What means "political"?

I can't tell you exactly when it started to piss me off.

I considered myself someone who was proud to be political. Many of our respected leaders in Native communities are political people, Chiefs, though they didn't necessarily always think of themselves that way - and maybe some still don't. But lately, I've been wondering: what exactly does it mean to "be political"? And why, more and more increasingly, am I becoming annoyed when people use that term in relation to Native-ness?

A well-respected Elder from my community, Grandfather William Commanda (as well as other Elders), has said: "All First Nations people are born into politics." And I understand what he means. Our history of colonization, being born as a status or non-status Indian, being born a land beneficiary or treaty signatory, etc. are all examples of how an Anishinabe baby "is political."

But lately, I find myself wanting to respond: "Take your 'political' and shove it!"(And, for anyone who knows me IRL, I really am not that vulgar!)

A few examples...

Number one. I am taking a fiction writing workshop this summer at the university where I studied and work. It's great, tonnes of fun. I cannot make this statement with full certainty, but based on voluntary self-identification, I seem to be the only non-white person in my class. A lot of my writing could be classified as "Native literature."

We all take turns bringing stories or chapters of novels in for the class to critique. The story I brought was about a brother and sister who move to the city from the rez, play bingo, and deal with issues like poverty, racism and homelessness.

"A lot of well-known Native writers, like Sherman Alexie and Tomson Highway, have political undertones in their work," begins the writing workshop instructor in his introduction to my piece. "Mallory, what is your story about?"

Politics, apparently. "Ummm... I guess it's about siblings... A brother and sister who want to make something of themselves, and move off the rez and encounter, uh, barriers." I totally stumble all over my words.

The message to the class: Indian stories are political.

Number two. I'm watching my boyfriend R.J.'s baseball game Monday night. There's a bigger fan section than on most evenings, and it includes a player's father. It's a nice night, we're both in a good mood, and we begin making chitchat.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"Out east, Newfoundland," he responds. "This is my first time visiting my son in Ottawa."

"That must be nice," I say flatly, unsure of where to go from here.

"Are you from Ottawa? Where do you work?"

"I'm from the Ottawa area. I grew up about an hour and a half outside of the city. I work at the university."

"Oh." He sounds impressed. "And what do you do there?"

"I work in the Aboriginal Centre."

A freighter truck passes on the road next to the baseball diamond and muffles his words. But I hear most of them: "...most universities have that... political thing, I guess."

His understanding of essential programs and services for Native students: political.

I'm beginning to get the sense that being called "political" isn't such a great thing after all.

If "Native problems"--poverty, transitions, land claims, missing and murdered women, languages--are deemed political rather than, say, human rights issues, then your average Canadian doesn't need to worry, right? Not really, because it's a political issue to be dealt with by the politicians. It's not a human right that humans need to be concerned about and that should be immediately resolved.

I was at the Indigenous Feminisms Rock! talk show/concert a few weeks ago hosted by Jessica Yee and something she said really struck me: "I don't debate human rights, I just defend them." Isn't that what we should all be doing? As soon as an issue that relates to Indigenous peoples comes up, the "political" label is slapped onto it and it becomes a topic for debate. It's not a human rights issue, where there exists an absolute right or wrong, but a political issue where there is a lot of grey area.

Nowadays, whenever anyone says anything to me along the lines of "you are political," I cringe. Soon, after I work through this, I'll respond.

It's complicated

My first post was punctuated by an unanticipated separation from my Macbook – well, more importantly, its connection to the internet.

I just returned from a long weekend spent in my boyfriend’s community, Bkejwanong (Walpole Island First Nation). The trip was too short, as it always is, but was certainly worth the approximate eight hour drive (one way). Whether or not we can term these visits as ‘vacations’ is an ongoing debate between me and my boyfriend (for now, I will call him ‘R.J.’). Although relaxation isn’t always on the agenda, other essential criteria are met, such as being away from home and, the big one, having fun.

As usual, it was a great trip. Some highlights included my customary trip across the (artificial and imposed) border* for shopping and eats; attending my first toonie auction, where I bid on a BBQ and a patio set for my new apartment (but unfortunately didn’t win); renting It’s Complicated, which I totally loved, the old-fashioned way at the video store; and, last but certainly not least, capturing photos of the swans who live on the river.

Actually, I think I will show, rather than just tell, you what I did this weekend and some of the things I love about these vacations/trips/visits/term-TBD:

1. Poncho's

Poncho's delicious and cheap menu

Taco (my fave!) and tostada

Marg

I am convinced that this is one of the best kept secrets on Turtle Island. We eat there on every trip. Located in New Baltimore, Michigan, Poncho's is a family owned and operated Mexican restaurant. They make their own tortillas and serve everything straight out of the oven. For $9 I got Combination #2, which included nachos smothered in cheese, a taco and a tostada, and enchiladas, beans, and rice (the entree). And the margaritas aren't so bad either.

2. R.J.’s family

Without a doubt, R.J.’s family are the most kind-hearted people I have met (barring my own family, of course!). I have always been somewhat shy, so it takes a lot for me to bond with those outside of my immediate circle. But, from the time I met them almost two years ago, R.J.’s family has treated me with kindness, love, and respect. They are what make the 16-hour trip bearable.

3. The land

Willow Beach

Swans on the St. Clair River

Teeny tiny turtles

The land upon which Bkejwanong sits is breath-taking. On my first visit, I was absolutely stunned by how gorgeous the water is. Up until that point, I thought only the ocean could be so blue. A lot of the land is marsh and swamp (so they don’t have basements – I used to find that weird!), which could be why they have so many diverse types of trees and plants, including weeping willows. Quite a change from the pines and maples down in my neck of the woods.

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Disclaimer time: I don’t want to glorify or glamourize life on the reserve. It’s hard. As R.J. and I were curled up on recliners at his parents’ house watching It’s Complicated, we heard a loud noise. It sounded to me like firecrackers. Soon after, the phone rang. As it turned out, R.J.’s uncle’s was shot at with an automatic weapon. R.J.’s uncle described the shooter, his neighbour, as a “good kid” with whom he’d always gotten along. And now this good kid being criminally charged.

Empty shells

The issues in our communities are complex and inextricable. But I choose to focus on the good times and memories of R.J.’s community this weekend, my own community, and our communities across Turtle Island. The strength, dignity, and resilience of our peoples is immense. Sharing laughs and good conversation over a cup of coffee on the front porch is much more powerful than a shot in the dark.

*Note: I use my 'expired' Indian status card as a tiny form of resistance. Did I stop being an Indian in February 2009? Although even having the card opens up an entirely separate debate I will save for another day.