Jingle Dress Healing Dance at Portage Avenue and Main Street, Winnipeg

This morning I woke up early to prepare for a bus ride to the center of Winnipeg. The day was gloomy and I knew that the temperature had dropped during the night  with a bitter wind, creating the first cold autumn day But I wanted to get down to the intersection of Portage Ave and Main Street where a very special event was taking place.

Several months ago I had read an article (reference) about James Anaya, the United Nations Special rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. He had first requested to visit Canada in February 2012 and then proceeded to make at least  two more requests. He wanted to come to investigate the human rights situation of Indigenous peoples. However, our government (whose permission he needed to visit Canada) ignored or blocked his request. It was not until this month, October 2013 that he finally was able to come. Today, 12 October, was the day he was coming to Winnipeg.

In celebration of his visit a Jingle Dress  Dance was planned to occur at the main intersection in Winnipeg's downtown. The Jingle Dress and the dances associated with it originated with the Ojibway nation and traditionally have been given  a healing power. " A sacred obligation is carried by women who wear this dress as Jingle dress dancers are often called upon to dance for a sick or injured community member or to help families who are grieving."(reference). 

Thus today was a day to remember the almost 600 indigenous women from Canada who are murdered or missing and the people who are grieving for them. This is a topic that James Anaya will be investigating as recently the  Conservative majority federal government refused  to hold a national inquiry into the documented murders or disappearances.

I was quite early for the dance and when i got to the intersection nobody was there. So I walked down to Tim Horton's for a coffee and a pumpkin donut. As came back I watched people begin to gather. Many had a coffee cup in hand and greeted each other.

 

As the women wearing jingle dresses gathered you could hear the tinkle of the metal cones that are sewn to the dresses.

 

A call went out for all women wearing jingle dresses to line up to enter the big intersection as soon as

James Anaya appeared.

 

 

Two young dancers hugged each other to try to keep warm in the bitter wind.

 

The drum went out first, then the dancers followed.

 

 

Dancers from Treaty 3

 

A reporter holds a microphone down to the jingly metal cones to record the sound.

 

The dancers circled the intersection around the drums and singers

 

 



Come Join in the Dance- Part 2- Canada

I was born, the descendant of Irish/English immigrants, in Whitehorse, Yukon in 1960 and moved 6 months later. Then in 1966 my family  returned to the  north, to live in Watson Lake, Yukon.  My father was the Baptist Church minister in Watson Lake and in the Kaska First Nations reserve at Upper Liard. I have some faint memories of that time: a photo of us standing by a butchered moose that was being shared with our family, visiting families on the reserve, attending a school with white and indigenous children and the cold. I  have distinct memories of -60 F which translates to -51 C. We bundled up and went to school anyway. I don't have any memories of pow wows, round dances or drums. I am not sure why.

 

For my readers who are not in Canada here is a map. The Yukon is in the far left at the top. Whitehorse and Watson Lake are marked.

 

This is the church in Watson Lake. We lived behind it in a little house.

Me, sister Jane and brother David in front of our house.

 

 I was pretty proud of my beginnings in the Yukon. Not many people can lay claim to being a "sourdough" [a person who has lived at least one cycle of 4 seasons in the Yukon]. I  also thought that I knew quite a bit about the First Nations people.

 

I married and had two children and then in 2002 we moved to London, UK for seven years. We returned to Canada to live in Winnipeg, the city which is home to the largest urban indigenous population in Canada. I was not happy with my reaction as I walked the streets in the centre of the city. I now was fearful , apprehensive and not comforable at all. I challenged myself to spend time learning. Learning about my indigenous neighbours: about their beliefs, culture and situation.

 

Soon after my return Winnipeg was the site for the first event of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.[ Over 130 residential schools were located across Canada from 1870's to 1996. These government-funded, church-run schools were set up to eliminate parental involvement in the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual development of Aboriginal children. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada has a mandate to learn the truth about what happened in the residential schools and to inform all Canadians about what happened in the schools.] My daughter and I went down to " The Forks". This is a historical site  that has been the meeting place of Aboriginal groups for thousands of years. In June 2010 it was the scene of tents and tipis, many indigenous people and many non-indigenous people as well.

 

That day I learned so much more than I imagined. I saw a map of residential schools in the Yukon and discovered that I had visited one as a child. I read records from schools across Canada and found that my new Mennonite denomination had a part to play. I sat and listened to a public story-telling circle as 20 people poured out their stories of grief and I heard the voices of heart-broken children coming from the bodies of grown adults. I wept, while feeling shame that me, a white woman, was so

distraught. I felt comfort as a First Nations woman came and offered me a smudge of sage smoke and to sit with me. On those days the rain poured down and many people expressed that it was a symbol of the grief and trauma that was being voiced, some for the first time.

 

On the last day of the event a Pow Wow was planned. This  is a time of dance and competition where  Aboriginal culture is celebrated. The sun finally shone and people gathered to watch and to participate. Many watchers  pointed  with awe at a huge eagle flying over the open field while an elder opened with a prayer.This was a very important sign for the event.  The Grand Entry was marvelous with beautiful regalia (traditional ceremonial clothing) and people of all ages joining together to celebrate.

 

 

 

 

 

At a pow wow various dances are announced, such as " all men in regalia can particpate in this dance", or "this one is for the children". When the leader said, "this dance is for everyone- you don't have to be in regalia", I assumed that meant it was for all indigenous people, whether or not they were dressed in finery or not. But he kept repeating it, urging others to join. I looked around. Surely, he did not mean anyone such as me. I did not want to do anything wrong- to intrude in a way that was not appropriate. But they kept announcing and urging, I looked over at some non-indigenous friends and they were getting  out of their lawn chairs and lining up to join the dance. I took the chance. It seemed that I was being invited too. The drum beat captured my heart and body and I entered into the dance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Waiting for my soul to catch up

Last week I spoke with Lisa Martens who was a part of CPT Iraq at the beginning of the Iraq War when the CPT house and office were still  in Baghdad. I told her about the time it has taken me to re-adjust to being in Winnipeg, of staying cocooned in my house for the first two weeks. I spoke of my discomfort at the opulence of our huge grocery stores and large shopping malls. As I walked through them I felt my heart being squeezed and I desperately wanted to be back in Rizgari Taza again buying vegetables and fruit from the outdoor stands just around the corner. I wanted to be recognized by the salespersons and maybe helped with my Kurdish.

Lisa knew the feeling of being lost in her own home town. I felt she remembered exactly what I was speaking about. Then she told me a story that someone had told her. She said that it takes as long as the time it would take to ride a horse from where you were (Iraq) to where you are going (Winnipeg) for your soul to catch up with your head and body. I don't really know how long it would take to ride a horse even if the ocean was not there. But this was very comforting to me. I was not weak or crazy with the sad, lost feelings I had been having. This was something others had experienced.

Since then I had a facebook dialogue with a couple of other CPTers. They too say that coming home is far, far harder then going out to our CPT work. Maybe it is because we expect to feel comfortable with a place where we have lived for many years and that we think we know how things work there. But we don't anymore and there are a lot of things that we don't like anymore.

So, 3 weeks into being back in Canada I feel mostly OK. I am so happy being here with my husband, Vic and I get to see my youngest daughter occasionally. I have planted my vegetable garden and I think that I have fenced it enough that the rabbits that live under my shed won't feast on the lettuce. But I also relish hearing news from my team and from English news sites in Iraqi Kurdistan. And I am glad to have received the news of my tickets for my next time in Sulaimani.

Two pictures of Vic and I. In a couple of months we will have been married for 33 years.

S