The Opposite of Divide and Conquer is Unite and Conquer

The opposite of divide and conquer
is unite and conquer
Sit and be divided or stand united
be as one and one no longer

The war against Mother Earth
must end
We fight until the win
Fight for the only thing

From Mother Earth
we all begin
To Mother Earth
we will return

Harper cuts like b-movie madman, but it's up to us to flip the script

No one can accuse the Harper government of causing death by a thousand cuts. The federal government is going after national and regional Native organizations like a B-Movie madman wielding a chainsaw. The recent announcement that the federal government is going to slash funding to Aboriginal Representative Organizations (ARO) has also caused the appropriate B-movie reaction. People are running and screaming and fearing for their professional lives.
The reaction is knee-jerk but it shouldn't be that surprising. Like any B-movie, this plot is thin and see-through. If you didn't see this coming following the election of a majority conservative government. You haven't seen enough movies.
Perhaps the  chiefs that make up the Assembly of First Nations thought that by re-electing Shawn Atleo as National Chief they could be spared some of the carnage. Atleo had faced re-election under accusations that his conciliatory style had made him far too cozy with the Harper government. His main challenge came from Pam Palmater who made that relationship the deciding factor in the campaign. In the end the chiefs in assembly decided to stay the course. Afterall, when the AFN had last elected a truly adversarial National Chief in Matthew Coon Come, the federal government responded by cutting the organization deeply.
As we have now found out, the choice of Atleo didn't make any difference. If the chiefs had really thought about the plot of the movie, they would have known better. You can't make friends with the guy wearing a goalie mask and carrying a butcher knife.
Now, I'm not really the guy that is going to defend the job that is being done by the ARO's. I've worked at the national level in Ottawa and have participated in those high level meetings. I've slept at the Four Seasons in those delicious King sized beds with 14 pillows of all shapes and sizes. I showed up at the morning meetings and went straight to the back of the room to help myself to those decadent oatmeal muffins that were spread out on a silver platter which were washed down with copious amounts of Starbucks coffee. I listened intently and took notes during the bi-lateral, tri-lateral, multi-lateral discussions that led up to the fruitless Kelowna Accord. I had travelled across the country and saw national leaders and executive sitting in first class as I headed to the back of the plane with the rest of the grunts and the wonks.
It never felt right to me. I couldn't accept the rationalization "why should we stay in cheap hotels if the government isn't?" If I could have wrapped my head around that idea I'm sure I would reaching out to you from a higher soapbox than the one I have today.
The current story doesn't only remind me of a b-movie it also makes me think of another story. Watership Down is the story of a group of rabbits that are looking for a new home after one of their prophets has visions of imminent destruction. In their travels the homeless rabbits come across another warren that appears to be utopia. Each day carrots and other vegetables are found dumped into the warren. The food is plentiful and requires no effort to attain. But something doesn't seem right to the homeless rabbits. The rabbits in their new home seem to be dazed, muted. They say they are happy, but they don't act that way. Just as the homeless rabbits begin to put their intuition aside and accept that this may be the home they've dreamed of, one of their own is caught in a snare. It appears that Man is keeping this warren for his own food supply and the free food is merely a way to fatten up the rabbits for slaughter.
This is what we are seeing manifest today. The food supply may be plentiful but there is a price to be paid at some point. One day the food can be taken away and after years of surrendering your survival skills how can you make it on your own.
What our story requires is that we go back to a grassroots movement, that energizes, inspires and empowers the people. There is no lesson of value that can be passed onto our children in making the claim, "the government took away our ability to speak and organize by cutting our funding and now there is nothing we can do".
This is the equivalent of hiding in the closet and screaming in the b-movie or turning away from your brother rabbit with the snare around his neck and saying, "there is nothing we can do, just turn away and forget it ever happened."
This is the point in which the story can be rewritten, this is the part of the movie where we can still flip the script. It wasn't that long ago when all these movements were created by the efforts of our elders, our parents and grandparents. There was no money back in the 1960's and 1970's. Everyone was working together for a common goal and against a common enemy. It was the creation of government sponsored advocacy groups that weakened that movement. Now, nobody does anything for free and everyone is looking at how the other one is getting paid. The pie is only so big and we can't afford to share it.
Yet, that is not the truth. In fact there are numerous activities, events and actions that take place all the time in all parts of the country that are not funded by the government. People travel to ceremonies and gatherings all the time with their own resources and with the support of family and friends. It is the way it's supposed to be and it is a movement that is growing exponentially. People pull together and make something out of nothing with the sheer force of their will and spirit. This is how its supposed to be. This is how it is. These people don't fear the government axe or the snare. If our leaders wish to lead they would go back to the example of their elders. They would be inspired by the movements taking place amongst their people and they would earn, not by vote, but by action the title of leader.

