‘Nnui’sultinej Let’s speak Mi’gmaq

There is a red line at the Listuguj Education Complex that can’t be missed.  The line divides three classrooms from the rest of the building, creating the only English-free zone in Listuguj. Anyone crossing that line has to speak only in Mi’gmaq.

The line is more than red tape on the floor.  It is a compelling symbol of the protection of the Mi’gmaq language that evolved on this territory for thousands of years, but is now vulnerable.

There was never such a “language line” in Listuguj.  Maybe that’s the reason why in the last 50 years the English language had entered the homes, stayed there and with time, displaced  Mi’gmaq as the main language.  Those were the times when Canada’s assimilation policies forced Aboriginal peoples across Canada into Residential Schools and they were pushed to believe that their culture and their language were unimportant and an obstacle to progress.

Today, that red line in Listuguj represents the last stronghold of resistance and decolonization.  On the other side of the line there is a group of teachers and students – men, women and children – learning the language that was used to name the lakes, valleys, mountains, rivers, communities, cities, and plants on this territory.

In the adult section 12 students are committed to learn the Mi’gmaq language five days a week, until March 2017.  Around 800 hours of Mi’gmaq lessons in the classroom as well in the territory. This pilot project was initiated by a grant from Heritage Canada. red-line
After almost 500 years of the arrival and imposition of English and French languages, our Mi’gmaq language is at risk.  According the 2010 UNESCO’s report Mi’gmaq language is considered “vulnerable,” a close step to the endangered category.  However, in Listuguj there is a consensus that our language is in severe decline and it’s necessary to act now.

“Mi’gmaq was declared the official language of Gespe’gewa’gi, but a declaration is not enough.  We need policy, language law and other initiatives to save our language”, said Lorna Sook, Director of the Listuguj Education, Training and Employment.  “We did a survey and we got a lot of suggestions, ideas and we decide to strengthen the immersion programs”.

One of the strategies implemented was to move the AGS Mi’gmaq immersion classes to the Education Complex, the other side of the red line and next to the adult immersion program.

Nathalie Metallic requested a leave from her work at Day Care to learn Mi’gmaq.  As a mother of three children she feels it’s important to pass the language on to them and eventually be able to converse with elders.  She understands Mi’gmaq but like many in the community, she lacks the confidence to speak, something that an immersion program will provide. “I really want to speak it and practice at home with my kids,” she said.

For Scott Isaac, his decision is about identity. “It is part of my decolonization process”, he said. “For 50 years I have been speaking the language of the colonizer and now it is time to speak the language of my ancestors.”  He also sees the possibility of new job opportunities associated with knowledge of the language.

Mary Ann Metallic, Janice Vicaire and Dianne Mitchell are the instructors of the Minuignewa’tu’g ‘Gtli’sutiminu Program.  Their combined work experience for the language is associated with Mi’gmaq Online, research, summers courses, adult classes, teaching sessions at AGS, SSHS, nursery, translation, etc.  They are part of a devoted group of people working in the education system.

Mary Ann Metallic wishes to replicate Quebec’s measures to protect French. “They passed a law to promote the predominance of their language on public signs, at work places, at schools, at public services, etc. It worked for them.”  She sees the importance of taking diverse initiatives and not only leaving the transmission of the language up to the education system.

Janice Vicaire has worked on language programs since 1998. “When I started working we knew the decline of our language and we confirmed it now. Little was done and it was left to teachers or the school,”  she said. “I wish it to be a grassroots movement, from the people, from young parents to learn the language, to pass it to the kids. We need to start a movement to protect our language.”

What will it take to bring back our language, who will do it?  “The preservation of the language has to be the will of the community,” responded Janice Vicaire.

The loss of the language in some Aboriginal communities, including Mi’gmaq has different factors recorded in numerous reports and studies. If the responsibility of its preservation is taken on by speakers and non-speakers living in the community, the participants of the immersion programs at the Education Complex will feel supported.  That is the kind of environment that Diane Mitchell remembers as a young girl.  “In Listuguj the language was just spoken naturally, we were spoken to exclusively in Mi’gmaq. That kind of environment allowed the passing on of the language naturally. I grew up in a generation where everyone was a speaker and the exception was English.”

