Delgamuukw v. the Queen was a trial between the Gitxsan and Wet’suwet’en people and the B.C. and federal governments over aboriginal title and self-government for the claims of ownership and jurisdiction of lands. During one tension filled courtroom day, Chief Justice Allan McEachern was presented with a map; a reproduction of the First Nation’s map. Upon unfolding the huge paper reproduction, Chief Justice McEachern said “we’ll call it the map that roared” (Sparke, 468). Sparke’s interpretation of McEachern’s slogan, if you will, is that his words appeared to refer to the idiomatic notion of a paper tiger. The map is roaring to life and clawing at McEachern’s stubborn and possibly bigoted hands and face.

Sparke made a connection of McEacherns slogan to a 1959 Peter Sellers movie, “The Mouse that Roared.” He remarks as such the comments might be interpreted as a “derisory scripting of the plaintiffs as a ramshack-led, anachronistic nation” (468). However, the reference to a roaring map simultaneously evoked the resistance in the First Nations’ remapping of the land. It fights for all the trap lines, the property lines, the electricity lines, the pipelines, the logging roads, the clear-cuts, and all the other accoutrements of Canadian colonialism on native land! The repeated return to maps during this battle was a key component at the attempt to outline sovereignty.

Although McEachern did not rule in favor of the plaintiffs, the Supreme court overruled his decision and made it possible for a retrial. The Gitxsan and Wet’suwet’en people claimed ownership and legal jurisdiction over 133 individual hereditary territories, which is a total of 58,000 square kilometers of northwestern British Columbia. This is proof that oral stories are a valuable source of history. My people used their oral histories as principle evidence in the case, and won!

Coming from the Gitxsan band, I did not witness this event. However, it was one of the most proudest moments my na’a was able to experience. She sat in the courtroom and listened to the banter back and forth between the defense and her people. I don’t remember much of her stories regarding this particular event, partly because as a kid you aren’t really interested in land claims and partly because my memory seems to evade me here and there. I am extremely proud to be Gitxsan and I enjoyed being able to write this blog and share a piece of my history with you.

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http://www.thecourt.ca/2007/12/10/the-anniversary-of-delgamuukw-v-the-queen-two-legacies/

http://www.gitxsan.com/community/news/delgamuukw-decision-anniversary-signals-a-return-to-the-supreme-court/

Sparke, Mathew. “A Map that Roared and an Original Atlas: Canada, Cartography, and the Narration of Nation.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 88.3 (1998): 463- 495. Web. 04 April 2013.

Our capacity for understanding and/or making meaningfulness from the Native’s first stories is seriously limited. Dr. Erika Patterson offers us two reasons as to why this is so in her lesson 2:2. The first problem is: the acts of collecting, translating and publishing first stories and the social process of the telling are disconnected from the story. This creates problems for ascribing meaningfulness. We find ourselves questioning who is collecting the stories and why. These questions are problematic because it is difficult to interpret the stories without using European symbolism and mythology.

The second problem that Patterson lays out for us is: the serious time gap of almost 75 years, between 1880 and 1951, when the telling and retelling of stories were outlawed by the Indian Act. Accordingly, the possibilities for storytelling at the potlatch and other similar First Nations institutions across the country were greatly diminished, as was the ability to voice or dispute the ownership rights inherent with the telling of the stories. So in turn, telling first stories today, we can assume, is much different than it was back before the Indian Act was instilled. There are so many different variations of one story, it is hard to decipher the true story from the fictitious story produced through a game like telephone.**

**For those who are unfamiliar with the game telephone: it is a game that requires a group of people. Once in a circle, one person whispers a line, sentence, phrase, or whatever they wish to tell, into the ear of the person next to them. Then that person who received the story whispers into the person’s ear next to them. And so the story telling goes on and on through the entire circle. By the time the story reaches back to the story teller, the story has been completely augmented and changed from its original story. This is because each story teller changes a word or expresses emotion in places that the original story teller did not.

Upon reading Wendy Wickwire’s compiled and edited book based on Harry Robinson’s stories, Living by Stories: a Journey of Landscape and Memory, I came across a third reason as to why it is difficult to understand or make meaningfulness from first stories. Robinson told Wickwire of “big meetings,” which nowadays are called the Land Question. Robinson states that the problem with the Land Question is that everyone ignored how Indians had come to be here in the first place. The European implicated that land belonged to the European. However, that is not how us Natives see ourselves. We belong to the land, and no justification was/is needed for our presence.

