Naamiwan's Drum: The Story of a Contested Repatriation of Anishinaabe Artefacts 9781442622432

Table of contents :
Contents
Figures
Acknowledgments
Naamiwan’S Drum
1.Introduction
2. Omishoosh A Visit To The Museum
3. Animacy Linguistic Considerations
4. Dewe’Igan Repatriation
5. Personhood Wiikaan And Artefact
6. Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge Ojibwe Advocacy And Revitalization
7. Repatriation Cultural Rights And The Construction Of Meaning
8. Nelson Owen Mitigwakik Homecoming
9. Agency And Artefacts New Theoretical Approaches
10. Repatriating Agency An Agency Analysis Of Repatriation
Appendix A: Timeline
Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes
Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary
Notes
References
Index

Citation preview

Naamiwan’s Drum The Story of a Contested Repatriation of Anishinaabe Artefacts

Naamiwan’s Drum follows the story of a famous Ojibwe medicine man, his gifted grandson, and a remarkable water drum. This drum, and forty other artefacts, were given away by a Canadian museum to an American Anishinaabe group that had no family or community connections to the collection. Many years passed before the drum was returned to the family and only half of the artefacts were ever returned to the museum. Maureen Matthews takes us through this astonishing set of events from multiple perspectives, exploring community and museum viewpoints, visiting the ceremonial group leader in Wisconsin, and finally looking back from the point of view of the drum. The book contains a powerful Anishinaabe interpretive perspective on repatriation and on anthropology itself. Containing fourteen beautiful colour illustrations, Naamiwan’s Drum is a compelling account of repatriation as well as a cautionary tale for museum professionals. Maureen Matthews is Curator of Ethnology at The Manitoba Museum as well as an adjunct professor at the University of Manitoba.

This page intentionally left blank

M A U R E E N

M AT T H E W S

The Story of a Contested Repatriation of Anishinaabe Artefacts

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

©  University of Toronto Press 2016 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada ISBN 978-1-4426-5015-2 (cloth)  

ISBN 978-1-4426-2826-7 (paper)

♾ Printed on acid-free paper with vegetable-based inks. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Matthews, Maureen, 1949–, author Naamiwan’s drum : the story of a contested repatriation of Anishinaabe artefacts / Maureen Matthews. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4426-5015-2 (cloth).  ISBN 978-1-4426-2826-7 (paper) 1. University of Winnipeg. Anthropology Museum – Case studies. 2. Manitoba Museum – Case studies.  3.  Ojibwa Indians – Museums – Manitoba – Case studies.  4.  Ojibwa Indians – Manitoba – Antiquities – Case studies.  5.  Museums – Acquisitions – Manitoba – Case studies.  6. Cultural property – Repatriation – Manitoba – Case studies.  7.  Cultural property – Protection – Manitoba – Case studies.  8.  Drum – Manitoba – Case studies.  9.  Manitoba – Antiquities – Case studies.  I.  Title. AM21.M36M38 2016  305.897'33307127075  C2016-904506-4

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario.

Funded by the Financé par le Government gouvernement du Canada of Canada

Contents

List of Figures Acknowledgments

vii ix

 1  Introduction3  2  Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

28

 3  Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

49

 4  Dewe’igan: Repatriation

80

 5  Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

103

 6  Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge: Ojibwe Advocacy and Revitalization

139

 7  Repatriation: Cultural Rights and the Construction of Meaning

153

 8  Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

183

 9  Agency and Artefacts: New Theoretical Approaches

198

10  Repatriating Agency: An Agency Analysis of Repatriation

221

Appendix A: Timeline

249

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

253

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

267

Notes

275

References

287

Index

307

Colour plates follow page 148

This page intentionally left blank

Figures

1.1 Naamiwan, his wife Koowin, son Angus, and grandson Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), Pauingassi, 1933 5 1.2 Chief William Berens and A. Irving Hallowell, Pauingassi, 1933 6 1.3 Margaret Simmons and Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen) examining Hallowell photograph, Pauingassi, 1993 7 1.4 Map of Upper Berens River 8 1.5 Pauingassi, 1996 9 1.6 Pauingassi, 2011 10 1.7 Pauingassi, 1928 11 2.1 Omishoosh at Pauingassi, 1993 29 2.2 Angus and Red Bird (Miskwa’o) Owen, Pauingassi, 1933 30 2.3 Dream dance drum showing everlasting star design, Poplar Hill, 1960 31 2.4 Omishoosh with bandolier, Animinigiizhigong with dance cape 32 2.5 Omishoosh’s bandolier: detail of thimbles, gaanda’igwaason(ag)33 2.6 Rattles, zhiishiigwan(ag), used in ceremony, Pauingassi Collection 37 2.7 Oshkaabewisag and oshkaabewisikweg, Pauingassi, 1933 38 2.8 Ogichidaag (Warriors) and ogichidaakweg (Warrior women), Pauingassi, 1933 39 2.9 Naamiwan’s three tambourines 44 3.1 William Berens at a portage on the Berens River with a group of “grandfather” stones, asin(iig), 1933 50 3.2 Nelson Owen holding his grandfather Adam Owen’s medicine stone 57

Figures

3.3 John Duck, Little Grand Rapids, 1933 58 4.1 Naamiwan’s dream dance drum in Niimi’idiiwigamig (dance lodge) or Boodaadewigamig at Poplar Hill, 1933 81 5.1 Kiiwiich, Little Grand Rapids, 1933 104 5.2 Es, Jacob Owen, Pauingassi, 1996 122 5.3 Close-up showing Es, Jacob Owen, as a young man, Pauingassi, 1933 123 7.1 Opening of Omishoosh Elementary School, Pauingassi, September 2005 171 7.2 Visiting dance group at the opening of Omishoosh School, Pauingassi, September 2005 171 8.1 Nelson Owen, October 2007 191 9.1 Naamiwan, with his ritual brothers, wiikaanag, his water drum and rattle, beside his wife Koowin, Pauingassi, 1933 199 9.2 St John Owen, Pauingassi, 1994 200 9.3 Close-up showing carved bird, bineshiishikaan213 9.4 Bineshiishikaan, carved Thunderbird figure 214 9.5 Maggie Duck, Little Grand Rapids, 1930s 218 10.1 Nelson Owen looking after Naamiwan’s drum at the Manitoba Museum, 2007 240 10.2 Joshua Owen at the Penn Museum in Philadelphia, March 2012 241 All photos are by the author, unless otherwise noted.

viii

Acknowledgments

A book is never a solitary endeavour. I would like to thank the many people who have encouraged me, worked with me, talked to me, and financed various parts of my research. First of all I want to thank Roger Roulette, whose unparalleled expertise as a translator, linguistic advisor, and general expert on the minutiae of Ojibwe religious philosophy made this book possible. He cheerfully provided instant references, transcribed hundreds of pages of Ojibwe text, patiently explained Ojibwe concepts of animacy and agency, and proofread my many drafts, correcting my spelling in Ojibwe and English. When I had a question he couldn’t immediately answer, he consulted his mother, great-grandmother, extended family of aunts and uncles, and his expert friends, to whom I am also indebted. Secondly, I want to thank Margaret Simmons, my cheerful companion on most of my trips to Pauingassi, the person who made it possible for me to get to know Omishoosh and whose kind and generous approach to the people of Pauingassi facilitated so many interviews. At key points in my research, Margaret has provided badly needed encouragement and a keen mind, and can always be counted on for her boundless enthusiasm. This book would have been equally impossible without the cooperation and trust of the people of Pauingassi, particularly the various branches of the Owen family. The contribution of Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen) will be evident from the first chapter to the last, but the support, kindness, and endless encouragement of his grandson Nelson Owen and Nelson’s wife Elaine and son Joshua cannot be overstated. He may not know it yet, but this story is for Joshua so that the memories of his great-great-great-grandfather Naamiwan are not lost to the mists of time but live on in the memory of his descendants and in the artefacts of his amazing religious practice. I appreciate the cooperation of members of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge who have spoken to me with grace and dignity in a difficult situation. I am also very grateful for the cooperation of the staff of both the Anthropology Museum

Acknowledgments

of the University of Winnipeg and the Manitoba Museum. Dr Barnett Richling and Valerie McKinley of the University of Winnipeg have made the Pauingassi Collection available to Nelson Owen and to me and have shared the associated provenance and research notes. Dr Katherine Pettipas at the Manitoba Museum has been equally open to requests both from me and from the Owen family with respect to the collection. All of these people have been wonderfully encouraging. I would also like to acknowledge the contributions of Jennifer S.H. Brown, professor of history at the University of Winnipeg. Dr Brown introduced me to A. Irving Hallowell and sparked my interest in anthropology. In 1992, while I was recording material for my first documentary about Pauingassi, we travelled together to the American Philosophical Society (APS) to see Hallowell’s archives, and although I now have the APS’s permission to use these photos and research notes, I first used Dr Brown’s extensive collection of copies. I have also referenced her historical work to provide a broader picture of Pauingassi history than interviews alone can generate, and between 1992 and 2000 we gave a number of joint papers at conferences which incorporated my tapes and her historical insights. Some travel and translation work for the earliest documentaries was supported by her SSHRC Standard Research Grant, 1990–5. Additional translation was financed by a University of Winnipeg Major Internal Grant 2002, and for both of these grants Roger Roulette and I are very grateful. I appreciate Dr Brown’s quiet support and the encouragement she has freely given to me and those of us who share her interests. I am similarly indebted to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), particularly CBC Radio One, where I have been encouraged to do the most remarkable sort of journalism, from my community activist days when the CBC provided access to a northern transmitter for the very first native language community television station in Canada to my most recent assignments with Ideas. From the producers at CBC Radio I have learned the craft of editing and structuring documentaries and have been given the freedom to make unusual and deeply Ojibwe radio. Had I not made these documentaries over the last twenty-five years, the Ojibwe transcriptions and linguistic evidence I have deployed in this book would not exist and the wisdom of Omishoosh would be a fragile memory. I especially wish to thank my producers, Havoc Franklin, Margaret Ingram, Janet Ringer, Karen Levine, Tom Aniko, and Dave Redel, as well as the executive producer of Ideas, Bernie Lucht, for financial support and the encouragement they have provided over the years. Because I did this work as a CBC freelancer, I retained copyright to the original tapes and research, for which I am also grateful. I have recently donated the original tapes to the APS Library, and they have been digitized as part of a project to enhance access to Native American language collections and support Anishinaabe1 language retention. There are a number of other agencies who have facilitated my work over the years, including the Canada Council, which 1 Anishinaabe is the term a speaker uses to refer to him- or herself. Anishinaabe is the singular form, Anishinaabeg is the plural form. I use Anishinaabe or Anishinaabeg interchangeably with Ojibwe, another accepted term for all those who speak Anishinaabemowin, the language of the Anishinaabeg.

x

Acknowledgments

gave Roger and me a joint grant to work on translations in 1993, and the National Association of Radio Producers, who gave me academic scholarships from 2003 to 2005. This support made all the difference. And then there are my family, friends, and fellow students, who have provided steadfast encouragement and cheer when I needed it. I particularly want to thank Dr Darrell Racine, who persuaded my husband that moving from journalism to academic study was a good idea, and Dr Laura Peers of the University of Oxford and the Pitt Rivers Museum, who has been an astute and friendly mentor to Darrell and me both. Diane Lonergan, Amelia Fay, Pat Ningewance-Nadeau, Elizabeth Edwards, Francesca Gulielmino, Dr Cara Krmpotich, and Dr David Pentland read various sections of this book, providing valuable insights and challenging conversations, and while they are not responsible for my mistakes, they are certainly the reason I didn’t make more. Most of all I wish to thank my family: my mother, who visited me when I was writing this book to make sure I was happy, my two sons, who refrained from rolling their eyes when their mother was keeping the hours of a teenager, and most of all my husband, Charles, who accompanied me on this adventure and has done everything possible to make it a success. To all of you, I am sincerely grateful.

xi

This page intentionally left blank

Naamiwan’s Drum

This page intentionally left blank

1

Introduction

In the last thirty years, North American museums have gone from being uncontested sites of collective cultural representation to scenes of occasionally bitter struggles over cultural property. Repatriation claims are gradually resetting the post-colonial museological balance of power between subaltern and dominant societies. The description of the role of objects in tumultuous social processes has recently produced a new vein of anthropology which includes objects as actors in explanations of the social world. In this mode, objects are socially meaningful, embodying attributes which have social implications and, occasionally, world-changing agency. In choosing an anthropological topic, one could hardly find one more charged than repatriation. Compounded historical and personal injustices and a fierce desire to reclaim cultural practices drive native people to make repatriation claims; individuals and communities initiate the process out of historical bitterness as much as cultural pride. Repatriation claims might be welcomed by some contemporary curators who value cultural vitality over collection integrity, but they still strike at the heart of the museum ethos of preserving objects for the greater good; they represent a kind of quintessential threat to museums, the loss of collections, their ultimate raison d’être. This case study focuses on an even more distressing situation, a mistaken repatriation. In 1998, over eighty Ojibwe ceremonial artefacts1 from a small museum at the University of Winnipeg were secretly given to a politically adept Ojibwe cultural revitalization group entirely unrelated to the source communities. This happened in spite of excellent provenance and significant community interest in the collection. The difficulty of understanding this repatriation derives from an unusual set of circumstances exacerbated by a rift within a cultural group where honestly held views led to what many see as a gross injustice. The theoretical questions which this set of events generates are posed retrospectively, interrogating anthropological theory to make sense of a difficult story first told as journalism. “Fair Wind’s Water Drum,” the documentary about the

Naamiwan’s Drum

controversy, aired on April 28, 2002 on CBC Radio’s The Sunday Edition (Matthews 2002b). While lawyers steer clear of difficult cases (Holdsworth 1926:423), fearing that the clarity of the law will be distorted by exceptional cases, this study suggests that it is the breaks with convention, the unexpectedness of the conflict, and the inter-Ojibwe ruptures which make this unusual repatriation a supremely appropriate focus for anthropological interrogation. As John and Jean Comaroff remind us, the paradoxical nature of such events can be illuminating. “[T]here are always countervailing forces,” they write. “Sometimes these are implicated in open power struggles, sometimes they erupt in parody … But the conclusion is clear: with a sufficiently supple view of culture, we may begin to understand why social life everywhere appears dualistic, simultaneously ordered and disorderly” (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:30). This is the essence of repatriation, ordered by anthropological categories and museum processes and disrupted by claims and counterclaims. Journalism made it possible to shine a light on what appeared to be a shameful event, but anthropology has facilitated a “supple” view through a double prism, comparing and contrasting anthropological and Ojibwe perspectives. This anthropological case study has provided an opportunity to adapt and apply a branch of phenomenological theory having to do with the social agency of objects, an approach which suits repatriation, the homecoming of person-like things.

Naamiwan’s Drum The Canadian Ojibwe ceremonial artefacts at the centre of this controversial repatriation were once used by the gentleman in the centre of figure 1.1. The photograph of Ojibwe medicine man Naamiwan and his wife Koowin was taken in 1933 by the anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell in Pauingassi, Manitoba. Naamiwan is surrounded by the objects through which he exercised a combination of medicinal and murderous power available to very few Ojibwe religious practitioners.2 In the picture he is holding a rattle in one hand and a drumstick in the other. On the post to his right, guarding the door of the Waabano lodge, stands a manidookaan,3 the carved image of his spirit-helper, a Thunderbird. At his feet sits the most powerful object of all, his mitigwakik, his personal water drum, his ally in war, his assistant in healing, and his envoy to the future. This drum is our “epitomizing object” (after Fogelson 1985:84), an object whose life story condenses, encapsulates, and dramatizes longer-term historical processes (Fogelson 1989:143). The drum’s Ojibwe ceremonial life, museum sojourn, and repatriation adventure are the subject of this case study, which takes as its central premise, following Marilyn Strathern, Bruno Latour, Alfred Gell, and others, the theoretical, philosophical, and metaphorical personhood of things. This is apt because our epitomizing object, a mitigwakik or water drum, is (usually) grammatically and (often) metaphorically animate to Ojibwe speakers. It is equally (usually) metaphorically and (often) theoretically animate in museum and anthropological modes, and there are times in both modes when it is credited with agency, the power to act in the world.

4

Introduction

1.1  Naamiwan (with water drum), his wife Koowin, son Angus, and grandson Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen – some distance back inside the Waabano lodge), Pauingassi, 1933. Photograph F59, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

A. Irving Hallowell met Naamiwan at his home, the small fishing camp called Pauingassi on the Upper Berens River in Manitoba, Canada. For several summers in the 1930s, Hallowell travelled by canoe up the Berens River from Lake Winnipeg, a trip of more than two hundred kilometres and fifty portages (Hallowell 1992:8). He followed a route which connects Hudson Bay, via a long portage to the Severn River, to the lakes and rivers of the prairies. This route had been a busy one during the 260 years of the fur trade, but by the time Hallowell visited Naamiwan, Pauingassi’s strategic location on the trade route north was far less important than its reputation as a destination for healing. Naamiwan was renowned for saving lives and had patients from several hundred kilometres away (Boulanger 1971:63–4). When Hallowell came to visit in 1933, Naamiwan was over eighty and blind, but he was still hosting Waabano and dream dance ceremonies (Matthews and Roulette 2003), and the drum in this photograph was still being used by him and by his eldest son, Angus (behind Naamiwan’s right shoulder). The drum and the other objects that once belonged to Naamiwan were ultimately inherited by his grandson, Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), also in the photograph, farther inside the Waabano lodge to Angus’s right. Sixty years after these photographs were taken, I stood on the Pauingassi hilltop, Hallowell’s photos in hand. The images had inspired a search for Naamiwan’s dream drum and its maker. In the course of interviewing Omishoosh and

5

Naamiwan’s Drum

1.2  Chief William Berens and A. Irving Hallowell, Pauingassi, 1933. Photograph F164: Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

other members of the community, I became aware of the kin ties of both Naamiwan and his drum. On the hill in Pauingassi, I was standing where Hallowell first photographed Naamiwan. My host in Pauingassi was Naamiwan’s grandson, Omishoosh. We conversed with the help of my friend and translator, Margaret Simmons, who accompanied me on many trips to Pauingassi. She was the school board consultant for Pauingassi at the time, and Omishoosh was on the school board, so they knew each other well. But she is also connected to us both through her grandfather, Hallowell’s translator, informant, and friend, Chief William Berens. Berens was a member of the Moose clan, as was Naamiwan – kin relationships close enough to guarantee respect and cooperation. It was Berens who introduced Hallowell to Naamiwan, translating for him as Margaret was doing for me. My final family connection involves an academic lineage. I was introduced to Hallowell’s photographs by an anthropologist and historian, Dr Jennifer S.H. Brown, with whom I collaborated on an article about the life of Naamiwan (Brown and Matthews 1993) and who helped me make my first radio documentary about Naamiwan. She provided advice, ideas, encouragement, and quotes on three other documentaries, including the one upon which this case study is based. Brown studied at the University of Chicago with two of Hallowell’s students, her thesis supervisor, George Stocking, and Ray Fogelson, editor of a posthumous collection of Hallowell’s articles (Hallowell 1976). It was Jennifer Brown who realized that the Pauingassi Collection at the University of Winnipeg contained the ceremonial regalia associated with Naamiwan, Omishoosh’s grandfather and Hallowell’s informant. She has published a new edition of Hallowell’s collected articles

6

Introduction

1.3  Margaret Simmons and Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen) examining Hallowell photograph, Pauingassi 1993.

