiista was one of the last Nuu-chah-nulth chiefs to land a whale. To undertake such a large endeavour required great preparation not just physically, but mentally, and spiritually as well. I am only able to provide a simplified rendering here, but the lesson is that great things can be accomplished with the proper preparation and understanding of the interconnection of all life. At first glance, these philosophical underpinnings might also seem esoteric, but I believe they are vital to true and lasting community resurgence. The name Atleo is an anglicized version of a Nuu-chah-nulth word, identifying the main rope used by the whalers. A Nuu-chah-nulth historian recently shared this insight and pointed to the importance of fully understanding the meaning. A single strand of the rope is fine and easily broken. Dozens and dozens of strands, woven together makes the rope strong; strong enough to land a great whale weighing many tons, and strong enough to provide for the community. In practical terms, we must work to shed the influences of Euro-Canadian individualism and materialism, work together as families and communities, utilizing our traditional principles and languages to adapt practices suitable for current realities. Greater than we are sometimes led to believe, our praxis must embody the best of who we are as indigenous people, and in today’s day and age, one might consider that downright revolutionary.

new kumtux blog

Friends, Tsimshians, Countrywomen,

I've updated my Kumtux blog with an article I wrote for the '07 Summer issue of the New Socialist magazine.

indigenous book review: Trinity by Leon Uris

It's not indigenous to these parts, but I'm an indigenous dude and the book, about Northern Ireland from about 1850 to the beginning of the Easter Rising in 1916, has some relevance to struggles for freedom the world over. Uris has written a brilliant work of historical fiction that had me laughing, crying, indignant, heartbroken yet hopeful, and using more adjectives than I ever thought I would.

Trinity follows the lives of several Irish families, most notably the lives of Conor Larkin and Seamus O'Neill, a couple of poor Catholic "croppies" from a small town in the province of Ulster. Other people are better at summarizing themes and plots so I will focus on what most resonated with me and the similarities with indigenous struggles for freedom here in the Americas.

The most obvious similarity is the colonial experience at the hands of the English, for the Irish beginning over 800 years ago. And there (at least in Ulster) as here, the English never really left, so both peoples experience an ongoing occupation. Uris also takes us into the corporate offices and dining halls of the English nobility and their loyalist collaborators. Interestingly, his rendition juxtaposes their humanity with the utterly dehumanizing way in which the Irish are regarded and treated. This has long been a complex theme in oppressive/abusive relationships and a challenge for would-be liberators, that is for them not to lose their humanity in trying to save it.

My good friend, "Chii-a-is" guffawed at my recent captivation with the Irish, stating that it was the Scottish that actually defeated the British. I'm not here to get into that debate, but I have to concur that along with my love of opera, tragic women, and the writings of people like Galeano and Zinn, all of these stories resonate with an aspirant indigenous rebel dreaming of the impossible. 800 years of struggle. 500 years of struggle. A lifetime of struggle.

Uris also touches on the seemingly endless frustrations that come with any desire to organize people to fight for freedom and justice. There are the ubiquitous "people", whose miseries get appropriated by everyone, the vanguard-like liberators, the militants, the intellectuals, the artists, and the collaborators. One can draw many parallels. I like how the fictional character Long Dan Sweeney puts it, "I hope you're not in a hurry...the true revolutionary is patient...and remember what I said about informants."

The book is over 700 pages long and is rich and complex and hard to put down, but I wish to touch on one more element. Conor (our hero) is confronted several times with love; being a revolutionary and falling in love. "Che" Guevara alluded to romanticism and love several times, but it's a tough go all around. At times it seems one cannot be truly committed to the cause (meaning different things for different people) and sustain a loving relationship at the same time and yet, one cannot imagine anything else worth fighting for. Ah, I do love paradox as well. In the story, there is a moment that Conor is perfectly willing to give it all up for the love of a young Protestant woman...I won't spoil it for you. I've found several copies in used bookstores. Go forth, young rebels and be inspired.

From the western shores of Occupied Canada
Dubya

P.S. I was also inspired to look up some cool Irish Rebel Music tunes by groups like the Wolfe Tones and Eire Og. Good fun!

kinda reminds me...

