7/22/2019 How Our Stories Teach AW
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HowOurStoriesTeach~AlexandriaWilson
InordertoentertheexhibitareaattheManitobaMuseum
inWinnipeg,youfirstmustfaceamuraldepictinganOji-
Creecreationstory.Thepainting,byDaphneOdjig,tellsa
storyasoldaslifeitself-onepassedfromgenerationto
generation,carryingwithitourreligion,ourcultureandour
existence.Astorylikethatcanonlybetoldandlistenedto,neverwrittendown.Stampedinlinesofblacklettersontoa
whitepage,recordedandreduced,repeatingitselfwith
eachreading,themeaningofthatstorywouldbelost.We
musttellourstoriescarefully.
Iwas15whenIfirstsawthatpainting.Itwasaperfectpiece
ofcommissionedart,brilliantlycoloredandobviously
symbolicinawaythatwaspleasingly‘primitive’tothe
museumboard.Iwascertain.Andhugeasitwas,itwas
secretlyeloquentinthethinlinesthatconnectedeach
animaltoanother,whisperingtome,thisishowtheworld
wascreated.
Ihadarrivedatthemuseumalone,butfellinwithagrouponaguidedtour.Thepainting,thetourguidepointedout,
“describedacreationmyth.Actually,Nativepeoplecameto
NorthAmericaovertheBeringStraitlandbridge.”Heledus
intothemuseum’sfirstexhibit.Onewallwascoveredwitha
mapofNorthAmerica;smallcaveman-likefigureswere
paintedonit,walkingasteportwobehindhugeanimals,
movingdownthewestcoastandheadingsouth.
“TheycrossedovertheBeringStraitwhenthewaterlevel
waslowandeverythingwascompletelyfrozen.Fromthere,
theyfollowedtheanimals,pushedsouthbytheencroaching
icesheetsuntileventuallytheyspreadalloverthe
Americas.Theyhuntedmainlywoollymammoths.”He
turnedforsomethingbesidehimthenspunsuddenlyback
towardus.Withasmalljumpandaheavythud,helanded
onbothfeetkneesslightlybendandfacetwistedintoa
strangeandridiculousgrimace,aspearraisedandreadyin
hisrighthand,apaleanddressedshapeofawarrior.“This”,
hesaid,“isanatlatl-thespeartheyusedtokilltheirprey”,
hesitatingalittle,standinglikehimselfnow,“Imean,a
reproductionofit.”
Thepeopleinthetourgaspedandtouchedthespearin
amazement.Oneman,whohadnoddedhisheadin
agreementduringthedemonstration,washoldingforthto
hisfriends,offeringdetailsaboutthearrowheads,howthey
weremade,explaininghowthespearworkedandthe
physicsofasuccessfulkill.Anotherman,standingbeforethemapandwithaweatherman’sauthorativesweepofhis
arm,wasshowinghiswifethemovementoftheicesheet,
forcingtheflowofthepeopleandanimalsbeforeand
behindit.
Thetourcontinued.Wewerewalkingsouthfromthe
northernmosttipofManitoba.First‘TheArctic’then‘Sub-
Arctic’andonto‘TheBorealForest’.Thetourguidewaited
bytheentrancetothatexhibitforthegroup’sstrugglesto
catchup.Wegatheredinfrontofasmallvideomonitor,
andtheguidebegantoreciteastoryaboutWeesageychak.
ThemonitorshowedacartoonwithWeesageychak
sketchedasanAboriginalmantoillustratethetourguide’s
story.
Istoodbackandtothesideofthesmallcrowd,tryingto
listenbutdreaminginstead.Asachild,thefirstwordI
spokewasmu(listen)inCree.Ihadheardthestorythetour
guidewastryingtotellmanytimesbefore.
MyfathertoldusWeesageychakstories;myfamily
gatheredroundinwarmflannelpajamasoncoldanddark
wintermornings.MydadwouldcookforuseverySunday
andwe’dsittogetheratthetable.Mymom,mybrothers
andIhopedhewouldserveupastorywhilewewaitedforourmeal.Soonerorlaterhe’dstart.
