There has been a long history of resistance and alliance between people of African decent and Native people on Turtle Island / Canada. There has also been some strained relationships where racist stereotyping in both communities have prevented better collaboration and solidarity. Our special guest Janisse Browning joined us for a lively discussion about her experiences and thoughts on Black Canadian – First Nations relations.
Read Janisse’s poem here.
Land for Salt
In memory of Burnie Hurst
look:
on the outskirts of Windsor
across the table at a diner
near the bridge to Detroit
Grandpa tells how we lost our land
salt
he wants salt
points a thick, dark finger
at the glass shaker
cupped in my small, dark hand
listen:
the story is told
in deep, urgent whispers
before strokes and dementia
ransack Grandpas tired body
pepper
he gives me pepper,
slides a glass shaker
towards me without words
watch:
we trade
salt for pepper
like his Grandpa traded furs
for flour and sugar
coffee
a waitress smiles
refills our cups
leaves us two
conspiratorially
whispering, listening, trading
hear:
Grandpa says his peoples hunting grounds
were grabbed
were granted
to white men
as private property
flour
then had to be bought
sugar
then had to be bought
money
then had to be got
see:
we still survive
(Note: this poem was first published in the “Gulf Islands Gazette”, 2000)
2. intertribal
by Janisse Browning
at the first powwow in my hometown
that chance would have me go to
I see a young Black man
join his friends in the intertribal dance
in the large circle
his long dreadlocks fly
untamed like snakes set free,
bobbing through a hologram of heat-soaked dust
we are two
of a handful
of Black people on the powwow grounds
I think of joining the circle, too,
knowing my Indian ancestors
might have done the same
my feet begin to move
grass flattens softly
beneath the weight of my rubber-soled sneakers
but suddenly Im stopped
as the m.c. slips in a remark
about my dread-crowned friend:
come on out, folks
even Whoopi here is whoopin it up
my mind heaves through a wave
of childhood memories
when older folks warned us:
quit makin such a racket
yall sound like a bunch of wild Indians
my friend at the powwow
doesnt hear the m.c.s whimsical joke
or refuses to take it on
like I might,
but keeps moving through clouds of dust
making circles in the crabgrass,
his heart pounding in time
with the old drums
(Note: this poem was first published in “absinthe” magazine, 1997)
Suggested Links
http://web.mit.edu/wjohnson/www/kiaanafh/NCAI_pdf_Transcript.pdf
www.african-nativeamerican.com
http://www.harbourfrontcentre.com/noflash/mediaDisplay.php?id=91
www.africanamericans.com/BlackIndians.htm
www.rosecity.net/cherokee/blackindians.html
www.african-nativeamerican.com/
blackhistorypages.com/Black_Indians/
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