Birthday Bash Pt. 1

I could hear the voices careening through the bush. I was trying not to lose the trail, but I kept staggering off. I could hear my buddy Lil Joe. It was his laugh. That cackle he had since we were little. Deeper but still the same. Earlier in the day, during lunch hour, he told me that he was going to have a fire at his place.

“My parents are heading to the PowWow at God’s, I got the place to myself.” He laughed then, there wasn’t anything funny about what he said, but he laughed. I laughed in agreement but without understanding. “Come one, man!” he said. “It’s gonna be for you.” I looked at him with the same blank smile. “What? Why?” I asked.

“It’s your funeral.” Then he laughed hard, like the joke was real this time and really funny. “What do mean, man?” I asked. “Come on, MAN. Your birthday party,” said Lil Joe, “what are ya, dense?”

“Dense.” That was Lil Joe. He used the same phrases as his old man, even though, nobody else our age did. “My birthday was last week,” I said.

“Who gives a fuck? Shit man, I’m throwing a party in your honour, what the fuck is wrong with you.” There was no laughter, now. No smile. He was actually hurt. What the hell? Little Joe. Lil Joe. He was always going to be a kid. What else could I say? “Fuck, MAN. Fucking Rights. Yeah. FUCK. Man. Fuck Yeah.”

Lil Joe was the first person I remember knowing. Everyone one else was distant and running away. The youngest memory I have is of my mother leaving. All my memories of her are a repeat of the very first. One day Lil Joe was there and he had been there since. Even on family days like Christmas he would be the first person knocking on the door.

“Boy, it’s Lil Joe, go tell him you can come out but he can’t come in,” My mother said with a huff. Smoke pouring out with her words. She was tired now of Lil Joe, I can’t remember when that started. I hold up my Super Slider Sno Skates, she nods and smiles. I take off to the porch drop to the floor on my butt and start putting on my boots. I can picture myself flying across the snow on my Super Slider Sno Skates. On the tv commercial that they played every Sunday during the Wonderful World of Disney, the kids were just flying over the snow. Just laughing and smiling. Their cheeks bright red against their pale skin. So fun and fresh upon the snow in their Super Slider Sno Skates. Now, I have a pair.

I stopped tying my boot. I looked down upon my brown fingers. I held them up before my eyes. I could picture Old Granpa’s hands, fat and sausagey and black brown from the tips of his fingers all the way up his sleeve. The door banged again. I opened up. Lil Joe is standing there. Eyes are red. Puffy. “My fucking dad is beating up my mom.”

I can hear Lil Joe laughing large as I get closer to the fire. My arms are all scraped up and hot from thorn bushes.  The torn skin feels injected by poison like a wasp but not as hot. “Hey, Man, why doesn’t somebody shut this fucking asshole up.”

“Hey Man,” says Lil Joe turning. “Bout fucking time. You fucking asshole. We are already running out of beers.”

“What the fuck, MAN!”

"Ahhahaaahahahahaha. Ahhahaahahahaha."

Everybodys’ laughing with him. What a fucking dink. No fucking booze. All these people. Drinking up my beer. Fucking Lil Joe’s gotta squeeze $20 bucks outta me. For my party.  Now “we already running out of beers.” He’s not gonna fucking burn me again. Last time. That fucking laugh. He’s really hitting that girlish part. He hates when I do that. Mocking that girlish part. Ahhahaahahhahaha. Fucking dink.  The scratches are burning again. Reminding me that they are still there. Still fresh. Open skin and poison.