It is hard to believe that I've been working at the Du Quah Gallery for 5 weeks already! It kinda reminds me of my fishing days - working for my uncles in my early to mid teen years. Of course, I don't have a skipper screaming at me and when it's cold and rainy outside, Cedar (the gallery cat) and I, are huddled, dry and warm inside. Actually, Cedar and I do very little huddling together since I'm allergic to cats, but I do talk to her and she does talk back (mostly complaining that I don't pick her up or pet her, short of a few gentle nudges with my moccasin-clad feed, I suspect).

And of course the work is not physically demanding, and I usually come out of each day smelling pretty decent. However, there are some similarities. From what I can tell this gallery relies upon its 22+ year reputation, good relations with its fellow service-tourist related businesses, and word of mouth. I have attempted to understand all the variables that go into a successful day of sales. Considerations include the weather, time of year, day of the week, time of the day, the Canadian dollar vis-a-vis the American dollar and the Euro, plus the internal considerations such as art pieces available, display, arrangement and so on. Obviously, I also have the time to think of all these things. I've often wondered if it would make any sense to put it all into a spreadsheet and churn out pie-charts to optimize sales next year.

Fishermen can also be very superstitious. We would often experiment with different lures at different times of the day and sometimes be secrative with the ones that were "hot" only sharing them with a few select friends on other boats. And I will never forget that the Spring salmon loved to bite when we blasted CCR's Midnight Special on the boat's cassette player. It makes me wonder weather customers prefer to bite when I play certain music. Almost everyone likes Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, but I've yet to keep track of exactly what is playing when they bite, especially the bigger fish, er customers, I mean.

While I've already suggested a great disparity in the physical difficulty of the work, I should say that my "fisherman's work ethic" (strongly instilled by my father), serves me well. There are downtimes - much more similar to seining than trolling - but overall, while it is not busy, I'm presented with the opportunity to vacuum, dust, clean glass, arrange and rearrange the artwork. Then again, I am writing this blog from work. What can I say, it's siesta time? I felt inspired. I better go clean some glass before the skipper comes back!

home

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

- from T.S. Eliot's Little Gidding

wisdom from our diminutive green master...

Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealousy...the shadow of greed that is. Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.

quote of the day

"Why do you always mix politics with things as noble as cookies?"
-Don Durito to Sup Marcos

ah, Neruda...

An excerpt from Neruda's Letter on the Road

Farewell, but you will be
with me, you will go within
a drop of blood circulating in my veins
or outside, a kiss that burns my face
or a belt of fire at my waist.
My sweet, accept
the great love that came out of my life
and that in you found no territory
like the explorer lost
in the isles of bread and honey.
I found you after
the storm,
the rain washed the air
and in the water
your sweet feet gleamed like fishes.

Adored one, I am off to my fighting...



[photo by www.jupiterimages.com]

oh yeah, I live in a rain forest

As the dime-sized raindrops pelt my summer motorcycle jacket (read: not waterproof), and my windshield fogs up I remember, oh yeah, I live in a rain forest. It sounds so nice when you say “rain forest” doesn’t it? I imagine sitting in some cozy cabin, fire blazing, cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, a beautiful indigenous woman warming my heart with her smile as we look out a huge picture window at all the lush, wet green, out there. Sigh. I try to distract myself with such imaginings as my wet fingers go numb and as I squirm a little in my seat, the build-up of water from the moto draft slides off my pack down you know where. Nice.

It was sunny when I left Port Alberni in the morning. The afternoon torrential rain is characteristic of west coast weather. I’m a west coaster, even by blood. I should know better. Knowing that I still have about 45 minutes to go, all I can do is laugh and think of how I’m going to blog this little experience. Although these adventures are mundane for the most part, and utterly inane at times I do try and make some links, however far-fetched, to the indigenous world of decolonization, rebellion, and revolution.

I heat up for several seconds later in my ride, but I’ll save that for the end.

