“Land Back,” is a phrase you might not have heard. If not, rest assured you will soon. So let’s focus on it for a second: “Land Back,” as in, Give us our Land Back. The two words encapsulate a growing First Nations movement to regain control of the land which is…let’s say currently…called Canada. What does Land Back mean? How does it work? What exactly does it entail in practical terms? Much depends on who you ask.
Out on the west coast, Kanahus Manuel, a First Nations woman who founded a group called Tiny House Warriors apparently has a history of violent confrontation with Trans Mountain workers and contractors. If you ask her what Land Back means, she’ll tell you to “Go back to Europe,” and not in the politest of ways, adding a few F bombs for emphasis, telling you to “… get the *** off our land.” That’s one solution, and there is no ambiguity: the message is simple and clear. Leave now.
There are other views presented in a more polite, non-confrontational way, but they nevertheless entail existential changes to Canada and Canadian governance.
I just came across The Breach, a digital newsletter founded on the concept of activist journalism, as opposed to objective journalism (if there’s even any of that left in the cookie jar) explores the issue in great detail. The Kanahus Manuals of Canada are not discussed in the article I read; instead, the much more eloquent Pamela Palmater, a Mi’kmaw lawyer and former Ryerson University professor says, or rather The Breach says she says, “that First Nations leaders aren’t interested in displacing settlers. They simply want to make decisions about what happens to their lands.”
Simple sometimes is a very complex word, and what follows the use of the word in the article is anything but. It goes on to detail several way that First Nations would be able to make these decisions, from Minimum to Maximum. The Maximum scenario, according to Peter Kulchyski, a Native Studies professor at the University of Manitoba, essentially turns over large swaths of land to Natives who would have “absolute control over significant portions of their traditional territories and therefore significant portions of land in Canada.” He goes on to explain that “First Nations would then be able to declare themselves as sovereign nations that exist outside of the Canadian state.” No one at The Breach apparently asked what that truncated Canadian state might look geographically or politically, or how it might function, and what would the status be of non-Indigenous people living within these lands.
Other suggestions give governmental control to First Nations in large areas. Pamela Palmater is quoted by The Breach as saying, “What we should be imagining is what Canada could look like if we started returning so-called Crown Lands back to First Nations.” This seems to sound familiar to the above, but perhaps the difference is in the political and governmental control, replacing a current, Canadian government in a designated area with a First Nations government control . The devil, as always, is in the details.
Pamela Palmater adds, “Who would you rather control these enormous areas—corporations who only see in the land dollar signs over the next financial quarter, or First Nations who have been taking care of the lands for generations?” That seemingly benign approach might indeed strike a chord with the anti-capitalist segments of Canadian society; however, despite corporations sometimes having a great deal of influence, they do not control the land. It still belongs to a Canadian government, federal or provincial, so this is a straw man argument. But a clever one.
“Land Back,” isn’t surprising. A recently suggested change to the Canadian Anthem sung by Jully Black at an NBA All-Star game changed, “Our home and native land,” to “Our home on native land.” That one small word substitution, from “and,” to “on,” changes everything. With that one word, all Canadian citizens are living on someone else’s land. Is it then unconstitutional to invite half a million immigrants to join us living on someone else’s land? It certainly doesn’t seem polite or appropriate. It’s like moving into an apartment and then inviting half a dozen more families to join you.
And if you stop to listen carefully to the Land Acknowledgements which have now become the equivalent of the Lord’s Prayer, and which all similarly cite that whatever the event that is taking place - from government meetings to sports games to Convocation ceremonies – it is being held on the often unceded territory of whatever First Nations groups lived there in times past and likely still do. Attendees and leaders seem to say these words as mystical ritual with no thought as to what they mean. It is virtue signaling and hypocrisy, and it’s also only a short drive from Land Acknowledgment to Land Back.
After attending several such Convocations with these land acknowledgments, I began wondering what might happen if they were taken at their word. The Land Back movement certainly seems to do exactly that. And so, a few years ago I wrote a short story which explores that idea. Now that the Land Back movement is moving front and center, it seems a timely topic and so I’m adding it to this post, below. Although it makes this a longer posting, I hope you’ll take the extra time to read and enjoy it.
CONVOCATION
“What the hell…” Sergeant Matthew Russell pulled to the side of the two-lane highway, slamming the brake pedal of his Highway Patrol car and sending billows of dust high in the air. He got out adjusting his sunglasses and looked at the reason for the ‘respond to’ call he’d received a few minutes ago.
A parade, sort of, but not exactly. He watched as a group of thirty people or so, mounted on horses, slowly made its way along HW 19, blocking both southbound lanes. Behind them, stretching up and over a rise were two lanes of traffic that could proceed no faster than the slow trot of the procession. Sgt. Russell noted the other patrol cars pulling into place, some inserting themselves between the highway traffic and the horses to make sure there were no tragic accidents, while others followed along with the procession, driving on the soft shoulders, observing and maintaining order by their presence.
