Showing posts with label vancouver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vancouver. Show all posts

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Alanis Obomsawin: The Real Deal



L to R, The Champ, Alanis Obomsawin, Storm Standing-On-The-Road


Serendipity is a wondrous thing and it brought Storm and me to the chance to spend time with 2 Aboriginal women filmmakers of immense talent this evening. This week W2 is hosting the 2nd annual Vancouver Indigenous Media Arts Festival…I actually called in sick this morning with a stupendous head cold but when I discovered through social media that Abenaki filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin would attend screening of her latest NFB documentary, The People of the Kattawapiskak River, I knew I would be there. But the added bonus was that the double feature included Ojibway director Darlene Naponse’s feature Every Emotion Costs. Darlene, it just so happens, is related to Storm (through her mama, again) and she and I were fellow artsy, writerly-type students at Okanagan artist Jeanette Armstrong’s beloved En’owkin Center at Penticton for 2 years and we are old pals you might say.

Plenty of times on this blog I’ve given high praise to the creative types or various others but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of accolades than Obomsawin. I’ve always felt this way about her ever since I first viewed her ’93 doc Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance which chronicles the 1990 Oka Crisis. Oka was of course a defining moment in history for Indians like me – Oka changed everything. And I am not the only one. The elegant and gracious director is now 80 years old (amazing) and I hounded Storm all day to commit to coming with me to the screening. The film was, as usual, powerful and heartfelt and I recommend any of her 30 films all based on subjects having to do with Native People and the majority of which have been produced by the National Film Board. This woman holds several honorary doctorates; a Governor General’s Award and is an Officer of the Order of Canada. She is supremely dedicated and so clearly loves our people that I never miss a chance to hear her speak. She is the real deal.
L to R, The Champ, Storm, (film maker) Suzi Bekkattla, (Director) Darlene Naponse

Naponse’s film is an emotionally charged piece on grief, healing and the complexity of relationships. Her film is lush and visually crafted on a script she wrote and produced (all while holding down a band-council position) at Whitefish Lake 1st Nation, Ontario where it was shot (it was a trip whispering to Storm during the film: hey, that’s your relative on the left of the screen). Back in the day, Darlene was always shooting and writing, shooting and writing and you just knew she possessed the determination to go wherever it was she intended. I am so proud of and for her.

Ironic and lucky for me that I should wake this morning discouraged that my previously oncoming sniffles had become a full-on ragin’ sneeze orgy, only to be now hitting the sack fed and fortified by the healing power of art…and great company.


© 2012 Champsteen Publishing.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

...It's called progress...(I guess)...


the view when I first moved into my groovy
little pad...(and my original Blog page pic)


once a community garden...

when i first moved in, an empty lot (and the garden)
and the amazing western exposure...construction
had begun by this point (clearly)...


the same view this morning, 1 building
(out of frame, right) completed and this one
to be 30-some stories...

...it's been great, though, at this spot...moving July 1st...EVERYTHING changes, I guess
...

© 2012 Champsteen Publishing

Saturday, July 3, 2010

As The Crow Flies (song)


words and music: larry nicholson


will you still be my love when i cross the sea?
with a heavy heart or triumphantly
i'll come back to you with the world on the rise
looking for you steady as the crow flies

this road is less traveled this path made of thorns
my raging heart lives on while you go chasing storms
beside ancient mountains where ocean meets the sky
i'll meet you there ready as the crow flies

down near the eddy there’s a river of tears
she cuts like that water marking cold hopes and fears
on knees bruised and bent the woman prays while she cries
over some half-remembered lost shore as the crow flies

bridge 1
some use broken wheels and sail leaky boats
spend half our days all our nights just to float
it's like floating forever, forever caught up high
we'll get on with the journey as the crow flies

on ragged wings i sailed lonely nights east
they painted me with false colors like a kind of cruel beast
the city blurs my vision and puts smoke in my eyes
tonight i still see you as the crow flies

false-hearted lovers - jagged sense of romance
back into ashes and dust we will dance
the heart that's gone weary is the heart that dies
watching forever for you as the crow flies

bridge 2
black wings beat through this city tonight
is this flesh and blood or a trick of the light?
when my bones have turned pale and the flames have all died
the silence will keep us as the crow flies

can you save the best part of your beautiful soul?
does your mother remember you young strong and whole?
you paid for your freedom with loss and goodbyes
with nothing left to haunt you as the crow flies

when your friends ain't your friends when the world is unkind
you've read all the books and you've been left behind
i put it all down for you, i'm putting down all the lies
tonight i still need you as the crow flies...


