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The sign language of citizenship [column]

Author

By Drew Hayden Taylor, Windspeaker Columnist

Volume

31

Issue

6

Year

2013

It’s been an odd week for me, Aboriginally speaking.

First things first, I was trying to figure out something interesting to do last weekend when a friend of mine suggested I head down to Toronto’s Lake Ontario and look at some of the tall ships that had recently taken up berth.

I thought about it for about a second before I told her that as somebody who is First Nations, the sight of a fleet of tall ships anchoring off a city, in a province, in a country, all three with Aboriginal names, it brings back too many racial and historical memories.

I am sure that there are probably still quite a few Native people, after seeing all those ships, driving frantically north through cottage country in their Pontiacs and Cherokees mumbling to themselves “not again.”  Some sort of genetic flashback resulting from a form of PCSD – Post-Contact Stress Disorder.

The second incident was more philosophical, and political.  Over the years I have done a lot of work for the Historica-Dominion Institute. It’s a fabulous organization that is dedicated to fostering, celebrating and promoting knowledge of Canadian history through a number of interesting programs.

One of their projects is the Canadian Aboriginal Writing and Arts Challenge, which encourages Native youth to write stories and create visual art about themselves and their people for an annual contest. I have proudly served on the jury since its inception 10 years ago.

Every year the Institute host a Canada Day event, complete with Canadian wine and beer, highlighting some Canadiana-flavoured activity. This year, it was a Reaffirmation Ceremony where everybody in the room was encouraged to retake the Canadian Oath of Citizenship.

I don’t remember having ever taken it in the first place, but I didn’t want to split hairs.  All the right hands in the room (no consideration was made for left handed people) shot up and about a hundred voices started reciting the oath… all except for my girlfriend and I.  We were the Aboriginal elephants in the room.

This kind of thing is a touchy subject in Indian Country. It elicits plenty of mixed emotions.  There’s barely a Native community anywhere in Canada that doesn’t have a long list of grievances or issues with the Canadian government, past and present.

Pledging devotion to a regime that created the reserve system, residential schools and parking tickets for parking on land that used to be ours, seems counter-productive. Most First Nations people are more committed to their personal First Nations than a country (established in 1867) that took 93 years to make us citizens (1960).  We’re all familiar with the glacial pace of most government bureaucracies, but this one has got to be a record.
Let’s not forget, some have had the army called out on them and there’s a disproportionate number of Native people in the justice system. So for some it’s difficult to support your own incarceration.

Still, Aboriginally speaking, there are worse places to live than in Canada. Far worse.

When I travel, I use a Canadian passport, and proudly say I am Canadian. Not a lot of people in India or Fiji are familiar with the great Ojibway nation. Yet.  Also I know many veterans who proudly served Canada by fighting in various wars, endangered their lives for this country around us; several dozen alone in my community of Curve Lake.

Aboriginals have a healthy respect for our vets and we frequently honour their sacrifice and I did not want to disrespect their service.  And while we may complain about our treatment by Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, it’s a bit better than how Indigenous people are dealt with in many Central and South American countries.

Euphemistically speaking, they’re often used as fertilizer. That’s somewhat worse than how the Aborigines were perceived in Australia. Up until 1969, they were administered under the Department of Flora and Fauna. They were classified as either plants or animals.
It almost makes being invisible in your own country seem slightly more palatable.

So there we were, surrounded by a room full of people proudly taking the oath of citizenship. Several speakers had recounted the time when they first took the oath. After all, it’s pretty well accepted that Canada is mostly a country of immigrants.

In that very room was a good cross cut of what makes Canada Canada. And there the two of us stood, right hands not raised. It was an awkward and complex situation to be in. I know Canada’s faults and strengths. I know many Native people who cry and scream over what the government has done to them.  And I know many who also are aware and thankful for what Canada has to offer its citizens and the world.

I decided to break even.  I raised my hand but did not take the oath. Fence sitting. Not bad for a person whose culture never had fences.