That’s what the immersion program will recreate – a Mi’gmaq-only space in Listuguj. For Mary Ann Metallic “the red line is a symbol of resistance,” she said. “We have to get stronger for our language, we have to regroup forces, we have to isolate, and by concentrating our language in one space it will help to pass it on to the little ones.  They will hear the language more often”.

In fact, visiting Miss Mabel Metallic’s class next door, we can see the children surrounded by Mi’gmaq textbooks, native chants and designs.  Their little voices speaking Mi’gmaq represents the hope for the survival of our Mi’gmaq language.

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Echoes of the Powwow

Every year the Powwow seems to get a little bigger. But that’s not really a priority for the coordinators.

“Our main goal is not to be the biggest, or the best Powwow,” said Lita Isaac, who has been involved since the very first Powwow in 1993. “It’s just for people to get here safely, enjoy their weekend. Dance. Drum.”

That’s a big enough job. Keeping people hydrated alone required over 170 cases of water, which had to be requested — and donated — from local businesses.

“It’s a lot of hard work. We have a small committee,” said Isaac. “But people will approach us and ask, ‘can we help?’”

The whole weekend runs on volunteers. Whether it’s in the weeks and months leading up to it, or those filling all the small, but demanding jobs. Everything from making coffee to directing traffic needs someone giving up their time.

“The Powwow belongs to the community,” said Isaac. “When people step up and offer to help … it might be something small, but it all counts.”

Laura Arsenault has been involved with the Powwow for seven years. She’s now one of the coordinators. “It’s just something for me that I would donate all my time to — even if it was yearlong, I’d still do it,” she said.  “I’m passionate about. It’s the only thing I really volunteer for.”

While she spent this year mostly occupied with the vendors, Arsenault’s favorite job is working the canteen. She gets to meet new people and catch old friends visiting home.

A lot of people plan their vacations around the Powwow, and new people people discover it every year.

This year, over 500 people were fed moose, salmon and fiddleheads on Saturday alone. Isaac says being able to feed everyone is their way of thanking those who come and support Listuguj, and the Powwow.

“It’s building up the pride,” said Isaac.“If somebody leaves the Powwow with a feeling of experiencing a ceremony at the sacred fire, or just praying at the sacred fire, or enjoying the drumming and dancing. Or going to the native crafts and buying something made by somebody from a New Brunswick First, or Quebec, or Listuguj — it’s wonderful … Or just enjoying an indian taco. Leaving with something in their bellies or their heart or soul, it’s the best feeling for us. That’s our aim.”

 

Vilma Almendra, Nasa Nation, Colombia

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It’s nice to feel that with the dances and the presence of the Grand-Father-the-Fire, you are still honoring the spirituality of Indigenous people here. AFN Chief Perry Bellegarde said: “despite colonization they couldn’t kill us and we are still here, alive”.  These strong words, speaks about the ongoing death and life struggle that Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island are facing for many centuries.

 

Garland Joe Augustine, Elsipogtog,Mi’gmaqi

At the first Powwow there were few regalia, few eagle feathers and now we see more drums, more dancers, more children at the Powwow. This mean that people are coming back to their culture and it makes me proud. I come here every year since the first Powwow and they treat us good. I always want to come back.

 

Rene Arsenault, Member of Parliament, Restigouche East—Madawaska Riding

This is my first powwow and it’s nice to sees Natives, Acadians, French and English to meet at the beat of the drums. This is a family gathering. I feel like the Earth vibrates when I see a community that chants, dances and respect Mother Earth.

Jamie Metallic, Listuguj, Mi’gmaqi

This was my first time dancing with my regalia and in my home community. The support of friends and family was overwhelming and makes me feel proud. Looking at them was like looking at a rainbow with all their colors and they were around the circle.  This is a new road for me, physical and spiritual.

 

 

 

Watching over the community

“How are you tonight?” Constable Jacob Renouf asks at a roadblock set up by the Listuguj Police Department (LPD) in front of the Education Complex. It’s near 10:00 PM on Aug. 5 — the start of the Powwow weekend.  Six officers are working, instead of the usual two.

Flares, and the flashing lights notify oncoming traffic. Constable Renouf greets drivers, and explains what they’re doing – just making sure everyone is being safe. The officers quickly shine flashlights in the car, and everything is in order. A few more jokes are made, everyone laughs, and the car continues on.