I would also like to point out that Wickwire concurs with Patterson in regards to oral narratives being collected and published in a disconnected European way. Wickwire states that anthropologists who recorded oral narratives limited themselves to a single genre, “the so-called “legends,” “folktales,” and “myths”” (Wickwire, 16). The anthropologists had little interest in the fact that many of their Native narrators were miners, cannery workers, laborers, and missionary assistants who maintained equally vibrant stories about the history of their people and culture. Their editing disrupted the integrity of the original narrative. Wickwire goes as far to state that they systematically suppressed all evidence of history and change. Whether or not that was the anthropologists true intentions, we will never know. However, she does offer us a very strong message, one that made me really think about the stories that I have heard from my na’a and relatives…

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For those who don’t know about the Native terms of Canada or about the Indian Act:

http://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/i-5/fulltext.html

Here is an interesting documentary:

Robinson, Harry. Living by Stories: a Journey of Landscape and Memory. Compiled and edited by Wendy Wickwire. Vancouver: Talon Books2005. (1-30)

Way back before all our time, there lived a Raven. The Raven was the only intellectual on mother earth who could speak. As you can imagine, the Raven got quite lonesome. He would spend his nights prowling the forest to find a friend, but all the animals were sleeping. He would spend his days flying above the rivers and flat lands searching for a friend, but all the animals were busy hunting and making homes for their young.

One day, when the Raven was resting on a rock by the river, he noticed a bear. The bear was focused, paw in the air, getting ready to strike down and retrieve the most delicious sock-eye salmon. Raven tried to talk to Bear but Bear wouldn’t respond. Bear was hungry, Raven thought. So hungry he didn’t have time for Raven.

After Raven flew off from Bear, he landed himself in a grass clearing. As soon as Raven landed, he heard a growling. “Where is this growling coming from!” thought Raven. He searched all around the grass field but could not find a single animal. Then, as Raven looked into the forest, he saw many pairs of yellow gleaming eyes. He yelled, “hello! I come in search of a friend.” The animals then came walking out of the forest, slowly and carefully. They didn’t say a word, they just kept on inching closer and closer to the Raven. Just before the wolf pounced towards the Ravens direction, Raven jumped in to the air and flew far far away.

Raven flew far away from land, towards the sun. He flew until he no longer could see land and was surrounded by waves of liquid blue. He found a small island and decided his wings needed a rest. Raven was so exhausted, he collapsed onto the beach and fell asleep. He started to dream while he was sleeping. Raven dreamed that he was the creator of all mother-earth. He created an animal called Man. In this dream, Raven taught Man how to fish, make a home, and stay warm. They were the best of friends. Raven woke up and found himself still on the island in the middle of the ocean. Raven wanted to go back to sleep and find his dream again, but Raven was hungry.

He flew back to land and was about to find a place to fish, when he noticed a strange animal he once saw somewhere. Curious, the Raven flew closer to land to get a better view of this strange animal. Aghast! The Raven stumbled out of the air and landed next to Man. Raven asked Man how he got to mother-earth. “Silly Raven, you created me.” Raven was so happy, he took man into the air with him and flew in a joyous celebration.

Raven and Man became best friends. They were never seen one without the other. Until one day, when Man decided to go for a walk while Raven was sleeping.

Man wanted to see the world without Raven. When he left the warmth of the fire, he decided he needed something to keep warm with. Man stumbled across a mother bear trying to protect her young, he realized that his life, for once, was in danger. He won the battle somehow. Man looked down at the bears body and thought if only I could have fur like the bear. So, Man took a sharp edged stone and carved away the bears fur. He wore this fur and was kept warm.

Man was hungry after his battle with the bear, so he decided to eat some fish. After eating a salmon, he was still hungry. So Man found some berry bushes and ate every single last one of them. He was so full, Man needed a nap.

Man was woken up to angry chirping. When he opened his eyes, he had to duck so he wouldn’t be hit by the diving bird. The birds were angry at Man for eating all their berries, where could they find berries to feed their young?

