Resurgence of Traditional Knowledge as Indigenous Futurism
By: Laura Gagnon
This month to mark National Indigenous Peoples Day, we are lucky to be able to feature a blog post by a guest writier, Laura Gagnon. Laura is Ojibwe from Northwestern Ontario. She grew up in Thunder Bay and has lived in Ottawa for the past 10 years. She is a jingle dress dancer, a traditional hand drum singer, Indigenous model, and digital creator. She works as a Communications Advisor and hosts a live Talk show called Rezilient Talks which are held on Instagram or Tiktok live. Laura loves creative writing, as it empowers and offers an expressive outlet that both informs and educates people about the first-hand experiences of Indigenous peoples.
The following post contains references to abuse, violence, and drug use that might be upsetting to some readers. Support resources are included at the end of this post for anyone who might need them.
When I was 10 years old, my mother put me and my brother on a Greyhound bus from Thunder Bay, Ontario to a small town where I was born called Geraldton, Ontario. It’s a four-hour drive through the Northern wilderness, with spruce, pine, and birch trees as your only solace once you’ve passed the scenic water areas. What I was unaware of was that halfway through the trip, the bus driver would look me straight in the eyes and say to me, “What would you do if I dropped you guys off in the middle of nowhere?” These chilling words would stick with me for the rest of my life. I could not bear to tell my little brother what had been said to me…he was always shaken up so easily. At this time, I understood the discriminatory behaviours towards Indigenous people because I had already been called a few racist names on the playground. However, it was in that very moment that I knew that I had a responsibility to fight to stay alive. A responsibility to survive. A responsibility to stand up for myself. A responsibility to not go missing. It’s a haunting feeling to know that as a young girl, the embodiment of something out of my control would make a grown man want to abandon and discard of me and my kin.
Boozhoo, Aanii. G’niibowin Mishdodem n’dizhinikaaz, Makwa dodem. Hello, my spirit name is Standing Horse, I am from the Bear Clan. I told this chilling story because looking back some 25 years later, I still feel angry and frustrated telling this story. It’s a scar that has healed, but it appears during times when I re-enter that fight or flight response. Indigenous people have always been survivors, we know struggle, and some people would even call it being built ‘Rez tough’. I turned to running at a young age because it offered me the escape and control that I could not find in the outside world. At 11 years old, I would power past the boys who were a grade ahead and my teacher was nothing short of impressed. School also offered me a sense of achievement and success. In Grade 5, I was awarded the Highest Academic award and got straight A’s. I recall the look on some faces. They were wide-eyed and somewhat shocked. It was the look of surprise that the Native girl had received this award; to be honest even I was shocked.
Growing up, the conversation around mental health simply did not happen. I kept the Greyhound story a secret because I was wise enough to know that people wouldn’t believe two Native kids who were unsupervised. I remember having to keep a lot of things a secret. If my brother or I felt sad, mad or hurt, we learned to push it away because my mom had a heavy hand when it came to ‘talking back’ or giving any sort of attitude. It was one physical attack from her when I was 12 years old that pushed me to run away from home. After that, I realized I didn’t need to see strippers, drug dealers, and other people who made me feel unsafe on the daily. I checked myself into the Dilico Child and Family Centre and began school on the other side of town. Running my own life was hard and I experimented with drugs, drinking, and sex too early. I learned that sometimes Creator will put you on a path that makes you question if blood really is thicker than water. I wondered if coming from a broken family was normal and if I was just picky.
The turning point for me was when I began to practice and incorporate my traditional teachings into my life. Indigenous people often walk in two-worlds or take part in “two-eyed seeing [which] provides a pathway to a plural coexistence, where time-tested Indigenous knowledge systems can be paired with, not subsumed by, Western scientific insights for an equitable and sustainable future”[1]. I learned that I embody inherent knowledge that allows me to combine these two worldviews so that I can live holistically and in balance. I began to honour and respect living a healthy lifestyle based on the four components of the medicine wheel. Bell (2015) notes that “while Indigenous worldview articulates that Indigenous people need to develop themselves, including their children, in a holistic way that addresses their spiritual, physical, emotional, and mental capacities, they need to address how to transmit learning through all of those personal aspects” [2]. I learned that if one of the components is unbalanced, that the rest will be affected. Therefore, if I am not upholding a healthy relationship or maintaining a healthy mental state, other areas will be affected. For example, I may stress and become physically tense if I am not mentally prepared for certain situations or triggers. So, medicine wheel teachings ensure that balance is respected in our relationship to ourselves, others, the land, and the spirit world.
Many people ask me how I stay strong. They ask me what keeps me moving forward despite the constant struggles Indigenous people face. I tell them that it is because of the ambition I have for my kin to prosper. Indigenous people see neoliberal ideas as foreign, as we work to see our communities thrive. My ambition stems from a fire within that is eager to educate non-Indigenous peoples about the challenge to fight colonial worldviews. I see a future where Indigenous knowledge is at the forefront of meeting tables, reconciliation websites, and government policies. I envision the resurgence of our languages, teachings, and traditional ways of knowing as a type of futurism that will offer a restorative pathway to our spirits, ourselves, and the land.
To learn more about Laura’s advocacy efforts or check out her Rezilient Talks series, check her out on Twitter, Instagram, and Tik Tok.
Support Resources
First Nations, Métis & Inuit Hope for Wellness Help Line – 1-855-242-3310 (see the website for a chat feature).
Indian Residential School Survivors Society – 1-800-721-0066
KUU-US Crisis Line - 1-800-588-8717 (see the website for specific contact numbers for youth, adults, Elders, and Métis folks seeking support)
Indian Residential Schools Resolution Health Support Program Crisis Line - 1-866-925-4419
References
[1] Reid, AJ, Eckert, LE, Lane, J-F, et al. “Two-Eyed Seeing”: An Indigenous framework to transform fisheries research and management. Fish Fish. 2021; 22: 243– 261. https://doi.org/10.1111/faf.12516
[2] Bell, N. (2015). Nicole Bell’s construction of the Anishinaabe Medicine Wheel teachings for Indigenous education. Catholic Principle's Council, 1-2.