(Hallowell 2010) and used Hallowell’s archives to create a biography of William Berens (Brown and Gray 2009). We visited Hallowell’s anthropological archives in Philadelphia together when I was beginning to record the documentary in 1992. It was Margaret who realized that she and Omishoosh were the grandchildren of two of Hallowell’s most important Ojibwe informants. She and Omishoosh soon came to think of Jennifer and me as the “academic grandchildren” of Hallowell, a fact which Omishoosh and some of his cousins confirmed in naming us the Hallowell women, Midewigimaawikweg.4 I am profoundly indebted to Jennifer Brown for introducing me to Hallowell and social anthropology. Throughout the discussion of drums, artefacts, and museums which follows, family relationships are the principal frame of reference. My obligations to contemporary Owen family members who have supported me in my research are personal and I cannot but respect their intentions. In Ojibwe, drums are spoken of as family too. Some have names5 but all are referred to as animate beings (with some interesting complications) capable of acting for good or ill in the past, the present, and the future. From an Ojibwe point of view, my involvement in documenting the history of Naamiwan’s dream dance drum, my subsequent role in exposing the mistaken repatriation of his water drum, and indeed my move from journalism to anthropology are evidence of the apparent power of the drums and their wiikaan, their ceremonial brother, Naamiwan, to act in the world.

7

Naamiwan’s Drum

1.4  Map of Upper Berens River. Courtesy of Amelia Fay, 2016.

Introducing Pauingassi Pauingassi is unusual among Canadian native communities in having a well-­ documented post-contact history. The Ojibwe families who moved here in the early 1800s stayed because the area provided the medicines necessary for the healing practice for which the people eventually became famous. They were using what is now Pauingassi as a summer camp by 1815, thirty-five years before Naamiwan was born here (Brown and Matthews 1993:58). The community is situated very near the provincial border between Manitoba and Ontario on the Berens River, which flows in a westerly direction from Ontario into the upper basin of Lake Winnipeg. By 1800, the east side of Lake Winnipeg had been abandoned by the original Cree inhabitants who were there at the beginning of the fur trade (Lytwyn 1986, 2002). Intense competition between rival fur trade companies in the years immediately preceding this period meant that the area was effectively trapped out (Lytwyn 1986:150), and the waves of smallpox which swept the country in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries may have decimated the Cree population, but when

8

Introduction

1.5  Pauingassi, 1996.

Naamiwan’s father, Zhenawakaa’oshkang (Making a Rattling Noise by Stepping on a Twig), also known as Gichi-omoonzonii (Great Moose), moved his large family from Lac Seul in Ontario in about 1800 (Harms 2010:4), he was unlikely to have displaced anyone. He was also following a roughly westward migration which saw the Ojibwe become the dominant occupants of most of southern Manitoba, territory which had formerly been Assiniboine lands (Peers 1994). Naamiwan was born in Pauingassi about 1851. His mother, Mangitigwaan (Bighead), was the youngest of six wives of Zhenawakaa’oshkang, and Naamiwan was one of twenty children, sixteen of whom were still alive when Treaty Number 5 was signed in 1876. Although many family members moved away over the years, Naamiwan and his immediate family stayed on in Pauingassi. The residents of the community explained to us that Naamiwan said he had everything he needed in Pauingassi to heal people and protect his family (Brown and Matthews 1993:62). Pauingassi is situated on a sandy hill on the west side of Fishing Lake overlooking a narrows. The hill is not high, approximately six metres above the shore, and on the top there are several acres of open grass. Most of the shoreline is smooth Precambrian rock, ground into gentle waves by the retreating glaciers. Where Hallowell’s photographs were taken, a sandspit reaches out into the water to create a natural gateway. Pauingassi’s residents were once notorious for taking advantage of this happy geographical opportunity. Reverend Frederick G. Stevens, a Methodist missionary who visited Pauingassi in 1913 and 1914, observed that the residents of Pauingassi, led by Naamiwan, “held the Indians around in terror,” and, clearly empathizing with the neighbours, went on, “Like the old robber barons in Europe

9

Naamiwan’s Drum

1.6  Pauingassi, 2011.

of old, he from his wigwam (castle) demanded tribute from all passers by. He threatened dire consequences to any who would dare pass by without landing” (F.G. Stevens in Brown and Matthews 1993:66). As Jennifer Brown has pointed out, controlling waterways and extracting “tolls” has a long indigenous history and was a strategy by no means unique to the residents of Pauingassi (Brown and Matthews 1993:66). Naamiwan’s formidable reputation remains, although he died in 1943. The community still perches on the water’s edge, with sturdy aluminium boats pulled up on the shore. It now stretches about a mile along the lake as new houses are built at either end, and a new school with a tepee tower sits massively on a gravel ridge to the north. There is still no other way to get to Pauingassi than by boat (or float plane) in summer, as Hallowell and Stephens both did, or by driving across the lake on the ice road in winter and skittering up the slippery rocks. There has never been a landing strip for wheeled aircraft, but now, during freeze-up and spring thaw, for a princely sum, a helicopter ferries visitors and residents the thirty-six kilometres back and forth to the nearest airport. When Hallowell visited, he estimated the population to be about 250. Until very recently the population remained roughly stable, but it is starting to grow, and the latest population estimate is 565 people (April 2016).6 The earliest known photograph of the community, taken in 1928 by Gerald Malaher, a provincial wildlife official, shows a compact fishing camp with a few log houses, canvas tents, and a rounded birch-bark and canvas-covered waaginogaan. The most striking building in the photo is a round latticework pavilion,

10

Introduction

1.7  Pauingassi, 1928, from Gerald Malaher (1984), The North I Love, 56 (with permission).

approximately nine metres across, pierced by two tall poles topped with carved birds. This round pavilion, Naamiwan’s boodaadewigamig, was reserved for ceremonies involving a dream dance drum. Equally amazing is the stout bell-tower. Jennifer Brown and I were told that the bell was rung by Naamiwan to call people to Christian prayer on Sundays, although there was some doubt about the authenticity of his service. Maryanne Keeper told us that it was not “real church” – just part of his gift. Adam Owen told us a funny story about the bell falling and narrowly missing Naamiwan when he pulled the rope, an event which made them think he didn’t know that much about Christianity (MK 1992, AO 1994). The same bell is now mounted on the Mennonite Church in Pauingassi, and they still ring it on Sundays. The round pavilion in the 1928 photo or one like it was still there when Hallowell visited the community fifteen years later, along with a newer rectangular openwork pole structure called a waabanoowigamig. Twelve metres long and about four metres wide, it was built farther back from the lake on the south side of the hill. This structure, which featured in many of Hallowell’s photographs, was used for social dances, waabano ceremonies, and the extraordinary rites of local Midewiwin practitioners. It was this complex of ceremonial and medicinal structures which made Pauingassi famous in the 1930s (Boulanger 1971:63–4). Walking around the community on a quiet winter evening, passing through drifts of fragrant spruce smoke from wood stoves, listening to soft Ojibwe voices and easy laughter, one can easily imagine that time has been kind to Pauingassi. Going from house to house at night, I have been comforted by the sight of the

11

Naamiwan’s Drum

northern lights, waawaate, the ancestors dancing happily in the sky. “They approve of our project and what we’re doing here,” Margaret told me one evening after a long interview with Omishoosh. “I’m sure of it” (Simmons, pers. comm. November 1996). Here every five-year-old arrives at school speaking grammatically perfect Ojibwe, and notes home have to be written in Ojibwe syllabics to be understood. The language is alive and well, a miracle in contemporary northern Canada, where other communities seem to be losing their language in this generation. But it is at school and in the band office, the nursing station, and the welfare office that another Pauingassi is revealed. Of the 500-odd residents, the band administrator told me that 73 work for the band. Of the rest, nearly 120 are under the age of fifteen and in elementary school or should be; many are in the care of Child and Family Services and have been taken to the city, and of those present in the community, about half are truant. Most adult men have given up trapping in the last fifteen years because life in the bush is completely uneconomic, mostly because of the fur ban and the rising price of gas. They still fish and hunt, but for most it is recreation, not a profession. Social problems, alcoholism, gas-sniffing, sexual abuse, and family violence plague the community, and those not employed by the band receive welfare payments that barely sustain an extremely impoverished life. And there are no more drums playing at night. When Reverend Stevens came to Pauingassi in 1914, he spent some time with a grieving family while Naamiwan was away from the community. He felt he had scored a few Christian points, but his work was undone, he believed, because “As soon as he [Naamiwan] got home, he at once began to drum, and kept it up all night in hopes of counterchecking the effect of our visit.” Stevens sourly observed that he was “sorry to think that the devil was trying to eat up the good seed we had sown” (Stevens in Brown and Matthews 1993:67). The drumming in Pauingassi was kept up by Naamiwan’s son and grandson and only stilled when Naamiwan’s water drum was retired in 1957 on the death of his eldest son.7 It was placed at the foot of a poplar tree on an island north of Pauingassi where sacred things are put to rest. His dream drum,8 Gibaabaanaan, was played at funerals and celebrations by Omishoosh until 1973 when it burnt in a house fire.

Introducing Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge The other Ojibwe group figuring in the repatriation of the Pauingassi Collection is the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge (Three Fires), a US-registered not-for-profit corporation. The CEO and Grand Chief of Three Fires is Eddie Benton Banai, a political activist and innovator in native-controlled education (Benton Banai 2002). The organization’s website explains that Three Fires is a “contemporary movement of the Sacred Midewiwin Society” started by Benton Banai after he founded the Little Red School House, an Indian-controlled school in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Benton Banai is a co-founder, along with Dennis Banks and Clyde Bellecourt, of the American Indian Movement (AIM), “arguably the most influential movements [sic] that has led to self-identity, pride and revival of the American Indian culture for the last generation of the Anishinabe [Anishinaabe] people” (Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge website). While the American Indian Movement is a militant civil rights

12

Introduction

and identity politics movement made famous during a seventy-one-day armed standoff at Wounded Knee, South Dakota, in 1973, the Three Fires Lodge’s purpose is personal and educational and directly addresses alcohol and drug abuse. Their goals, according to their website, are: 1. To provide a way and means to revive and relearn the original teachings, rituals, rites and ceremonies of the Midewiwin Lodge. 2. To promote the spiritual, physical, emotional and mental well-being of all Anishinabe [Anishinaabe] people is of the highest priority. 3. To promote healing and achieve freedom from alcohol and other drugs, family or other violence and poverty through culture-based education programs that include healing of self, family and community. 4. To provide educational opportunities for children and youth in all areas of interest. “What matters is the life of our people and the life of the earth,” Benton Banai told me. “That’s what we’re about” (EBB 2002:10). The Midewiwin or Grand Medicine Society is considered by many to be the traditional religion of the Ojibwe (Densmore 1910:13; Angel 2002:5) and was a source of fascination for the earliest observers of Ojibwe people (Warren 2009 (1885)). William Warren describes it as both a complex ceremonial practice involving the certification of ceremonial leaders and a series of myths which relate the westward migration of the Ojibwe people. It is “their mode of worshipping the Great Spirit, and securing life in this and a future world, and of conciliating the lesser spirits, who in their belief people earth, sky and waters” (Warren 2009 (1885):61). The Midewiwin is one of two dominant religious ceremonial practices of the Ojibwe in northern Wisconsin where Three Fires is now based, the second being the Big Drum or Peace Drum, historically connected with Naamiwan’s Boodaade drum (Vennum 1982; Matthews 1992:20; Brown and Matthews 1993:64–5). In spite of social pressures, drums and ceremonial traditions have survived in the Great Lakes area around Lac Courte Oreilles.9 A singer in the Lac Courte Oreilles area told me that there are active Midewiwin and Big Drum groups at Lake Lena, Round Lake, Balsam Lake, Hirtle, and Red Lake. Benton Banai received his fourth degree Midewiwin credentials, the level needed to teach others, from a medicine man named John Rogers at St Croix, Wisconsin. The Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge and AIM have been active in Manitoba for at least twenty-five years. AIM members have contributed to the intellectual development of ideas to do with reclaiming indigenous cultural property and were among the first to make repatriation claims (Fine-Dare 2002:78).

Introducing Pauingassi and Ojibwe Ethnography The Ojibwe people of Pauingassi and their remarkable ceremonial practice were first described anthropologically by A. Irving Hallowell (1892−1974). Hallowell was a careful ethnographer who developed a warm relationship with his Ojibwe informants over seven summers in the 1930s. He was the first and only other

13

Naamiwan’s Drum

anthropologist to do fieldwork in Pauingassi, and his legacy for me has been a warm welcome in Pauingassi and a marked openness to my anthropological and journalistic endeavours. His scholarly legacy includes sound ethnographic work and innovative psychological and phenomenological approaches. There are several other anthropologists who have contributed to the Ojibwe ethnographic record, including some venerable ethnographic work on the Ojibwe (Schoolcraft 1852; Hoffman 2005 (1891); Kohl 1985 (1860); Warren 2009 (1885); Jones (1919)) and some more recent historical work (Black-Rogers 1971; Pettipas 1994; Peers 1994; Angel 2002). A number of people have done fieldwork nearby (Radin 1914; Landes 1937, 1938, 1968; Dunning 1959; Brightman 2002 (1973); Steinbring 1982), and there is quite a bit of work on the American Ojibwa of the Great Lakes Region (Densmore 1910, 1913, 1979 (1929); Blessing 1977; Vennum 1982, 1988, 2008; Nesper 2002). This work has merit, but I have chosen to concentrate on Hallowell’s anthropological contributions, in part because of his methodological prescience; Hallowell’s work thoughtfully anticipates Michael Jackson’s criticisms having to do with “intersubjectivity” (Jackson 1998, 1989). Hallowell is also applicable and reliable; his ethnographic observations were often specific to Pauingassi. Rather than risk generalizing across a very large and diverse cultural group, I am speaking of many of the same individuals and the identical geographic context. Hallowell’s legacy for the Ojibwe people of Pauingassi is the creation of a kind of cultural historical reference point. While I am careful to avoid framing an “ethnographic present” (Fabian 2002 (1983):80–7), my fieldwork reveals many parallels with Hallowell’s observations, and I find that many of the ideas he documented are still operative. In selecting an anthropological approach, I have privileged the perspective of Ojibwe speakers wherever possible, starting with the key observation that, in their language, drums and ceremonial artefacts are (with some exceptions) grammatically and metaphorically animate; they are said to have acted and are thought to be acting still. There is a productive parallel between the Ojibwe view of ceremonial objects and the theoretical assumptions of object-­ centred anthropology, which frames objects as actors in social networks playing roles as person/objects in dynamic social relationships (Latour 1993, 2005; Gell 1998; Strathern 1988, 1999, 2004b). Following both Jackson and Fabian, I am mindful of the role I have played over the years as participant and observer in this unfolding drama (Fabian 2002 (1983):28). Jackson’s phenomenological approach situates anthropological activism in a way that opens anthropological windows on Ojibwe identity (Jackson 1996). By way of introduction, I find it helpful to use the category “Ojibwe” as if it were unproblematic, but this is only a convenient fiction. There are many ways of being Ojibwe in the past and in the present. I address three modes among many. One is the Pauingassi of Naamiwan’s day; another is contemporary Pauingassi as I have recorded it. The third mode, characterized by the activism of the American Indian Movement and the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, is as part of a significant indigenous religious revitalization in which educated Ojibwe people have regrouped and begun to reassert their “culture” and reclaim their “traditional” religion. This new religious practice has evolved in the context of friendship centres, pan-Indian ecumenical movements, addictions treatment, and healing lodges. It has involved

14

Introduction

creative invention, historical adaptation, and passionate claims of authenticity, and while it is easy to be cynical (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983), this is one of the most dynamic contemporary social movements in Western Canada. In addition to the Comaroffs’ call to take revitalization movements seriously (1992:5), literature on authenticity and ethnicity (Banks 1996; Michael Brown 2003) provides useful perspectives for understanding these developments. Parkin (1999) shows a means by which objects help refugees reconstruct culture and identity, a strategy employed by urban Ojibwe people who sometimes find the prompts for cultural renewal in museum collections. The political and economic stratification between groups within the greater Ojibwe community and the cultural repercussions of this imbalance of power are starkly visible in the events of the repatriation. These divisions serve to remind us that, like many apparently obvious categories, they are an illusion; there is no one Ojibwe culture. James Elkins (2002) blames my categorical dilemma on philosopher Georg Hegel, who created a definition of culture in which a particular period is thought to have a unique “zeitgeist” – the sum of all of its coeval manifestations (2002:52). Elkins argues that because of this Hegelian tradition, art historians typically chose an art-historical period and an artist or a work and then set about proving either that their subject is typical of the period or that the parameters of the period need to be expanded to include outliers. He calls this exercise “mending the zeitgeist” and warns against it (2002:54, 2005). Mending the Ojibwe zeitgeist is extremely tempting because it would allow for the convenient assumption that all Ojibwe people share cultural norms. But this repatriation study shows that grouping Ojibwe people according to their linguistic/tribal affiliation and assuming a homogenous cultural zeitgeist is profoundly misleading. It seems that a more useful cultural metaphor might be that of an Ojibwe archipelago (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:31), islands of Ojibwe experience amidst a sea of what most native people think of as “dominant culture.” Waves of European understanding and practice, museums for instance, wash the beach of each unique Ojibwe reality. Ojibwe communities may be cut off from one another physically and temporally. They may intersect only in the context of mediating objects and meddling institutions. They may never actually meet and they have little in common. Pauingassi is remote, isolated by distance and language. Urban Ojibwe experience is cut through with disruptive social interactions of all kinds, toughened by conflict with a non-native majority, and eroded by unfair economics and unequal education. I shall endeavour to be careful about museum “zeitgeists” too, because if anything is to be learned from this proscription against mending zeitgeists, it is that apparent similarities are not to be trusted (Elkins 2002:54). The two museums involved in this repatriation, the Anthropology Museum of the University of Winnipeg and the Manitoba Museum, have a common institutional nomenclature, but each one is in some ways unique; these distinctions are revealed by interactions with the artefacts they house. Within museums, the artefacts of the Pauingassi Collection have begun to act like Latour’s “recalcitrant” objects (Latour 2000:116). They have been thwarted – but not permanently – and they are now poised, a kind of cultural slingshot, quietly gaining potential energy until they begin to reassert their social agency. If Pauingassi artefacts were socially inert, if Naamiwan’s drums

15

Naamiwan’s Drum

had no agency, there would be no repatriation controversy; I’d have no drawers of tape of Pauingassi elders, and Naamiwan’s water drum would still be sitting quietly on a shelf at the University of Winnipeg.