“How are you tonight,” Constable Renouf asks the next car.  The officers work their way through the line of vehicles that has formed, and then they pack it up. They’ll set up another road block later, but for now they’ll patrol.

Constable Renouf expects to drive the same streets dozens of times throughout his 11-hour shift. He has only been in the community for nearly a year. But he was on duty this time last year. He worked for the Gesgapegiag Police Department, which provided extra help in the past. No other police departments were needed this year. And the Powwow continues to grow.

Sgt. Detective Trapper Metallic has been with the LPD for over 15 years. He grew up here, got a summer job with the LPD, and got his training in Regina at the RCMP Academy, Depot Division.

Sgt. Detective Trapper Metallic has been with the Listuguj Police Department for 15 years.

Sgt. Detective Trapper Metallic has been with the Listuguj Police Department for 15 years.

There were a couple years in his career, around Powwow time, when he would see an influx in incidents.  “Then we started to put some more guys on patrol, and start making it a regular thing annually. Then those stats start to go down.”

Police Chief, Peter Arsenault said that the incidents this year were “almost garden variety.”  “Everything went well,” he said.

While some may see operations like a road block as a nuisance, Arsenault hopes they recognize the true purpose. “I’d like to think that they’re aware that we have their best interest in mind,” he said. “Everyone is entitled to safety.”

Like most of the officers on duty, Sgt. Detective Metallic is also working extra hours, after his regular four-day schedule, through the night.  “To work extra hours is nothing,” he said. “It comes with the territory. Whether you’re 15, 20, 30, 40 – however many years of service you have – you come and work the extra hour, just to make sure that nothing happens. It’s priceless.”

Passing on traditions

Tanner Sage Barnaby, the son of Tara Barnaby and Robby Ouellette, has been salmon fishing for the last six years and he’s only twelve. He leaves the quarry in the middle of a rainy afternoon and when he arrives to the fishing area he slows down the motor to set the net.  A very attentive boy, Tanner drives the boat with the seriousness that his tasks require.

As the rain continues to fall, he stops the boat and initiates a conversation with Aurele Isaac, his mentor.  They talk about the places where other fisherman set their nets. “We have to respect them,” he says. “If you see that one person has a good catch on his place you just can’t come the next time and occupy his location. We have laws and we have to respect them,” he says to Tanner.

This friendship started when Aurele met Tanner one day.  He noticed his interest in the outdoors and he asked if he wanted to fish salmon.  After Tanner accepted, Aurele talked to his mother and told him to be ready early in the morning.  When Aurele went to pick him up at 6:30 am he was there, waiting at the door.Aurele-Ariel
Six years later they are still fishing together.  “I accepted his invitation because Aurele teaches about my culture and he also speaks to me in Mi’gmaq. I like that, I want to keep our traditions going,” said Tanner with a sincere tone.

Aurele grew up fishing, working in the woods, learning the traditions with his father and everything was said in Mi’gmaw. Now it’s his turn to pass them on. “I find it important to pass on the tradition because if we don’t, who will exercise it, who will pass it to the next generation, who will defend it when threatened?” he maintains.

There are few young fishermen on the river today, but not enough to secure a wide practice and knowledge of the tradition of fishing. “Very few of my friends fish for salmon” said Tanner who seems happy on the river. “I learned to drive the boat, clean the net, grab the floats, pull anchors, check the net, use the pole, clean the salmon and to give away my first catch”, he declares.  For any young person these skills take time and practice to learn. “Now, I don’t have to tell him what to do,” says Aurele who feels content to see Tanner learning the skills that allowed the Mi’gmaq to get their sustenance from the river and to maintain the respect for Plamu.

As a kid, Aurele’s father, Isaac Isaac, “Isaacjij” taught him salmon fishing, moose and deer hunting, and ice fishing. His older brother, uncles and other adults also passed on to him that traditional knowledge.  He used to spend two weeks of the Christmas holidays in the woods. Today children have fewer teachings and it worries Aurele. “When I was a kid I had access to a lot of traditional activities and now I feel there isn’t enough of that for the children.  My father told me ‘I will not always be here so you need to learn all these things because you are a Mi’gmaq.’ So it’s up to us men to pass on our traditions,” affirms Aurele.