So the water is seeping through my jacket, through my hoodie, and my Greg Norman golf shirt (great gallery wear, courtesy of a thoughtful and generous mom), and my BMW summer riding pants (also not waterproof – who makes $275 pants that are not waterproof? Better yet, who buys them?). My winter riding gloves must be getting long in the tooth, cause they used to be waterproof. About the only thing holding out is my trusty Red Wing motorcycle boots. At least my feet are warm and dry, which brings me to my next point.

Among many coastal peoples there exists a ritual of bathing in very cold water. This was done in rivers, lakes and the sea. As I understand it, one could merely jump in, get clean and jump out, or one could observe a more spiritual rendition, praying and adhering to protocols, often specific to each family. I will not speak of the latter, but more generally about the benefits of cold-water bathing. It’s supposed to toughen you up, physically of course, but the more you do it the more you begin to appreciate how it can strengthen your character and resolve because next time, you know, you remember.

I don’t liken my 75-minute commute in the cold rain to this practice necessarily, but it did remind me of it and I was also reminded of the benefits of growing stronger through action. It’s not hard to notice, when you look around (especially in the mirror), that we are perhaps not as tough as we used to be, or should be. This whole process of decolonization and community resurgence requires strong, committed people. Our ancestors understood this clearly, and acted on a daily basis to grow and remain strong. I think we can too.

Now to the matter of my instant and fleeting warming sensation. No, I didn’t pee my pants. Here is what happened (Moms, you can stop reading at this point). As I round the last corner before the orange bridge (which is now silver) and am momentarily distracted by the new Tseheheh band office, I do not notice that the red Dodge truck in front of me has stopped at the end of the bridge. Evidently, the car in front of him has stopped in order to turn left and is waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic. You’re not supposed to break hard in the rain. I think, in the milliseconds that I have, that I have to break pretty damn fast. I begin to slide as if on black ice. It feels so smooth. A shot of adrenaline pulses through my body and I feel instantly warm. I put my feet down, lest my bike decides to kick out, and I subtly steer toward the two-foot gap between the truck’s back end and the high curb. I’m not sure if the driver noticed me sliding or not, but the road clears and he moves just as I get close enough to see the tiny rain droplets on his red paint. Deep breath. I sit up and take a few more. I certainly don’t think I defied death yesterday. I did not hear the angels sing, but it would not have been pretty. I give thanks and I inhale all those memories good and bad.

Again, I’m reminded that there are no ordinary moments.



[photo by David Heller]

what dreams may come*

[click on the photo to enlarge] After dining at the Beijing Grand, IMHO, the best Chinese restaurant in Port Alberni, I received two fortunes in my fortune cookie. My favourite read, "There is new hope for projects you had almost given up on." I wondered, "does that include people?"

Over the past academic year, I've probably been negligent with my not-always-humble opinions, what with my diverted focus on books, papers, and all that fun stuff. I intend to make it up to you here, recently inspired by a muse, a fictional warrior, a real warrior, angry Indian chiefs, and knight-errant: Don Durito de la Lacandon.

Poetry works with the sweetest
ideas, and becomes the sweetest,
the nobelest, most sober and wise
Oh lady, delighting all eyes,
Accept my soul in these lines,
And by letting my earnest praise
enfold you, you earn yourself
Envy for the rest of your days,
And find your fortune raised
Higher than the moon in the skies.
-Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quijote

Ya basta!

So the "chiefs" are getting frustrated. The taps have run dry. There is a call for a "Day of Action." I hate to be a cynic, but I find it hard not be suspicious of their motives and of their genuine connection to the people. At the same time, division does us no good either. How can we come together, or are we really apart to begin with? Hish-uuk-ish Tsa'waak. Everything is one.

Perhaps some people will rise. Perhaps enough will rise. Perhaps the moderates and conservatives will have more on their hands than they can handle. That might be an adventure. Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow. Perhaps we can catch a wave and ride it for awhile.

Power in Movement. A day of action? How about a life of action.

Don Dubya, aspirant Jedi Knight-errant
From the shores of occupied Vancouver Island


*I borrowed the title from the critically unacclaimed movie with Robin Williams

to the mothers...

