Wisdoms from human kinships

Human kinships are important to Métis as these relationships provide contexts for us to experience who we are becoming and affirming. As complex beings perhaps the most well practiced human activity is trying to understand ourselves in our closest relationships. For our research collective, our stories revealed the importance of understanding our human connections through our interactions and experiences with family and community. Human relationships are the microcosms that assist in understanding the practices we enact, as Métis, in the city. As we honed into our practices, we could not untether ourselves from the relationships that surround our lives. For each of us, we had to scan the past to see into our present, to see the cultural continuity of our ancestral lines into our daily practices.

The human relationships include both the living and the dead. We understand that often the clues to who we are are in the stories of our ancestors who have gone into the spirit world. Sitting with those relatives, through pictures, memories, or dreams to discern what inheritances we are living out is key to our self-understandings. We inherit the legacy of kayash paarantii, long ago relatives, even though it may not be synonymous with how our ancestors enacted their practices or how we enact ours today. In the sections below, I share wisdoms that I internalized through listening to my Métis relatives in sharing how human kinships impacted each of them. For me, these discussions revealed pivotal insights that allowed me to formulate wisdoms that were initially not in my purview but when I engaged into a relationship with them, they were a catalyst to how I related to the research.

Self

Itootamihk / Practice

One of my initial wisdoms was a humbling realization about the question I posed to guide my inquiry. The word, practice, was key to my research inquiry as I understood it to be viewing our micro-movements that enliven the continual process of becoming Métis. As the first gathering arrived, I was naively eager to dive into dialogue with other Métis to hear about their own practices. In first conceptualizing the inquiry, I assumed that the individuals would join the research and from the onset have stories to share about their practices. However, I did not consider that because I had been thinking and reflecting on this as part of my research for a few years, that I may have been naive and too enthusiastic in my expectations. From the onset, I noticed that the research question, and more specifically the term practice, was causing reticence for some individuals. As we sat together, sharing our family kinship lines, meeting ‘new’ relatives, I appraised that honing-in on our practices seemed like a new conversation for people. Over the first month of the inquiry, I recognized that not everyone practices openly, is aware that they are practicing, or are cognizant of what practices are Métis. Moreover, because we’re moving through the systematic impacts of colonization, layered with some being taught it has not been acceptable to be Métis, people were somewhat confounded when I asked them to tell me how they practice their Métisness. Many vocalized that they had not thought about it before, and more specifically, that it was the acute mundane acts of their everyday lives that seemed difficult to pinpoint. Some people had a hard time bringing themselves into the conversation because they were taught, or their ancestors modelled shame in being Métis. One participant, Patricia, commented that her hesitancy arose from her worry that she might be practicing Métisness in the wrong way; this sentiment was affirmed by other kin in our circle. The conversation led into essentialized notions of Métisness, specifically – the sash and jigging. These enactments are practices of Métisness, but not the only ones; it became evident that this inquiry may provide a deeper and nuanced repertoire of how we practice our self-understandings in spaces and places as to illustrate the multi-faceted nature of being and becoming Métis.

Practice, or what Métis Elder, Elmer Ghostkeeper (2007) may deem as ritual, “is the repeated patterns of Métis behaviour, created by ideas, beliefs, values, feelings, etc., using the aspects of their mind and emotion, in order to make a living” (pp. 10-11). The Michif phrase kahkiihtwaam itootamihk means, repeatedly doing, or practice. Repeating behaviours create patterns, and perhaps, meaning in one’s life. This aligns with Elder Ghostkeeper’s (2007) notion of ritual as what we do day-to-day, how we live our lives defines who we are. Our day-to-day patterns can be implicit, invisible to us, or buried in our busy schedules which can hinder our awareness and consideration of how we live our lives as Métis. Becoming Métis is generative, operative, and relational (Brubaker and Cooper 2000); our attention requires us to be attuned to what is alive in our experiences. This inquiry became a process of making living experiences explicit, exposing how we move through the world in specific ways and how we are connected to “living lineage” (Gaudry, 2018, p. 164). The criticality of explicating what is alive in our experiences cannot be understated at a time when Indigeneity has become a commodity, especially for persons claiming to be Metis who are not. The phrase kahkiihtwaam itootamihk is a verb, there is an animacy that is insinuated, people cannot suddenly become Métis because they have mixed cultural influences. As Métis scholars have worked diligently to assert our practices are inherently tethered to existing communities from inheriting a “living lineage” (Gaudry, 2018, p. 164) that has been continuous through generations (Andersen, 2014; Flaminio, Gaudet and Dorion, 2020; Laliberte, 2013). Making practices explicit will help us build our repertoire of the beautiful tapestry of Métis lifeways. We have the practices, we need to remember and reclaim where we have come from, what we carry within us, while simultaneously living our own experiences.   