After the fishing season, Tanner and Aurele will team up again for partridge hunting, rabbit snaring, moose hunting, ice fishing.  “Aurele is a good friend who teaches me a lot.  He’s a good teacher,” says Tanner who is in Grade 7 at AGS.  “Most of my friends don’t go fishing. I only know one kid that goes salmon fishing with his grand-father.”

“I’m amazed by the number of kids who are interested in fishing but sadly for one reason or another their dads don’t take them to the river,” said Aurele who also fishes with his daughter Ariel. “Our traditions are getting weaker and we need to share our knowledge and bring more kids out because they will be the ones defending our rights.  They need to practice traditions to exercise rights. Some communities have negotiated their fishing rights and I don’t it want to happen it here.”

Aurele-Tanner net

Listuguj at the National Youth Summit

The 2016 National First Nations Youth Summit on Wellness, held in Niagara Falls, Ontario, hosted  over 200 First Nation youth from communities all across Canada.  Marcy Jacques, Jill Martin and Tyler Morrison represented Listuguj  at the event to learn how other First Nations youth are dealing with different issues in their communities.

The focus of the summit was clear — the well being of First Nations Youth across Canada. The Co-Chairs  that spoke on Mental Wellness expressed that First Nations Youth do have belonging and purpose, and they are not forgotten.

“Those are our future leaders” said Bobby Cameron, Regional Chief for the FSIN. “We encourage them and acknowledge them. They’re all valuable, they’re loved and cared for.”

The facilitator Stan Wesley opened the Summit enthusiastically, calling for a culture of doing the very best you can. “What I tell people, is that when they’re struggling to figure out what they truly want to do, I challenge people — all people — to be good at everything you do, up to this point and forward.”

Nearly a dozen speakers — all renown in their area of expertise — presented to the audience throughout the day. Two conference rooms needed to be joined together to hold an unexpected number of participants. “We prepared for around 150 youth and had almost 300 registered before the event,” said Andre Bear, who became one of two newly elected Co-Chairs of the Assembly of First Nations Youth council on July 10.  “We’ve heard great feedback from the attendees and we were also given a lot of advice on what we can do better for next time.”

The underlying theme of the entire weekend was the importance of wellness in the community — physical wellness, just as much as mental wellness. “Your garbage is my garbage,” said Chief Cadmus Delorme of the Cowessess First Nation, who spoke of the power of encouraging others, uplifting your peers with positive humor, and the fact that one problem within the community can cause an imbalance.

Before lunch “The Youth Walk of Hope” arrived, with weathered shoes, and reflective vests . They had completed their month long journey from Attawapiskat, northern Ontario, to speak with the AFN leaders, which held its 37th Annual General Assembly later that week in Niagara.

Patrick Etherington Jr. (Moose Cree Nation), spoke on behalf of the walkers of the recent struggles happening in the community of Attawapiskat. “I’m very proud of them man” said Etherington “They broke down their barriers that we all have, especially on more isolated reserves up north”

After the morning’s presentations,  all attendees were treated to a catered lunch and “Pow-wow Bootcamp” created by Santee Smith and assisted by Joshua DePerry (AKA Classic Roots). The bootcamp is a high-energy Pow-wow/ Dance training class. Santee Smith wants to promote dance, physical fitness and life affirming body expression while incorporating culture.

The whole Summit lasted one day, and was a welcomed overload of information for those who attended.

“This inaugural gathering showed me that we can create a meaningful change for the lives of all First Nation youth,” said Jill Martin. “Each and every one of us has a voice that needs to be heard.

First-ever in-community university class graduates

As the month and days to graduation grew closer, panic started to set in,” said Sarah Arseneault, in front of the crowd in the Alaqsite’w Gitpu School gym on June 30th.

Sarah is the class-elected valedictorian of the very first University course offered in Listuguj. The Bachelor of Arts in Community Studies (BACS), offered through the Cape Breton University, began in 2013. Nineteen of the original 23 students graduated this year.

“This program was truly a collective achievement,” said Dr. Fred Metallic, at the convocation. “We don’t learn by ourselves, we learn from – and with – each other.”