“Captain, its Russell. Looks like a group of First Nations people; I’d guess it’s the Kannandiga since this is their reserve territory. The other patrol cars are in place; everything’s peaceful and orderly so far, but there’s a long lineup of cars behind them. Drivers are probably going to get frustrated at some point.”
Captain States responded, “Slow down the lead patrol cars following the procession and when they pass the next interchange at Dawson’s Creek, have the patrol cars block the highway and herd the traffic up the off ramp. If they have any brains, the drivers would probably do that anyway.”
“Will do, Captain. Do you know what this is all about?”
“Not a clue. No one got in touch with me and community outreach hasn’t been answering.”
“Want me to try to make contact with the procession?”
Captain States thought for a moment. “What would you do, Matt? Drive alongside the horses and yell out your window? It’s 40 kilometers to the city, so chances are this ride will have a local destination.” He thought for a second, adding, “One way or another, I suspect we’ll find out soon enough.”
Sergeant Russell leaned on his patrol car, watching the procession approaching him. He could tell by the headdress of the lead rider that he was someone important, probably the Chief. It was a traditional warrior headdress, with a leather headband, sinew stitching holding the feathers in place. The feathers could be hawk feathers, Matt thought, since the hawk is a respected hunter and a dominant species of the land. In addition to First Nations choosing objects of nature and the land, Russell also knew that earning a feather represented bravery and leadership.
The woman keeping abreast with the Chief also wore a headdress, but hers was the beaded type, fitting for a wife or relative of the Chief. In fact, she was the Knowledge Keeper of Treaty Number 7. The others wore a mix of clothing, some with distinctly First Nations style while others wore jeans and flannel shirts.
Russell stared at the figure now alongside of him: aquiline nose, mouth set in a determined, yet seemingly relaxed manner, eyes never leaving whatever the rider saw ahead on the empty road.
And then he knew:
“Captain,” Sergeant Russell called over the two-way radio. “I just got a good look at the lead rider and I’m pretty sure it’s Chief Joseph Pearson.”
“Makes sense,” States said. “Actually, we sort of got to know each other a couple of years ago, during that dispute about the township building a large, Discount Mart somewhere around there, on what the Kannandiga said was not just Native land, but their former burial ground.”
“How’d it all work out?”
“There was a compromise of some sorts and the site for the Discount Mart was moved; I don’t recall the details, but relations were strained for a while.”
“Roger that,” Russel said, back in his car and advancing it to remain slightly ahead of the procession.
The Natives sat erect and dignified on their horses, looking neither left nor right, seemingly unaware of Sergeant Russel’s Patrol Car, although of course they had to know he was there. As to where they were headed, the answer dawned on Russell as the group approached the next intersection.
He reached for the mike, pressed the on switch.
“States.”
“Captain, it’s Russell. I think I know where they’re headed.”
“You’ve added mind-reading to your list of qualifications? Okay, go ahead.”
“They’re approaching the old Bayley Side Road. Ten bucks says they exit there, cross over HW 19 and continue a couple of miles along Bayley. It leads to the back entrance of McCauley University.”
“To do what?”
“I’m not that good a mind reader, Captain, but I think you’re going to owe me the ten bucks, sir”
“Why? They headed up the ramp?”
“The Chief just led his horse along the exit lane and the rest are following.”
“I’ll be damned. Figure out why and I’ll double it to $20.00.”
Russell thought for a second. “I think I know. Sort of.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”
“Today is the Convocation for McCauley graduates. My neighbour was all excited this morning because his daughter’s getting her B.A. I think they’re headed to McCauley.”
“Why? They want to see your neighbour’s daughter graduate?”
“Blank on that, sir.”
“Interesting, but not worth another ten. Maybe a fiver. They still heading up the Bayley ramp?”
“Yes, indeed Captain. And the Chief with his riding partner just turned left to cross over the highway with the rest following along.” After a pause, Russel added. “With all due respect sir, I think that’s worth a twenty.”
“Okay Russell, radio your men and tell them to move ahead, carefully, no speeding, no sirens or flashing lights to spook the horses. Half the cars in front, half trailing.”
“Will do Captain.”
“Oh, and Russell. I might have to move you to another unit. I can’t afford twenty bucks every time you get a lucky hunch.”
Russell laughed, made the call as instructed and then moved out himself, deciding to drive directly to the McCauley gates to clear any problems with the procession being admitted, and then to head towards Bounty Hall, where all McCauley Convocations were held. It’d been a long time since he had walked across that stage himself to receive his B.Sc. in criminology, but the grounds were exactly as he remembered them. He parked and climbed the fifteen stairs to the triple, oaken doors, and turned, giving him a commanding view of the regal procession making its way towards Bounty Hall.