The rhythm of our practices are the pulses that keep us alive, metaphorically and literally. The pulsating of our movements causes a frequency over time (Lefebvre, 2013). French theorist, Henri Lefebvre (2013) in his theorizing of rhythmanalysis aligns with Ghostkeeper’s (2007) ritual in that practices need to be repetitive and further, they need to be consistent to be ‘measured’. However, “our sensations and perceptions, in fully and continuous appearances, contain repetitive figures, concealing them…we contain ourselves by concealing the diversity of our rhythms” (Lefebvre, 2013, p. 20). The mundaneness of our practices conceals them from being visible therefore, opportunities to explicate, with others, is crucial to expose the “diversity of our rhythms” (20).  Strong and consistent frequencies are needed to ensure that our practices endure and are continuous through generations. At times, the pulse of our practices that carry our cultural knowledge and understanding, have been faint, yet not absent, they are still there. The more we understand ourselves as Métis through our practices, the more we can illuminate the aliveness of our experiences thus provoking a capacity for miyo pimatisiwin – a good life. Coming into this inquiry, I already knew that many Métis, in cities, are living good lives, and it is these stories that need to be told!

Soul atrophy

Explicating our lived practices relied on the method of capturing photographs of everyday moments of practice. For many of the individuals in the inquiry, this was the first time they were sharing their stories – and for some, the first time they had reflected on the stories to ascertain how their own practices expressed their Métisness. In seeing and feeling this, I began thinking about how putting down our stories has the potential to place us in arrhythmia, in soul atrophy. Soul atrophy is a suitable phrase as it suggests a lack of nourishment, or lack of sustenance to ensure generation of the entity (Oxford University Press 2020). It is also akin to having an imbalance as we are out of sync with the natural rhythms of life, of who we are (Absolon, 2019). If stories are all we are (King, 2003), then who are we without our stories? Practicing and telling our stories is the nourishment we need to generate our identity, to become Métis. Soul atrophy – and how I understand this from our research collective – is living our lives in ways that do not align or foster our inherent self and, ultimately, hinders our capacity to manifest the greatest expression of who we are meant to be. Soul atrophy, living our lives in arrhythmia, causes trauma when you are forced to relinquish who you are, to try to live a life that and does not align with your life force (Burley, 2013; Duran, 2006). Coming into the circle was felt like electric revelations as they came into rhythm with their truest self.

One of my Métis kin, Charmaine, stated during one of our last gatherings, “It’s been very spiritual. Seeing everyone’s pictures, I can relate, I am enough that way, hearing everyone’s stories solidifies that. I’m open to myself, being okay with the past and family, using the city to reconnect, it’s not where you are but about spirituality. It’s been very spiritual for me in all of this, talking with everyone, I’m open to myself, be okay, felt ashamed before”.  This work did not intend to focus on the healing of trauma through sharing of our practices but in the telling of our stories healing occurred. Importantly, as articulated previously, because the smudge requires of us to be truthful, which enacts omanii -- “real spirit talk” and aachimooshtowihk — sharing our truth, we are connecting to our spirit and expressing what needs to be said is healing. Picking up our stories is healing, the telling of our stories, seeing and honouring the Métisness in our every day practices is an effort for rhythm. Contexts are needed, where it is safe to be ourselves, to explore and have dialogue of becoming Métis, to pick up our stories, and come into relationship with ourselves, our kin, our ancestors – miyo pimatisiwin – live a good life.