One can always comment on the oddity perhaps of celebrating one day a year in honour of mothers, especially when they often do so much for us, give so much of themselves for our well-being. A rant however, is not appropriate here. Quite simply, I wish to give thanks to all the mothers in my life, especially my own and do my best to remember this gratitude the rest of my days.

Kleco, kleco for everything that you do, the magic and the mundane, from healing our cuts and scrapes to healing our souls. In retrospect, it is all magic, all wonderful, all beautiful, every last moment. I love you mom.

P.S. I cannot forget all the other mothers and grandmothers and aunties. I have too many to name, seriously, but I love and respect you all. And of course all you newer moms in my life, not my mom, but a mom to my nieces and nephews. My sisters, today is also a special day for you, newer at your jobs, but no less loving and caring, and appreciated. My sister, Ger, and mi hermanas y companeras, Chiinuuks, 'Cilla, Em, Bev, Andrea, Di, Jusquan, Amamas, Kristy, Mare, Kinwa, Dawn, Gloria. Salud to you all!

...and before it gets too late, time to get my butt outta bed (yes, on my laptop writing a bedblog), and see about making some coffee and breakfast for the mothers in this house!

an ode to a kitten

Tonight, I part for the coast and a summer of new memories. Soon, padawan Kitten leaves for the valley of the mighty Nass River. Sooner or later all Kittens grow up and go home. We've had many a thoughtful conversation, pondering the mysteries of indigenous decolonization and resurgence. We've walked and talked our way through the same disillusionment, we've looked near and far and hopefully, we've glimpsed the same hope. Our battle is righteous and honourable. The red pill can sometimes be hard to choke down but it is what it is. Aaniikwaa.

We've also pondered the mysteries of the human heart. Perhaps they are one in the same. The force is strong in this one. She has a resilience and power that is already formidable. Honed and focused, and our enemies best watch out. It is true that she is my clan sister - We are Killerwhales from neighbouring nations. And Kitten has become more than a protege. She has become a friend and a sister in spirit and reality. Although our paths part ways for a time, we will remain steadfast, headed in the same direction.

It has been an honour and privilege.

welcome to this world Noelani

On Monday, April 30th, my good friends Ken and 'Cilla became the proud parents of Noelani Georgia, a beautiful baby girl and yours truly became the proud uncle of a 3rd baby in as many months (after babies Margo and Kimiwan). Congratulations my friends, and of course you too, T. As an elder brother you will be expected to care for and always uphold the dignity, honour, and happiness of your little sister. I will be here for you in every capacity I can for one can never be thankful enough to have friends as close as family.

Despite the ongoing problems of this world, it is moments like this that give us hope of a different possibility. It is not without a sense of paradox and irony of course for what other reality can we have than the one laid out before us? I believe in our ability to roll with the punches when we need to and create change when we must. Our struggle for peace with dignity and lives worth living will not be in vain. Today is indeed a beautiful day.

Goin' Coastal

It looks like W is goin' coastal this summer. I've just received word that I'll be working in the Du Quah art gallery in Ucluelet for my summer job and I have to say that I'm pretty damn stoked. :D (is "damn" still considered a swear word?)

This also means that my moto will be on the road very shortly as well! Woo hoo! Sausage Creatures be damned!

I have a feeling that it's going to be an awesome summer. (do people still say "awesome?")

It is time to make some new memories.

Hasta la victoria siempre!

[photo by Kevin Ebi]

Yaa-uk-mis

The Nuu-chah-nulth word for "love" also contains the experience of "pain."

They are linked, intertwined, inseparable.

Aaniikwaa.

all done...for now.

On Friday, April 20th at exactly 8:59pm, I finished my third year toward a BA in political science. It's only taken 15 years to get this far. I have to say that I really enjoyed my return to school. Despite the relatively heavy course load and endless stacks of books and journal articles and papers, I had fun. I hear some classmates who complain, and I've nothing against them and believe me, it feels good to be done, but I had no complaints this year. After 12 years in the working world, especially the bureaucratic, Aboriginal political working world, school was a breeze. All this time to read, and think and write, as I've said before, "what more could I ask for?"

