to love unconditionally - january 27th 2024 at 15:00

you look me in my blue eyes and say the word ''pretendian'' just to see if i flinch

what you don’t know is that i’ve spent my whole life wondering if my ancestors are disappointed that my braids bleach in the sun

but then i think about those ancestors and i consider that maybe they’d be proud that i looked like their husbands or nieces or neighbours whom they loved so dearly and then i think about my children and how i would want them to look just like their father no matter what his ancestry might be because that is the nature of the heart; to try and find pieces of who we love in everything that we see

Not really an academic source, but for some perspective on Indigenous views of Riel I definitely recommend Women of the Fur Trade by Frances Koncan. It is a brilliant and humourous exploration of the rebellion in the form of a play set around three women (one Ojibwe, one Métis, one British) and their differing views on the matter. It is a super accessible and funny read, and a good place to start understanding Indig/Métis takes on some of the events of that time (it's written with a lot of modern slang, but takes places during the rebellion. There's a very fluid sense of time in this work, as with most Indigenous storytelling). Again, not a historical account by any means, but very good nonetheless.

"My people will sleep for one hundred years, but when they awake, it will be the artists who give them their spirit back." - Louis Riel

"Also noteworthy in this context is that the verb debwewidam (verb bimaadizi intransitive)* translates as "s/he is heard speaking or making vocal sounds at a distance." When you break down the stem of this verb, you get deb (enough, adequate, reach) and -wewid (s/he makes sounds). Now, since the Ojibwe word for drum is dewe'igan, which is -- as I understand it -- a contraction of a word that literally means "instrument that makes the circular (returning) sound of the heart," there is reason to believe that there is a direct correlation between our sacred drum that sits at the heart of our culture, sound-making, and truth-speaking. Debwe-ode'-wewe-igan: speaks truth-her/his heart-sound-instrument." - zhaawano

This is what makes Anishinaabemowin so interesting and beautiful. Check out the full post! The Way of the Heartbeat, Part 7: The True Meaning of the Word Debwewin

credit - unknown

leave it behind - april 1st 2023 @ 12:43

not isolated but completely uninhibited not separated just living like the ancestors did walk around without shoes feel closer to the land lean over the side of the boat let the water flow through your hand gather together laugh and cry around a fire every day wake up with the sun and at night hit the pillow tired get yourself back to the land if you want to feel alive go to where the sun meets the sand and leave the rest behind

-a girl in a chevy- she’s still sleeping

A large part of Anishinaabe territory is in Ontario, but Anishinaabemowin goes further than that! It’s definitely difficult to feel disconnected from, but a privilege to get to spend time learning now. It is an amazing language, with many interconnecting word roots that make it really fun to learn, and a bit easier to pick up on. Anishinaabemowin as a language is directly tied to our peoples’ connection with the land, and our stories show that. Language absolutely cultivates a sense of pride and belonging within community. I’m francophone as well, so the relationship to having had language rights stripped away and reclaiming language for cultural revitalization and language resurgence as a means of resistance is very real. Some off-reserve schools are starting to incorporate language into curriculum, and I plan on being one of the teachers that helps us get there. (For more information about the 20th century French education ban in Ontario, look into Rule 17. My school was named after Jeanne-Lajoie! To learn more about Indigenous linguocide, I recommend the poems ‘‘I Lost My Talk’’ by M’ikmaw Elder Rita Joe, ‘‘I’m Finding My Talk’’ by Rebecca Johnson, and their books of the same names. Residential schools and the 60s scoop certainly perpetuated this colonial violence tactic, so learn more about those to really understand what is going on with Indigenous language revival now). You will never catch me perpetuating language insecurity, because language is a part of someone’s connection to their identity, and it is not my place to tell them if I think they’re doing it right. For a long time, I suffered from language insecurity, unfortunately caused by other language speakers. Now, I make extra sure to introduce myself in Anishinaabemowin when going around the circle. It is a source of pride, and I hope my ancestors can hear me. If anyone feels like speaking privately on the matter, my inbox is a safe space.

Indigenous Tumblr, please interact!

TW: genocide and linguocide in America

I'm a linguistic enthusiast and non-American. I love how diverse the USA & Canada are - thousands and thousands of indigenous languages and they all are unique and so different from any language I've ever seen and heard. But all of them are endangered because the colonizers were erasing them with their speakers. Yet some indigenous languages are still spoken today. I love learning about these languages, but it feels like a colonists approach to learn about an indigenous language without learning its role in its community.

Dear indigenous people of Americas, where your languages are used today? What's their status in society? How do you feel about (not) knowing them? Is it a symbol of pride, resistance, and being part of your community or something that died long time ago? Do kids learn it in school?