Theoretical Approach This is a theoretically grounded, ethnographically rich case study of a group of Ojibwe ceremonial artefacts, examining their relationships in the Anthropology Museum of the University of Winnipeg and the Manitoba Museum and in two different Ojibwe communities. I focus on an “epitomizing object,” Naamiwan’s water drum, and an “epitomizing event,” the contested repatriation (Fogelson 1985:84 and 1989:143).10 The artefacts in the Pauingassi Collection also include another old water drum, drumsticks, men’s regalia, women’s dance capes, rattles, sucking tubes, and pipes. I provide a Geertzian “thick description” (Geertz 2000 (1973):7) of the lives of these artefacts in their source community, show how they came to reside in the museum and what that meant for people in Pauingassi and for the artefacts. I then explore new relationships formed with the museum and with the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, the group which claimed the artefacts, and I show how the drum came to be returned to Naamiwan’s family. In taking this course, I am following the path first suggested by Igor Kopytoff and Arjun Appadurai in The Social Life of Things (1986), but whereas they were interested in the commoditization of objects as objects, I am interested in their social force, their agency within their own biographical narrative, their participation in multiple biographies and the way in which they appear to have the social role of persons. Following Strathern (2004b), I propose that both artefacts and persons are “partible” person/objects whose complex personhood is the sum of their multiple social relationships. I describe the nature of the multiple, overlapping social relationships which develop between the artefacts, the family, various communities, and the museum in the course of the repatriation. I build a theoretical matrix focused on the personhood of objects which generates multiple explanations, some conflicting, some complementary, facilitating a discussion of crucial issues in repatriation. I use a broad range of theory juxtaposed against a concise set of circumstances, the unique intersection of Pauingassi artefacts and repatriation. I construct an object-centred anthropological matrix which uses the theoretical and metaphorical personhood of artefacts and their multiple possible agencies to explain events in which they appear to be socially active. In the following section I very briefly mention the theoretical trajectory of the book. A thorough discussion of the literature will be integrated into four analytical chapters, which interleave four narrative chapters.

Agency and Artefacts Naamiwan’s Drum presents an opportunity to learn, from a specific instance of repatriation within a historically situated Anishinaabe community, about repatriation in general. This set of events provides a multifaceted case study for testing a

16

Introduction

theoretical approach to repatriation using an anthropological theory of art which seemed to me, from the outset of my research, remarkably appropriate. Alfred Gell’s Art and Agency (1998) postulates a way of looking at art objects without the aesthetic blinkers of Euro-American culture. I use Gell’s theory to explore the agency of museum artefacts without getting caught up in colonial and coercive museum paradigms. I employ his ideas about the agency of objects in part because they are in sympathy with Ojibwe metaphorical thinking about the agency of ceremonial objects. I am aware that that Gell’s concern was with the anthropological analysis of art objects, but I show that his theory is equally applicable to ethnographic artefacts like those in the Pauingassi Collection. Gell’s agency theory is a useful elaboration of an extended anthropological metaphor, a model that postulates personhood for objects and builds on Marilyn Strathern’s ideas about the role of objects in the formation of identity and her theories about gifts, “dividuals,” and distributed personhood. Gell set about anthropologizing art objects by putting aside his interest in their aesthetic value. He argued that aesthetics is a Western intellectual construct and ought not to be imposed upon or discovered in the culture of others. Instead he directs our anthropological attention to social interactions in the vicinity of or directly involving these exceptional objects. My concern is with the anthropological analysis of ethnographic artefacts in the context of repatriation. Like the aesthetic context of art, artefacts have a distracting museological context which impedes analysis of repatriation. Finding a way to evade the cultural presumptions of museums as Gell evades aesthetics serves my purposes very well. Howard Morphy (2009) suggests that there are inconsistencies in the overall argument in Gell’s Art and Agency, and Nicholas Thomas, who helped Gell complete the manuscript, acknowledges that Gell might have continued to revise some of his chapters to “better integrate them into the whole” (Thomas 1998:vii). But there is no doubt that “Gell’s drastic reformulation of the anthropology of art is of major importance” (Thomas 2001:2). I am starting from a similar premise and asserting that Gell’s theory of agency is equally important in the anthropology of ethnographic artefacts. In conjunction with other recent scholarship, I test the utility of Gell’s matrix of patients and agents against the experience of artefacts which appear to initiate and mediate responses in human beings across time and across obvious cultural boundaries. My fieldwork leads me to think that artefacts are often credited with the qualities of an index and said to act in a social nexus in the way that Gell imagines (Gell 1998:28). I argue that Gell’s model, reoriented and slightly revised, can usefully be applied to enchanted artefacts in the process of repatriation. I choose the word “artefact” deliberately. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), an artefact is an “object made or modified by human workmanship.” Alternatively, it is “a spurious result, effect, or finding in a scientific experiment or investigation, esp. one created by the experimental technique or procedure itself.” The origin is seventeenth-century English, from Latin: arte – by or using art, and factum – something made. Although there are occasions when art is an artefact and an artefact is art, in an anthropologist’s hands, they are usually an oppositional pair. An artefact is not art in the way that crafts and “kitsch” are not art. Whereas

17

Naamiwan’s Drum

art is a trans-national category, artefacts are nominally embedded in a particular culture, and that cultural context provides an important aspect of the object’s meaningful interpretation. Whereas art works, whatever their origin, can be commoditized and subsumed interpretatively into the contemporary art world (a fact recognized by Dickie’s “institutional” theory of art (in Gell 1999b:188)), I would argue that an artefact is to some degree an “inalienable object” (Weiner 1985) protected from complete commoditization because it has an enduring connection to a source community. An art object is stored or displayed in a “gallery” dedicated to making much of artists and the idea of Art. An artefact is stored or displayed in a museum, a major auction house, an antique store, or even a flea market because an artefact is a humbler thing, valued less for its external appearance than for its original historical, cultural meaning, for the biographical story it tells, and for its power to evoke personal memories. This is the quality which Gell was keen to deny in art, the idea that objects can be “read” for meaning; he firmly rejected semiotics as a method of anthropologically interrogating art. While I am not any more confident than Gell about the ability of objects to accurately carry semiotic freight across cultural boundaries, I argue that some semiotic value is presumed with respect to artefacts; that original meanings tie an artefact to the individual, family, or community for whom it once had, and maybe still does have, a social role. There is a thread woven of the strands of inalienable relationships which connects the artefact and its source community, and that thread, however attenuated, holds the possibility of repatriation (Weiner 1985). Art may be repatriated when legal conventions have been flouted (as in the Nazi theft of Jewish art works), but artefacts are repatriated because of inalienable historical and personal connections, moral and cultural claims, and overpowering politicized human sentiment. The second OED definition of “artefact” warns against the power of anthropological practice to impose Western ideas, to create categories of objects which are not naturally present but occur as a result of the investigative procedure. Like an anthropological manifestation of Heisenberg’s “observer effect” (cited in Jackson 1989:3), an artefact is not an indigenous category, although it may incidentally serve indigenous purposes. The radical asymmetry of power relations in the anthropological project, the scope of science, and the vulnerability of the objects of research, especially in a colonial context, have had the effect of turning one person’s cultural patrimony into another person’s ethnographic data (Weiner 1985). “Artefact” is often just one of several states of being of a culturally meaningful object, but an object becomes an artefact first when it is subject to the professional scientific gaze (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1991:387). While I prefer the word “artefact” as a gloss for the study of objects in anthropology (because it is older, broader and contains multiple meanings) and find it appropriate for the objects in this repatriation because their residency in a museum has been a dominant mode, anthropologists now use several other terms, and the change in terminology reflects theoretical and practical changes in the profession. For many years artefacts were called “ethnographic objects,” a term which privileges the evidentiary mode of the artefact as specimen, as cultural data, and presumes cross-cultural semiotic mobility. Ethnographic artefacts “show” culture, can

18

Introduction

be used to compare cultures, and are collected by ethnographic museums because cultural information inheres in them. The term gives a nod to the source community in so far as the evidence embodied in the object is nominally about the “other,” but it instantiates the coercive power of ethnographic scholarly authority and is subsumed in the grand quasi-scientific cultural taxonomic project. The advantage of the term “ethnographic object” is that it is remarkably direct. It makes no bones about its frankly Eurocentric point of view, and, insofar as the museums which collect these “ethnographic objects” may not have altered significantly, the word is still usefully descriptive. Anthropologists currently tend to use the term “material culture.” It has the advantage of being a prosaic category which includes objects that are meaningful in simple ways in the lives of everyone. “Material culture” includes made and used forms no matter the scale, from vast landscapes to the smallest nano-­ implement, the products of technological and economic processes as well as the work of artisans and artists. A material culture perspective reminds us of the omnipresent social role of objects by bringing to mind the “manner by which we order things and are ordered by things” (Miller 1997 (1994):399). This perspective has enriched ethnography by encouraging anthropologists to include meaningful objects among those things which deserve a Geertzian “thick description.” The study of material culture implies a particular type of practice: that instead of collecting objects and carrying them off, one is studying in situ “the material products of human manufacturing processes” (Morphy 1985:513). This situated practice enables a focus on the changing meaning of objects, a constant theme for museum objects. As Daniel Miller (1997 (1994):400) observes, “If the meaning of objects derives from the orders into which they are incorporated, then the same artefact may change its implication simply by being introduced into some new order” (cf. Kopytoff 1986; Hooper-Greenhill 1992). The problem with the term is that the question of meaningfulness is closed. Material culture must always signify culture, comparative or otherwise. Like aesthetic systems which subsume indigenous categories, a material culture perspective confines objects to an anthropological role as signifiers of culture, and if, as Roy Wagner and others have argued, culture is an anthropological invention, surely material culture must also be a figment of the anthropological mind (and an artefact of scientific observation). There is one last term for artefacts which is used more often by museum professionals, lawyers, and activists than by anthropologists. “Cultural property” is a broad category which includes human remains, art, museum objects, and intellectual property. The phrase “cultural property” was coined in 1970 by the UNESCO Convention on Cultural Property (Greenfield 1995 (1989):107) and is used to respond to the occasionally coercive nature of the anthropological project, the overwhelming power disparity in colonial interactions, and the resulting vigorous personal and political reactions of contemporary indigenous people. The phrase “cultural property” is an apparent oxymoron meant to destabilize entrenched assumptions and provide an intellectual space for cultural rights. The “cultural property” in question may be stolen art, commoditized artefacts, appropriated ideas, music, or stories, or data – genetic and otherwise – but the foremost

19

Naamiwan’s Drum

idea this term expresses is the inalienability of such communally owned property; no matter where cultural property may be or how it got there, it rightfully belongs to the culture group from whom it came. Cultural property is a foundational idea of repatriation claims and often has tremendous personal and local resonance. “However constituted or mobilized, and however situated with respect to given political boundaries,” writes Richard Handler, “a self-conscious national or ethnic group will claim possession of cultural properties as both representative and constitutive of cultural identity” (1985:211). All of these terms – ethnographic objects, material culture, and cultural ­property – are artefacts in the second sense; they are images or relationships created by research. These terms specify relationships between person/objects and those who would use them for particular legal or research purposes and, like relationships in “contact zones” (Pratt 1992:6–7), such relationships are often characterized by radical inequality and the possibility of coercion. Following Strathern, one can see that, for artefacts as person/objects, all three of these modes (scholarly claims by academic persons in respect of ethnographic things) create non-optional obligations which derive from the comparative mode scholarship entails.

Animacy and Artefacts The metaphorical attribution of animacy to biologically inert objects is a way of thinking about the material world which Euro-American anthropologists have in common with Ojibwe speakers (and many others) and is the metaphysical prelude to artefactual agency. Metaphorical animacy is used by both groups to describe the social effects of meaningful artefacts and to postulate causal relationships. The phenomenon of animacy is embedded in the everyday English language and comes easily to speakers who call ships “she,” name their cars, and expect museum objects to convey knowledge across cultural boundaries. Postulating that objects may mimic persons socially has been a useful theoretical strategy for anthropologists. In order for objects to have social agency they must be primed by some presumption of animacy, and it would be easy to assume that this conceptual stage is the same for all who share the inclination to figuratively animate their world. I examine this assumption by looking very precisely at grammatical animacy in Ojibwe and what may be meant by it. Ojibwe is a language which demands a choice between animate and inanimate. I examine from a linguistic point of view an Ojibwe text which includes many animate and inanimate references to the artefacts involved in the contested repatriation, finding that references to socially active artefacts are respectfully obscured by the euphemisms and inanimate forms of “discreet speech” (Black-Rogers 1986b). To explain Ojibwe concepts of animacy, I use two categories of “unexpected animates” (Goddard 2002: 224–5), asiniig, stones, and the memegwesiwag,11 semi-­ human dwarves who live in the sheer granite cliffs near most Ojibwe communities and are said to be the great experts on stones. Memegwesiwag make magically light stone canoes and taught the Cree and Ojibwe all they know about making stone tools, spear points, and arrowheads. They are a universal feature of northern

20

Introduction

Algonquian life, and it is their involvement with stones which reinforces the possibility that stones may be alive, that they can be asked to store medicine and open on command, that they can heal and protect people and act on behalf of absent medicine men. I have a small birch-bark box at home with a collection of stones the memegwesiwag are said to have chewed; they look like little wads of gum with tiny teeth marks. They were collected for me on the shore of a small prairie river near Gladstone, Manitoba, by my friend and translator, Roger Roulette. They are, he tells me, proof positive of the existence of memegwesiwag and compelling evidence of their mysterious relationship with stone. I also explore ethnographic and linguistic perspectives on the meaning of animate agreement. Using the work of Frederick Baraga (1850), Leonard Bloomfield (1933), Joseph Greenberg (1954), and Ives Goddard (2002) among others, I examine the debate among linguists over the extent to which grammatical animacy can be said to have semantic import. Algonquian ethnographers Hallowell (1960), and linguists Regna Darnell and Anthony Vanek (1976), Mary Black-Rogers (1982), and Anne Terry Straus and Robert Brightman (1982) respond to this linguistic literature, finding that the Ojibwe make subtle and sometimes humorous use of the attribution of animacy. Using the work of Tim Ingold (2000, 2006) along with Nurit Bird-David (1999), Eduardo Viveiros de Castro (1998), and Laura M. Rival (2002), I situate Ojibwe animacy within current anthropological debate about the theoretical relevance of animacy.

Personhood and Artefacts Things which live, even metaphorically, do so because they are attributed some level of social personhood. Taking Strathern’s lead (Strathern 1988, 1999, 2004b), I posit the partible personhood of objects and argue that looking at objects as “dividuals” explains a great deal about their abrupt shifts in meaning. Strathern argues that both persons and objects have person-like and thing-like modes. Persons trapped by inescapable social obligations are at their most thing-like. When a person/object exists in the eyes of another as a single image, be it mother’s daughter or father’s car, that thing-like mode delimits their social options; they are bound by the consequences of that relationship. Ownership, a claim made by persons in respect of things, imposes non-optional obligations which override other possibilities, reducing person/objects subject to their least socially active, most thinglike mode. On the other hand, person/objects are at their most person-like when they have agency, when they are attributed capacity to act in their world, and when their other multiple social relationships are apparent and acknowledged. Strathern argues that the sum of the multifaceted personal relationships which uniquely aggregate in a person/object can never be known by any one other relational correspondent, so some relationships will always be invisible. Thinking of artefacts at their most person-like involves considering the possibility that they may simultaneously be owned by the socially active ghost of a medicine man and by a museum, claimed by repatriation activists, be kin to Ojibwe families, and be the ceremonial partners of entire communities; it generates a picture of artefacts

21

Naamiwan’s Drum

which entertain confusingly contradictory and often secret relationships. Thinking of rights claims as similar in practice to ownership claims – as claims made by persons in respect of things – one sees how a personhood analysis can predict vulnerability to a mistaken repatriation. If artefacts have some degree of personhood, it follows that they have lives which can be traced. This idea underlies the latest literature on biographical objects and is enhanced by the complementary idea of the object as social nexus, which Chris Gosden and Chantal Knowles (2001) propose (cf. Peers and Brown 2003). The story of Naamiwan’s two drums alone would be a compelling focus for a cultural biography, following Arjun Appadurai and Igor Kopytoff (1986). The dream drum’s role in restoring the memory of his maker and the water drum’s transition from an animate member of an Ojibwe community to a contested museum artefact are, despite their unique twists and turns, the sorts of lives led by many ethnographic artefacts. If we take Janet Hoskins’s lead (1998), the story of the drums also reveals important parts of a biography of Ojibwe medicine man Naamiwan and his grandson Omishoosh and ultimately his great-great-grandson Nelson Owen. I have used this biographical strategy for the narrative portions of the book, chapters 2, 4, 6, and 8. Combining the Ojibwe idea of interacting spheres of existence with Strathern’s partible personhood perspective, the hidden and conflicting but coexisting biographies reveal the multiple “possible destinies” of person/objects (Strathern 1999:14).

