Papaschase: A family memoir by Dwayne Donald
Date: 2002
In all likelihood one is in the past while in the present. The present is then veiled; the past is manifest and apparent, however, so transparently present that it is veiled, and one assumes oneself to be in the present when one is not. To ascertain where one is, when one is, one must locate the past. Pinar, p.22
"Where are you from?" The question is always asked with a tone of familiarity and camaraderie that distracts me and leaves me not wanting to answer. "I'm from Edmonton," I reluctantly reply, and then I wait for the response that I know is coming. This response is rarely verbal. Mostly, I get nonverbal responses to this answer - looks of confusion, wonderment, the slow noddings of the head. These responses give one message: "I thought this guy was an Indian, but I guess he's not..."
When Aboriginal people meet each other for the first time, the most common question is: "Where are you from?" The question is directed towards finding out your roots, your family, your ancestors, your relations, your home, your place, your tribe, your Reserve. When a person can say that they are 'from' a particular Reserve, then there seems to be a certain comfort, a common understanding that makes Aboriginal people with similar backgrounds, histories, and memories feel a unique kind of solidarity. Although one may be Cree and the other Blackfoot, they seem to identify with each other through their similar experiences and worldviews.
I don't come from a reserve, nor do any of my immediate relatives. I don't have a place in the Aboriginal sense of traditional territory or sacred land. I may have distant relatives on reserves, but my family must have lost contact with them a long time ago. That was before the time "where it went wrong" (McLeod, 1998, p. 58).
I descend from "liminality" (McMaster, 1995, p. 80). But I don't think that my family chose that place; rather, it was chosen for them through the various events of colonialism that could be called acts of displacement. It is important to remember that place does not only refer to landscape, but also includes "a complex interaction of language, history, and environment" mingled with "a sense of displacement" (Ashcroft, Griffiths, Tiffln, 1999, p. 391). Displacement, then, operates by weakening connections to the land, but also language(s), and stories. The "spatial and ideological Diaspora" that characterizes the experiences of many Aboriginal families has caused them to become alienated from their stories and disrupted the links connecting one generation to the next (McLeod, 1998, p. 52).
I became aware of the ambiguous genealogies that permeated my family tree only recently. Occupying a liminal space somewhere on the borders between reserve, city, and (unofficial) Métis settlement, my relatives seem to have avoided the reported benefits and pratfalls that come with official government Indian Status and recognition as Aboriginal people (McMaster, 1995, pp. 76-77). Like Neal McLeod (2000), the narrative irony that arises when Aboriginal people insist on defining and promoting a specific 'national' identity and a specific place called home has not been lost on me. Jimmy Durham, an artist whose work has been called illegitimate because he claims descent from a tribe without federal recognition, takes this kind of critique of the politics of identity and place further by attacking coded legal and cultural definitions of Aboriginal identity and place with this parody:
I hereby swear to the truth of the following statement: I am a full-blood contemporary artist, of the sub-group (or clan) called sculptors. I am not an American Indian, nor have I ever seen or sworn loyalty to India. I am not a Native 'American,' nor do I feel that 'America' has any right to name me or un-name me. I have previously stated that I should be considered a mixed-blood: that is, I claim to be a male but in fact only one of my parents was male.
(McMaster, 1995, p. 79)
The "myth of authenticity" and the linking of the notion of (pure) identity with (exclusive) place denies the existence and vitality of re - created stories, identities, and strategic placements (Griffiths, 1999, pp. 237-241).
Yet new stories and places have been created. Here is one such re-creation:
My ancestors were late in signing an adhesion to the conditions of Treaty 6 1 . In August of 1877, Chief Papastayo agreed to the terms of Treaty 6 at Fort Edmonton on behalf of his band of about 241 followers. Papastayo selected an area for their Reserve approximately four miles south of the North Saskatchewan River, directly across the river from the original site of Fort Edmonton. Soon after making this decision, trouble started. A large and vocal group of settlers and citizens of the Edmonton area did not want the Papaschase Indian Band Indian Reserve No. 136 to be anywhere near the growing settlement of Edmonton. They argued that the Reserve would impede the growth and development of the town and deny the settlers access to valuable resources and fertile land. A newspaper of the time, the Edmonton Bulletin, advocated that the Papaschase Band "be sent back to the country they originally came from" (Edmonton Bulletin, 1881).