If you feel uncomfortable with sharing your experience, it's fine to keep scrolling)

YOUR GOVERNMENT AND YOUR CHURCHES KILLED NATIVE CHILDREN

YOU ARE NOT PRO LIFE

Something new for Native American Heritage Month this year:

This playlist features indigenous musicians from North, Central, and South America. It includes a variety of genres (post-classical composers, folk punk, indie pop, pow wow punk rock (yes, that's a thing!), indie rock, etc.), as well as a variety of languages (Wolastoqey, Inuktitut, Atikamekw, Cherokee, Navajo, Cree, Quechua, Greenlandic (Kalaallisut), English, French, and Spanish).

A'ho. Never forget you're living on turtle island.

Native land in native hands

losing my religion

i say oh my god

but who is my god

when i've nothing left

to believe in

when i get down

on my knees

i smell frankincense

and homelie

at what point

did they steal our fire

to light their vigils

and votives

my church keeps its pews

in a circle

we are cleansed by the smoke

and the precious water is for drinking

wearing white

only attracts filth

to those of us

really living

all of this i know

and yet my hands only remember

how to rest

in a prayer

Sticker from nativelovenotes

Lmaoooooo (true)

''Belonging'' by Halle Ward

mizhishawabi: [s]he sits out in the open

naawashkosiw: in the middle of a meadow

Being two-spirited is about so much more than your gender or sexuality. It is a part of your role here in this life. To me, at least, being two-spirit is about responsibility.

Remember Your Asemaa

There was once a boy. He lived by a creek with his grandmother. In the early evenings, he would go out before the sun set to look for things.

His grandmother had a gift. She was a maker, and she always transformed anything he brought home to her into something magical.

His grandmother taught him from very young the importance of laying your asemaa down as an offering, to say miigwetch for what you are taking from the land.

One time, the boy went out looking, offered his tobacco, and brought home a big partridge miigwan. He gave the feather to ookomisan, and she made a beautiful dreamcatcher to hang above his bed by the window.

Another time, he found a nice birch tree. He put down some asemaa and began peeling the bark. When he got home, his grandmother spent the whole weekend weaving a strong basket so they could pick more miinan.

This time, though, the boy went out and found a short, smooth piece of driftwood. As he was examining it, something else down by the water caught his eye. A small, rounded rock with a hole in the center. The boy, now excited, took the piece of wood and the rock back with him in a hurry as the sun was beginning to set.

The next morning, his grandmother admired the piece of wood he brought back before deciding what it would become. She began working and the boy sat in the corner playing with the small rock he found. He looked up, and saw a transformation take place before his very eyes. His grandmother tossed the whittled bits from her lap into the fireplace and came over to the boy with mitigo-jiimaan. He took it from her and they headed outside to the creek to test it out.

He placed it down onto the water. It worked! It could float! The boy jumped up and hugged his grandmother to thank her. The boy stayed outside awhile to play with his little wooden canoe.

The next morning, the boy's grandmother was upset. She explained that when she woke up she found the small canoe she had worked so hard making had been broken in half.

The boy begged his grandmother to believe that he would never break it. She thought for a moment, and asked him to calmly explain what happened the day before. When he was done, his grandmother instantly knew what had gone wrong. He had forgotten to offer tobacco. She sent the boy out with some asemaa in one half of the broken canoe, and some maple taffy in the other to offer up to memegwesiwag. She told him that the little people would accept his apology if he made sure to always offer his tobacco.

Early the next morning, the boy went to grab his special rock to take with him to go see what had happened to his canoe down by the creek. It was gone! The boy raced down to the water, hoping for some good news. His canoe wasn't there anymore, either!

The boy ran back home to his grandmother and started crying. She hugged him and told him to calm down, and that she would make him some cedar tea. The boy went to his corner by the fireplace, and couldn't believe his eyes. There was his now-fixed mitigo-jiimaan, complete with tiny, ornate carvings along where the crack had been. Inside the canoe, he found his rock turned into a necklace. His grandmother told him that he should wear it every day, to remind him to always remember his asemaa.

Chi-miigwech for reading and sharing my story.

asemaa: tobacco

miigwetch: thank you

miigwan: feather

ookomisan: [his] grandmother

miinan: blueberries

memegwesiwag: little people (dwarf spirits)

mitigo-jiimaan: wooden canoe

Winter Writing Goal

The snow looks like it's here to stay this time, which means storytelling season is upon us. I'm going to push myself gabe-biboon to use this time for such. I think my goal is short stories with a moral and a sprinkle of anishinaabemowin. Something hopefully good and accesible to kids and reconnecting adults alike. gabe-biboon: all winter anishinaabemowin: the language

"My people will sleep for one hundred years, but when they awake, it will be the artists who give them their spirit back." - Louis Riel