“Weesageychakwashungry.Weesageychakmakaessaoma
utinootekatao,innakayas,askakimichisoot.Shehadn’t
hadanythingtoeatforalongtime.Sure,hehadbeen
eatingberries,roots,bulrushesbuthehadn’thadanything
thattastedreallygoodforawhile.Hewashungryformeat.
Weeasinewessaomakanootamechit.Likealways,hewas
tryingtofigureoutawaytogetwhathewanted.Well,as
shewaswalkingalongthelakeside,shespottedsome
waterfowl.Hethoughtforawhile,tryingtofigureoutan
easywaytocatchthem.Finally,shecameupwithalittle
scheme.Kettatawenessaomakamiskwenetaktansikitta
itakamisit.
Weesageychakbuiltafirealongtheshore.Hestarted
singing,bangingonadrumhehad,anddancingtohisown
music.Soonenough,heattractedtheattentionofthebirds.
“Whatareyoudoing?”theyasked.“I’mdoingaspecial
dance.Ineedyourhelp.There’sacatastrophecoming,I
knowit.Weneedtodancetoavertit.Ican’tdoitby
myself!”
7/22/2019 How Our Stories Teach AW
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HowOurStoriesTeach~AlexandriaWilson
“Well,ofcoursewe’llhelp,”thebirdssaid.“Whatdoyou
wantustodo?”
“Watchmecarefully,thewayIdancearoundthefire,then
followme.Ithastobedonejustthisway,withyoureyesclosedandeverythingoritwon’twork.Watch.”
AndWeesageychakstarteddancingaroundthefireagain.
Thebirdswatchedcarefully,practicingtheirmovementsa
littleandthenfellinbehindWeesageychak,eyesclosedand
dancinginstepwithhim.
WhenWeesageychakcaughtuptothelastbirdintheline,
thegoose,hegrabbeditbytheneck.Heswungitaround
andaroundintheairuntilitsneck
broke,thenthrewthebirdintothefire.
Theloonsmelledthesingedfeathers,
startedtoworryandopeneditseyejust
alittleforapeek.ItsawWeesageychak
twirlingaroundthenextbirdattheback
oftheline.Theloonsoundedthealarm.
“Weesageychakiskillingthegeese!Weesageychakiskilling
thegeese!”Alltheotherbirdsgotaway–evensomeofthe
geesewobbledoutofWeesageychak’sreach.
Weesageychakwassomadattheloonthathestarted
chasingitaroundandaroundthefire.Hetookakickatit,
caughtitrightintherearandsentitflying.Shecaughtupto
itandkickeditagain.Thenexttime,shekickeditsohardthatitsbodymovedforwardandleftitslegsbehind.
“Thus,”myfatherwould
explain,“theloonhasitsstrange
anatomyandthegoosehasits
longneck.”
Now,hereIstood,positioned
betweencaricatureandhistory,
listeningtothatsamestorytold
intheearnest,abridged
languageofananthropology
student.“Thetricksterfigure,
Weesageychak,isthecentral
characterofCreemythology.”I
couldn’thelpbutlaughalittle.
Thenamesoundedstrangeinhismouth,withthe
uncomfortablepronunciationofaforeignword,his
emphasisonallthewrongsyllables.Iwassurethat
Weesageychakherself,himself,wasgigglingwithme.
Remember,Weesagechahkdoesnothaveafluidgender
identityandexpression.
Thetourists,though,wererestless,andtheguidebegan
herdingusintothenextroom.Theroomwasalready
inhabitedbythelifelessformsofadiorama.Thetreeshad
beenconstructed,“needlebyneedle”,theguidesaid
proudly,“entirelyoutofwax.”Therewasarunningstream,stuffedanimals,andpeople.SuddenlyIwasscared.The
peoplelookedfamiliar.Anoldwoman,amanandsome
children,eachfaceshadowedwithmemoryforme.The
guideannouncedthateachofthepeoplewerewaxreplicas
ofrealCreepeoplefromThePasReserve.Ilookedupat
himandwhispered,“I’mfromThePasReserve.”