Practicing telling our stories

We have been forced by colonizing logics and tactics, sometimes overtly and other times covertly, to put down our knowledge, language, and practices to assimilate into the colonial system (Logan, 2015). ‘Putting down’ can manifest in different ways for different Métis people and communities. In a talk given through the University of Calgary, Michif Elder, Maria Campbell (2021) discussed the act of “putting down our stories and our language because of colonial strategies; she stresses that we never did ‘lose’ our language or our stories; we were forced to put them down in order to serve the colonizers, never to serve ourselves” (Michif, personal communication, January 13, 2021). I have been extremely grateful to be raised knowing I was Métis, to have a connection to Boggy Creek, Manitoba, and to have relationships within the Calgary Métis community. I understand that many Métis do not have these experiences because their ancestors chose to put down who they were for varying reason. I often hear from fellow Métis that their familial ancestral stories were never told, I can see this in my own family – this is synonymous with putting down or setting down who we are. Unfortunately, at that time, our relatives thought that it was serving us. Like my Auntie Mary discusses in my master’s thesis, she thought, in the 50’s, that not teaching her children Michif would benefit them because she believed it hindered their success in society (Bouvier, 2016). But now, decades later, she regrets not teaching them. When Maria spoke about this, I was brought back my doctoral inquiry, to the stories that my Métis kin shared with me during our gatherings. From the onset, it was strikingly apparent that many of those in our circle, and their families, had put down their stories.

The wisdom, practicing telling our stories, came to me during the first gathering. As we came together and began getting to know each other, comments reverberated pointing to the importance of Métis places for folks to come together to share stories. I sensed that my Métis kin needed to come into relationship with their own stories and experiences before they could share them. One individual in particular, Bob, was having trouble ‘finding’ the practices in his life. He had reached out to me to see if we could get together for a visit. When we got together, he shared with me a reflection video; he was articulating the difficulty of seeing the everyday practices because he had to renew his relationship with the past as a means to transpose his own actions. Bob, in sharing with the research collective, discussed that in growing up as a child, he was not taught by his grandmother how to ‘pay attention’, to what constitutes Métis practices. This was felt by the other individuals in the group. Robin Wall Kimmerer (2013) provides a mode to be more attentive to our practices, “ceremonies large and small have the power to focus attention to a way of living awake in the world” (p. 36). I learned from Bob, and others, that the stories of our ancestors need to be told in order to see what is alive in our experiences; practices are relational and indicative of our inherited existence.

Kimmerer (2013), in referring to ceremonies, does not imply them as synonymous to those conducted in sacred ways, but more of how Elmer Ghostkeeper (2007) describes ceremony, “the physical movement of the aspect of the body performed by the Métis in order to make a living” (p. 10). In this way, both Ghostkeeper (2007) and Kimmerer (2013) are insinuating consistent actions that are bound to worldview that then call for us to notice how we are invoking our worldview daily. Moreover, this affirmed the collectivity and importance of kinship in understanding oneself and our place within community (Graveline, 1998; Maracle, 2015). For us dwelling in Calgary, this was of particular importance because the collective dialogue of our daily experiences allowed us to understand that we are not alone and indeed have a kinship circle in the city. One individual spoke of the need to ‘find’ community in Calgary in order to feel a sense of belonging. It takes a collective orientation to determine cultural practices; as individuals, we cannot determine this on our own and in isolation. We needed to come together and begin to talk about our own practical ways in which we express ourselves, while using each other as a mirror to determine what is ‘like me’. At the beginning of the inquiry, I was unaware of the power that such a process could invoke. Not only was I creating a context for us to practice telling our stories, but the act of telling was the sinew that was pulling our small research community together. The telling of our stories became a ceremony “a vehicle for belonging—to a family, to a people, and to the land” (Wall Kimmerer, 2013, 37).