Repatriation and the Construction of Meaning Looking at repatriation from the point of view of artefacts as social actors and acknowledging the museum as a vibrant anthropological “contact zone” (Clifford 1988, 1997; Phillips 2003; Phillips and Phillips 2005; Peers and Brown 2003), I explain how the repatriation of the Pauingassi Collection became an “epitomizing event” (Fogelson 1985). Following Strathern (1999, 2004b), I argue that when repatriation claims are activated, they abruptly reveal hidden relationships and expose conflicting claims. By way of background, I examine the colonial history of museum collecting and the consequences of introducing artefacts into a nineteenth-century taxonomic classificatory system. Following Roger M. Keesing (1994) and Colin Samson (2001), I show the extent to which the subaltern rhetoric of repatriation activists is shaped by these historical museum meanings. I examine two anthropological ideas in particular, “culture” as a “rhetorical object” and “traditional” as an unexamined assertion of authenticity in the context of cultural rights claims. A repatriation request involves these and other anthropological assumptions about how knowledge and culture inhere in meaningful objects. There is a broad anthropological literature on materiality (Miller 2005; Dant 2005; Sofaer 2007) that deals with objects as sites of sociality and as evidence of social intentionality. Ingold argues that this focus on the materiality of objects should be turned to an interest in “enskillment” and the nature of the interactive, creative relationship between people and objects (2007). I am also interested in Ojibwe conceptions of mutable form and metamorphosis as a critique

22

Introduction

of materiality. The connection between power and metamorphosis identified by Hallowell results in an Ojibwe openness to events as they transpire and a marked disinclination to make categorical statements about the nature of entities, a cultural trait Black-­Rogers calls “percept ambiguity” (1977b). Despite the large literature on repatriation generally, there are few detailed case studies of repatriation from a community perspective (Fenton 1989; Tooker 1998). Many have to do with human remains, which I take to be a separate case and do not consider here (Fforde, Hubert, and Turnbull 2001; Mihesuah 2000; Barkan 2000; Simpson 2001). Most repatriation literature is either broadly technical and generally encouraging (Peers and Brown 2003; Phillips 2003; Clavir 2002) or related to the legal options for supporting cultural rights nationally and internationally (Barkan and Bush 2002; Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009). For obvious reasons, there has been little academic interest in repatriations that have gone “wrong,” although a quiet conversation at any museum will confirm that it can and sometimes does happen. The story of Naamiwan’s water drum fits into this literature as a cautionary tale. In almost every way, what happened between the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge and the University of Winnipeg is the antithesis of an ideal repatriation. A detailed analysis of repatriation as a “diagnostic event” (Moore 1987) should generate a revision of some current rather positivist approaches (Gulliford 2000; Mihesuah 2000). It may also facilitate an amendment to Svetlana Alpers’s ideas about a “museum” way of seeing to include indigenous perspectives (Alpers 1991). James Clifford and George Marcus (1986:10–11) point out that “interpreters constantly construct themselves through the others they study,” and it’s fair to say that, without the generous participation of the people of Pauingassi, I would not have reconstructed myself as an anthropologist. Because I had been interviewing people and collecting tape in Pauingassi for twenty-five years, a fresh start with fieldwork based on the latest anthropological literature was never possible. Before my involvement in Pauingassi, I spent eleven years in the Cree community of La Ronge helping to start the first native (and native-language) television station in Canada. I encouraged Cree people to make their own shows in their own language and to speak for themselves, which, of course, they were entirely capable of doing. Having had such an experience, I never thought I’d have anything to say about native people they couldn’t say better for themselves. I worked for CBC Radio, doing standard news reporting and current affairs production, and it wasn’t until 1990 that I returned to the subject of native people. I was challenged by one of my fellow producers to make a show about why white people and native people don’t look at each other on Winnipeg’s city streets. I made a two-hour documentary, “Isinamowin: The White Man’s Indian” (Matthews 1991), on stereotypes about Indians. Shortly after that, I was visiting historian Jennifer Brown and saw a photo on her desk by A. Irving Hallowell of three Ojibwe men and a dream dance drum. We decided to make a documentary about this drum (without recourse to stereotypes) and followed the story of Naamiwan from Hallowell’s archives in Philadelphia to Pauingassi, where I met his grandson Omishoosh. Through him, I was introduced to Naamiwan’s water drum, and, when it was spirited away from the University of Winnipeg, I was in a position to care about the wrong that had been

23

Naamiwan’s Drum

committed. After two years of patiently waiting for things to sort themselves, I decided to make a radio documentary about the drum. My twenty-eight-minute documentary on the collection’s removal, “Fair Wind’s Water Drum,” was aired April 28, 2002 on CBC Radio One’s The Sunday Edition (Matthews 2002b). The documentary was a finalist for two Canadian Association of Journalists awards in Investigative Journalism in 2003. My field methods are framed by the fact that some of the evidence I will use in this book was recorded as part of a journalistic practice. This has been an asset in a few awkward situations; when I have needed it, I have had the professional, legal, and institutional support of the CBC, and for this I am very grateful. My approach has always been framed by my joy in recording the voices of lively people in native communities. I can sit still on the coldest floors and record hours of Cree- and Ojibwe-language interviews knowing that, of all the things I do in my professional life, this probably matters most. From the beginning of my journalistic career, I have embraced a collaborative practice, bringing indigenous voices forward and co-authoring published work. I am still committed to collaborative anthropology, which the American Anthropological Association defines as “the side-by-side work of all parties in a mutually beneficial research program … where at every step of the research knowledge and epertise is shared” (Lassiter 2005). For me the process of “give and take” has included community members, most especially the Owens, Ojibwe friends like Margaret Simmons, and language experts Roger Roulette and Pat Ningewance, who have all contributed in unique ways to the work before you here. In this book I have centred my ethnographic focus on interested members of Naamiwan’s extended family and those members of the Pauingassi community who have a degree of expertise in ceremonial matters and have chosen to speak to me. Since Omishoosh passed away in late 2001, I have worked most closely with the family of his grandson Nelson Owen, including his wife Elaine and son Joshua, now twenty-two. Nelson is the eldest son of Omishoosh’s second son, Charlie Peter Owen. Although Nelson and Joshua are by no means his only descendants (Omishoosh was married twice and had twenty-one children and over seventy grandchildren (Matthews 2002a)), Nelson and Elaine stepped forward to confront the university when the objects from their community were lost in the repatriation. I shared all my original tape with Nelson and Elaine, and I visited them often to test my ideas and get their advice. They have read various drafts of my chapters and are fully aware of how I framed their experience (cf. Brown, Peers, and Blood Indian Tribe (2006)). I remain close to the Owen family. Tragically, Nelson passed away suddenly in October of 2011 from complications of diabetes, which has been a terrible loss for us all.12 For my radio documentary work, I used conversational translations of Omishoosh’s words provided by Roger Roulette and Margaret Simmons. Margaret conducted most of the interviews because she took a lively interest in my research. As the school coordinator in Pauingassi, she visited frequently and was a great friend of Omishoosh. In Roger, Omishoosh found a significant degree of understanding because Roger’s grandfather, father, and brother are well-known medicine men and his father’s water drum is still in the family. Although Roger’s

24

Introduction

great-aunt was married to one of Naamiwan’s powerful rivals, Roger and Omishoosh became friends, and together with Margaret we made a series of radio documentaries about Naamiwan and the Ojibwe ideas behind his powers (Matthews 1993, 1994, 1995a, 1995b, 2002b, 2003c, 2003d, and 2007). Reflected in these documentaries are generations of scholarship, both Ojibwe and anthropological, co-authored to various degrees by us all. When I decided to approach this material as an anthropologist, Roger realized that I needed the details, and he has since created hundreds of pages of wordfor-word transcripts of the relevant conversations, making sure I get the philosophical nuance of what is being said. Roger has assisted me in interrogating this newly precise evidence for linguistic and philosophical meaning. In this process, we have discovered things I never knew I had recorded, and if I now understand that drums can act and that the Ojibwe language can convey this idea, it is because he has carefully shown me where it says so in the transcript. The American Anthropological Association task force report speaks of collaborative anthropology as “inherently advocative” (Lassiter 2005). I made the Pauingassi documentaries as a part of a long-term personal project to assist the community in reclaiming its intellectual heritage lodged in libraries and museums in the US and Canada. I have returned repeatedly to the community with historic photos of Pauingassi families and their lost material heritage. I have tried to be sure I have the opinions and recollections of the most expert members of the community. I realize that all accounts are intentional creations, but, in the documentaries, I have tried to capture their Ojibwe mode of constructing an argument, using Ojibwe language to the fullest extent possible. In determining whom I ought to record, I have followed the suggestions of community members and was pushed towards people who remembered Hallowell’s visits personally or had first-hand accounts of Naamiwan. Some had expert knowledge of the ceremonial performances and understood the religious ideas underlying these observances. Some were family members who inherited ceremonies and ceremonial objects. A sure sign of their knowledge was the confidence with which they spoke in front of others. My method might not work in other communities, but in Pauingassi, aided by strict Ojibwe protocols about who can speak and by the sophistication of their ideas about veracity, it was extremely productive. I had many encounters which remind me of the modest and honest James Bay Cree gentleman quoted by Clifford and Marcus as saying “I can only tell what I know” (1986:8). I was directed, from time to time, to speak to people who had dissenting opinions about Naamiwan’s legacy, and in these conversations, I was aware that the community was conferring upon me the responsibility to reflect a broad cross-section of informed opinion. George Marcus (1995:105) suggests several kinds of logic which may be followed to construct a complex ethnography, including following “the thing,” the metaphor, the people, the plot, the conflict, or the biography. In the Pauingassi artefacts, I have “things” which both the Ojibwe and many anthropologists treat as metaphorical persons with complex biographies and a complete set of kin and social relationships. In repatriation I have a metaphor with multiple meanings and a drama with a soaring conflict and brisk denouement. To focus this analysis

25

Naamiwan’s Drum

I use agency, animacy, and personhood and the basic phenomenological toolkit augmented by the prescient Clifford Geertz’s reminder that cultural analysis is “intrinsically incomplete” and that I shall spend a good deal of my time “plaguing subtle people with obtuse questions” to come up with interpretations which are “essentially contestable … Anthropology, or at least interpretive anthropology,” Geertz wrote, “is a science whose progress is marked less by the perfection of consensus than by a refinement of debate. What gets better is the precision with which we vex each other” (Geertz 2000 (1973):29). The remnant journalist in me certainly understands.

The Sonic Turn Because of the nature of radio documentary, I have had an opportunity, rare for an academic, of presenting anthropologists, historians, and Ojibwe people on a more equal footing than is usual in anthropology. Clifford and Marcus remind us that “ethnographic work is enmeshed in a world of enduring and changing power inequalities” (Clifford and Marcus 1986:9), but they also allude to counter-­ hegemonic modes of representation. Radio has this possibility because the evidence is mediated differently than it is in print. Transcription usually strips audio evidence of useful emotional clues, and, when scattered in ungrammatical fragments among scholarly text, it seems like very secondary evidence. With radio, one can hear voices, and, when individuals express ideas with passion on the one hand or a wary economy of emotion on the other, a great deal is revealed. When my subjects are speaking Ojibwe, they are enmeshed in an Ojibwe frame of reference, and the language, even in translation, provides authenticity, precision, and insight. Because of my community media experience I am always looking for ways to be open about my work and to make sure people know what I have done. In addition to sharing the original tape with appropriate family members, I made hour-long Ojibwe versions of my two biggest documentaries, “Fair Wind’s Drum” (Matthews 1993), which became “Naamiwan Odewe’iganan” (Matthews 1994), and “Thunderbirds” (Matthews 1995a), which became “Binesiwag” (Matthews 1995b). These Ojibwe documentaries were aired repeatedly on community radio stations and played over and over in schools. My openness has caught me out occasionally. Playing tapes on the community radio station was controversial, and as Michelle Rosaldo (1980) discovered, voices from the past can arouse passionate responses. In my case, they provoked an outcry from born-again Christians in the community who accused the radio station staff of promoting devil-worship. Rosaldo played a tape of a headhunting dance which caused similar controversy. Rosaldo found that Ilingot reaction to these old voices, which were “strange, powerful, and utterly surprising – at once confronted me with the ‘otherness’ that, as an anthropologist, I had thought that I was seeking” (1980:59). In addition to discomfiture, there is evidence of an interesting process; taped voices become ethnographic artefacts. Some day I would like to explore the idea of tapes, clips, and bits of audio as objects with embodied meaning and “dividual” properties (Strathern 1988).

26

Introduction

Emphasis on the recorded human voice as evidence introduces a multi-­sensory aspect to anthropological work which is now being welcomed among many anthropologists. Stephen Feld initiated what one might call the “sonic turn,” bringing anthropological ears to the project of understanding cultural evidence (Feld 1990). Ojibwe ethnomusicologists have always struggled with this problematic form of evidence (Densmore 1910, 1913; Vennum 1982), and there has been new work bringing the sonic environment forward theoretically (Erlmann 2004; Barringer 2006). This work tends to deal with sound as symptom and subtext rather than with the compelling nature of the human voice in storytelling or in an explanatory mode as anthropological evidence. It is still rare for anthropologists to do more than talk about sound. While I have not been able to include CDs with this book, I hope my approach to transcribed/translated evidence in the text will emphasize Pauingassi voices and reveal their personalities in much the same way that I use them on radio. My intention is to reinforce their authority in the context of my argument so that they step out of my text as experts in their own right. I first went to Pauingassi in 1992, and have visited many times since. I come back to Pauingassi every time there is an opportunity, usually two or three times a year. Recently, I was the guest of the school committee, assisting with educational materials for the school and doing my best to support literacy in Ojibwe syllabics. I also stay in touch with community members who no longer live in Pauingassi. Because of limited nursing services and the 30 per cent rate of type 2 diabetes (Blanchard et al. 1996), many Pauingassi people, including Omishoosh’s grandson Nelson Owen and Omishoosh’s cousin David Owen, require dialysis several times a week and are obliged to live near a Winnipeg city hospital. A few years ago, Nelson Owen became interested in my tapes of Pauingassi elders, and I gave him everything I had recorded, more than one hundred hours of tape. While he was recuperating from surgery, he listened to it all several times, and the experience gave him confidence and a sense of social purpose. He began to take a leadership role in the community and was elected to the Pauingassi Band Council. He served more than two terms on the Council before his recent untimely death from complications of diabetes, and the tapes continue to generate new conversations. The tapes are still being transcribed, and these voices of the elders have been used to support the community of Pauingassi and five other communities of the Pimachiowin Aki region in their bid for UNESCO World Heritage Site recognition as an Anishinaabe cultural landscape (Matthews, Roulette, and Valentine 2010a, and Matthews and Roulette 2010a and b).

27

2

Omishoosh A Visit to the Museum

It was freeze-up, November 12, 1995. The windward bays of Fishing Lake were jammed with heaving ice pans, and a cold wind blew the tops off rolling waves as they rounded the point. No boat would venture out in this. So Omishoosh started his first, last, and only visit to the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum with a slightly undignified scramble into a small helicopter. Our journey was well and truly underway when the sharp thudding of rotor blades carried us over the scattered houses of Pauingassi and across the thirty-two kilometres of black spruce forest, freezing lakes, and snow-covered muskeg to the Little Grand Rapids airstrip. It ended with the joy of riding the four escalators at the university, which were so amusing to this man in his late eighties on crutches that we rode them up and down a couple of extra times just for fun. The museum is on the fourth floor of an unremarkable modern building at the back of the farthest lab in the Department of Anthropology. It was not an ideal space to record voices, but Omishoosh was anxious for me to get my tape machine set up. We were seven in the room: Omishoosh, his friend and translator Margaret Simmons, translator Roger Roulette, historian Dr Jennifer Brown, me, and two museum staff, a lab technician who managed the museum collection and performed curatorial functions and a lab assistant.1 At first Omishoosh was quite overcome by the objects spread out on the tables in the lab. There were over a hundred artefacts from Pauingassi, last seen there in 1970, twenty-five years before. There was the dancing cape of his first, muchloved, long-dead wife, Eva, the mother of his first seven children.2 Seeing that cape brought a sheen of tears to his eyes (plate 4A). The word for regalia is wawezhi’onan. The word has to do with the beauty of the garments; it indicates that they are decorated beautifully and sound beautiful. The dance cape belonging to Koowin, Naamiwan’s wife (plate 4B), is a waistlength cape of black velvet, covered in bright ribbons and pompoms of coloured yarn, completely edged with feathers and decorated with rows of handmade tin

2.1  Omishoosh at Pauingassi, 1993, in front of his house.

Naamiwan’s Drum

2.2  Angus and Red Bird (Miskwa’o) Owen, Pauingassi, 1933. Photograph A211, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

tinkling-cones, hundreds in all. The capes are cut from old crushed velvet, but the shape reflects their animal-hide origins (plate 5B). When the cape is lifted, the sweet tinkle of the cones sounds like a melodious waterfall. The women who wore these elaborate capes (­figure 2.8), the Gichi-ogichidaakweg, were the “grand warrior women” of the community, women past child-bearing age who held significant roles in ceremony. Omishoosh found his voice gradually as Margaret Simmons began to ask him about the various objects. He named them carefully, answering her questions. Here was another dancing cape, which belonged to his aunt (plate 5A). “Miskwa’o [Red Bird] was the one who was the leader of the Ogichidaakweg [warrior women]. This is her regalia [inanimate],” he says.