The number of classes taught by Listuguj teachers is a definite point of pride for those involved in developing the program. There are many points to be proud of.

The program was also tailored specifically for Listuguj. The schedule was meant to accommodate mature students, with all the commitments of adult life. Without saying it outright, the program essentially “Indigenized” mainstream courses. For example  – Mi’gmaq History was offered instead of a standard history course.

“Many students learned for the first time about their Mi’gmaq identity, history, and language,” said Sandra Germain, who assisted in the coordination the BACS program part-time. “All those little pieces help to make the program belong to the students and to the community.”

Germain is also the coordinator of the Mi’kmaq Maliseet Bachelor of Social Work Program (MMBSW) at St. Thomas University. She is passionate about adult learning – having earned her own Masters at 50 years old. Through her experience, she was well aware of some of the obstacles for the community.

“I had been noticing for a number of years that the people in Listuguj had an interest in the Bachelor of Social Work program, however, they did not meet the prerequisites,” she said. The BBSW requires a Bachelor Degree. And earning one use to mean leaving home.

This was part of the motivation to bring a University program to the community, instead of  bringing community members to the universities. And while there was a clear desire to bring in a program – it had to be done right.

“We wanted to maintain control of the program and not simply have them deliver their style of programming in the community,” said Germain. This led to many negotiations, and many aspects still left to improve on.

But Germain calls the BACS program “unprecedented.” The high percentage of graduates makes it clear that the program’s approach has hit on something.

“You can’t compare [traditional programs to] First Nations students working and learning with First Nations students,” Germain said. “I think that’s how we learn best.”

The trend has been set – a second University Degree will be offered in the community, starting this fall. McGill University will be offering a Bachelor of Education. Some of the BACS graduates have enrolled. So clearly the BACS program left a positive impression.

“There might have been times when we wanted to strangle each other,” continued Arseneault, with her classmates in the front rows.  “And we may not have always agreed on things. But when it came down to it, we were there for each other, and always will be.

How amazing is it to have the opportunity of completing a university degree in our own community! Today graduates – we make history. We are showing the people of our community that something like this is possible.”

Another Act of Resistance

When representatives of the Listuguj Mi’gmaq Government and the Government of Quebec were talking on the phone, Listuguj loggers were already on the highway 132, ready to defend the exercising of Mi’gmaq rights.

The day before, Quebec had declared the wood harvested by the loggers  “illegal” and closed the market for these logs.  The GDS mill, the first main buyers, was instructed not to buy these logs because no stumpage fees were paid for them.

Listuguj loggers have access to 40,000 cubic feet of forest to cut.  This includes the 15,000, cubic feet from a previous agreement with a provision exempting stumpage fees.  Not really exempted but paid by Quebec itself.  Now, Quebec wants Listuguj loggers to pay the stumpage fees on the other 25,000 cubic feet.

As the meeting started, the politeness faded and strong positions were taken on both sides. Quebec insisted on the payment, and Listuguj defended its Aboriginal right.

Chief Darcy Gray firmly expressed that “it’s not an option. We honor our people and we affirm that this is our territory and natural resources, and you stand in our way. Mi’gmaq people won’t pay taxes to access the resources of its territory.”

Geoffrey Kelly, Minister for Aboriginal Affairs insisted on payment before opening the market to Listuguj loggers.
“For most of the loggers, it’s their only income” said Alexander “Popoff” Morrison, the elected representative of the loggers.  His working crew includes four individuals that support families of three or more.  There are around 64 people working in the logging operations, and they and their families are all impacted by the outcome of the meeting.

As the meeting progressed, Chief, Councillors, the Director of Natural Resources and the logger’s representatives discussed the condition from Quebec — “Pay stumpage fees and we will open the market.”  The meeting was suspended for 20 minutes to deliberate, and when communication was reestablished, Listuguj response was unanimous in a diplomatic tone and very spirited tone from Councillor Wendell Metallic  — “This is Mi’gmaq territory and we don’t pay no fees for our natural resources.”

Quebec was also reminded about Mi’gmaq determination, and the many battles Listuguj has had to reaffirm and exercise its rights, including the 1998 blockade for the same issue.  Quebec requested a pause to the meeting.