“Picking up what was stolen from us”

As shared in the previous section, the individuals in our circle went through a process of tapping into their own personal stories as a way to see the larger relational web that they are a part of and enact in the urban environment. Living in the city, has potential to both disconnect and reconnect us to our lived realities as Métis. Although the city can be viewed as a place that is incongruent with Indigenous knowledges and cultures, the participants in the circle tried to flow with the city and use the environment to practice who they are. We were all born in cities, Calgary, Winnipeg, Prince Albert, and grew up with the urban milieu. From the beginning of the inquiry, the role of our relationships with our human relatives was where we saw our practices manifest.

As most of us felt disconnected from our relationships at various times in our lives, we were all committed to reconnecting with our selves in order to be able to heal from our past traumas which subsequently allowed us to interact with our kin in healthier ways. Having ruptured relationships whether from displacement, fraught connections, trauma, or internalized colonization, we all had practices of healing those ruptures.

Growing up away from our Métis communities, all living in Treaty 7 territory, pushed us to construct practices to renew and affirm our self-understandings. Having ways to tangibly and intangibly connect was important. Searching for information on our ancestors and family history allowed us to know of our place within a larger historical context. Books, historical landmarks and places, conversations with family members became regular practices of our processes for becoming Métis. Each one of us knew that we were Métis all our lives and each one of us has different experiences with our identity. These different experiences were influenced by what people taught us about our people, or how people instructed us to be. Despite of those influences, whether positive or negative, we were all insistent on being involved and connected.

Tangible practices included beading, weaving, making medicinal remedies, or retracing our physical lineage in our ancestral homelands. These physical practices allowed us to create items that reflected who we are and the knowledge that informs our actions. As people who live in the territory of the Blackfoot, Stoney Nakoda, and Dene Nations, we are formed by their knowledge as well as our Métis understandings. For example, protocols for harvesting or for inquiring with Elders have been shared with us as too build respectful relationships with the human and more-than-human beings of this place. Internalizing these practices does not negate who we are as Métis. Historically, the mode of relationship building would be to abide by the protocols and practices of the territory that you lived within, or were visiting. This is no difference. Individuals in the circle grew up out of their Métis communities, thus the teachings of Elders in the territories where they live often were the primary access for knowledge.

Métis individuals have told me that smudging is not Métis, it is First Nations. This negates the cultural lineages of our grandmothers and grandfathers and creates a slippery slope of saying what is and what is not Metis practices. Cree scholar, Robert Innes (2013), describes nicely the kinship network of the Métis in the communities of Saskatchewan and Manitoba and the permeable nature of our kinship systems. The philosophical underpinnings of the Métis phrase, wahkohtowin, is “to be in relationship with all living beings”. The ways in which we build and solidify relationships are through participating in the ceremonies and practices of the people who come from the land that we live on. My Blackfoot name, Ikkiwa, was important to my relationship with Reg. Does this make me less Métis, no; I believe it to strengthen my self of self. I have however, been criticized for relying too much on Blackfoot teachings. I find this insulting, particularly when I have grown up in this place and have been guided in relational ways, especially after my father died.

Through the Indian Act and the Halfbreed Commission, the government strived to create riffs in our own family networks so there would not be any unification and coalescing of forces (Fiola, 2015), in some ways this worked, particularly when we start disconnecting ourselves from the very lineages that gave us the blood that runs through us and start believing the colonial propaganda. Our inquiry discussions included the detriment of shame and trauma to our self-understandings and our practices. Not only have we inherited the cultural lineage of our ancestors, we have inherited the shame and trauma too.