Man didn’t care. All he cared about was how hungry he was. He thought the birds looked awfully scrumptious. The next time the bird dived down, Man grabbed the bird and killed it. He built a fire and cooked the bird, just like how Raven taught Man to cook his fish. Bird was good! Just as good as fish.

Out of this, Man’s lust for new food was born. He wanted to try everything. And he did. He traveled far and wide to try new food. He tried different land animals such as deer and moose, vegetables (but man didn’t like the taste of those), different fish, and all the birds he could find.

Man thought he had tried all meat on the mother earth, until Raven flew down next to Man. Raven said, “Man, I have been searching everywhere for you my dear friend. My how fat you have gotten.” Man didn’t want to catch up with Raven, he didn’t want to tell Raven how he’s been eating all the animals. All Man could wonder about was how Raven tasted.

Man played along with Raven until it was bed time. Man created a fire, sharpened his stone, stretched his muscles, and lunged at the sleeping Raven…

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I didn’t complete the ending of my story because I want my readers to imagine how it ends. The Raven, in some aboriginal mythology, is the creator of mankind. He creates man because he was bored. He needed something to entertain him. Once man was created, Raven would play tricks and games on man. In some aboriginal mythology, the Raven is not the creator, but called the Trickster. The Raven is always, for some reason, the being that causes evil. He tricks man into doing things that are crude and sadistic. My story plays along those lines, but with a twist. Man is evil. Man is consumed with greed for food. He becomes so consumed with his greed, that he lunges at his creator with hopes of killing and eating him.

I wanted to take Thomas King’s story away from telling a story within a story. I wanted to tell my story and have my readers finish the ending. King’s story about evil said that once the evil was told, you cannot take the words back. In my story, once Man was created, you cannot un-do the evil he reigned.

I would like to welcome all my readers to write their endings in my comment box. Then can I get a sense of how evil my readers think Man and Raven to be…

http://www.billreidfoundation.org/banknote/raven.htm

http://www.ravenfamily.org/nascakiyetl/obs/rav1.html

King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Peterbough:Anansi Press. 2003. Print.

Previous to 1999, my uncle Don lived in North Surrey. He owned a small house, on a very steep hill, adjacent to a high school and a couple blocks away from a playground. I have many fond memories of his house.

One memory is playing with his African drums; I drove my family crazy with my lack of rhythm. Despite their protest, my uncle Don sat through my concerts and would give me a standing ovation every time.

Quite possibly, my most favorite memory of uncle Don’s house is one summer day, long ago, when I took the time to de-weed his garden. First, you must understand that I come from a family of green thumbs: my na’a could grow and resurrect any plant, my mother grew her own herbs when I was a child, and my aunts had their own gardens, in which they grew all their vegetables and fruits.

I suppose when it came to my creation, the creator decided to give me a black thumb. He used all his green-thumb potion on my other family members. So you could imagine the shock on my family’s face when I told them of my plans with uncle Don’s garden. Being the most supportive male role model in my life, uncle Don showed me where his gardening tools were and left me to my business.

What seemed like hours of hard labor, I finally cleared a small patch of weeds. After deciding I deserved a much needed lunch break, I headed back into the covered porch area where the adults were sitting, drinking their ice cold drinks, and telling their stories. My uncle Don grabbed me some fresh plums and pears from his trees.

I suppose my face and body posture gave away my exhaustion, because my mom asked me if I wanted to go home. Being the stubborn person I am, I said how can I go home when there is much work to be done?!!

Exasperated, I headed back to my new found passion of gardening. I kid you not, hours went by until the entire garden was finally weed free. It took me a good amount of time to divvy up and plant the random seeds I found with my uncle’s gardening tools.

Sweat dripping off my brow, dirt under my nails, and dirt and grass stained clothes, I felt a great sense of relief. I, the black thumb, created a garden!

This story is my home. My home is my family, who supported me in something that they knew was not my strongest ability. My home is my family, who understood my need to finish my task at hand. My home is my family, who praised me when my job was done. And finally, my home is my family, who reassured me when my garden didn’t grow that sometimes we fall down and fail;  the only way to succeed is to continue on trying and have faith in yourself.

