Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending a Powwow in Kitigan Zibi, a First Nations reserve situated two hours away from Gatineau, Q.C. I graciously received the invitation through the Ottawa Muslim Women’s Organization (OMWO), a local grassroots charity, where I am a board member.
As an immigrant settler, it was the first time I had the chance to attend a Powwow on a reserve. Even when I spent a year in Kamloops, B.C., my interaction with the local Indigenous community was rare and sporadic. As a university professor, I taught some students who were Indigenous and once visited the reserve that was within the city limits to see some new developments.
I remember how years ago, the OMWO invited Elder Barbara Hill, a prominent member of the Algonquin community, to give an opening prayer at our annual signature event, a dinner where we collect funds for diverse charities. I also remember how years later, we wanted to include a land acknowledgement at our events but didn’t know exactly where to start and how to approach the topic.
But it is with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s 94 Calls to Action that things started to really change for us. Our board members became more attentive to systemic and cultural issues faced by Indigenous communities. We agreed on concrete steps to help us build ties with Indigenous people; we were guests on their lands but they were communities we barely knew.
In 2018, the OMWO invited two prominent Indigenous leaders to our fundraiser.
Cindy Blackstock is a member of Gitxsan First Nation, a professor, a longtime activist for child welfare and the executive director of the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society. Elder Claudette Commanda is an Algonquin Anishinabe from Kitigan Zibi Anishinabeg First Nation and a University of Ottawa law professor, who humbly but powerfully opened our event with a prayer.
It is unfortunate and frankly incomprehensible to me that many Muslims immigrants to Canada (with few exceptions, of course) have not been exposed to Indigenous communities despite sharing many spiritual beliefs and social habits: big gatherings filled with food and dances, to name one.
Perhaps the fact that many Muslim immigrants settled in big cities where Indigenous people often experience homelessness and marginalization, built this gap between the two communities. This geographical separation between recent immigrants, Muslim or not, and Indigenous communities reinforced ignorance and widespread negative stereotypes. Muslims in Canada, who are themselves subjects of discrimination, were not immune to believing anti-Indigenous discourse peddled in the media.
I vividly remember the words Cindy Blackstock shared with us. She told the story of Dr. Peter Bryce, a famous Canadian public health doctor who studied residential schools and reported on the causes of First Nation children’s deaths. Dr. Bryce drew attention to the fact that, according to his surveys, roughly one-quarter of all Indigenous children attending residential schools died from tuberculosis. Despite all these early findings and warnings, the federal government did nothing. Worse still, Dr. Bryce’s report was ignored and met with total indifference by the Canadian population more generally.
Cindy Blackstock rightly said that when it came to First Nations’ matters, usually ‘Canadians choose to look away.’ Despite the pain in her truth, I think Cindy Blackstock bluntly summarized the severity of the situation. We, as immigrant communities, followed in the same footsteps and looked away or at least didn’t have the curiosity or the courage to go beyond the mainstream discourse delivered to us upon our arrival to this land.
But things are changing for the best.
Our visit to the Kitigan Zibi reserve was definitely a first positive step. It was not just symbolic. It made me hopeful.
We were first welcomed by an Elder from the community who protects the sacred fire. He offered to smudge us with sage. Then, we got tobacco and some fresh cedar to throw in the fire as we prayed or wish for good things for this day. We were instructed to step into the circle from the eastern side.
As a practicing Muslim, I am still fascinated by these rituals because they reminded me of the ablutions that every Muslim performs with water before starting their daily prayers. The eastern direction is an important symbol found in several Islamic rituals. Mary, mother of the prophet Jesus, is said, in the Quran, to have situated herself at an ‘eastern spot’ where she prayed and meditated.
During the Powwow dances, I was so impressed by the elaborate designs, colourful and beautiful dresses that both male and female dancers wore. The intensity of the dances, the coordinated movements, of the legs of the hands and the heads were all a clear manifestation of joy, happiness and gratitude to the Creator.
As a Muslim woman, I often feel judged for my choice to wear long dresses and skirts and covering my hair with a hijab. But when I was holding hands with a young woman who danced with me with such elegance, grace and smiles, in the Powwow circle, I didn’t feel a single ounce of judgement.
Even kids took part in this ceremony, emulating their mother’s dance movements, bringing more joy and innocence to the ceremony.
When the dancers were about to start, the moderator invited us to stand up for respect and solemnity. He emphasized not to use our phone cameras record the procession. “We don’t want to disturb the spirits,” he explained. I found this sentence fascinating.
Bringing the unseen world to the physical word is a notion I’m conscious of as a Muslim. My belief in angels may be considered as ridiculous by some but I still find it calming and very comforting for my insecurities. I am intrigued by the link between the rational and the irrational. Conciliating these two is a challenge for many of us and the inclusion of the spirits was a small but great example of how I found myself relating to the community’s beliefs.
Being on the reserve, was a reminder that immigrant and Indigenous communities alike suffered from colonialism and the intergenerational trauma that ensues. Watching the dances and listening to the drums was a moment of joy and friendship but most of all, it is a way I connect with my Indigenous brothers and sisters and learn from their values and beliefs.
It is only together we can all fight and survive injustice.
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