“Shame hinders practice, Métis is many things. Love ourselves, starts from the heart” (Edmee)

As Patricia articulated, “Putting down what was thrust on us” so we do not transfer those hurts to future generations is important. At moments during peoples sharing, shame was a commonality in lived experiences. “Unnamed shame” (Patricia) seemed to be a common practice for ourselves and/or family members. The practice of shame, manifested in the diverse manners. Shame was seen in denial, anger, silence, substance abuse, depression, and mental health. Through the practice of sharing our stories with each other, shame lessened it’s grip on our lives. Seeing ourselves as part of small collective, with shared experiences assisted in putting down what no longer belongs to us (Patricia).

Healing through movement 

Another physical practice is movement with the body. Beading and weaving are both physical, but they are isolated are use specific small motor movements. Moving our whole bodies is important to our connections to the urban environment. Hiphop dance, walking with dogs, walking along the bow river, or even playing in the bush, are all practices we identified. Movement, for us, was part of the healing and to connect ourselves to the contexts that we operate within. Berkley shared about the cathartic nature of “letting your body flow with rhythm and music”. This reminded me of the story told to by Elder, Doreen Bergum, during my master’s research, “finally I could jig at, the Métis function that I could release the energy plus feel at home and comfortable in that environment” (Bouvier, 2016, p. 73). Like Berkley, the jigging allowed Doreen to release all the emotions she had been carrying that hindered her ability to fully embrace herself as Métis. For Doreen, jigging was the practice that allowed her to connect to who she is, for Berkley, she yearns to move not only to be physically active, but to move through our emotions and feelings that we carry that might hold us back if we don’t.

Faamii (family)

Bob needed to rely on the memories of his grandmother and her practices raising him and her own behaviours as a Métis woman. His first video articulated the importance of sifting through memories in order to place himself within a continuity that he had never thought about. This was a practice of other kin in the circle. Each of us shared of family activities or moments that were stored as memories and now utilized for assessing their own practices.

The memories of families are important because the memories that our parents and grandparents hold were not necessarily shared with us. “In thinking these things through, I came to realize that I was brought up with Métis values, because no one ever told me” (Sharon). Others were instructed not to talk about their Métisness however, through the sharing of the individuals, families continued practicing who they were, but it was never articulated as cultural. Even though their cultural ethos was never spoken about, it was evident that it was reflected through the actions of our relatives and moreover, we could see these enactments have transcended time and exist in our lives.

The memories that people carry are an imperative vehicle for seeing their own practices. Memories are critical in the continuation of our self-understandings, knowledge, and relationships. Even more so, collective sharing of memories is important to solidify a cultural milieu. Members of the collective shared that for them, prior to the gathering, they felt they were practicing their self-understandings in siloes, feeling as they were the only one who practiced in the manners that they did. Having a collective sharing, illustrated to them that they were part of a larger legacy. Seeing our practices reflected in others outside of our immediate circles provided our stories purpose and a source of agency to live as Métis.

Nutr wahkomakanak (our relatives)

Our relatives are our cultural lineage, they inform who we are and transfer cultural understandings to us so we can live our heritages. Reg affirmed for us, “The old people were grandparents, [we] relate to the old people for information and cultural transfer” (Reg). This affirmed our conversations about Métis understandings of relatives. For Berkley, seen in the adjacent video, speaks to the relationship with her friend’s son. Her friend passed away and because of her relationship she ‘adopted’ the boy as her nephew; “I’m not his Auntie, but I’m his Auntie”. This phrase was understood in the group and acknowledged as a practice that we recognize as Métis. The relational connection was solidified not by biology but by the responsibility to care and love one another. Berkley shared of her time with Maria Campbell when she visited the Elder to hear stories of her great uncle, James (Jim) Brady. Maria told her that there is no word for uncle in Cree and calling him mosom is more appropriate. Understanding relationships through the English language limits who are relatives can be. This is of particular importance, especially when some of us have lost loved one, or live away from our relatives, we are taken in by others around us and become relatives. In our first gathering, Graham spoke about relational connections, shakihi (love), this is the glue that binds our relationships. The connections with others and having kinship where we live is so important in the city as many of us rely on them for our cultural sustenance and continuity.