Back at the highway, loggers and supporters were waiting and ready to block the road and stand up one more time.  But this time, Chief and Council were supporting the loggers.

The logging operations for the 40,000 cubic feet represents around six months of work, enough time to access the unemployment program for seasonal work.  These operations are mostly non-mechanical. Around 20 timber jacks, 40 guys with chainsaw and 25 guys hauling logs. Most of them went through the training provided by Listuguj Natural Resources and are certified chain saw operators, complying with security and safety regulations.

“In the past Quebec had issues with the security, safety, and harvesting practices.  In the last two years we have improved our standards to follow Quebec regulations”, said Listuguj Natural Resources Forestry Engineer Martin Cummings.
These concerns were resolved and the issue of  “paying stumpage fees as a condition to get a license was never raised in the past,” said Dr. Fred Metallic, Director of Listuguj Natural Resources.

Early in the meeting Minister Kelly insisted that these fees were necessary to cover the cost of fire safety, silviculture, and forestry management.  Listuguj pays between 15 to 20 thousand dollars for fire safety and they pay an engineer to manage the logging operations.

When Quebec called back after their deliberation, their tone was less adamant.  First the Minister insisted on improving the harvesting practices before announcing that Quebec would open the market.  Chief Gray agreed to open discussions, but insisted that any negotiation will be on the basis that this is Mi’gmaq unceded territory and no taxes of any form should be paid by Mi’gmaq loggers to Quebec to access natural resources.

After the meeting Chief Gray went to the highway 132 to tell the loggers about the outcome.  They celebrated, gave hoorays and high-fives.  Not long after the road was cleared, the flags were rolled back and they all went back to their families. Another battle in Mi’gmaq history.

For logger Morrison “we just bought time because the main issue was not resolved. However, I’m glad that the loggers are now consulted and supported” he said. For now, there are no further negotiations scheduled. The loggers are organizing a meeting before the Listuguj Pow-Wow.

In fact Quebec has one more time avoided talks about an important question according to Dr. Metallic.  “The Mi’gmaq tried to bring Quebec and Canada to the table to talk about the fundamental issue of land title.  We need to be able to decide and manage the sustainability of the forest not only for the Mi’gmaq but also for the Birds, the Moose, the Deer, medicinal plants, etc. It’s our home.”

Women’s voices of Migwite’tm

This year marks 35 years since the raids in 1981. But even after all this time, there are still “as many stories as there are people who fill this room,” as Victoria LaBillois said before the Salmon Feast at the Bingo Hall on June 11. This year – just like in 1981 – women of the community stood alongside the men.

Images of men standing up to Quebec Provincial Police are close in everyone’s mind, and stories of men from nearby nations coming to help are often retold with pride, but the fact that women came from other nations as well is mentioned less often. They also came to help.

Gail Metallic particularly remembers the Innu women – who came from the north shore to support the Mi’gmaq – who were “use to feeding big crowds, with very little.” She also remembers a little old lady. “My gosh — she just put everything in ship shape, and just started cooking,” Gail said.

When armed police officers blocked the bridge, a plan had already been made. Tensions were rising between the community and the Quebec Government. The Bingo Hall hadn’t been built yet, but the basement of the church was a central gathering place. When the church bells rang, everyone knew their roles. No one knew what would happen, but everyone still had to eat, and the kids still had to be taken care of. Coffee could even be found at all points.

Treena Metallic, Gail’s daughter, remembers the atmosphere and some specific events. But what she definitely remembers her mother’s reactions.

“Her anger sort of gave me pause,” Treena said.

An understanding of injustice immediately gripped the entire community. Gail was visibly angry, and not afraid to show it — to her kids, or the SQ, as she drove passed them. For Treena, this set a clear example.

“I wasn’t allowed to feel ashamed,” Treena said. “That mad was empowering … she might have been scared, but I didn’t see it. I just saw this tough chick.”

To this day Gail doesn’t doubt the appropriate reaction. Neither does the rest of the community, or the generations growing up.

“As a human, you have a choice,” Gail said. “But to do what [they] did to our people. That wasn’t acceptable.”

Fortunately, in 1981, very few even had time to doubt their reaction. As support continued to come in, everyone felt more empowered. And the actions taken by everyone at that time continue to set an example.

