“I want my country back!”
I glanced at the clock as I waited patiently to board my ferry at Swartz Bay terminal in Victoria. I was coming home to Surrey with fall in the air and the days getting shorter. A few feet away from me sat a man in his early thirties whose disheveled, grey pony-tail fell over a worn-out denim jacket. He groaned and mumbled; apparently his liquor supply had taken its effect.
“Gimme my country back… I want my country back!” he demanded.
He was frothing at the mouth and his head bobbed around loosely. His right arm slung around his buddy’s shoulder for support. He drew little attention from the foot passengers. They seemed unconcerned about his plea. It is likely that that if he was applying for a Casino license somewhere outside the Swartz Bay area he might have gotten more attention. But returning Canada to his people, however justifiable- wasn’t an issue.
He may as well have been asking for the moon. But he had his point: His ancestors lost their land and this was his way of showing the world that it was a travesty of justice.
Historically, his people traded furs for precious stones and often times, the white man’s “fire water.” The white man soon liked the land and simply annexed all he could set his eyes on. And “Kanata”- the Native Indian word meaning ‘village’- became ‘Canada.’
A new country was born.
On the drive back home I listened to the thumps of the joints over the Alex Fraser Bridge. I just couldn’t forget the image of the man. I could still hear his echoes and became queasy about my own presence in the land of his ancestors.
If Canada belongs to the First Nations, then I too might be an occupier!
I suddenly sensed the presence of ancient spirits. I could hear the sounds of drums and shakers. Spots of sunlight bathe tepees in the early morning mist and the Chief sits huddled on his haunches. There is the morning sun filtering through the leaves of Douglas fir and hemlock of the Pacific Coast. Some of those rays break through the branches into shimmering lights.
I see a tribal elder covered in fur whose cheeks are furrowed and his brows are lined. He appears to be in his own world through the ritual chants. More of his people appear in furs and headbands with shuffling in circles on their sacred ground.
These are First Nations people; Canada is arguably theirs.