These ‘adoptions’ occur across cultural differences as well; it is not isolated to our Métis kin. I shared with the collective that since both my parents went on to the spirit world several years ago, I have been taken in my individuals who have treated me like a daughter and my boy like a grandson. If I was in a Métis specific community, this likely would have been a natural process. Living in the city, away from a Métis specific context, I have formed beautiful relationships with Blackfoot, Cree, Anishinaabe, these too have informed my self-understandings and continue to be a practice. I appreciated hearing Rose speak at one gathering as she connected to Charmaine’s story about her great grandfather, Justin Larocque, “there is some Larocque’s from Hobbema, because my dad was in the army, this old man took my father as his son and he was a Larocque, they used to come to our camp, and could only speak Cree, so we started picking up Cree”. A little later in the conversation, Rose shared with me, “my cousin was married to a Bouvier from the Northwest Territories”. As we share stories, we realize we are all connected to each other and in these stories, we find our relatives.

At our first gathering, in meeting each other and sharing our family names, we found relatives that we have not meet before. There is always delight in finding kin in the city that you did not know you had. For me, this research gave me a beautiful gift in finding a cousin that I did know was in the city until she contacted me for this inquiry. Charmaine is Bouvier from Boggy Creek. Unknowing to me, our dads were cousins and used to visit each other in the city. Family names if often the first way to place yourself within a network of relatives and of a cultural legacy. In the community, I am asked who my parents are, and by hearing their names they will place me in relationship to them and will often share stories of their memories with them, similar the way that Rose placed Larocque and Bouvier in her context. Patricia shared her relative, Jimmy Jock Bird, and how, depending on where she goes, could easily be related to everyone!

Naming our kinship lineage has been a practice in the city to link ourselves to others, and to find our relatives. Even more so, having family names has become an instrument to research our history through scholarship and historical documents. Having silence around family histories stifles progress in knowing who we are, thus, family names is the doorway for seeking historical lines. For myself, family names have been instrumental in researching family involvement and contexts. For Devonn, “reading was an avenue but not a substitute for learning about community…in the absence of [people] stories and books became a way to tap into [knowledge]”. The practice of placing ourselves in a context through names cannot be understated. But, like Métis scholar, Adam Gaudry (2019), has stated, there has to be a connection to living lineage and we cannot rely solely on the dead. Relying on our familial names must link us to what is alive in our experiences.

Diversity in our families and communities

Within our families and communities, Métis people are diverse in their appearances, practices, beliefs, languages, and lifeways. In our group, for example, we are all diverse in age, place of birth, ancestral lineage, languages, and how we grew up. There are similarities and intersections between us all, but we resemble the diversity that exists within Métis people. In my master’s research, I discuss the implications different skin colours can have in our families and how those produce divergent experiences (Bouvier, 2016). As seen on the adjacent two pictures, diversity threads together a collective. In our gatherings we discussed being treated differently based on how we look creating a challenge to be yourself as people try to define who you are. It is easy to get caught in a trap of essentializing Métisness, or even Indigeneity. In the previous section, I refer to the term ‘practice’ and how it invoked insecurity with individuals because they assumed we had to physically show Métisness and they might be wrong in their practices. Practicing authenticity is becoming Métis. I was not looking for cookie cutter modes, but for practices that and synonymous with how our ancestors and relatives lived their lives.

As we move and adapt to the environment as our ‘new’ contexts, our practices will also adapt and diversify. This does not lessen who we are but provides nuances to an old culture in contemporary times. The more we find ways to rupture our relationships, we all suffer. The process of colonization has impacted Métis people in a various ways and degrees. Explicating these processes while simultaneously storying our ancestral customs, will be our way to authenticity. Finding collectivity regardless of our differences is needed to solidify community in the urban environment.