© 2010 Champsteen Publishing

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Inner City East Side Red Man's Blues (song)


words and music: larry nicholson



i’m pretty used up, i’m pretty worn out, i’m pretty beat down
not much call for a brown town crier town in a one horse town
you make your stand, make your bed, make your play
writing it down is to write it on clouds - it drifts away

you’re pretty weird, you’re pretty strange, your pretty voice
your shoulder blade, your raven’s hair my drug of choice
the wrecking ball rules my life, the street life drone
i wouldn’t say nothing, just know what i’d do if i had you alone

i’m so far from home
and I’m waiting for you
can i sail you away -
when i come for you?
leave these red man’s blues

pay the rent, pay the price, pay your dues
i’m a method actor playing the role in these red man’s blues
salt of the earth, salt the wound, assault my sense
you found me out, you caught me up on your barbed wire fence

you’re not your friends, you’re not your job, you’re not your art
i recognize you from your sweet voice and your restless heart
shore to shore, skin to skin, mouth to mouth
we could run all night, run for good - north, east, west and south

and i’m so far from home…
and i’ll wait for you…
can i sail you away –
when i come for you?

leave these red man’s blues
leave these red man’s blues
these red man’s blues…



© 2010 Champsteen Publishing

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

...WELL...THAT'S WHAT I HEARD...

For this one don’t get hung up on the details, think about the message. It’s a – The Power of Story – article. We hear this all the time in Indian country (for the record: every square inch of turtle Island/N. America is Indian country) and typically it seems we refer to a round the campfire, legend type story, designed to reflect a perspective on morality or codes of conduct and so on. This article is similar it - just doesn’t have as many furry animals running around in it.

Personal assertion number one: Nobody KNOWS anything (for certain)…it’s proven time and time again, people merely have their version of the same the story. This idea contains all sorts of implications (ie. meanings, understandings about it); who’s telling the story, why are they telling it today, where did they get the story, will the story be understood differently by a different person or group of people? In my mind all these things are relevant depending on the story.

So.

Dangerous Story-Telling Scenario 1 – in university I observe a young, white, PhD, lecturing on N. American Native History to approximately 40 or so other white people and 7 or 8 Indians. The 35 year old-ish man was American, had earned his credentials in America gathering material on native groups of the Mexo-American Southwest and on the day in question was speaking on residential schools. Many in the (mostly white, mostly twenty-ish) classroom I learned were working toward an undergraduate’s degree in Native Studies, which for many will establish them as experts on the subject (yikes! - and even more annoyingly, probably land them a job with some organization because they will be considered more qualified than say, an actual native person, but…I digress). I watched as they studiously scribbled down the instructor’s words day after day, frequently asking if he would mind repeating some snippet they were eager to record in their notebooks. Then the instructor offered the information that while there was abuse in some residential schools, it needed to be known that the authorities meant well and it was a scheme originally conceived to help the Indians. This caused uproar as you might expect among we native students and we debated the statement and many other aspects of this particular issue for a length of time that eventually was deemed too long and we were forced to move along. Now the reader may or may not know that the Canadian government contracted the Church because they would take of Canada’s well known “Indian problem.” They had experience at this in other parts of the world but what was most appealing to the policy makers of the day? It was far cheaper than doing it themselves. It was a bottom line decision (*in fact, the Europeans who colonized Africa were so impressed by the effectiveness of Canada’s reservation system that it was implemented in South Africa and called Apartheid…look it up!) No sensible person takes at face value the rhetoric surrounding policies that forcibly removed children from their families under threat of punishment, systematically stripped them their language and culture and exposed them to rampant abuse of every kind. No one actually believes (or did believe) this was a way of “helping” Indians. But I did witness a whole bunch of white kids writing this stuff down in their notebooks. They will move on and get their degrees in areas such as native studies, thereby becoming experts (to some) on Native people and their issues and are now armed with “the facts.” This is a mainstream post secondary institution and I witnessed firsthand the perpetuation of a lie (misinformation might be a more politically correct term). But it’s a very, very powerful and weighted subject either in a person’s personal experience at a residential school or those who exhibit complete animosity and disdain at even hearing about the issue. I’m not worried that this issue/story will disappear any time soon and it needs much more exploration and light brought to it (which it will). I will move on.

Another time, I spoke with a highly educated and traditionally aware Indian woman and we talked about the etymology, or history of certain words in our respective languages. I’ve always dug our (hers and my) philosophical and theoretical exchanges and on a particular night we were speaking of justice, balance, good and evil and their manifestation, war and all the rest. Eventually she used words to the effect: - I guess, in the old days, if someone had turned away so completely from the tribal values of the day – they need to be punished, sometimes executed.

To this I responded, “I see, so you believe that’s how it was for your people?”

She looked at me and asked: “Are you telling me Cree people NEVER did any of those things, weren't abusers?”

I said: “Obviously, after a certain period in history, but prior to that…I doubt it.”

She asked: “You’re people didn’t abuse each other before contact?”

"Not to that degree, not like that. I’m certain there was aberrant behavior which was dealt with (strictly, I might add) but the specific kind of abuse you’re speaking of? – I don’t think so. We learned that…or it was a result of being overwhelmed emotionally, collectively…one doesn’t expect that a healthy person is going to do things like that, is capable of it. I don’t think Cree people are or were perfect by any means but I believe we were pretty healthy before the arrival. Now I can’t speak for your people just as I take it you are not speaking for all native groups, or Nations, when you say abuse of that type was present, or common. How could you possibly know that?"