“It awakened a lot in us, that’s for sure,” Gail said. “We almost have to say, in a way – thank you. Because it awakened who we were.”

“It really galvanized, and it really defined who we are as a community,” said newly elect Chief, Darcy Gray, on Saturday morning at the Listuguj Wharf, with the dozens of others who gathered before the Peace Walk to the the Bingo Hall, the Salmon Feast and the inauguration of the newly elected Chief and Council. He stood in front of a line of docked fishing boats.

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On his first fishing day, Christopher Wilmot caught one salmon. He picked up his net and then continued his day, fishing for lobster in the Miguasha area. “As a kid I learnt to fish with my father” he said. During the fishing season Christopher will repeat his routine without fear of losing his boat, his net or being charged for fishing illegally. Christopher, born in 1989, belongs to a new generation of fishermen, but he knows about the QPP and DFO raid in Listuguj.

Many people in Listuguj remember the raids. “They came three times,” recalls Rene “Cool” Martin. “The first time they came to order late Chief Alphonse Metallic – to stop us from fishing. The second time around 500 police came in, together with DFO, helicopters and boats to take our fishing gear.” The third time, Rene was driving in the community near 5 a.m. He saw the police squad on the bridge. “I blew the horn to wake up people. We organized and we drove them out.”

During these confrontations people were beaten, arrested, and equipment was destroyed or taken away. Rene was handcuffed and taken to New Carlisle’s jail with other Mi’gmaq. One of the charges was to resist authority. In fact, Rene and Listuguj resisted and Christopher Wilmot is grateful. “If nobody stood up we would not have this opportunity to fish today,” Wilmot said.

Resistance is nothing new to Indigenous Peoples and the Mi’gmaq were defending their Aboriginal rights against the diktat of Quebec government. “I remember when I was a kid, non-natives used to come to Listuguj to sell us salmon because we were not allowed to fish. So we had to buy. When we did the same – selling salmon to non-natives – the government didn’t like it.” affirms Gordon Isaac Sr. “There was a time when there were traps from Listuguj to near Maria, on both sides of the Bay. Natives and non-natives had traps, but when the government stopped the commercialization of fish, we continued fishing.”

It was during these times that Quebec set restrictive measures to dissuade Mi’gmaq from fishing. “We were fishing at night and Mi’gwite’tm nobody could smoke because the light of the cigarette would indicate our position to wardens patrolling the river and they would shoot bullets at us and come to destroy our nets” recalls Gordon who was charged 14 times for illegal fishing, fishing with a net, and fishing at night. “I beat all these charges because they don’t have the proof that I don’t have the right” he said proudly. These acts of resistance were strengthening in an unsuspected way. With unemployment rates high many people had to work in the USA often as ironworkers building skyscrapers and bridges. “We saw there how native people were fighting for their rights too and we got information, motivated and politicized” affirms Gordon.

In fact the 60’s and 70’s, the years preceding the raid, North America was witnessing the emergence of the “Red Power”, the militancy for Indigenous rights. When Listuguj was attacked, Native people from different nations showed support and even made the trip here. “ They give us confidence to fight, to resist, to put barricades and to be prepared” said Gordon.

“The lesson I learn from the raid of 1981 is to keep fishing, keep resisting because we have the right to fish,” said Rene. In fact, the long years of denying Mi’gmaq Aboriginal rights or Treaty Rights were challenged successfully many times at different levels in provincial, Canadian and international justice systems. In 1999, the Supreme Court’s Marshall decision recognized the traditional role of fishing in Mi’gmaq culture, and a right to sustain as well as earn a moderate living.

Today Listuguj manages a community owned fleet of fishing vessels creating jobs for natives and non-natives in the industry and generating millions in revenues.

“Two things happens since 1981” said Dr. Fred Metallic, Listuguj Natural Resources Director. “We strengthened our cultural revitalization and we got the recognitions of our political rights. Canada can’t discretionary interpret Indigenous rights and it can’t trample our rights without being accountable. Today we manage 10-12 vessels, with millions of pounds of fish allocations. We have in place a Rangers Program to prevent exploitation or outside interference.”