Inside, the Convocation had begun on schedule and the graduands were marching down the center aisle, lead by the Graduate Marshall, to their reserved rows. When all were seated, the Chancellor stepped to the podium, bent over the microphone and officially opened the Convocation with the Latin words, “In Concilium Universitatis McCauley vocati sumus.” She then read the land acknowledgement that had been incorporated into all official McCauley gatherings for the past ten years:
We acknowledge the land we are meeting on is the traditional territory of many nations including the Kannandiga of the Southern Tier where McCauley is situated, the Cayuga, the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, and Tuscarora peoples and is now home to many diverse First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples.
It was then, as she turned to the President of McCauley for him to make the next remarks that Chief Joseph Pearson and the procession entered, standing at the rear of the hall. There was a quiet flutter at first which quickly grew louder as more people realized what was happening and turned around to look, then remarked to their neighbours.
The Chancellor quickly recovered from her initial shock and welcomed their surprise guests, inviting them onto the stage where the crew quickly arranged the extra chairs. Chief Joseph Pearson walked down the center aisle followed by his retinue. They turned to the closest set of stairs and walked onto the stage, taking their seats, all in silence. It was as though everyone held his or her breath collectively, waiting to discover what this was about. Reading from a note quickly passed to her, the Chancellor said, “On behalf of the faculty and students of McCauley University, it is my honour to welcome Chief Joseph Pearson of the Kannandiga and all the members of his group who are with us today.” She turned to face them and clapped her hands, which initiated enthusiastic applause throughout the auditorium.
Only one person had an inkling of what was happening. He was graduating with a BA in Native Studies, Treaty Law, and Literature, a double major program in which he had excelled, graduating Magna Cum Laude. His name was Robert Pearson.
The Convocation proceeded through the scheduled program until it reached the conferring of the degrees which turned the graduands into graduates. It took a while to go through the various departments alphabetically, but eventually, the professor assigned to read the names called out, Robert Pearson, Magna Cum Laude. At McCauley, when the graduands received their diplomas, they flipped their mortarboard tassel from the right-hand side to the left, signifying their new status as graduates.
Robert walked along the stage, smiling, paused for the standard picture with the professor giving him his diploma, and was about to continue off stage when he realized that his father was now standing in front of him. Chief Joseph Pearson held up a Chief’s bonnet with three feathers; he removed the mortarboard from Robert’s head, replacing it with the bonnet and clasped him strongly. Robert was stunned but clasped his father in return and then continued to his seat to enthusiastic applause. There, he respectfully removed the bonnet and placed the mortarboard on his head once more, cradling the bonnet in his arms.
Chief Joseph Pearson approached the Chancellor, requesting a few minutes to address the Convocation. She led him to the dais and announced his request.
The Chief spoke formally, as befitting the occasion. “Mdm. Chancellor, President Orloff, faculty and graduates. Thank you for welcoming us, your unannounced guests today. As you might now realize, Robert Pearson. B.A. is my son, the first of our family to attend, and now to graduate, from McCauley University.
He acknowledged the applause, then continued. “It has become customary these last few years for universities, schools and governments to begin meetings and convocations with what is called a land acknowledgement. Despite minor differences, they are essentially similar. Yours, which the Chancellor recited as part of the opening of the Convocation, began with these words: ‘We acknowledge the land we are meeting on is the traditional territory of many nations including the Kannandiga of the Southern Tier where McCauley is situated,’ and mentions that it is now ‘home to many diverse First Nations’ peoples.’”
He paused again, allowing time for the words to register. “I’m sure the words were chosen very carefully by the original writers, and probably vetted by McCauley’s administration, before being fixed into this final rendition. They are interesting word choices, are they not? But what exactly do they mean? Each of you who participates in this ceremony is acknowledging what follows in the statement, are you not?” He paused dramatically, and then continued. “But what exactly does it mean that you ‘acknowledge’? Synonyms include ‘admit’ and ‘recognize,’ but also to ‘concede.’ That last definition has a bit of a different ring than the first two, doesn’t it? Whereas the first two are somewhat vague, ‘concede’ has a certain sense of unwillingness to it, as though the person saying it had no choice. So, the same word can come from several different mindsets, but the end result is that they agree to some fact or truth. Have you ever considered what that truth and its implication is?”
He paused again, giving a moment for the faculty, graduates and guests to consider what he was telling them. And truth be told, few people had ever stopped to consider those seemingly simple and innocuous sentences in any depth at all. It was a kind of feel-good formula, so the Chief’s deconstruction of its meaning was quite novel to them. He had them thinking about what they had mindlessly been repeating by rote for years.
“However,” Chief Joseph Pearson continued, “the key phrase is what follows: ‘the traditional territory of many nations,’ including ours, the Kannandiga, of course.”