And now, for the first time in 12 years, I'm looking for summer work again. I have a few promising leads and I'm looking forward to a summer of working, riding my motorcycle, BBQs, a road block or two, and of course some recreational rebellious reading. Last night was odd. After a very brief visit up island with family, I had to return to Mituunii to send some resumes, return library books and such, and I found myself with nothing to do at 9pm. With no cable or even Internet access at home, I found it hard to effectively vegetate. I wasn't quite in the mood to start my summer reading just then, so I ended up revising my resume and 'listening' to my favourite BSG season 3.0 episodes in the background.

So this year, I managed to live on my own for the first time EVER. I didn't starve, ate moderately well, and finally managed to take my father's advice and take cod liver oil diligently for the first time since I was a wee w. I am a true convert. Even though I was pretty hard on my body and immune system with many sleepless nights and last-minute cramming, which usually results in some sort of seemingly self-regulating illness, the cod liver oil did its job. While my classmates fell one by one to some bug or another, I was happy feeling rather "normal" fully appreciating that there indeed, are no ordinary moments.

In 8 months I went through 1.5 tubes of toothpaste, about 10 razors, half a litre of shampoo, about 750ml of contact lenses solution, 300ml of hair gel (thanks mom), many jars of fish (thanks pops, and family), copious amounts of oatmeal, about 6 large pizzas, maybe a quarter jar of oolichan grease (thanks Kitten), one bus pass (thanks NTC), probably about $100 in printing and copying fees, one iPod (thanks Mom and Sis and Gord), 30+ CDs for my friends, 20 episodes of BSG 3.0, 3 sushi and sake dinners, several Friday afternoons at Felicita's, and the unwaivering love and support of many friends and family members. Many klecos to you all.

To the summer of W. :D

(p.s. this picture at the top is my nephew, Kashus taken during my recent visit with him and my family in P.Dot. I think he really looks like my sister).

what's next?

So, after months of guffawing at fellow students who wear sweatpants (although I don't seem to mind the prevalence of Lululemon on campus), and even a couple that wear their bathrobes to class, W has gained a new found appreciation for comfortable clothes. It's not that I'm really formal, and while I might even be accused of snobbery from time to time (:o), I have resisted the all-out comfort clothes at school, until today.

After a week in which I had three relatively sleepless nights, writing papers and such, it was all I could do to pull on my seldom-worn fleece sweat pants and hoody and drag my butt to school. W was sure shabby-looking but comfortable. They may be on to something.

What's next? Birkenstocks? Dreads? Bongo Drumming? Fear not companeros y companeras, while I may appreciate lounge wear, I will remain the W you all know and love (or despise). You all have permission to slap me if next year I show up with my pants around my knees, riding a skate board, with emo hair, and a Dakine backpack.

Here comes the Rain...the Ganhada has landed.

First, I need to issue an official web-welcome to the newest of the wit'waak initiates, Kimiwan ('Rain' in Cree). Kimiwan came into our world, joining his parents, Roots and Darren, and sister last Monday, March 26th. I saw him again last night, and he's doing great, getting used to his new digs, and keeping his parents up at all hours. I also spoke to Em, and baby Margo is also doing well. 'Cilla is the last of this round, and she's due around the 20th of this month. Congrats on your new pad with Mr. Watts and one step closer to respectability!

I also neglected to mention that I have a new tattoo...11 days old now, and just about healed. My bro, Hiish-miik designed it, and I got it done at Urge Studios here in Mituunii. In case you can't tell, it's a 'Ganhada' to honour my grandfather on my mother's side who was of the Raven clan (I already have a Gispidwuda on my left arm in recognition of my grandmother's clan, and therefore my mom's and mine). In this picture, it's about 15 minutes old.

Well, sports fans, I must return to my studies - I only have about 6,000 more words to write between now and tomorrow on democratization and ethnic conflict in Turkey and Indonesia...woo hoo! :D Summer's almost here!

Remember, there are no ordinary moments.

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