In the end, the settlers got their wish. The members of the Papaschase Band, forced to wait while their Treaty rights hung in limbo, were left destitute and hungry for several years after the signing of Treaty 6 and the disappearance of the buffalo. Eventually, the members either took Métis scrip and lost their Treaty status or simply moved to other reserves in the Edmonton area. On November 19, 1888, three adult males who were living on the Enoch Reserve surrendered the rights of the Papaschase Band to Reserve No. 136.
My parent's home is located on the very land that was surrendered on that day. I grew up in that part of the city of Edmonton, went to school, played in the parks, rode my bike on the streets, threw rocks in the river, shoveled snow, kissed girls, walked my dog, went to the movie theatre, visited my grandparents, shopped at the farmers' market, studied at the University of Alberta (which, ironically, has a Papaschase Room in its Faculty Club), and no one ever said a word about it. No one knew about it. How do these things get swept under the carpet so completely? How do people's lives get expunged from collective memory so easily?
My Mom has been diligently digging up fragments of the history of my Dad's family. It is a process that she and I started together when we both started scouring Hudson's Bay Company records and Métis land scrip lists looking for familiar names. Gradually, we pieced together an extensive and detailed family tree with names, dates, and places of birth. The next task was to uncover the life stories and memories to these people, these relatives we only knew on paper, by talking to relatives and friends who might remember and provide us with a closer connection to the past. My Mom, working with my Dad's sister, has dug deepest and discovered three things of significance: our connections to the Papaschase Band, Grandma Ward's rocking chair from the cabin on Hastings Lake, and a Bible written in Cree syllabics. She gave the Bible to me.
Sometimes I take the Bible out of the cedar chest where it is stored, unwrap the cloth that surrounds it, and hold it in my lap while I sit. The Bible was a prized possession of Emerance Charland, my great grandma's sister. Both sisters received identical prayer books from the St. Albert mission where they were raised and educated. My great grandma, Madelaine Ward, couldn't read, and I am told that she would sit and rock in her chair while holding her Bible on her lap. When I do the same, I somehow feel connected to her and wonder what she would think of her family today. Would it bother her that so few remember what happened to them back then?
The current leaders of the re-established Papaschase Band have filed court documents outlining their case against the Canadian government in which they are seeking compensation for the wrongful removal of Treaty and land rights. My Dad, his family, and our relatives are considered Papaschase members, and we stand to benefit from any court decisions that favour the Papaschase case. In all likelihood, they will win some form of compensation. This raises the possibility that my family and I could receive some form of 'official' recognition as Indians with membership in the Papaschase Band. Finally, I could answer the question that has been plaguing me for so many years with a clear and definite answer:
"Where are you from?"
"Papaschase."
"Where's that?"
"Edmonton."
1 Derived from Pimohtewin: A Native Studies E-Journal that contains the legal documents that outline the Papachase case. Located at www.ualberta.ca/NATIVESTUDIESILegaIPDF/papaschase.pdf
References
Ashcroft, B., G. Griffiths and H. Tiffin (Eds.) (1999) The post-colonial studies reader. Routledge: London and New York.
Griffiths, G. (1999) "The Myth of Authenticity" In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths and H. Tiffin (Eds.) The post - colonial studies reader. Routledge: New York and London, pp.237-24!)
McLeod, N. (1998). "Coming Home Through Stories." International Journal of Canadian Studies 18, Fall; 51-66.
McLeod, N. (2000). "Plains Cree Identity: Borderlands, Ambiguous Genealogies and Narrative Irony." The Canadian Journal of Native Studies XX, 2; pp. 437-454.
McMaster, G.R. (1995) "Border Zone: The 'Injun-uity' of Aesthetic Tricks." Cultural Studies 9(1); 74-90.
Pinar, W. P.
Edmonton Bulletin 1881
www.uaIbeta.ca/NATWESTLJDLES/Lega1PDF/papaschase.pdf