John and Corinne picked me up on Saturday and we followed the coastline just below UBC here and made our way to North Vancouver. The weather meant that much of the Vancouver population had flocked to the beaches so it was pretty busy. At North Vancouver we went to the Squamish Rez, where I met Carla and Brian and their family. (Brian is Cornne's tungange and the mataamua of their family). We took a nice walk to the North Vancouver beach and I got to step into the Squamish nation's part of the Pacific, watched over by those imposing maunga of theirs. There's a little bay on the way to the main beach where dogs are allowed off their leash. In practice that means the dogs (encouraged by their owners) have the run of that particular spot. There must've been a dozen dogs swimming there as we passed. Well, turns out that the dogs are allowed off their leashes on the beach and park areas that are on Squamish lands. Meanwhile, dogs have to remain leashed on the publicly owned areas. Carla made a comment about how it seems okay to have different standards for Squamish lands and attempts at change attract cries of denial of public rights. I said something like the public could maybe enjoy their dogs on the land they got by virtue of colonisation. And Carla said something about my response being the response of an historian. Goes without saying that we had a lot to talk about and share.
This totem is at the end of a pier on the main North Vancouver beach. We sat below it and Carla and Corinne totally privileged me with some singing and drumming. Carla is an accomplished singer and has been teaching Corinne. Her first waiata was her granny's favourite, a snowbird song. Carla's granny died earlier this year so, as you can imagine, I shed a few tears while she sang. But I was cool, you know, just a few quiet tears for grandmothers and their granddaughters, no great sobbing mess. She also did a healing song, and Corinne did an honouring women song and a celebration song.After hanging out at the beach and Carla and Brian's, John, Corinne and I drove to the opposite side of Vancouver, Steveston, a little fishing village where the south arm of the Fraser River meets the sea. So it was fish and chips on the waterfront for dinner, and sunset on the horizon.
Sunset over Vancouver and the gulf islands, from Steveston.I met even more of the whanau on Sunday, and took up an invitation to church and a ceremony for Carla and Brian's son, Brian Jr. Yes, I went to church and it wasn't part of a tangi or wedding or unveiling etc. So you can all pick your jaws up now. How could I not go? It was 29 June, the feast of Saints Peter and Paul. And church was at St Paul's Squamish Catholic Church. It has a garden dedicated to the Squamish elders next door, which includes a statue of Mary in a little grotto. And there's also a roll of honour for their soldiers. Built in 1884, St Paul's is the oldest surviving Catholic church in northern Vancouver. Before the railway was built directly in front of it, it was right on the shoreline and the locals could just row their waka right up to the steps. Corinne described St Paul's as small, and I smiled, and imagined that three of our small North Hokianga churches could fit inside it. It was an interesting exercise for me. I realised that although I don't go to church that often when I do go mass, or most of it, is usually in te reo. I guess that's got something to do with mostly going to church when I'm up north. But, my Catholic education proved itself and I was surprised at how easily the prayers (and the actions) came back to me. The hymns were new to me though.
St Paul's Squamish Catholic Church
Mmm, MaryAfter church we went to Carla's parents' home, also on the Rez, and I got to be a part of an incredibly special family ceremony for Brian Jr. I guess I would describe it as a transition or puberty ceremony. I probably don't have the language or the cultural know-how to be trusted to clearly convey what I witnessed, but there were some key principles that I'll be packing in my luggage to bring home with me. I guess the ceremony (where the food came first, like at the Chicago American Indian Centre) was an acknowledgement of Brian Jr's achievements to date, where his whanau members got to publicly voice their aroha and pride for him, to give advice where they saw fit, to talk about his whanau and whakapapa and heritage. It was too much, and I was moved in a way that I can't really express. And I cried again. And not in a cool way either. I basically got invited to speak, and I stood up and water came out of my face. I just think it was a great thing to do for a young fulla. He's 13, will start high school in the fall, killed his first moose last summer, has had his Indian name made public, and from all accounts is a good boy, and even good boys have those teenage-parent tensions. To have a day that was essentially an acknowledgement of a young person was such a powerful thing to me. His cousins and his sister seemed to listen to everything that was said, which really caught my attention. Even though I've never been a part of something like that, it seemed like such an obvious and sensible thing to do. I'll be beating my drum about that one when I get home. And Mohi, you seem like a prime candidate to me: You finish intermediate this year and start high school next year. You just entered your teens. You've been on your first pig hunt - don't know if you've caught anything though. We'll see what we can dream up, eh.
Today, Monday, it was back to the research grindstone. Nothing too taxing though, just tidying up a few of those loose ends. Found this cartoon too, from mid-1981 when a group of women occupied the Vancouver office of the Department of Indian Affairs, an expression of longstanding dissatisfaction with the administration of Indian affairs generally. The whole story has a familiar familiar ring.
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