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My uncle Don died in 1999 at the age of 49. His house was sold and torn down. It is such a sad site to no longer see his house sitting there, to no longer see the lilac bushes outside his door, to no longer being able to run up to the pear and plum trees and pick the fruit, to no longer see the garden that I worked so hard to de-weed. I take great pleasure and pride in having these memories to remind myself of my home. With the loss of both my uncle Don and na’a, my home hasn’t been the same. But I know that life is constantly changing. I will always have the memories of my uncle Don and na’a.

Na’a and I, Christmas 2012

In Chamberlains last chapter, he states:

“When we sing our national anthems, we use words, phrases about people and places that we would almost certainly question in any other context. We say we believe when maybe we really don’t…except right at that moment, the ceremonial moment, when we reach the border.” (25-26)

It’s quite a grand statement to say that we don’t believe in the words of our national anthem… or is it? I never truly thought about whether or not if I believed in the words to our national anthem. Like any other patriotic Canadian, I just sang the words to song and would have an immense amount of love for my country while doing so. Now that Chamberlain made me remove my patriotism, and maybe a little Canadian ego, from the equation, I now see what he meant! I mean on disrespect when I say this, but I do not trust in God to keep our land, glorious and free. Why? Well I am not religious, of course! And if I don’t believe in the words, then there must be others out there, of different religious beliefs or like mine, who sing along like me. If I am not religious, then why do I sing along with words that I do not believe in or agree with? Because this song is OUR song; it belongs to every person that sets their foot onto our land, our home, Canada. These words bring us together as a nation. We are one. We belong.

The last two significant points that piqued my interest was:

“Let’s get serious. That past is where we live with the settlers’ story anyways.” (41)

And,

“And the descendants of the aboriginal inhabitants of the Americas, the native American peoples, would do what their ancestors have done for millennia: work out new ways of living together with strange people who have strange habits and speak strange languages.” (46)

At first when I read the first sentence, I agreed wholeheartedly. But as I took a step back and let the words sink in, I couldn’t disagree more! Sure there are institutions, such as the Indian Act, that are present day forms of colonization. However there are more and more groups, parties, individuals, schools, and whole bands that are standing up for their rights. Working out new ways of living together with the settlers just goes to show how adaptive aboriginal people truly are. Contrary to belief, aboriginal people are a very strong and resilient group of people. We accept we cannot change the past, but we look to a better future. And some have been very successful, such as my own band, the Gitxsan. We claimed our land as our own and fought tooth and nail to get it back from the government. The Inuit in Nunavut have their own government and run their lands how they see fit, such as education systems, municipal systems, and many more. The Idle No More group has become a world-wide movement, fighting for not only aboriginal people, but for the safety of all people.

The following links are but two examples to aboriginal movements aiding and fighting for rights, the environment, and humanity.

http://nationsrising.org/about/

Indigenous Movement Updates

Chamberlin, Edward. If This is Your Land, Where are Your Stories? Finding Common Ground. AA. Knopf. Toronto. 2003. Print.

Home, as many of you may agree, is not a fixed idea. Rather, it is shaped only by the eye of the beholder. The most valuable memories are what people call home. I poked my nose around a couple of my fellow English 470’ers blogs. Here are some of my highlights:

– Samuel Adu-Febiri’s home is on the Gridiron. He suggests that perhaps it is rather odd to call the Gridiron home, but I beg to differ. His team is his family. They spend grueling amounts of time together, all fighting for a collective goal. In reading his blog, I truly got a sense of the love he has for his home. Pain, torment, and failures did not throw Samuel off course, rather I would argue it pushed him closer towards his family, making them a more tight knit family.

– Zara Dada’s post was another interesting story! I could not help myself but laugh with her comical punches. I, too, can relate to her emotions of having another minion, I mean sibling.. I very much enjoyed the flow of her story. As her mum stated, home is where your family is. I couldn’t agree more.

– In Cristabel Koo’s blog, she said: “I believe home is memory and feeling. I believe it is also the good and the bad. If you can call something home, I think it’s better than not being able to call anything home.” This really hit home, no pun intended. Home is always associated with all the good memories, but never the bad. People never want to think about the bad memories, but what is the ying without the yang?

Some words that are associated with our ideas of home are:

Family (siblings, mother, grandmother)

Friends

Nostalgia (memories, comfort, belonging, enduring, overcoming)

Love (unconditional)