The Chief stared toward the assembled. “And here’s the tricky part. What exactly does traditional mean? Synonyms include, ‘customary’ and ‘usual,’ but not necessarily legal ownership. Yet notice that the sentence uses the verb, ‘is,’ not ‘was,’ which means that these are still our “traditional” lands. Does that not then imply continued ownership?”
The more mentally agile of the faculty and students were shocked as they began to see where this might lead, while others struggled to understand the Chief’s parsing of the land acknowledgment.
“Yes,” Chief Joseph Pearson continued, “I know there are treaties and the Constitution Act of 1982 and The Indian Act, all of which set out to define ownership and our relationships with the land and with each other. My son Robert now has great knowledge and understanding of such matters thanks to his studies here, but I ask you on a personal level, what are your words worth? You acknowledge that you are on our traditional lands. Times have often not been easy for our people as guests on our own land.”
One more dramatic pause, and then the Chief rendered the inescapable question. “And so I ask, how many of you would be willing to keep the promise that I believe underscores your land acknowledgement and be willing to leave McCauley? Be willing to leave these lands?”
They were all stunned into dead silence. Thoughts ranged from “Are you kidding me?” to, “And just where would we go?” to, “Maybe he’s right and we should keep our word.”
Who can know the collective mind of a large, assembled group until individuals begin to show it through words and deeds?
And then the Chancellor stood up. She had always spoken those words of reconciliation with an almost religious piety that, she felt, expressed a solidarity with Native people, an open -mindedness recognition that they were on the land first and accordingly deserved special status. But never had she contemplated that this went as far as actually vacating her home, her career, her life, or remaining and having to deal with recriminations of hypocrisy and self-guilt. She felt that she had been boxed into a corner, and now was compelled to accept the challenge or have her entire life narrative labelled as a sham. All this thought without words occurred in a nanosecond as she handed her mace to Chief Joseph Pearson and began walking off the stage. It usually just takes one person to begin a movement, good or bad, and so following her lead, some of the faculty likewise stood up and made to leave, and finally some of the just conferred graduates also stood and began to make their way through the aisles, all the others twisting in their seats and souls.
“Father!” yelled Robert Pearson, freezing everyone to their spots.
Chief Joseph Pearson acknowledged his son and spoke again into the microphone. “Please, all of you who actually got up to leave, come back and take your seats.”
He had spoken those words as a sort of dare, or perhaps a litmus test of sincerity, but they were in one sense, rhetorical. He hadn’t actually expected anyone to rise and leave. He wanted to make them see what their words meant, to shake off any smugness and self-righteousness that they derived at the expense of the Natives by their land acknowledgements. To rethink the future relationships, perhaps. But he had not expected them to really leave. In a thousand years, he could not leave his lands. How could they? Because they were “settlers” only here for five hundred years? Because they had some sort of self-destruction as a moth to a flame? He could not say, but he knew he would spend long hours contemplating this in conversations with Robert and the tribe elders.
When all were once more seated, the Chancellor being the last to return, and when there was finally quiet, the Chief returned the mace to the Chancellor, saying, “When I gave Robert his bonnet, the large feather was to recognize his act of courage and excellence by enrolling here and earning his degree. I shall add to that another feather for having the courage to call out to me just now. My son wishes to live with you as well as to be one with his people. You have made him welcome for the four years he spent at McCauley, and we hope that he, with all of our youth, along with yours, will form a truer partnership, as envisioned by the 1613 treaty called, ‘The Two Row Wampum.”’
Chief Joseph Pearson considered for a moment, then added. “I leave you with this one thought. There are those on one side who do indeed call for the return of all the lands, and there are those on the other side who call for more breaking of the treaties. These are parlous times for all, so remember and understand the words you recited at the beginning of the Convocation. They will become nothing more than meaningless virtue signaling unless you truly mean what you say and act accordingly.”
Turning to the Chancellor, the Chief asked if he might bring the proceedings to a close at the end of the Convocation. She hoped the traditional Latin formula would not be broken but, knowing that she was obliged to take the risk, she agreed.
When the last graduate was acknowledged and the Convocation was to be closed, the Chancellor nodded to him.
The Chancellor was much relieved when Chief Joseph Pearson walked to the microphone, and pronounced with reasonable accuracy, “Concilium dimissum est.” He had come prepared in every way.
From the back of the auditorium, where he had stood spellbound for the past ninety minutes, Sergeant Russell relayed into his mike. “It’s all good, Captain, but damned if I’ve ever seen anything like it before,” and he began assisting the Convocation faculty, graduates and guests out of Bounty Hall where they walked together on the ancient lands.
I hope you enjoyed the story and find that it gives food for thought. I tried portraying people of good will in hopes that there are indeed such leaders on both sides. As Chief Pearson says, “These are parlous times.”