Community

Support for each other

Contributing to the larger broader Métis community was a practice that we all expressed as an innate quality of our Métisness. We saw our gifts as a contributing to the wellness of others. The larger community was conceptualized in different ways, for example, the community of Métis women, Elders, or members of our local community. Practicing reciprocity was important to us and felt that this was an important aspect of living in the city. A story that I have shared many times is of the last conversation I had with my dad as we talked over our breakfast at Phil’s restaurant. He reminisced about the community orientation where he grew up talking of how each family would contribute what they had to others, it could be material goods, or skills that would help others. Matt shared a saying his grandmother embodied, “You give when you have, take when you need”. He went on to share his own view, “it’s not an account balance”. This sentiment was shared with the group. Both Charmaine and Devonn articulated that they practice gifting and regifting, the idea that if you have too much, you share. Reciprocity through gifting is a practice that is set in the value that you share without expecting anything in return.

We are scattered in different neighbourhoods and parts of the city however, a way to stay connected and in relationship is by giving back to community. Physically helping to plan for an Elders gathering, or supporting women in their careers and academic aspirations, or growing food to distribute at the end of season are all exemplifying reciprocity. Choosing how we volunteer or what career path we take is also part of community contributions. Each of us, whether being a hairstylist, police officer, Métis local volunteer, or weaving sashes, wants to live the value of reciprocity in our work. As affirmed by Devonn, “Connecting and giving back to community, if that was taken away, everything else wouldn’t seem as important” (Devonn)

 Métis specific contexts

I distinctly remember driving home on the eve of the first gathering and feeling that one of the key practices for Métis in the city is creating and maintaining Métis specific contexts. For many of the individuals, the gathering was one of the few times they have experienced sharing their experiences in a context of solely Métis people and with the focus on Métisness. Other experiences of events in the city would include a diversity of Indigenous people and often, from their perspectives, they felt their voices were not valued as much as others. As Métis, we believe that we have distinct experiences based on who we are and our historicity, but because we may not look the same, or have the same legacy as other Indigenous people, our experiences are less valuable. This causes dissonance for us in the city and provokes thoughts that we are not Indigenous enough. I have faced the question, “how much Métis are you?” many times, which does not bolster one’s self-assurance. As a collective we talked about the issue of blood quantum and how this pervades the issue of we are defined by a government rule, rather than how we live our lives and what are cultural lineage is.

There is a “hunger to be heard” (Patricia) and for this reason, a context is needed where people can understand the complexities of our lived realities. As articulated in the section above, practicing telling our stories is critical, but we need a safe place to do so. I am not naïve though in thinking that all Métis specific interactions are safe. I was in a zoom meeting with other Métis folk where the idea of ‘safe spaces’ came forward. One individual commented that historically, Métis gatherings were always unsafe, consider the discussions of our political organizing when someone pulled a gun on Louis Riel during a meeting. Their comments have stayed with me since then. As I reflected afterwards, I questioned to myself, just because it happened historically, why does it have to continue? Can we not strive for something better? I have been in places where violence and bullying are tactics employed to suppress other community members. Albeit, like the story of Riel, those moments were often politicized which leaves me to question if our places for sharing and conversing should be untethered from the political entities? I also wonder if there is something larger at play to why we have to fight amongst ourselves in order to get things done?

Creating and maintaining places where we can visit and exist freely help us to affirm who we are.  Our inquiry collective affirmed that we seek out contexts for us to connect to other Métis in the urban environment. For the individuals in our circle, these Métis specific environments accommodated their needs to share and assert their stories as to let go of silence and shame. Sitting together conversing about practicing shame and fear, Reg shared his observation of our gathering, “This kind of space is fostering safety, [you] can’t grow with fear, now it’s a different time”. We all felt like we were in a different time in our lives, and perhaps familial history where we could practice telling instead of silence and shame. But, in order to practice telling, we need the context to do so.

Regardless of violence that might permeates gatherings we exist within, we have found safe places to foster our becoming Métis. Matt’s safe place was Heritage Park, wherein through his work as a cultural guide, was able to learn much about Metis life and history, which in turn reified his identity. Heritage Park, more specifically, the fort situated in the park was “place where everything clicked”. For Bob, walking the battlefields of Batoche, fostered his sense of community and identity and reminded him “we are the sum of our ancestors”.