Miskwa’o gii-inaa’ wa’a ogichidaakwe gaa-gii-niigaanishkang, miiwan o’owe owawezhi’on.’

“I think someone bought them from you,” said Margaret.

Gigii-, awiya iidog gigii-adaamigoban.

“Probably, yes,” he replied quietly. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:1)

Gechinaaj, ehe.

Miskwa’o (Red Bird, or “one who dresses in red”) was Omishoosh’s aunt, his mother’s sister, married to his father’s eldest brother, Angus. When Omishoosh’s mother died, he was a tiny baby; Miskwa’o and Angus adopted him. She was the only mother he ever knew. 30

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

2.3  Dream dance drum showing everlasting star design, Poplar Hill, 1960. The drum is in the Butikoffer Collection at the Red Lake Cultural Centre. Copy photograph by the author, 1992.

It was Miskwa’o who made the most beautiful pieces in the collection, an embroidered gorget (plate 6) and a bandolier (plate 8), both fine smoked hide covered with silk-work flowers and edged with silk ribbon. These pieces, embodying so much female care and skill, were the favourite artefacts of the museum manager. Miskwa’o made them both for Omishoosh. “That’s to hang down on your chest,” he explained when he saw the panel. “Yes, that’s the type that one wore during the Boodaade ceremony.” (CGO 1995 Nov 17 AM:2–3)3

Gashk-, ayi’ii iweni ogikaakiganimaang ji-agoodeg. Eh, mii gosha ‘iwe dinoowikaan e-bimiboodaadeg ogii-gigishkaan i’i awiya’.

The usual Ojibwe name for this panel of embroidered hide, worn like a breastplate, is apishtaagan(ag) (animate, lit. padded breast-protector). It is also sometimes referred to euphemistically as a shield, aagwii’igon(an), or an apron/bib, agobizon(an). In anthropological terminology the name is the transposed French word for bib, “gorget.” Miskwa’o’s silk work is sophisticated, delicate, and even. The twining floral design surrounds an unusual cross, worked in purple and red and surrounded by two rings. It may look like a Maltese cross, but it is recognized across much of the Algonquian4 world as a symbol for the gaagige anang, the everlasting star (animate). 31

Naamiwan’s Drum

2.4  Detail from Hallowell Photo F59. Omishoosh with bandolier, Animinigiizhigong with dance cape.

“[It’s] their star symbol. Like the stars [animate] that are visible at night,” observes Omishoosh. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:4)

Odanangoshikaaniwaa’. Daabishkoo anangoog e-dibikag gaa-naagoziwaaj.

It is a symbol drawn only by those with the authority to do so. The everlasting star is a star which appears to dreamers, often in human form. It is a star spirit, not a particular star in the sky. It is also a recurring visual theme on objects of medical and religious significance to Naamiwan, Omishoosh’s grandfather.5 The bandolier made by Miskwa’o has the same delicate silk embroidery of twined flowers throughout its length (about a metre), and on one side there is a leather fringe with tinklers, carved dew-claws, and strung thimbles. The everyday name for the bandolier is gijipizon(an), a word used (in its normal inanimate form) for belt. Margaret used this word, but Omishoosh responded with the euphemistic term oshkanzh(iig) (dew-claws – animate), and more specifically adikwaganzh(iig) (caribou dew-claws – animate), and thereafter spoke consistently of the claws (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:7–8)6 and the thimbles, saying to Margaret,

32

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

2.5  Omishoosh’s bandolier: detail of thimbles, gaanda’igwaason(ag), made by Miskwa’o Owen, appx. 1926. E5 101, Pauingassi Collection 2011. P. 50

“These [animate] are thimbles … some of these [animate] were around. These beings jingled. When one danced, they sounded good … I too, of course, wore that when I danced.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:6–7)

Gaanda’igwaasonag ogo … aanind gii-ayaawag. Gii-zhinawishinoog igi. Niimij awiya gii-minweweshi­ noog. Ingii-gigishkaan gondasha e-niimiyaan o’owe gayeniin.

Margaret read from the museum records. “Dew claw dancing harness, purchased from Charlie George Owen, E5 101.” And then in Ojibwe to Omishoosh she said: “You apparently had this at one time. You had a white man come and buy it from you over there.”

Giin iidog o’o gigii-ayaanaaban. Zhigo gigii-bi-adaamig [w]emitigoozhi wedi.

“If you say so, yeah,” he responded softly, using the word gechinaaj again, which indicates doubtful concurrence. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:7)

Gechinaaj, ehe.

Some time later he was still sitting on a tall stool in the middle of this room surrounded by the collection, quietly identifying and naming some of the more prosaic artefacts in the collection, the scrapers and snowshoes, net menders and moccasins, when the museum manager brought out more of the ceremonial

33

Naamiwan’s Drum

regalia and showed him two twenty-five-centimetre bands of red stroud with ties, tinklers, and a strip of bear fur. “Those which hug the leg [ceremonial garters],” he said.

Gashkidaasebizonag.

“You probably wore these garters when dancing?” Margaret inquired.

Gigii-gigishkaanaadog e-niimiyan?

He quickly replied, “Sure. When they held a dance. An apprentice, as one was called, was, of course, given this to wear. It was the old men that made these ones [animate – the garters]. They were skilled when they made things.”

Enange. Niimiwinaaniwang osha-, awiya gaa-oshkaabewis gaa-ininj, mii osha o’ dino gaa-bizikamooninj. Wiinawaa gaa-gii-ozhi’aawaaj ogo aya’aag akiwenziwag. Ogii-nagaji’aawaa’ aaniish gegoon e-ozhitoowaaj.

“The apprentices used the regalia in ceremonies but the old men kept them safe. “They were known as the keepers,” he said. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:16–18)

Ogii-ganawenimaawaa’ aaniish.

Surveying the room, he remarked with some surprise, “Here, apparently, is where all the old valuable implements are.” These implements are the gichi-aabijitaawin(an) [inanimate], the tools of the Ogichidaag, the grand old warriors. “When I see them [inanimate], as you know, I know about these things [inanimate]. [I know] how they were used, just by witnessing them [the Ogichidaag], formally donning their apparel.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:21)

Mii nangwana ‘omaa gakina gegoon eyaag gichi-aabijitaawinan mewinzha. Waabandamaan sa aaniish, ishke onowan niin ngikendaanan onoweniwan aaniin gaa-izhi-ayaabadakin. Nimichi-gibwadaag-, o’ gaa-izhi-gikendamaan e-gii-waabamagwaa e-gii-izhi-babizikigewaaj.

An awkward moment followed. The museum manager had kept back some things in the storage room. They were stored in a cabinet labelled “restricted” and were considered too sacred to be seen or handled casually. Omishoosh had asked for them, and the museum manager inquired once more whether he was certain that it would be all right to bring them out. “Miinange, definitely,” he said. The first thing that emerged was a very large drum wrapped in plastic. (It had been fumigated after an infestation by wood-boring insects.) As it was unwrapped, Omishoosh looked really startled. “Naamiwan!” he exclaimed. “This is his water drum [University of Winnipeg Collection E5 211]. I recognize it! Truthfully.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:28)

Naamiwan! Miiwan ono omitigwakikoman, ninisidawinawimaan! Debwe!

Omishoosh told us that the drum had become cracked long ago. He remembered the repair being made. Talking fondly about Naamiwan’s big, old drum

34

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

(plate 3A), he and Margaret used the euphemistic phrase, the old man’s “pail,” odakikwan (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:32). “And these, do you recognize them?” asked Margaret.

Zhigo ono, ginisidawinaanan?

“Well those are their drumsticks,” he responded with enthusiasm [plate 3B]. Margaret handed Omishoosh more drumsticks [E5 169 and E5 172]. “These are his [Naamiwan’s] drumsticks. These are his drumsticks. That’s very true.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:30)

Miiwan osha obagamaaganiwaan. Mii osha ono obagamaaganan. Mii gosha debwe ‘iwe.

After a while, Margaret made a remark about the generosity of the people of Pauingassi and their willingness to give all these implements to the museum. Omishoosh told her then that he didn’t know how these objects got here. Margaret started to worry. She asked, “Are you okay looking at all these things here?”

Godino na gidinawendam owe gaa-waabandaman e-ategin?

His reply was typically diplomatic. “I don’t think anything of it. This was the power of the past. Those who obtained divine knowledge have accomplished their tasks, our ancestors.

Gaawn gegoon nindinendanziin. Odaanaang gashki’ewiziwin o’owe. Aazha ogii-bimi-giizhitoonaawaa’ gaye wiinawaa gaa-gii-izhi-gikendamaawiziwaaj ogoweniwag. Gete-gidanishinaabeminaanig.

Our late grandfathers, we know it’s true they received life from their practices.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:33–4)

Gimishoomisinaabaniig ogo. Debwe ogii-ondinaanaawaa’ bimaadiziwin aaniish o’ gaa-izhichigewaaj.

It’s a particular good Ojibwe life to which he refers. Bimaadiziwin, a model Ojibwe life, involves a healthy old age and many healthy children, a life which is only possible with the help of others, including a medicine man’s implements but most especially one’s dream visitors, bawaaganag. More drumsticks emerged, and this time the museum record said that they were made by Omishoosh, which he immediately denied. They are unusual drumsticks, a type which mimic the shape of a ball-headed club, an old Ojibwe weapon. The Ojibwe word Omishoosh used for the drumsticks, bagamaaganan, is a common euphemism, the actual word for “war club.”7 Omishoosh certainly recognized them. He watched his uncle Angus make the two drumsticks. One of the drumsticks, E5 59 has the everlasting star design on it (plate 7B). “He [animate] is the old crossed star, that’s how they represented that … They certainly placed significance on that, as you know.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:37)

35

Mii ‘awe aazhide-anangosh daabishkoo ogii-inaabji’aawaan iniweniwan … Gegoon osha aaniish ogii-inagindaanaawaa’ iwe.

Naamiwan’s Drum

He began to sort the drumsticks into types. He explained that the plain curved ones were for striking a water drum and the ball-headed ones were for playing Naamiwan’s big dream drum. He remarked that ceremonial novices like himself had an exacting apprenticeship and would have considered the opportunity to be associated with these things an honour full of obligations. Amazed by the array of objects, he said: “And this is where I find them [inanimate]! Apparently, they [inanimate] have found their way over here.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:38)8

Mii-sh ‘omaa ezhi-mikamaan! Mii nangwana ‘omaa gaa-bi-izhaamaganogobanenan onoweniwan.

One of the professors said to Margaret, “Can you ask him what he feels should be done with them?” His initial response was that he didn’t think they should be used in ceremony again. “I don’t think anyone could go back and do that [ceremonies] because they’ve already been set aside. We weren’t there when these ceremonies were conceived,” Omishoosh answered.

Gaawiin miinawaa awiya nindinendam ji-gashkitoopan’iwe ji-giiwenodang i’i izhichigewin na. Aazha aaniish gii-nagajigaade. Gaawiin gaye bi-gigi-ayaasiimin ‘imaa aaniin apii gaa- onjiimagakin ono.

“We probably weren’t human yet, do you think? These are the work of ancient people. We only know of them by witnessing them. That’s what I think.”

Aazha-, gaamashi gigii-anishinaabewisiimin gechinaad naa’a? Geteyaadizag o’owe, mii eta gegiinawind e-michi-waabandamang gidizhi-gikendaamin. Mii enendamaan niin.

He concluded by asking, “Do you understand this? After one sees something, should one attempt to do it, it wouldn’t work.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:40)

Ginisidotaan na ‘owe? Awiya gegoon gaa-michi-waabandang, zhigwa ji-gii-doodangiban, gaawiin daa-minosesinoon.

Rattles were brought out from the storeroom, three small tambourines, one dark red, one dark green, and one unpainted, all old and delicate (plates 2B and 2C). Very moved, once again on the brink of tears, Omishoosh demonstrated how they were held, shaking them softly. “This is called a zhiishiigwan [animate – green rattle],” he explains. “Observe. These worked like this with this one [animate – reference to the water drum]. Yeah, and that one as well, the mate/partner [of the water drum],” he said, picking up the red one, “its ritual companion played during the Midewiwin ceremonies.”

36

Zhiishiigwan ‘awe izhinikaazo. Nashke na, miiwag gondasha omaa dino gii-izhi-anokii wa'awe. Mm, zhigwa awe. Miiwan ono wiijiiwaaganan [animate] a’aw gaa-gii-madwe’ond onji.

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

2.6  Rattles, zhiishiigwan(ag), used in ceremony, Pauingassi Collection.

Another type of rattle was produced, a small tin can with a wooden handle. “I saw this one [animate] being used there for its intended purpose [in Pauingassi] as well. This is a condensed milk can.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:41–2)

Nashke, mii ‘awe miinawaa bezhig ako ingii-waabamaa e-gii-aabadiziwid o’ow. Doodooshaaboo-biiwaabik o’ow.

We had brought a few photographs with us that had been taken by A. Irving Hallowell in Pauingassi in 1933, one of which shows the young people of the community, the ceremonial apprentices, the oshkaabewisag and oshkaabewisikweg, in front of a Waabano pavilion (figure 2.7). All the men in the photograph are holding rattles similar to this condensed milk can. In the back row, wearing the bandolier we had been admiring moments before, is Omishoosh himself. There is another apprentice with a bandolier as well, and this unique regalia signified a particular role, that of a sentinel or guard, ogizhaadige(g). They saw to it that no one “misbehaved, egaa-awiya ji-gagiibaadizid,” that dogs and children were kept away, and that there was no disruption of the ceremony. There is a very interesting bundle of tinklers in the collection, bashanzhe’igan(an), University of Winnipeg Collection E5 8. They are attached to a strong wooden handle and have a rather sharp hook buried in them, which Omishoosh and his colleague would have used in advance of the ceremony to teach dogs to stay away from the sound of the dancers. The second important photo (figure 2.8) is of the senior practitioners, the Ogichidaag and Ogichidaakweg, including Omishoosh’s father and the aunt and uncle who raised him.

37

Naamiwan’s Drum

2.7  Oshkaabewisag and Oshkaabewisikweg, Pauingassi, 1933. These were the community ceremonial apprentices wearing ceremonial regalia kept for them by Naamiwan. Many of these rattles, capes, and bandoliers are now in the Pauingassi Collection. Back row (l–r): Mados, Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), Moonzogimaa, Boozhi (Boushey Pascal), Gisayenaan, Jiibay, and Es (Jacob Owen). Middle row: Anang (Maryanne Keeper), Animinigiizhigong, A’aasi, Odaab, Waagidiniigan, and Waawezhi’o. Front row: Zaagijiwe (Charlie Moose Owen), Asemaa, Omooday, and Wewaanj. Photograph A200, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Making the connection between the museum collection and this second photo explicit, he said, “These are the possessions of the ancient old men, the ancient Anishinaabeg. They are the ones who owned/were the masters of these [inanimate].” CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:46)

Miiwag osha ogo mayaag gete-akiwenziwag, gete-anishinaabeg ogo. Wiinawaa onoweniwan ogii-dibendaanaawaan.

By the end of the morning, Omishoosh was getting used to the idea that the ‘wonders of the ancient Anishinaabeg, mayagaabishinang gete-anishinaabeg,’ the objects which were essential to Pauingassi Anishinaabeg ‘cultural practices, odizichigewiniwaan’, were here in a museum in Winnipeg (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:62). And although he hadn’t been aware of their coming to the museum, he had an explanation for how some of them may have got here.

38

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

2.8  Ogichidaag (Warriors) and Ogichidaakweg (Warrior women) who conducted Waabano, dream dance, and other ceremonies in Pauingassi, 1933. Back row (l–r): Gichi-omoonzonii (Chiip), Niijizhaan (James Bearhair) Owen, Kiichiis (Alex) Pascal, Miskwaadezi Oshkiishik (Moses) Owen, Wechanimaash, (James) Owen (son of Naamiwan), Aankus (Angus) Owen (eldest son of Naamiwan). Middle row: Kaapech (Alex Owen’s second wife), Maanaadis (daughter of Naamiwan, married to William Pascal), Waawaak (Gichi-omoonzonii’s second wife), Gichi-mookomaan (Alice) Owen (wife of Moses Owen), Tekis (Margaret) Pascal (Alex Pascal’s second wife), Maa’aanjoosh (Lillian) Owen (wife of James Owen), Miskwa’o (Red Bird) Owen (wife of Angus Owen). Front row: Waanachense (Alex) Owen (father of Omishoosh (Charlie George) Owen, Wisaakejaak (William) Pascal (father of Alex Pascal), Ahkaakochiis (Shawtail) Owen (father of Charlie Moose Owen). The boy to the left is Ochiip (David) Owen, born in 1927. Photograph A201, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

“They may have been stolen from me. I wasn’t aware that they were here. However, I recognize what I see of these things which were brought here,” he commented to Margaret as we began to move towards the door. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:63)

[G]emaa ngii-gimoodimigoo. Gaawn ngikendanziinan ‘omaa gii-ayaagin. Ninisidawinaanan-sh wiin gaa-waabandamaan. ‘Imaa gii-ba’izhiwijigaadegin.

Sotto voce, Margaret told me to keep this off the record for the time being. Later she explained that he suspected that his wife, who had a moderate drinking

39

Naamiwan’s Drum

problem at the time, had sold them without telling him. But with typical generosity of spirit he set this aside. “Nevertheless, it’s for the better,” he said. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:63)

Nawaj idash minose iwe.

