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Nuu-chah-nulth culture in school curriculum
Amid COVID-19, Wickaninnish school’s arts program has shifted from performance projects to visual work
By Melissa Renwick Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
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Tofi no, BC - During art class at the Wickaninnish Community School in Tofi no, Dominic Hansen eagerly volunteered to introduce himself to his class. Despite having already been in school together for nearly three months, Hansen’s classmates listened to him attentively, as if they were hearing him for the fi rst time. In Nuu-chah-nulth, he shared his name, his parent’s names and where he comes from. Nuu-chah-nulth peoples commonly introduce themselves by sharing more than just their name, said Dani Stone, the school’s vice-principal and fi ne arts teacher. They describe where they have roots, the names of their parents and grandparents, as well as the territory they currently occupy. The formality is one Stone encourages the children to regularly practice. “It’s a way to make connections,” she said. “Identity is so important. Ultimately, we’re trying to help kids to be able to advocate for themselves – to know who they are.” Nuu-chah-nulth language and cultural teachings are woven into the school’s everyday curriculum. You’ll often hear Stone reminding her students to show “iisaak,” meaning respect, to each other. And instead of saying, “thank you,” at the end of the class, Stone will say its Nuu-chah-nulth translation, “kleco-kleco.” “It’s so important for kids to see themselves [and to] understand that we’re on Tla-o-qui-aht territory,” she said. Even the student’s art projects are entirely inspired by Nuu-chah-nulth culture. Under the guidance of Grace George, First Nations support worker for School District 70, Darlene Frank, the school’s Nuu-chah-nulth education worker, and Corinne Ortiz-Castro, Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation homeschool coordinator, the art classes integrate First Nations symbols and traditional sewing practices. Before COVID-19, Stone said the fi ne arts program consisted of more performance-based classes, such as music and drama. But when lockdowns and social distancing measures made it diffi cult for some children to regularly attend class, Stone said they needed to switch gears. “We were trying to build school community without being allowed to be together last year,” said Stone. By transitioning the focus to visual arts, Stone said it gave students a “place to enter wherever we were with our learning.” For students like Payton Black, the shift felt natural. The 10-year-old has been sewing for years after being taught by her grandmother. “When I’m nervous, I sew,” she said. “It’s fun.” The emphasis on visual arts has allowed students, like Black, to step into the spotlight and share their skills with friends, said Stone. Through a progression of increasingly more intricate art projects, Stone is trying to develop the student’s confi dence. They are building up to create a design that will be sewn onto the school’s regalia and left behind as a legacy piece. Many years ago, George told Stone that she dreamed of seeing the entire school dressed in regalia designed in the school’s colours while performing Nuu-chah-nulth dances for the entire community.
Photos by Melissa Renwick Grace George helps Grade 3-4 students with their art projects at the Wickaninnish Community School on Nov. 22. This year, Stone said, the school is working towards that goal. Community members and school staff have been sewing vests and shawls so that there is one for every student. While the gathering hinges on the situation surrounding COVID-19, Stone said she remains hopeful. “One day when we return back to a more normal time and we’re able to gather safely together, we hope to have our community come together to celebrate with us,” she said. Over the 28 years that George has been working as a First Nations support worker, she said she’s seen a big shift in the way the community and Nuu-chah-nulth peoples have embraced their culture. As recently as 10 years ago, George said that students wouldn’t identify themselves as being from Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation. “They just weren’t told,” she said. Now, even the most quiet and shy First Nations children say who they are “loud and proud,” George said. The 67-year-old never went to residential school, but her older brother, Billy, did. “He was really, really badly beaten,” she said. “But he never forgot the language.” Billy became her mentor when she began studying Indigenous language revitalization and profi ciency at the University of Victoria, where she recently graduated with a diploma. “When I started taking the language course, he couldn’t believe that he went from being beaten to being paid to teach me the language,” she said. “It’s really evolved and it’s so nice to see. Tofi no and this school have been really accepting of our language.” The Nuu-chah-nulth alphabet, which contains 46 letters, hangs on the white board at the front of the classroom. It’s not easy to learn, but George said some students picked up on the language “right away.” Eddie Dyrchs moved to Tofi no from Germany with his family three years ago. Because Nuu-chah-nulth and German share some of the same guttural sounds, George said the language has come to him easily. The nine-year-old said that Nuu-chahnulth reminds him of German and has been “really fun” to learn. “Land-based learning is so important,” said Stone. “That’s the stuff that really resonates with the kids.” Stone said she laments that she didn’t receive Nuu-chah-nulth teachings when she was in school. “I feel like I’m catching up as an adult,” she said. The vice-principal said she’s “blessed” to have received so many diff erent teachings from Nuu-chah-nulth members and education workers. It’s a gift she wants to share with her students. “I see the joy and pride on parents’ faces and kids’ faces when they learn those [cultural] pieces,” she said. “It helps to build connections within the students.”
(Above) Dominc Hansen, 9, sews sequins into a felt Christmas tree decoration. (Below) Darlene Frank, Wickaninnish Community School Nuu-chah-nulth education worker, shows a fi nished art project to Grade 3-4 students.