WefinallymadeitthroughthePlainsandbacktoWinnipeg.
Whiletherestofthegroupwerecrawlinginsideatepee,
theguideaskedmewhatIhadthoughtofthetourandthe
exhibits.ItoldhimhowwepronounceWeesageychak.“He
isn’tjustaman,”Iadded.“Weesageychakcanbewhoeverit
wants,awoman,man,animalorallatonce.That’swhat
makesthestoriessogood.”TheguideaskedifIwouldlike
toworkpart-timeatthemuseum,perhapson“TheNative
PeoplesTour.”
IsaidIwouldthinkaboutitandgothisnumber.
Ofcourse,Icouldn’tresisthisoffer.ThenextweekIwent
onafewtourswithotherguidesandthenIwasonmyown.
Herewasmychancetotellagoodstory.Icouldtalkabout
thepainting;tracethecreationstoryittold.Iwouldpush
thegrouppastthelandbridgesection,remindingthemthat
itwasjustatheory,“ascientificmyth,infact,thatrecentevidencesuggestedwasfalse.”
Itwasn’tlongthough,beforeIrealized
thatmostofthemuseum’spatrons
preferredwaxcaststolivingAboriginal
people.WhatifthatfamilyfromThe
Paswasreallyhere,nolongerfrozenin
ahistoricwilderness?Saytheywere
standingjustinsidethemuseum
doors,outofthecold,tryingtofigure
outwhattheywantedtodointhecity.
Thekidswouldbeaskingfor
McDonald’sandtheparentswouldbe
tryingtofigureouthowtheycoulddo
thatandstillsqueezeinsome
shopping,allbeforeitgottoodarkto
startthedrivehome.Themuseumpatronswouldmove
aroundthem;somewouldevenfindanotherexit.None,I
knew,wouldlookstraightatthem,listenalittle,smileat
thechildren,orofferdirectionstoagoodmallwitha
McDonald’s.
CreeElderStanWilsonofOpaskwayakCreeNation
7/22/2019 How Our Stories Teach AW
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HowOurStoriesTeach~AlexandriaWilson
Ididn’tlastlongattheMuseumofManandNature.I
finishedthecourseIhadbeentakingatthesummerschool
andwasabletoreturnhome.Ihaven’tbeenbacktothe
museumsincethen–I’vetriedtostayoutofanymuseum.
NowI’mhereatHarvard,tryingtouseIndigenous
epistemologytoinvigoratepsychology’sapproachtoourcommunity.I’mfarfromhomenow,butouruniversityhas
someresourcesfortheworkIwanttodo.Icansearchthe
campusdatabasesandfindlistsofbooks,journals,and
writersallofthemhere.IcantalkabouttheCree
cosmologiesandculturalcongruity,andmyclassmateswill
nodinacceptance,asmallgesturethatsometimesseemsto
acknowledgetheauthorityofmyowncommunity’s
experienceofourworld.Iamgratefulforthesethings.
Mostoftheuniversity’sbooksonNativeAmericansarekept
intheTozzerLibrary,adjuncttothePeabodyMuseum.You
enterthroughlargeglassdoors,goupafewstepstoatiled
mezzaninethatformsabridgebetweenthemuseumonthe
leftandthelibraryontheright.Artefactsarehungalong
thepassageway,andacarvedwoodencradleandrock
shapedintoagiantfigureheadsitateitherend.I’vebeenin
themuseumonce,asmuchthefoolnowasIwasasachild.
AsgullibleasWeesageychak’sgeese,Iwasluredbya
museumworker’srequestforhelp.MyfriendandIhad
beenaskedforfeedbackonanewexhibitontheSundance.