He said that if they had remained in Pauingassi, they would have been left in the forest, subject to fires and rotting. When Margaret translated a promise from the head of the museum committee that these things would be put away and protected because of their importance, he responded by saying that he respected the museum staff, whom he called caretakers, ganawaabandamowaaj, because they had taken such evident care of these objects. When Margaret told him that they had said the artefacts would not be used or shown to unauthorized people, he said, “Well, of course, mii gondasha.” Once again the lab technician asked about the sacred objects: did he want them left out or put away? He answered diplomatically, grateful for the care the staff were providing. “I really don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to say to them [the museum staff]. Whatever the caretakers want to do is fine because my only expectation was to come here.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:64)

Aaniin isa bigo, gaawn gegoon indaa-inaasiig. Aaniin igo ge-izhichigewaaj wiinawaa gegoon gaaganawaabandamowaaj, mii aaniish ‘iwe geniin eta ndizhi-bagosendaan ‘iwe ‘omaa gaa-bi-izhaayaan.

He gestured to the collection. “Look here,” he said, “given the length of time they’ve been here, they’ve been aesthetically preserved/ cared for properly. It’s as if the ancestors from whom we came – because we are all descendants – it seems that we are being watched by them. That’s what I think when I look at their creations; that these are the benefits of their preservation.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:67)

Nashke-sh wiin ‘omaa ginwezh gwayak izhinaagwanoon ono, gwayak gii-ganawaabanjigaadegin. Daabishkoo gete-anishinaabeg gaa-gii-bi-onjiiyang gakina. Mii aaniish ‘imaa gaa-onjiiyang gegiinawind. Daabishkoo e-bimi-ganawaabamangwaa i’ gete-anishinaabeg indinendaan ‘owe gaa-waabandamowagwaa odoozhichiganiwaan. Mii ezhi-minoseg ‘iwe.

We wandered off for lunch, Omishoosh denying that he was tired. “No! How can I get tired just sitting around!” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:66)

Gaawiin! Gaawniin maninaag indaa-ayekozisii michi-ayaayaan!

As we left the anthropology department, we took a couple of extra rides on the escalator. Over lunch I attempted to clarify what seemed to me to be a misunderstanding. From the museum manager’s point of view, the collection was divided into sacred and secular objects. Those objects brought out last and reluctantly were classified “sacred” and kept in a cabinet marked “Restricted” by the museum. Omishoosh did not differentiate objects along these lines. He handled the sacred objects without hesitation, spoke about them confidently, correcting mistakes in

40

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

the record, and appeared to regard them in much the same light as the more secular snowshoes, net-menders, and scrapers. The Ojibwe words he used for tools, aabajichigan(an) and aabajitaawin(an), both inanimate, include everything, sacred and secular. The museum manager may have been expecting prayers or a request to smudge the sacred artefacts, but Omishoosh never suggested that any of these measures were necessary in the museum. To confuse matters further, the museum categories were not consistent. If ceremonial use was the criterion, it would have seemed odd to Omishoosh that the women’s capes were not considered sacred, being so central to all types of ceremonial performance in Pauingassi. So over lunch we tried to find out if Omishoosh understood the museum categories and the sacred/secular dichotomy which resulted in some objects being restricted, and if so, which objects he would put in which category. Each time the question was broached, once in the morning and again over lunch, his first response was a very confused “Eh? What?” When we persisted, he started probing the possibilities. After first expressing his general confidence in the museum staff who looked after everything so carefully, he then wondered if they might want to use the collection for two separate displays at the same time. Finally, he explored the idea that it was a question about the appropriateness of showing things to students: “If they are going to be shown to others, and if those who see them are deserving [lit. appreciate their value], they’ll recognize them. There may be something there they are unable to recognize. However, I’d say the following [to the students], ‘What are you meant to know?’ ‘Do you want to learn something very valuable?’ I’d ask them if I spoke to them. ‘Is there some insufficiency in your life?’

Giishpin isa wii-waabanda[w]’indwaa inendaagoziwaaj ji-waabandamowaaj, ji-nisidawinamowaad. Wegonen ’iwe gaawiin maawiin oga-nisidawinanziinaawaan. Mii-sh ‘owe wiin ndaa-inaag, Wegonen waa-gikendameg? Gegoon ina gichi-gegoon giwii-gikendaam indaa-inaag ganoonagwaa? Gegoon ina e-noondeseg gegoon giwii-gikendaam ndaa-inaag?

“I’d say to them, ‘Do you recognize something that would be of great value to you, which you may contemplate in your respective lives? Or is there something else that matters more to you from your respective areas?’ That’s what I’d say to them.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lunch:4)

Wegonen idash ge-nisidawinameg ji-gagiitaawendami’igooyeg ji-izhi-naagadawendameg gibimaadiziwiniwaang? Gemaa gaye gegoon, gidakiiwaang gegoon ‘ow gechiinendamowegwen. Mii ndaa-inaag.

Omishoosh wasn’t actively worried that offence might be given to the artefacts in this apparently respectful place. His concern was that in their ignorance, those students who did see them might be unable to recognize the historical value of the objects. His first generous impulse was to think of strategies to reach out to those young people who might not immediately understand. Lunch over, we went our separate ways and met again at the bottom of the endlessly entertaining escalators in time for the public lecture at 3:30 PM.

41

Naamiwan’s Drum

Posters billed the event as an illustrated talk by “Ojibwe Elder, Charlie George Owen, on Fair Wind’s Drum Dance on the Berens River.” Towards the bottom of the poster, there was a brief mention that he would also be speaking about the Pauingassi Collection and the museum. The poster somehow failed to evoke the remarkable nature of the event. Omishoosh was to be the first and so far the only person to give a lecture entirely in Ojibwe at the university. He was courageous to do so, especially since he’d never been inside a university before that morning and knew nothing about museums before he saw this one for the first time hours earlier. As about thirty-five people gathered, Omishoosh resumed his chair in the anthropology lab. Behind him we had set up a large projector screen, which was now showing the Hallowell photo of the oshkaabewisag (­figure 2.7), taken when Omishoosh was in his twenties, tall and handsome. He rose to his feet to speak, ignoring his crutches, still tall, still handsome; a powerfully built man. Wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, Pauingassi ball cap in his hand, he was not dressed like a professor, but in every other respect he adopted the authority of the moment. Someone gave him tobacco and he started with a prayer. He asked that there be truth in order for those gathered to understand. He thanked “you who are in heaven, nawaj gichi-giizhigong,” for creating the earth to accommodate the ancient ones. He prayed that our thoughts would be guided by the important story he was about to tell and finally he praised Jesus Christ, the adjudicator (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:2). He set the scene by explaining that all the objects about them in the room were part of the practice of his grandfather Naamiwan. He motioned to the water drum, saying, “These were the reason he was able to do something.”

Miiwa’ gaye wiinawaa gaa-gii-onji-gashkitoowaad gegoo.

Speaking of his grandfather, his father, his uncles, and their wives, he says, “They were the Midewiwin practitioners, the Waabano practitioners. They danced. This is why they were able to heal someone who was sick. They did this with the intention of healing.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:3,5)

Gii-midewiwag, gii-waabanoowiwag, gii-niimi’idiwag. Mii ‘imaa gaa-onji-min-, gaa-onji-gashkitoowaaj e-gii-minoayaanij awiya gii-aakozinij gaa-gii-doodamowaaj ‘iwe gaa-gii-izhi-bagosendamowaaj.

To illustrate, he told a story from his youth. Omishoosh had been sickly as a child, and at a certain point his grandfather conducted a ceremony for him and three others who were also suffering from a similar illness. His grandfather must have concluded that these illnesses were caused by some malicious intervention because it was rare that such drastic measures were necessary to accomplish a cure (cf Hallowell 1963). The patients were given clothes and traps with which to barter, e-gii-adaawewaaj, for their life, and they hung these gifts on a long pole running along the inside of the Midewiwin lodge. They were taken to a newly constructed sweat lodge, madoodiswaan, just a little way down the hill. Inside there were hot stones and pails of water with Labrador tea plants (mashkiigobag(oon), Ledum groenlandicum or Ledum palustre var. latifolium) soaking in them (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:6,7). During the ceremony, the Labrador tea plants were used to

42

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

douse the stones with water until the steam rose around them. After the sweat was over, the lodge was hurriedly dismantled and the patients were wrapped in blankets to prevent a chill. The ceremony continued in the Midewiwin lodge on top of the hill. Omishoosh and his fellow patients were made to stand in front of the water drum and dance on one spot while Naamiwan sang. The water drum was then passed around the lodge among the Ogichidaag and the patients danced for each drummer in turn. Then they were given ceremonial animal hide pouches, gashkibidaagan(ag), and while the Midewiwin practitioners stood in a small circle and sang, Omishoosh and the others began to dance holding on to the ceremonial pouches. “We were instructed to wave, to thrust these medicine pouches against each other. Like this, daabishkoo wa’a,” Omishoosh said, swinging his long arm forward, palm up as if cupping the hide pouch, shoving it against an imaginary fellow dancer. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:10)

Ogoweniwag idash owe gaa-giiigooyaang ‘owe ji-izhiwebinamowangidwaa ini gashkibidaagana’ daabishkoo wa’a, webinamawinaan, mii gaa-izhi-gawisewaad.

The dancers fell down one after the other in a dead faint, and after they had all fallen, they “rose again, gaa-izhi-wanishkaawaaj.” Then Naamiwan stood and spoke to them, and the cure was complete. “That was when one eradicated the sickness which tormented one – as one fell after being targeted.” Omishoosh explained.

Amii ‘iwe, mii ‘iwe e-nitooyeg ‘iwe gaa-gagwaadagi’igooyeg aakoziwin, ogoweniwag gaa-gawisewaad, gaa-, gaa-bimo’egwaa, gaa-igooyaang.

“That’s what happened when they did this. This is when the life of illness that tormented us fled. It left us. This, this their abilities is the reason why I am still alive. This is how this exchange [the practice of bartering for life], triumphed in order for me to live.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:10, 11).

Mii dash gaa-izhiseg, gaa-izhichigewaaj ‘iwe, mii ‘iwe gii-, e-giimaajii-, mii e-gii-dabaziimagak ‘iwe bimaadiziwin gaa-giigagwaadagi’igooyaang mii ‘iwe gii-naganigooyaang. Mii gaa-, mii ‘owe geyaabi gaa-onji-bimaadiziyaan, mii ‘iwe e-gii-izhi-bakinaagemagak, meshkwaj ‘imaa ji-bimaadiziyaan.

Returning to the objects around him, he observed, “It appears that these implements which I am looking at, these things [in the museum] are valued; as were the ways of the ancient ones who put them to valuable use through their skill and made others aware of their abilities.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:11)

Mii dash izhinaagwan iniweniwan gaa-waabandamaan aabajitaawinan aapiji e-gitendaagwakin aaniin gaa-izhi-gitendaagwatoowaad o’o wiiji’igoowiniwaa’ gete-anishinaabeg.

43

Naamiwan’s Drum

2.9  Naamiwan’s three tambourines, E5 225, E5 811, and E5 812. Pauingassi Collection 2008.

Omishoosh was briefly diverted by a question from the audience about whether this practice was still possible. He said he doubted that it was and then he returned to his main story. “Still, another thing was going to befall me.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:13)

Zhigwa geyaabi bakaan ‘iwe geyaabi gegoon ingii-odisigon.

He then paused. He sent me to find the three rattles he had seen in the morning, put away now because of their “sacred/restricted” status. I found them in the storage room and brought them out to him. He explained that these rattles had special powers and were used in both the Midewiwin ceremony and the Boodaade, a give-away dance conducted in a round lodge called the Boodaadewigamig. Boodaade means to blow or to whistle, and the ceremony involves bone whistles that make a sound like the cry of an eagle or a Thunderbird. The drum used in this instance was Naamiwan’s own, a very large, beautifully decorated dream dance drum. When the three painted tambourine rattles were handed to him, Omishoosh spoke again. “Even these [animate], I recognize them, the ones here, these [animate] were powerful. These are the ones from whom the old men who used them received life.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:16)

44

Miiwag idash ogoweniwag dinoowikaanag ninisidawinawaag e-ayaawaaj ‘omaa gii-gashki’ewiziwag ogoweniwag. Mii ‘omaa gaa-onji-gashkitoowaad bimaadiziwin ogoweniwag akiwenziwag gaa-gii-aabaji’aawaaj ono.

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

He picked up the red tambourine (plate 2C) and then began to explain that as a child he had fallen terribly ill. He had a tooth abscess and his face was swollen. “Regarding my grandfather Naamiwan, he knew that I was gone, near death. What had been my life had left me.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:16)

Zhigwa ‘awe Naamiwan nimishoomis, ingii-gikenimik e-maajaayaan, egaa wii-bimaadizisiwaan. Gii-maajaamagan i’ mbimaadiziwin.

Omishoosh described how Naamiwan shook the red tambourine, tapping it on his chest. When Naamiwan sang, he adopted the form of a “wolverine, gwiingwa’aage(g).” As Omishoosh’s death approached, his soul began to walk the path to the land of the dead (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:7, 16): “I was walking along, travelling on a path, going somewhere. I heard the sound of someone coming behind me. It sounded closer and closer. While walking along, I was thinking, who is that yonder? Who could that be I hear approaching? That’s what I was thinking.

Zhigwa ingodin e-bimoseyaan, e-bima’adooyaan miikana e-maajaayaan owedi. ‘Awegwen ingiinoondawaa indoodaanaaming e-biidwewidang.9 Daabishkoo biinish e-bi-beshwewidang. Mii gaa-inendamaan e-bimoseyaan aaniin e-andone’og awenen a’awedi, awenen a’awedi gaa-biidwewidang, mii gaa-inendamaan e-bimoseyaan.

“Eventually, he sounded much closer. Although I tried to see him, I was unable to. Eventually, it was as if I could hear him that far [three metres] away from me. As I was going along, my body suddenly awoke. That’s when I looked. I heard my aunts who were present, the women to whom I am related, crying for me. They were in the midst of crying for me.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:17, 18)

Biinish ingii-beshotawaa. Gaawn-sh ingii-gashkitoosiin aanawi- gagwe-waabamag. Biinish daabishkoo o’ minik ‘imaa bigo minik e-danitawag ingii-initawaa. Mii ingodin ‘imaa ani-izhaayaan, mii gaa-, gaa-izhi-goshkoseg niiyaw, mii e-gii-inaabiyaan. Ingii-noondawaag ‘iwe ndoozisag ‘imaa e-gii-ayaawaaj, enawemagwaa ikwewag e-mawimiwaaj. Megwaa e-gii-mawimiwaaj.

Omishoosh found himself lying in the Boodaadewigamig. His grandfather, at great risk to himself, had travelled that path to the land of the dead to bring him back. The abscess had burst and his mouth was cleansed by his aunts. Later that evening, he returned to the Boodaade lodge. He was propped up in a corner while the rest of his family began to dance. Miskwa’o came and gave him two gifts, cloth and another special personal thing, “a possession” miizhij (lit. given to me), which she blew (whistled) for him. “I suddenly leapt to my feet and started to dance with that woman … That was it,” he said, “I had to help out during all the rest of the dance.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:20)

45

Mii gaa-izhi-bagijiseyaan zhemaag e-gii-ani-maajiishimwiyaan e-gii-wiijiiwag ‘ay ikwe … Mii ‘e, mii wawiinge bigo ‘iwe gaa-ni- miziwe-wiiji’iweyaan ‘iwe e-gii-niiminaaniwang.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Omishoosh was abruptly returned to his former state of good health. He held the red rattle that saved his life high over his head for everyone in the anthropology lab to see. He then turned to the photographs on the screen. He explained, as he had in the morning, that the photo of the Ogichidaag and Ogichidaakweg showed the senior participants in the ceremonies and that the second photo was of their apprentices, among whom he stood in his silk embroidered regalia. Of the Ogichidaag he said: “These are the ones that worked in the Midewiwin lodge. These are the ones that accompanied Naamiwan.”

Miiwag ogoweniwag gaa-giianokiiwaaj ‘imaa midewigamigong. Ogoweniwag gaa-gii-anokiiwaaj ogo miiwan Naamiwan gaa-gii-wiijiiwaaj.

And in reference to the women in the photo he said, “These are the grand warrior women who played a part in the dance.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:24)

Miiwag gaye igiweniwag gaa-gii-ogichidaakwewiwaaj ikwewag niimi’idiwining.

Their power was evident to him and needed no reiterating. There were a few questions asked by his audience at this point. How did the water get inside the water drum? “There is a bung hole in the side.” Did women enter the sweat lodge? “I never saw one.” Do women sing? “I never saw a woman sing or play a drum. I don’t know of any” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:27). Do men still have dream guardians? This question bothered him. He considered his answer. “Today no one goes for a vision quest. No one in Pauingassi does it. No one plays the drum. No one does the Waabano. They only follow Christianity,” he replied.

Gaawiin awiya izhichigesii noongom ji-anda-bawaamoj. Obaawingaashi, gaawn gegoo awiya izhichigesii. Gaawn awiya dewe’igesii. Gaawn awiya waabanoowisii. Anami’aawin eta noongom obiminzha’anaawaa’.

“They don’t have enough [power/information] because all those who knew of this are gone. Who would know what to do to begin?”

Gaawn aaniish debisesii awiya aazha jaaginewaaj ogoweniwag gaa-giiizhichig-, nashke inamandang awiya aaniin ge-izhi-maajichigej?

“They all passed away, didn’t they?” suggested Margaret.

Gii-jaaginewag aaniish [g]aagiionji-booniseg naa’a?

“That’s precisely why everything came to an end. After that, the other thing that happened is this – that I kept the drum [the dream drum] once the old men passed on. And he had been sitting around in my house for a while. However, my house burned down. And that’s where he/she also eventually burned completely.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:27, 29, 30)

Amii gondasha gaa-onji-ani-booniseg gakina gegoon. Zhigwa gaye gii-izhise ‘owe, niin aaniish ingii-ganawenimaa dewe’igan apii gaa-ni-ishkwaa bimaadiziwaaj gakina igi akiwenziwag. Zhigwa dash ayi’iing gii-ayabiiban niwaakaa’iganing. Gii-zakide dash niwaakaa’igan. Mii dash ‘imaa apan gaa-izh-jajaagizopan.

46

Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum

“Do the young ones sometimes ask you about these things?” Margaret asked.