By Melissa Renwick Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
Bellingham, Wash. - Vina Brown has vivid memories of watching her granny, Elsie Robinson, bounce between soaking swamp grass, hanging cedar bark to dry, and weaving baskets while watching sports on the TV inside her Nanaimo home. There was a grace and ease in her technique that Brown said she absorbed without realizing it at the time. “The intergenerational transference of knowledge was organic,” she said. Putting her observations to the test, Brown would retreat into her bedroom where she created hand-strung jewelry that she sold at the local fl ea market. “I always had that entrepreneurial spirit,” she said. “Even as a child.” And yet, it wasn’t something that she tapped into until more recently. While studying her masters in Indigenous jurisprudence and Indigenous law at the Northwest Indian College in Washington state, the now 35-year-old was struggling to retain the material. “It was so dry,” she said. Thinking back to an appliqué beading class she had previously taken at the college when she was 26, Brown started beading as a way to stay focused. “I’m such a kinaesthetic person and learner that I needed to be in my body,” she said. The act of beading not only helped her absorb the information, but it brought her back to her childhood. She became inspired to create 200 pieces of beaded accessory jewelry over the following two years that would be gifted during a ceremony at her family’s potlatch in 2017. “That kind of launched me,” she said. “It was almost like my apprenticeship of feeling worthy enough to sell my art.” In 2019, Brown created her own jewelry line, Copper Canoe Woman. The designs blend her Nuu-chah-nulth and Haíłzaqv ancestry and culture. Her latest collection, ʕuy̓aałapʔiš naniiqsu, is dedicated to her granny. Inspired by Robinson’s weaving and basketry, the collection was made “to continue her legacy, her art and designs,” said Brown. Through her jewelry, Brown said she
Photos submitted by Copper Canoe Woman Vina Brown’s latest collection of pieces is dedicated to her grandmother, Elsie Robinson. Over the last few years she has developed her Copper Woman Canoe jewelry from her home in Washington State. hopes to transcend Robinson’s Ahousaht worldview into a modern context. “To bring her along on an energetic and metaphysical level,” she said. Using natural materials, such as cedar bark and abalone, each of one Brown’s designs has a story to tell. Traditionally, women artists were revered in Nuu-chah-nulth culture, she explained. “They were upheld to a high status because they were knowledge keepers,” she said. “Their designs weren’t random. Their designs were stories, they were history and they were proprietary to families.” Now, she said, it’s her responsibility to continue sharing those stories. “I don’t take that responsibility lightly,” she said. Her “light burst” earrings are an homage to that history – “to the depth and curiosity” of her granny, who used to study quantum physics. “She used to talk about the universe,” Brown recalled. “She used to say that when you break us all down, we are all light. We all come from the same energy.’” Robinson refused to settle for the “negative colonial narrative” that undermined the intelligence of Indigenous peoples, Brown said. “She went above and beyond to interrupt and connect us to thinking beyond what the physical eye can see,” Brown wrote, in a description about her light burst earrings. “Our ancestors understood physics, they understood time travel, and being able to travel faster than a beam of light, or expand beyond linear timelines. The evidence is in our stories and knowledge systems.” Despite being a master of her craft and highly respected within her community, Brown said Robinson’s work was not appreciated in the same way by mainstream society. Galleries and shops would give her insultingly low rates, which she accepted to care for her family. “She lived in a time where women were second-class citizens,” said Brown. “And if you were an Indigenous woman, you were even lower than that.” That reality limited access to Indigenous designers and artists, said Brown. “I’m so happy that this younger generation of youth has access to native designers,” she said. “We now have access to more ways to showcase our culture than we ever did in my day.” Copper Canoe Woman designs are bold in size and in their expression. They refl ect Brown’s personal taste, while also rejecting the suppression so many Indigenous artists continue to face. “I want [the jewelry] to be accessible to Indigenous people and all people of all socioeconomic backgrounds,” she said. Unlike her granny was able to, Brown said she is setting that scale. “I’m the one deciding how much my art is worth,” she said. “And that’s really empowering.” Through her jewelry, Brown said she hopes to help Indigenous and nonIndigenous people adorn themselves in a way that is deeply rooted in history and culture. “I want them to walk into that board meeting, or walk into their interview, or walk into a store and feel protected,” she said. “My late-granny used to say, ‘we wear shiny things when we go to potlatches or to parties to protect us – to refl ect negative energy.’ I really think about that when I’m making my pieces. These are protection pieces.”