"How can you think your people didn’t do those kinds of things?"

The clearest answer I could come up with: THERE WERE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE IT. At this her expression told me she understood where I was going.

Follow me on this, reader: Something takes place, then it is described, named etc. but what does it mean if there are no words to describe something? My theory is that if there are no words to describe or name something, someone or an event, it doesn’t exist. My theory is that there was a time in my people’s history where types of conduct were unknown to our experience and imagination. That is, behavior so inconceivable, so counter or opposite to the precepts of our nature it just didn’t register (or had yet to) in the consciousness. How can there be words to describe or name something you cannot conceive, imagine or dream of? In our languages the world over we don’t define things that don’t exist. I hope the reader understands what I am explaining. Clearly, there have been rampant and ongoing types of abuse, on and by my people. But at one point in our history, there literally were no words to describe this occurrence. Think about what that could mean. To use another example, at one point, there were no words for jet airplane or the internet. These things had not yet been conceived. To me it’s entirely possible, plausible and likely certain things took place only after an inconceivable, unprecedented and overwhelming confluence of circumstances. It’s the only way they could happen.

The discussion also brought up an issue around protocol. Initially my friend’s assertive tone and her words struck me and I was moved to identify myself and make myself clear. I told my friend that with all due respect, she may very well have known these things about her people but as of that conversation and as a Cree person I was in possession of none of that knowledge. I felt bound to make explicit that I had received no information on the things (facts) she was attributing to other (including my) people from any reliable source and it was not useful for me to simply nod or agree and carry on my way. I calmly asked her. How do you know what you say? Where did you get that information? What was the source? Thankfully my friend understood what I was saying, HOW and WHY I was saying it. In that exchange we deepened our understanding of each other as members of our respective nations and each other as individuals.

Another friend, another conversation, and I am told how this person’s nation had very strict laws/protocols surrounding the fishing of rivers in their traditional area. She indicated to me that she knew of a story wherein two men were executed because they fished more than the allowable limit.

“They were executed?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “When was this?

“A long time ago…I’m not sure but it’s what happened.”

“Where?”

“In the spot we were at today,” she answered, referring to a section among the 2nd largest fresh water salmon run on the planet. And she went on to explain about needing to protect the yearly stocks and how the men had put the entire community in danger through over fishing and there were no exceptions and so on. I ask the reader to imagine how many fish the two men could possibly have taken where it would have put the entire community at risk, and this is back in the day? What were the rest of the fishers doing? Why would they do this? Where did they put all this fish? Capital punishment? How were they killed? *(sigh)…it’s not for me to contradict this person or this story but I admit I am dubious as there were no answers provided beyond sensational facts. But there you have it. I cannot speak with any authority to the authenticity of this story and I don’t share this anecdote to refute what the person shared but rather to indicate how my mind works. My guess is that this story remains active to deliver a message: DON'T OVERFISH! I have a very strong opinion of the humane and civilized laws and customs of my people (note we are of the Plains, a world away for all intents and purposes - a completely different landscape and therefore a completely different psychological and spiritual disposition, for what it’s worth) I personally reject most of these sensationalized, blood thirsty scenarios that many (often times, especially, my own) people love to rally around and that maintain the stoic, fierce type, shit kicker characterizations that have become so deeply entrenched in the collective imagination. Nobody, it seems, is free of this.

I share these different experiences to indicate that we learn from and about each other all the time. Misinformation is perpetuated on such a grand scale as I indicated in my experience in the classroom that, at times, it makes you wonder what use it is in even trying. Only at times though. Most days I have a pretty good bead on the things I experience and the people and places I encounter. To my satisfaction I can verify and support what I believe to be true about my people (or what I think I know *laughs). I can easily regulate my intellectual process and my daily spiritual practice maintains my emotional balance. The rest of my medicine wheel is a work in progress (laughs again). But in all seriousness, this is only one of the ways I assert my Nationhood - my idea of it. To call myself (Nehiyaw) Cree is to take on some responsibility regarding my words, my actions even my prayers (do you realize I am responsible for my thoughts as I prepare food? especially when it is for others). These things are real to me. I met a Cree guy at a reading that was gleefully spouting off to a whole bunch of white people about how back in the day you’d get your nose cut off for this and get an ear cut off for that and blah, blah, blah - torture methods of enemies and on and on and on. The audience loved it but does it honor or indicate the complexity and humanity of our people? Is it true? I tend to think it indulges our basest selves rather than exemplify the qualities of a human being we are endowed with.

This post began on the idea of the power of stories and hopefully it sheds light on how certain perspectives which have little or no basis in truth can become facts. Respectful skepticism, diligence and integrity (or lack of each) is what we each will bring to the exchange.

I realize no one is signing up for Champ’s Take On The World – (As It Really Could Be 101), it would be too outlandish to even consider, so what the hell, I may well just start a blog…hey wait a minute!...

© 2010 Champsteen Publishing