Oshkaadiziinsag na gagwedwewag naanigoding?

“No,” he said, “I don’t think anyone would know to anything about this. I don’t think anyone knows how to ask about the ancient practices. However, the young ones are the ones who should know about it. That’s it,” he said. “Mii ‘iwe, I have spoken.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:30)

Gaawiin aan-, gaawiin aaniish iidog odaa-gikendanziinaawaa’. Gaawn maawiin ogikendanziin awiya ji-gagwedwej gegoon ‘owe gete-izhichigewinini. Oshkaadizag goda wiin miiwag aanish ji-gii-ani-gikendamowaapan aaniish aanawi, mii ‘iwe.

The lecture was at an end and so we made our way down the escalators, confident that Omishoosh had charmed the audience. He performed in classic Ojibwe oratorical style, sure of his message and diplomatic in his answers to questions. His pride in the collection at the museum was evident and he had told his story about Naamiwan and the wonders performed by the old Anishinaabe of Pauingassi with the artefacts present as confirming witnesses. By the next morning Omishoosh had begun to reflect on his experience. The questions about lost practice and whether it could be revived were on his mind. He regretted the fact that he had not told the story of the origin of Naamiwan’s dream dance drum (Matthews 1993; Matthews and Roulette 2003). That drum came about because Naamiwan had a specific authorizing dream, and the gift which resulted was of great benefit to the community. He told us the story again, saying that if the audience had heard that story in depth, they would have understood that, without such a dream, trying to practise is extraordinarily risky. You can’t do it just because you want to: “This is why I say it is difficult for someone to get something of their own volition. Something would pursue him. They would get ‘baataa’idizod’ from there. That’s what I’m afraid of.” (CGO 1995 Nov 17 AM:4)

Zhigwa dash, mii iwe gaa-gii-onjiikidoyaan zanagan awiya ji-michionendang gegoon wiin igo jiinaadodang gegoo. Daa-onjibiminizhaawigon gegoon. Jionji-baataa’idizod i’imaa. Mii iwe gaa-gii-gotamaan.

“Baataa’idizowin” is suffering that is the consequence of presumption, or ill-advised action. “It catches up to you, onjinewin,” Margaret said. “You can’t just pick something up and make it work.” Omishoosh was very concerned that people understand the protocol around these tools the ancient Ojibwe used. He said again, emphasizing the possible danger, “If someone took one of these of their own volition, they wouldn’t know how it worked and how to use it.” (CGO 1995 Nov 17 AM:4–5)

47

Maagizhaa bezhig awiya gegoon bagwana, odaapinang, gaawiin oga-gikendanziin aaniin gaa-inanokiimaganinig ji-giizhi-aabajitoopan.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Omishoosh asked that photographs be taken of the artefacts so that they will be remembered in Pauingassi. “Although the young people wouldn’t know how to use them, these things would be fine for them to see. They should be informed.”

Gaawiin, aaniish odaa-gikendanziinaawaa’ misawaa oshkaadizag o’owe ji-gii-doodamowaapan onoweniwan ji-gii-waabandamowaapan ji-gii-wiindamawindwaa.

And as for the students at the university, “About these various objects placed here, the ancestors’ accoutrements, there are many things they should be told about how these things were utilized at that time, these ceremonial tools like this that we see here.” (CGO 1995 Nov 17 AM:10, 5)

Onoweniwan bebakaan gegoon ono gaa-gii-ayategin ono odizhi-aabajichigewiniwaan gete anishinaabeg. Niibiwa gegoon imaa ji-gii-onji-dbaajimotawindwaaban aaniin i’i apii iwe gaa-izhi-aayaabadak gegoon o’owe gaa-gii-izhinaagwa­ ninig odaabajichiganiwaan.

This is a fine mandate for a teaching museum. In fact, when these objects were added to the collection in the 1970s, this had been the idea. They were to be kept safe and used as material evidence in anthropology courses about Ojibwe culture. By the time of Omishoosh’s visit, the idea of using them to teach seemed to have been abandoned and replaced with the goal of simply keeping them safe. As the museum manager started to say to Omishoosh at the end of his visit, “This stuff isn’t ever put out. It’s kept in a storage room and we look after it but we don’t do anything with it, unless someone …” The chair of the museum committee, who had joined us late, jumped in to finished the thought, “It’s not ever brought out to the public,” he said (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:64). Having rediscovered the objects and having requested that they be photographed, Omishoosh went back home, promising to talk with the elders in Pauingassi about the collection and what should be done to preserve the memory of Naamiwan and the remarkable healing practice of Pauingassi.

48

3

Animacy Linguistic Considerations

Anthropologists have made excellent use of the metaphorical and theoretical animacy of objects (e.g., Bird-David 1999; Rival 2002; Viveiros de Castro 1996, 1998; Ingold 2000, 2006; Henare, Holbraad, and Wastell 2010), presuming that this attribution is relatively unproblematic and justifying this position, as Gell does, with examples of behaviour in his own life (his car has a name, etc.). With this scholarship in mind, how might we interpret Omoshoosh’s narrative and what might we learn from a detailed linguistic examination of nuanced Ojibwe perspectives on the far from straightforward attribution of animacy to ceremonial objects? One of the famous characteristics of the Ojibwe language is that a determination of grammatical animacy is virtually inescapable. As we have seen, Omishoosh speaks fluid and elegant Ojibwe and he specifies the animacy (or inanimacy) of every artefact. In addition to the usual entities one would suppose to be part of this animate class, i.e., humans, most animals, and so forth, there are a number of what linguists call “unexpected” animates, including many but not all ceremonial objects. This disconnection between biological life and attributed animacy has caused a debate among linguists and anthropologists about the semantic functionality of animate grammatical agreement in Ojibwe – a debate which reveals the limits of linguistic analysis. Linguistic and anthropological misgivings about the meaning of grammatical animacy of objects have blocked the theoretical deployment of animacy. From a Pauingassi perspective, animacy underpins a theoretical analysis of repatriation, and Ojibwe speakers themselves provide evidence. Taking Jackson’s point that an anthropological practice ought to privilege no particular cultural standpoint (1996:9), the discussion of animacy provides a phenomenological base for a theoretical approach to repatriation.

Irving Hallowell was a subtle anthropologist. He conducted his fieldwork among the Ojibwe of the Upper Berens River from 1930 to 1940 and continued to

3.1  William Berens at a portage on the Berens River with a group of “grandfather” stones, asin(iig), 1933. Photograph A286, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

write eloquently about their world view throughout his career. In his nuanced and frequently cited article “Ojibwa Ontology, Behaviour and World View,” published in 1960, he famously observed: Since stones are grammatically animate, I once asked an old man: Are all the stones we see about us here alive? He reflected a long while and then replied, “No! But some are.” This qualified answer made a lasting impression on me. (Hallowell 2010:540)1

It was the ambivalence of the answer which intrigued Hallowell. While he agreed that it was quite impossible, within a rigid scientific frame of reference, to imagine stones who might be alive, he argued that it was the interpretive and relational task of anthropologists to try. “We are confronted with the philosophical implications of their thought,” he wrote, “the nature of the world of being as they conceive it” (Hallowell 2010:536). He understood that the practice of anthropology is facilitated by a bracketing of personal experience, by a willingness to suspend disbelief, at least temporarily, and by an acute willingness to attend to the explanations of others (cf. Jackson 1996:10; Gell 1998:10). Hallowell’s sensitivity to the ontological understandings of his Ojibwe acquaintances had a very Boasian anthropological history, and there is an implicit relativist stance in his writing. But the clarity of his field observations, the soundness of his overall perspective, his scope, and his ability to convey the flux and nuance of Ojibwe perception make his work wonderfully useful in a contemporary Ojibwe anthropological practice.2 This is especially true of the project at hand, having to do with Ojibwe people from the communities he studied and ceremonial objects he described and photographed, which are, for the most part, members of this intriguing class of grammatically animate objects. In addressing the question of grammatical animacy and its implications, Hallowell was wrestling with one of the seminal problems of anthropology. The attribution of “life” to plainly inert objects has vexed anthropologists since the inception of the discipline. Linguistic reports of animate/inanimate gender among the Ojibwe and their fellow Algonquian speakers became primary evidence for early anthropological theorists (Long 1922 (1791)).3 E.B. Tylor chose the term “animism” (from Latin anima = life, soul OED) to refer to this “primitive philosophy.” He considered “animism” to be a primal way of thinking and a prerequisite for religions which are characterized by a belief in the concept of a soul (Tylor 1892, cited in Stringer 1999:547). Grammatical animacy became a diagnostic for this “animist” class of cultures, but, although Hallowell uses the term, he is careful about its application. He writes of the Ojibwe: “Neither animism in its classical formulation nor animatism is the unequivocal foundation of Saulteaux belief” (Hallowell 1942:7). On another occasion he was even more direct: “Despite the fact that the general trend of their thought is so emphatically animistic, it would caricature the beliefs of these people to assert that a spirit lurks in every rock, or that they believe that every stone has a soul. They are not given to sweeping generalizations of this sort” (Hallowell 2010:44). Hallowell’s caution about generalizing with respect to Ojibwe concepts was based on his conviction that Western anthropological categories have the power

51

Naamiwan’s Drum

to confound cross-cultural understanding. His misgivings are revealed at the outset of his article “Ojibwa Ontology, Behaviour and World-View,” where he writes that “a thoroughgoing ‘objective’ approach to the study of cultures cannot be achieved solely by projecting upon those cultures categorical abstractions derived from Western thought. For, in a broad sense, the latter are a reflection of our cultural subjectivity” (Hallowell 2010:537). This caution, he argued, applied to animacy.4 “If we wish to understand the cognitive orientation of the Ojibwa, there is an ethno-linguistic problem to be considered: What is the meaning of animate in Ojibwa thinking? Are such generic properties of objects as responsiveness to outer stimulation – sentience, mobility, self-movement, or even reproduction – primary characteristics attributed to all objects of the animate class irrespective of their categories as physical objects in our thinking? Is there evidence to substantiate such properties of objects independent of their formal linguistic classification?” (Hallowell 2010:539). At the time of his research Hallowell believed that “no Ojibwa is consciously aware of, or can abstractly articulate the animate-inanimate category of his speech. Consequently, the grammatical distinction as such does not emerge as a subject for reflective thought or bear the kind of relation to individual thinking that would be present if there were some formulated dogma about the generic properties of these two classes of objects” (Hallowell 2010:539). This is certainly not the case any more. It is my privilege to consult with native Ojibwe speakers who are university-trained linguists, particularly Roger Roulette and Pat Ningewance, and to use their expert transcripts, translations, and interpretations of complex Ojibwe texts in my own attempts to explain animacy from an Anishinaabe point of view.

Grammatical Animacy One of the things Hallowell “knew” about the Ojibwe before he traversed those many portages to visit the people of the Upper Berens River was that their language was typically Algonquian. Thus, in speaking about almost anything, a choice had to be made about gender. The Ojibwe, everyone agreed, had a grammatical gender divide, and, as Hallowell himself put it, it was “a well known fact that the grammatical structure of the language of these people, like all their Algonquian relatives, formally expresses a distinction between ‘animate’ and ‘inanimate’ nouns” (Hallowell (2010:539).5 In his field research, Hallowell found the idea extremely useful, and his question about what animacy meant to an Ojibwe speaker helped him to develop an understanding of Ojibwe theoretical conceptions of power and personhood which have scholarly traction today. The concept of grammatical animacy is one of the rocks upon which contemporary Ojibwe anthropology is built. I first encountered the idea of Algonquian gender in a Cree-language class taught by Rev. Stanley Cuthand, a fluent Cree speaker, academic, and now a long-time friend and collaborator.6 One of the striking things about grammatical animacy is that it is convincing to native speakers. They readily accept the idea that animacy provides a plausible rationale for the habitual choices they make each time they refer to a stone as animate and a strawberry as inanimate (e.g., Ningewance

52

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

1993:8). I once went with Roger Roulette to Jackhead, an Ojibwe reserve on the west side of Lake Winnipeg where he was teaching Ojibwe grammar to a group of native teachers. I sat at the back of the classroom and watched Roger introduce the idea of gender, inviting his students to test their responses to particular nouns to see if they could detect a pattern. They smiled and laughed as the structure of their own language became visible to them. Roger is a brilliant and amusing teacher, but the idea of animacy clearly has explanatory logic to these competent speakers. Animacy served Hallowell in much the same way. Although he was never a particularly linguistic anthropologist and made no claims to Ojibwe fluency, he made very good use of the linguistic skills of Chief William Berens, with whom he explored these ideas. He credited Berens with making his anthropological work possible because Berens engaged critically with Hallowell’s questions and willingly joined him in interrogating Ojibwe ideas (Hallowell 1942:ix–x). In his writing, Hallowell was careful about the meaning of Ojibwe words and thoughtfully used language as a form of cultural proof. He recognized that in ethnographic pursuits, as Bruno Latour has put it, “translation is the soul of the process of relating” (Latour 1993 (1991):114). Moreover, he never doubted the rationality of the Ojibwe. In an essay written early in his career (Hallowell 1934), he noted that anthropologists had long since abandoned personal or collective delusion as an explanation for ideas like animacy after “the body blows which psychoanalytic theories have dealt to the assumption of complete rationality in any man” (Hallowell 1934:389). Hallowell argued that within the Ojibwe world-view, Ojibwe people were as sceptical, intelligent, and empirically rigorous as anyone else (1934). He was firmly dismissive of the idea that the Ojibwe “personify” natural objects, because that would imply that they conceived of them as inanimate things in the first place and then deliberately imagined them to be animate. “There is, of course, no evidence for this,” he observed tartly (Hallowell 2010: 544). His cheerful scepticism is mirrored in recent work by Tim Ingold, who dismisses the conventional understanding of animism, that it is the imputation of “life or spirit to things which are truly inert,” arguing that imposing this idea on others has led us to an unnecessary contemporary theoretical impasse. “It was this same belief that ethnologists of the nineteenth century projected onto the savages of their acquaintance, accusing them nevertheless of applying it far too liberally to cover anything and everything, whether actually alive or not” (Ingold 2006:11). Hallowell’s approach to the Ojibwe grammatical phenomenon of animacy/inanimacy was to regard it as a sign of a distinctive, internally coherent intellectual system, as evidence of a “cognitive behavioural environment” supported by the knowledge and the rational, personal observations of those reared within an Ojibwe milieu.

The History of Animacy Hallowell’s influential essay on Ojibwe ontology was written in 1960 as a response to linguistic scholarship on the subject of Ojibwe grammatical animacy about which he had strong misgivings. For three hundred years, the existence of

53

Naamiwan’s Drum

occasional unpredictable animate nouns, stones for example, taunted linguists.7 On the one hand, they wished to discover the rule by which Ojibwe speakers made distinctions, and the animate/inanimate dichotomy explained a great deal. On the other hand, as Hallowell observed, Ojibwe speakers make these distinctions unconsciously; at some level, gender agreement is a grammatical habit. The linguists to whom Hallowell was responding were of the opinion that gender agreement was no more than a grammatical habit and carried no semantic implications. The first person to write about Algonquian gender, Jesuit missionary Père Le Jeune (1664),8 puzzled over whether the people really believed these anomalous animates had souls. He concluded that these were entities without souls which were treated grammatically in the same way as those with souls. As Ives Goddard has pointed out of the early linguistic observers, “No one claimed that Indians thought everything designated by a grammatically animate noun really was alive” (Goddard 2002:197). Although Père Le Jeune used the terms animé and inanimé as early as 1634 and “animate” and “inanimate” were used in English-language linguistic writing from 1666 (Goddard 2002:197), not everyone adopted the same terminology, a sign that animate/inanimate did not fully explain gender agreement. Other francophone linguists experimented with the terms noble, “noble, of noble rank,” and ignoble, “base, of non-noble rank” (Goddard 2002:197). The terminological uncertainty was resolved in favour of animate/inanimate by Bishop Frederick Baraga, who published the first comprehensive dictionary of the Ojibwe language in 1878 (Baraga 1992 (1878)).9 He settled on animate/inanimate as the gender nomenclature, having tackled the rules behind the attribution of animacy in an earlier work (1850). He used a strategy of marked and unmarked categories which roughly parallel the European conception of live vs. biologically inert objects. He suggested that animate gender denotes living things and that therefore non-living things, the remainder class, were inanimate. But his analysis foundered on grammatical anomalies; he heard his informants distinguishing between “raspberry,” miskomin(ag), an animate noun, and “strawberry,” ode’imin(an), an inanimate noun, as is still the case among contemporary speakers in Pauingassi, and the inconsistency left Baraga at a loss: [S]ubstantives which signifies [sic] things that have no life at all, but which the Indians treat in their language like substantives that signify living beings, create one of the gratest [sic] difficulties and peculiarities of this language; because there is no rule by which you could be guided to know these substantives. (Baraga 1850:18–20, in Goddard 2002:195)

Baraga’s despair is evident. Marcin Kilarski maintains that there are only two languages which, from the gender point of view, are completely, perfectly, grammatically predictable, Dravidian and Salish (Kilarski 2007:345). Other linguists question this assertion, and some entirely reject the idea that languages ought to be expected to conform to Western scientific constructions of the natural world (Matthews, Roulette, and Valentine 2010). Kilarski points out that Algonquian linguistic discourse around gender has been framed by a scholarly ambivalence

54

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

regarding gender assignment in Indo-European languages. The predominance of relatively arbitrary gender assignment among European languages has led to an explanation of language practice which presupposes arbitrary grammatical rules. Comparing Algonquian languages to Indo-European languages on the basis of the relation between gender and semantic agreement and observing that most animate nouns do indeed refer to things which are apparently alive (and only a few which are “anomalous”) lead to a classification of Algonquian languages as “predominantly semantic” where Indo-European languages are said to be less so (Kilarski 2007: 334). In the years immediately prior to Hallowell’s “Ontology” article (1960), linguistics took a sharp formalist turn and became decidedly anti-semantic. In 1933, the great linguist Leonard Bloomfield argued that the assignment of gender was largely arbitrary, simply a “phenomenon of agreement” where there might be an “irregular correlation between linguistic categories and classes of objects in the real world” (Kilarski 2007:337). Ojibwe, in this scheme of things, was typified by “leaks” in semantic rules (Kilarski 2007:345). Bloomfield drew on the familiar comparison with Indo-European languages: The gender-categories of most Indo-European languages … do not agree with anything in the practical world, and this is true of most such classes. In the Algonquian languages, all persons and animals belong to one category, an “animate” gender, but so do some other objects, such as “raspberry,” “kettle,” and “knee”; all other objects (including, for instance, “strawberry,” “bowl,” “elbow”) belong to the other, “inanimate” gender. (Bloomfield 1933:337–8)10

The problem is one of perspective. The semantic category “animate” as we understand it and the grammatical category “animate” as the Ojibwe use it do not perfectly overlap. Following Bloomfield, Joseph H. Greenberg sought to address the problem by re-examining the grammatical categories themselves. He wrote an influential paper in 1954 which proposed that rather than theorizing two semantic dichotomies, Algonquian gender be considered in terms of two neutral types of classification: a dominant Class 1 (formerly animate) and a residual Class 2 (formerly inanimate). Greenberg argued that this approach was supported by linguistic data and had analytic functionality because it got away from the semantic argument altogether. He argued that the anthropological desire for meaning notwithstanding, there was no evidence that grammatical structures provided evidence of meaning (1954:15): If it turned out, for example, that speakers of Algonquian have a shrine to the raspberry and treat it like a spirit, while the strawberry is in the sphere of the profane … then a definition of Class 1 affixes would be possible by reference to the non-linguistic behaviour of Algonquian speakers: I do not believe that the ethnographic facts about these peoples will allow of such a definition. (Greenberg 1954:339)11

Other linguists followed Greenberg, but, as Kilarski observes, this remark about the lack of “ethnographic facts” had a galvanizing effect on Algonquian

55

Naamiwan’s Drum

anthropologists (Kilarski 2007:339). Starting with Hallowell, three hundred years of bemused acceptance of the illogic of Ojibwe grammar were overturned as scholars responded with a steady stream of evidence that there was an Algonquian semantic basis for Algonquian gender assignment which solved some of the mysteries of unpredictable animates.