Nowadays, the Restigouche River is known as one of the bestmanaged salmon rivers in the country and agreements signed with Quebec are based on the Listuguj fisherman Management Plan. Elder Gordon Isaac adds, “Now we have our own Laws and our own wardens. Now we negotiate and sign agreements with governments, and they don’t dictate to us anymore. Now we can fish peacefully without feeling illegal and with no worries about what is going to happen to us, or to our equipment.”

Gordon doesn’t fish anymore. Today he stops at the wharf and talks to the fisherman. “Some of them keep the spirit of sharing and they give me a few salmon for my winter,” he said.

Rene Martin canoe 1

Native spirituality gaining interest in Mi’gmaqi

Driving around Listuguj (Busteed area) last week you could see a group of volunteers working the tipi poles, bringing firewood and preparing the site for the four-day ceremonies organized by Families First Support Services.

“We have many programs, and over the years many people asked us to do workshops about traditions, ceremonies, traditional medicine and teachings,” said Christine Metallic, Community and Cultural Support Coordinator for the FFSS.The ceremonies we are preparing now is to respond to these needs.”

Among the ceremonies there is the Sweat Lodge, a purification ceremony where participants enter a dome shaped lodge constructed of willow and covered with material to provide a semi-tight enclosure and complete darkness. The Lodge represents the mother’s womb.

When the ceremony starts the Elder pours water on the heated rocks (Grand Fathers) and participants pray for themselves, their families, their communities, they chant and take turns to speak. The duration of this ceremony varies depending of the number of participants, the Elder who leads it, and the reason for the Ceremony.

Taking part in this sacred ceremony has different impacts on different people.  Those participating for the first time usually feel a resurgence of strength and connection with their identity, and for some it’s the beginning of a journey of healing.

“Sweat Lodge is a sacred place where your whole body gets cleansed and what you feel inside is incredible” said Frank Augustine an Elder from Elsipogtog who came to Listuguj to lead the ceremonies with his wife Josie. “There are things you may see, and you may receive teaching because there are spirits there to help you if you care to listen.”

Elders Frank and Josie Augustine from Elsipogtog

Elders Frank and Josie Augustine from Elsipogtog

Elders Frank and Josie, married for over 50 years, travel across Canada and Mi’gmaqi carrying these teaching. Frank was around 40 years old when he decided to take the spiritual journey that changed his life for the better.

“We see people following traditional teachings and Native spirituality and we see how their lives had changed” says Christine Metallic, whose experience as a community worker in different communities. “Looking at non-native ways, methods of healing like therapist, meditation, Tai Chi or Reiki are not the only solutions. We need something that works for you, and native spirituality reach us deep and at different levels.”

Following Native spirituality is all about faith. All religions of the world have their ceremonies and protocols that guide social behaviors, practices, determine sacred places, and provide the worldview with teaching about human’s relationship with the world around, above and below.

If in the past the practice of Indigenous spirituality were forbidden, outlawed and associated to devils or superstitious, nowadays there is a certain acceptance.  In Mi’gmaqi, and across Canada, interest has been growing.

“Twenty years ago there was a lot of hard work put into bringing back our teachings,” Josie said, while preparing the lodge for the ceremonies. “A lot of seeds were planted and now we see the seed popping up.”

“I see more interest in Listuguj” said husband Frank. “When we used to visit there was a handful of people. Now we see more people. We see that there’s a thirst for our spirituality.”

There are some people who took part in native ceremonies here for the first time.

On Friday afternoon, at around 6 pm. Ala’suinu Barnaby, 11, ended his 24-hours fast while other men and women were continuing theirs. He decided to do his fast with support from his parents on site. “Ever since my auntie Tanya did her four-day fast a few years ago I’ve been wanting to do it as well,” he said. “I also did it because I just lost my uncle Henry (Vicaire) and I did it for him. I did a lot of praying in the Sweat Lodge before I went into my fast. I felt successful, I felt good and proud of myself. It wasn’t easy but I learned a lesson: patience. I think anyone who has a chance should do this ceremony.”

Maybe at the Listuguj Pow Wow this year we will see more Sweat Lodges and we may see again the Sacred fire lit for all those who want to pray for their families, for themselves, and the communities.  After all it’s about belief and traditions that are now available in Listuguj and in neighboring Mi’gmaq communities.