Lil Joe is toasting up his bottle and everyone else raises their bottles and turns towards me. A semi circle now formed one side of the fire and me directly across from Lil Joe on the other. “Lets have a toast for the Birthday boy, while we still have a beer. Lana can you get the guest of honour a beer.”

Lana Lynxleg. She moved here this summer. Her mom was from up north. She goes behind Lil Joe and then is back with a Club beer. She’s smiling. The bottle is cold in my hand. I can taste it already. How many more? Not the half case I was expecting. Fucking dink. He’s a fucking scammer. That Lana is pretty. She is still smiling at me. Look at Lil Joe. Fucking dink.

He cheers. Everyone cheers. The beer is good. So good. Throbbing scrapes on arms are cooling off. Fading. This tastes so good. He’s laughing again. At me, again.

“Look at this guy suck on that beer. Enjoy it. Ahhahaahahahaha.”

What a fucking dink. Lil Joe begins to wave his arms like Charlton Heston commanding the Red Sea to part. Lana steps to one side. A little closer to me. Just a little closer. Everyone moves. Lil Joe is now doing one of Showcase Showgirls from the Price is Right. In the parting of the semi-circle are three 2-4’s of Club stacked like an Olympic podium.

What else could I say? “Fuck, MAN. Fucking Rights. Yeah. FUCK. Man. Fuck Yeah.”

Language creates reality. Canada's Redskins.

You can see the debate over name Nepean Redskins in very simple terms. It is racist, change the name and logo. It is not racist, change nothing. In truth this is much more complicated and in many ways is the tip of the iceberg. What the people of Nepean should have realized when they changed the name of the football team is that the name Redskins represents the most racist tip of that iceberg.

Those who don't want to change it can make the claim that the name honours Native Peoples. There is truth to that side of the argument. It is one of those examples of stereotyping where other nationalities must think, what are they complaining about; I wish they would name sports teams after us. Afterall, no one wants to name a sports team after something that is weak.

In football, the most physical of all sports not called hockey, you want to have a name that is fierce. Undefeated.  In 1981, the Barrhaven Buccaneers decided that that the name would be the Nepean Redskins. The logo makes it obvious, that the choice was done to emulate one of the oldest NFL franchises and one that would be dominant in the 1980's, the Washington Redskins. The Redskins have been around since 1932 and had won two national championships in it's storied history before winning two Super Bowls in the eighties and one in the early nineties.

The Washington Team has also been public enemy number one in a decades long movement in the United States to end the practice of derogatory Native American sports team names. In the 1960's during the height of the civil rights movement, the National Congress of the American Indian began to call for an end to racist and demeaning team names and mascots. Little changed in the beginning but the work commenced. In the decades since the NCAI and tribal advocates worked to remove or change thousands of sports team names in the United States. In 2005, the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) the governing body of college athletics, formally condemned the use of disparaging mascots and banned the use of Indian names, logos and mascots during its championship tournaments.

It's hard to believe that the good people of Nepean were completely unaware that the name they had chosen was considered completely offensive and racist. It is not a name like Warriors or Braves where the argument can be made that this is a name based on power and strength, Redskins is literally about the color of one's skin. It also not possible for the people of Nepean to claim some kind of ignorance based on isolation in some backwater hinterland. Nepean is located in the National Capital Region. It is essentially a suburb of Ottawa. The capital of Canada. These people had cushy jobs and access to the best education system in Canada. Yet, they did not know that the name Redskin was unacceptable.

A recent petition to the United States government co-sponsored by respected Lakota publisher Tim Giago calls it our "N-word". The petition submitted to the U.S. Senate and the House of Representives states, "To most American Indians it is absolutely abhorrent for a professional football team to use the color of their skin as their team mascot. As a matter of fact, we oftentimes refer to the mascot of the Washington professional football team as the R word because to us it is as hideous as the N word is to African Americans."

Language creates reality. What is acceptable in language is accepted in reality. In Nepean they have to face up to the reality that they have a racist name and nothing they can say is going to change that.