Wehadshownupatthemuseumjustasitwasclosingand
hadbeendirectedtothemainexhibitareabyanimpatient
staffmember,obviouslyreadytoleave.Wecircledthrough
themuseum,pastaseriesofreconstructionsofNativeAmericanlife,movie-setminiaturizationsofaPlainspeople
teepee,aPueblo,alonghouse.TheSceneswerestrung
togetheragainstbarelylitwallsandwecouldn’tfindwhat
wewerelookingfor.Howcouldtheymakeadisplayoutof
theSundanceanyway?NoonegoestoaSundancejustto
watchorimaginesheorshecanlearnfromitbylookingat
it.Eachpersonpresentsatthatceremonymustbepartofit.
Itmadenosense.
ThatwasmyonlytriptothePeabody’sexhibitarea.Iuse
thelibraryunwillingly.Ihavefeltuneasythere,really,from
thefirstmomentIsteppedpastthecradleintothe
circulationarea.Imademywayupthestairstothesecond
floor.Ahugethunderbirdissuspendedinmid-air,right
thereinthelibrary.Ifoundmybooksandsettleddown
atthetabletoread.There,inlinesoftypeonsheetsof
paperbrownandbrittlewithage,andinnostalgically
sepia-tintedphotosreprintedinmoderntexts,Ifound
mypeoplepressedflatanddrybetweenthepages.
Thethunderbirdhungheavilyovereachpageandall
roundme.Ilookedupfrommybooksrightintoits
face,anditcalledmeoverwithitseyes.
WhenIstood,asharppainshotthroughmyback,andmy
kneesbuckled.Iwaited,thenstoodagainandwalkedacross
theroomtoit.Ithadbeencarvedfromanenormoustree,
paintedblackandwhite,greenandred,darkandviolent
coloursintheoverlitlibrary.Itswingsextendedacrosstheentirewidthoftheskylightitwastrappedbeneath.Iturned
tolookbehindit.Athickmetalbarextendedfromthewall
andstabbedintoitsback,weldingitinplace.WhenIsaw
thebar,myheadstartedtospin.IfeltasifIwasgoingto
throwup.Ibracedmyselfagainstthewall,whispereda
prayertothethunderbird,thenleftthelibrary.
I’mnotreadytoreturntothelibraryorthemuseumyet.
FriendswillretrievethebooksIneed.Andintheend,no
onefromthemuseumrememberedtoaskuswhatwe
thoughtoftheSundanceexhibit.Istillcatchmyself
sometimes,appealingtoWesternsciencetoshoreup
Indigenousknowledge,startingintoacreationstorywhen
someoneaskswhythere’saturtleonmyshirt.
I’mtryingtolearnWeesageychak’smissedlessons,how
evenourmostnaivelymisguidedactionslingerintheir
unintendedeffects.Ithinkaboutthethunderbird,hanging
overfictionsandtruths.Ithinkofthestolenskeletons,
scalps,clothing,toolsandtotemnextdoor.Ipicturethe
museum’sbasement,wallscoveredwithdarkwooden
cabinets,eachcabinetastackofthindrawers,eachdrawer
filledwithlinesofcarefullymeasuredskulls.AndbeforeI
cancryout,Iimagineundoingitall,the“heroicfool”willto
makerealtheunreal.
Iwillpullopeneachdrawer,athousandemptyeyes
witnessingagain,andIwillinhaledeeplyinthedustofmy
ancestors.Iwillbreatheadeepandswallowedbreath,oneI
refusetoletgo,andwhenIleave,myancestorswillbewith
me,thereinmylungs,smuggledoutinmyflesh.Wewill
walkbackacrossthebridge,upthestairs,standunderthe
thunderbirdandpush.Ourpushwillbestrongerthaniron,
woodwillbestrongerthaniron,andtheironbarwillsnap.
Wewillgiveonefabulouspushuntilthethunderbirdbreaks
free.Itwillliftpasttheglassskylightandmove,redand
green,blackand
white,thecolorsof
theforestagain
beneaththebluesky.
AlexandriaWilsonisa
memberofOpaskwayak
CreeNationandaPhD
graduatefromHarvard
University
*formattedasaBraidingHistoriesteachingstorybyVandaFleury,2012.AversionofthisstorywasoriginallypublishedintheCanadianJournalof
Education,1999.
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