Royal Roads University told Mowachaht/Muchalaht elder Lillian Howard of the recognition before her passing
By Denise Titian Ha-Shilth-Sa Reporter
Victoria, BC – An activist from a young age, Lillian Howard fought for the rights of Indigenous people - and for planet earth. She was a mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, relative, friend to many. She was a former co-chair for the Nuuchah-nulth Tribal Council representing the northern nations of Ka:’yu:’k’t’h’/ Che:k’tles7et’h’, Ehattesaht, Nuchatlaht and her home of Mowachaht/Muchalaht. Howard died in hospital in Vancouver on Oct. 30 with family by her side. Before her passing Howard learned that she was chosen to receive an honorary degree from her alma mater, Royal Roads University, where she graduated in 2007 with a MA in Environmental Education and Communication In fact, back in 2007, Professor Rick Kool, who delivered Howard’s citation, predicted that she would one day be honoured in this way. “In 2007, as she was nearing the completion of her MA thesis under the supervision of Professor Brian White, I wrote to our Vice-President Academic, Dr. Steve Grundy, that ‘Someday, RRU may see fi t to give her an honorary doctorate’,” stated Kool. That day came Nov. 19, 2021, in a prerecorded ceremony that was presented online during the Royal Roads University Fall 2021 Virtual Convocation. During the pre-recorded event a song was sung for Howard by Tseshaht member Jessica Sault. In his citation, Professor Kool said, “For fi ve decades, Lillian Howard was on the frontlines of advocacy for Indigenous people in B.C. and Canada. Lillian’s years of work and unwavering dedication will be recognized with an Honorary Doctor of Laws from Royal Roads University, during the 2021 fall convocation ceremony Nov. 19, 2021.” He noted that the honorary degree became offi cial before Howard’s passing. “There is comfort in knowing Lillian and her family could share in the knowledge of the special place Lillian always holds within the Royal Roads family. Her words, actions and fearless determination will live on and inspire others to follow
Photo supplied by Royal Roads University Lillian Howard was a lifelong advocate for Indigenous people. in her footsteps,” said Kool. He continued, “Hailing from the Yuquot Village, ‘the place where the winds blow from all directions,’ a member of the Mowachaht/Muchalaht First Nation of Nuu-chah-nulth, Kwakwaka’wakw and Tlingit ancestry, Lillian attended RRU in her fi fties, earning a Master of Arts in Environmental Education as part of the second-ever cohort of that program. But she had been a social and environmental advocate since the 1970s when she was involved in the McKenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry.” “The elders were wonderful teachers,” Lillian wrote in her 2007 thesis. “My great-grandmother had a keen interest in what was happening on land and environment. She believed in appreciating our roots and staying connected to the land.” “My great-grandparents taught me a lot about our people, lands and territories. They helped me to shape my interest in culture and history, the environment and the larger society. Both of my greatgrandparents… played a signifi cant role in building the foundation for my lifelong interest in Aboriginal, social and environmental matters,” she continued. Kool said that the 1980s saw her work with the Union of BC Indian Chiefs on a campaign to gain support for Indigenous rights, then become involved with treaty processes for several First Nations, including as co-chief negotiator for the Nuu-chah-nulth Framework Agreement. In later years Howard was vice co-chair of the Vancouver Urban Aboriginal Peoples Advisory Committee and sat on the Vancouver Police Department Aboriginal Advisory Committee. She also served on the Douglas College Aboriginal Advisory Committee (and as elder for Douglas’ Aboriginal Stream), the McCreary Centre Society advisory committee, the West Coast LEAF Aboriginal Advisory Committee, and the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra Indigenous Council. According to Kool, she belonged to the Butterfl ies in Spirit dance group, which raises awareness about missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls and two-spirit people. She was also the co-founder of the Uplifting Indigenous Families Fund, which raised money to assist families during and after the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. Lillian wrote that she attended the Christie and Mission Indian Residential Schools. “Attending the residential school had a traumatic eff ect on me,” she recalled. “I learned to cry silently. For the longest time, I felt deeply saddened about losing the ability to speak my Mowachaht language. I have accepted that dealing with issues arising from the institution is a lifelong healing journey.” Royal Roads said Lillian was a survivor and learned to build strength from her challenges. In 2019, she modelled for Vancouver Indigenous Fashion Week. In 2021 she was a speaker at Genome BC’s annual genomics forum alongside doctors Bonnie Henry and Anthony Fauci. She was also conference elder at the Indigenomics Institute’s Indigenomics by Design 2021 Conference. Lillian also shared her time as an advisor for Indigenous Health – Provincial Health Services Authority, provided support services for Indigenous women and families at the BC Women’s Hospital, and was a board member of EAGLE, or Environmental Aboriginal Guardianship through Law and Education. ReMatriate, a Canadian Indigenous women’s collective that uses social media to connect Indigenous peoples - particularly women - through art, showcased and recognized Lillian with a feature of her, for her tireless eff orts and dedication as a matriarch to uplift society. Lillian was a volunteer at the Aboriginal Front Door Society in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside community. She was recognized as an Indigenous woman leader by the University Women’s Club of Vancouver for her work on Canada 150+ as co-chair of the City of Vancouver’s Urban Aboriginal Advisory Committee. “Lillian Howard, you will be missed, yet your lifetime of actions has sown and nurtured strong roots across the country. Your contributions – to justice, health, environment and reconciliation – will be remembered and will go on to empower and awaken minds to Indigenous peoples’ rights long into the future,” said Professor Kool. Howard’s family held a celebration of her life in Vancouver on Nov. 22.
Lillian Howard, November 22, 1950–October 31, 2021
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Pronounced ‘Ka ka muq alt koo caa ugk e sue shild ish alth suu hilths pith yats pee e ilth e’, it means when the river gets too high, the salmon swim across the road. Supplied by ciisma.