Hallowell and Animacy Hallowell was goaded by Greenberg’s assertion that “unless the actual behaviour of Algonquian speakers shows some mode of conduct common to all these instances such that, given this information, we could predict the membership of Class 1, we must resort to purely linguistic characterization” (Greenberg 1954:15– 16 in Hallowell 2010:539). In response, Hallowell wrote: In the case of the Ojibwa, I believe that when evidence from beliefs, attitudes, conduct, and linguistic characterization are all considered together the psychological basis of their unified cognitive outlook can be appreciated, even when there is a radical departure from the framework of our thinking … More important than the linguistic classification of objects is the kind of vital functions attributed to them in the belief system and the conditions under which these functions are observed or tested in experience. This accounts, I think, for the fact that what we view as material, inanimate objects – such as shells and stones – are placed in an “animate” category along with “persons” which have no physical existence in our world-view. The shells, for example, called mígis on account of the manner in which they function in the Midewiwin, could not be linguistically categorized as “inanimate.” “Thunder,” as we shall see, is not only reified as an “animate” entity, but has the attributes of a person and may be referred to as such. An “inanimate” categorization would be unthinkable from the Ojibwa point of view. When Greenberg refers to “persons” as clearly members of the animate grammatical category he is by implication identifying person and human being. Since in the Ojibwa universe there are many kinds of reified person-objects which are other than human but have the same ontological status, these, of course, fall into the same ethnoseme as human beings and into the “animate” linguistic class. (Hallowell 2010:639–40, my emphases)

Hallowell felt that a semantic basis for the grammatical distinctions made by Ojibwe speakers could be found by examining evidence about the beliefs, attitudes, and conduct of the Ojibwe with respect to the entities which share what he called the same “ethnoseme” as humans. It was at this point in his article that Hallowell introduced the story of the stones mentioned earlier. He chose stones because they posed a problem of “ethno-metaphysics” (1960:20). It wasn’t their grammatical status that was the problem. It was the way stones figured in stories and ceremony and how people related to them that challenged credulity. It intrigued him that some stones are called “grandfather,” because kinship is more socially significant than simple metaphorical personhood. Stones were an apt choice because they also interested his principal collaborator Chief William Berens. In the photo earlier

56

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

3.2  Nelson Owen holding his grandfather Adam Owen’s medicine stone, October 2007.

in this chapter (figure 3.1), Berens sits surrounded by stones of the sort which are definitely grammatically animate. They are called grandfather stones, gimishoomisinaaniwan asiniig. The animacy of a stone (asin) is indicated by the animate plural suffix (iig). Stones such as these are found, not made by humans. They are oval or round, almost perfectly smooth, and often have markings, stains in the granite. They are supposed to grow in size as they age and become wrinkly when they are very old. They have a reputation for being able to act, for good or ill, and so respect is shown. At William Berens’s feet are a cluster of dishes and cups, food and tobacco, offerings to the stones. These grandfather stones may gather at a particular junction of a river but they won’t necessarily stay put. One of the characteristics which sets these stones apart is that they move about at will. I’m sure the first time William Berens suggested this idea of moving stones to his friend Hallowell, he was a little tentative for fear of being mocked. Ojibwe people are acute observers of visiting wemitigoozhiwag, and as they learn to speak English, they learn to be wary of our scepticism. This is still the case with the Ojibwe of the Berens River. When the picture shown in figure 3.2 was taken, something similar was happening. Nelson Owen, Omishoosh’s grandson, was presenting a small oval stone to Dr Katherine Pettipas of the Manitoba Museum. This stone was crucial to his maternal grandfather’s medical practice. Adam Owen gave it, along with herbal remedies, to people he was treating. They were told to put it in their pocket. When they got better, the stone came home. Nelson very tentatively asked the curator if she had looked after stones. “Yes,” she said. He raised his eyes from the stone in his hand. “They move about, you know?” he said, watching her. She nodded. He described three other smaller perfectly round stones still in his father’s possession.

57

Naamiwan’s Drum

3.3  John Duck, Little Grand Rapids, 1933, A182, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

As a child, he had seen them dancing on a tabletop; on another occasion, three of these stones were placed five inches apart, and when Adam spoke to them all they rolled together. “It won’t be a problem until we’re doing inventory,” she teased, and when he realized she wasn’t bothered by the idea, everybody laughed and the tension was gone. “I just go by guess and by golly,” she told me later, but her previous experience with such things and her lack of scepticism at the right moment made all the difference. Nelson’s family have another rock about a foot across and very heavy, which the family would like to place in the museum for safekeeping, but Nelson didn’t want to bring it until he had scouted out the curator’s attitude to rocks. Grammatically animate, socially active, and independently mobile rocks do not belong in the Mineralogy Department (NO 2007 Jan 4). Hallowell must have had a moment like this when he obtained a similar stone and was told to keep it in a tin box or “it might ‘go’” (1960:49n11). His reaction would have been equally important. Hallowell was careful to distinguish between grammatical animacy, a theoretical mode, and the Ojibwe “ethnoseme” of personhood, for which he had ample proof. William Berens eventually presented him with evidence of stones which moved about of their own accord and opened up on command (Matthews, Roulette, and Valentine 2011:26–7). There were individual stones that followed medicine men around dance pavilions like a spaniel on a leash, conveyed medical cures in the absence of their owners, and starred in mythical adventures

58

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

(ibid.).12 Hallowell was particularly interested in the report of a man named John Duck from Little Grand Rapids, who spoke to a stone. “In the anecdote describing John Duck’s behaviour, however, his use of speech as a mode of communication raises the animate status of the boulder to the level of social interaction common to human beings. Simply as a matter of observation we can say that the stone was treated as if it were a ‘person,’ not a ‘thing,’ without inferring that objects of this class are, for the Ojibwa, necessarily conceptualized as persons” (Hallowell 2010:541). Hallowell, like his Ojibwe mentors, was unwilling to be categorical. He wrote: The hypothesis which suggests itself to me is that the allocation of stones to an animate grammatical category is part of a culturally constituted cognitive “set.” It does not involve a consciously formulated theory about the nature of stones. It leaves a door open that our orientation on dogmatic grounds keeps shut tight. Whereas we should never expect a stone to manifest animate properties of any kind under any circumstances, the Ojibwa recognize, a priori, potentialities for animation in certain classes of objects under certain circumstances. The Ojibwa do not perceive stones, in general, as animate, any more than we do. The crucial test is experience. (Hallowell 2010:540)

Hallowell then presented the following evidence: The old man to whom I addressed the general question about the animate character of stones was the same informant who told me that during a Midewiwin ceremony, when his father was the leader of it, he had seen a “big round stone move.” He said his father got up and walked around the path once or twice. Coming back to his place he began to sing. The stone began to move “following the trail of the old man around the tent, rolling over and over, I saw it happen several times and others saw it also.” The animate behaviour of a stone under these circumstances was considered to be a demonstration of magic power on the part of the Midé. It was not a voluntary act initiated by the stone considered as a living entity. Associated with the Midewiwin in the past there were other types of large boulders with animate properties. My friend Chief Berens had one of these, but it no longer possessed these attributes. It had contours which suggested eyes and mouth. (Hallowell 2010:540–1)

I have seen this stone. It was still in Berens River when I went there in 1992, resting up against the house of Percy Berens, Chief Berens’s son.13 Percy, who knew Hallowell well, pointed the rock out to me. It (animate) was sitting right near the foot of the steps in the tall grass, a bit bigger than a basketball, too heavy to lift easily, and remarkably round. It was greyish Precambrian granite, slightly mottled, but otherwise unremarkable. Percy told me various stories about this stone which matched the stories William Berens told Hallowell. It was obvious that these stories of Yellow Legs and his stone were still part of family lore. Hallowell provides the story about how the stone came to be in the family’s possession. Yellow Legs dreamed of a large round stone on what is now called Egg Island, but which the Indians call wigwasiminis, birch island [wiigwaasiminis]. He sent two men to fetch this stone for him: they were told to follow a bear’s tracks to be found on the

59

Naamiwan’s Drum

shore, which would lead them directly to it. But to make sure that they had found the right stone, a few branches would be broken directly above it. The men found the stone by following the directions given them by Yellow Legs, and it was brought to Berens River. It is now in the possession of Chief Berens. It was used in the Medewiwin [Midewiwin] for many years, and exhibited certain animate properties, externally represented by what appear to be a mouth and eyes. In the course of the Medewiwin Yellow Legs used to tap the stone with a knife, whereupon the mouth would open and he would extract a deerskin packet of medicine. The latter would be made into a concoction, which was then shared by all present. (Hallowell 1936:48)

The last time I visited Percy in Berens River, mischievous teenagers had rolled Yellowlegs’s rock into the river, where it could be seen in the shallows. Percy was not too bothered about the watery fate of the rock. He indicated that it was “safe.” In part this may be because, under the water like that, it is in the care of those great experts on stone, another unpredictable animate, the elusive semi-human beings memegwesiwag.14 They leave no conventional tracks, live inside impenetrable cliffs, and avoid white people, so they will never turn up in a survey of regional fauna. And yet they make themselves known when they choose and are among the most important entities on the Upper Berens River. Those who have seen them, like William Berens’s son, Percy, say that they are small humans. A human being. It’s a human being that memegwesi. The old people talk about these memegwesiwag. They talk about it. Memegwesi. Memegwesiwag. Certain old people, they seen them, eh? I heard them with my own ears and I was hearing them singing and I stopped paddling my canoe. I believe. I believe all that. (Berens in Matthews 2007:3)

Memegwesiwag are said to have taught the Ojibwe how to shape arrowheads and pipe stems from stone. If one finds unusually shaped arrowheads in the bush (which an archaeologist might attribute to some long gone proto-culture), they are evidence, in Ojibwe eyes, of memegwesiwag hunters who make and use their own style of arrow- and spear-heads. Apparently slightly Luddite by nature, memegwesiwag favour ancient weaponry and are admired for surviving in an old-fashioned way. Their expertise with stone is such that they even make little canoes out of stone and paddle them about on the lakes and rivers, where they are occasionally seen in the evening near the tall cliffs where they live. They apparently carve the cliffs to enhance their beauty, and on the Upper Berens River, the old ochre drawings on cliffs are attributed to memegwesiwag artistry (Cuthand/Brightman in Matthews 2007:8–9). Thus a stone like the one used by Yellowlegs, which returns to the water, may be in good hands. The memegwesiwag certainly looked after Yellowlegs. A great-grandson of Yellowlegs told Hallowell that the famous mide was seen “walking on the water, on a calm day, over to Jack Head Island to secure medicine

60

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

(macki-ki) [mashkiki(in) inanimate noun]. He was brought back by m ­ emegweciwak [memegwesiwag], semi-human creatures who live in the rocks and travel in canoes” (Hallowell 1936:48). In a footnote Hallowell observes: “The implication is that these were among the old man’s guardian spirits. They are noted for the knowledge of medicines which they transmit to those human beings whom they bless” (1936:48). Percy Berens, the last owner of Yellowlegs’s stone, never precisely revealed the extent of his own relationship with the little people, but he absolutely concurred on this point about their connection with medicines. You have to fully believe on them and then they’ll help you, whatever help you need. Maybe they’ll give you that medicine. Because they’re so kind-hearted. I’ll say that. I’ll use that word. They’re so kind-hearted … Yeah that’s the word. Gizhewaadiziwag aapiji [They’re very kind/gracious] Gigidimaagenimigoog, yeah. They have a sympathy for you, eh. (Berens in Matthews 2007:4)

Percy knew he had been given an important gift when he heard the memegwesiwag singing. One thing, I’ll say this, I heard ’em, with my own ears, and my partner sitting on the centre of the boat didn’t hear a thing and I was hearing them singing and I stopped paddling my canoe. They sing in Indian. Indian language, eh. Aaniin Manidoo, wiijiiwishin ninando-andawenjige. “God come with me, I’m going out hunting.” See that’s how they sing. Memegwesi, I seen that! It’s only me, I don’t know why. I guess that’s why I heard them in early life. I guess it’s because I’m going to live a long life. (Berens in Matthews 2007:7)

Percy heard them sing three times and he has lived a long life. He was ­ inety-three when I last interviewed him.15 His brother Gordon Berens rememn bered one winter evening when he and Percy were on their trap-line together and Percy came home late. I had tea already, supper already, supper waiting for him. So he come in. I look at him and oh, did he ever look pale.

61

Naamiwan’s Drum

“Oh,” I said, “what happened?” “Oh,” I says, “you look so darn pale. Are you sick?” “No,” he says, “No I’m not sick.” “What happened?” “Well, boy,” he says. “I’ll just tell you.” “Boy, I hear them, what you call memegwesiwag. I heard the memegwesiwag singing,” he says. “On the last high rock on the lake here,” he says, “I was thirsty,” he says, “and I went to the little island there,” he says. “I went to this place where there was open water. I bent down to have a drink and, boy, I could hear that drum,” he says, “in the water, like an echo. So I had a drink and I kind of sat and boy,” he says, “well they start to sing. Beat the drum,” he says, “and start to sing. Oh, I stay there,” he says, “I sat there and listened.” Well you know the next thing he had to do. He had to put tobacco where he heard them singing. That’s a present like, you know, so he had to go there. He says, “Boy, I put that tobacco on the ledge of a rock. Walk away.” Next time he went, he check if the tobacco was gone. The tobacco was gone and there was a blade like, you know, a [shoulder] blade of an animal. So he took that. It was right on top, where he had [put] the tobacco, so he pick it up and he brought it to our camp and he said to my Dad, he said, “Look,” he said, “this is what I found,” he said, “where I put the tobacco on that rock.” My Dad looked at that shoulder blade. He couldn’t figure out what kind of an animal it was. So he told Percy, “This animal,” he says, “is not from this place. Different place, this animal is from a different place. Well he [Percy] kept that thing and, you know, when he was trapping, nobody could beat him. He was always the head trapper. Nobody could beat him. Cause he used to carry this with him all the time. He used to carry this blade all the time and nobody could beat him. He was always the highest one. Yea, he was always the highest one. (GB 1992:8)

These encounters with memegwesiwag, which are sometimes experienced as dreams, nonetheless happen in real places, in what Hallowell calls a “unified spatiotemporal frame of reference.” William Berens himself provided an example to Hallowell. “W.B.” had been out hunting and had met a memegwesi who invited him to his home. Hallowell quotes Berens: “On the northwest side of the lake there was a very high steep rock. He headed directly for this rock. With one stroke of the paddle we were across the lake. The fellow threw his paddle down as we landed on a flat shelf of rock about level with the water. Behind this the rest of the rock rose steeply before us. But when his paddle touched the rock this part opened up. He pulled the canoe in and we entered a room in the rock.” In this dream the geographical details are extremely precise. W.B. said that some time later, when awake and out hunting, he recognized the exact spot he had visited in his dream. He could go back any time in the future and obtain the special kind of medicine for which the memengwécı¯wak (memegwesiwag) are famous. The fact that W.B. said he could act this way in the future with reference to a dream experience of the past

62

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

indicates clearly enough that in the Ojibwa world there is a unified spatiotemporal frame of reference for all self-related experience. (Hallowell 2010:455)

In the full text of this dream (Hallowell 1988 (1955):97), Berens continued to describe his visit, marvelling at the guns and traps these people had acquired. “Of course, I did not know that I was dreaming. Everything was the same as I had seen it with my eyes open. When I was ready to go I got up and shook hands with the man. He said, ‘Anytime that you wish to see me, this is the place where you will find me.’ He did not offer to open the door for me so I knew that I had to try and do this myself. I threw all the power of my mind into opening it and the rock lifted up. Then I woke up and knew that it was a dream. It was one of the first I ever had.” This use of the “power” of the “mind” to effect the leap from one world to the other – quite literally making things happen – is a relevant and rare form of agency. In this recounting, a location which exists in the “unified spatiotemporal frame” can be visited in life or in a dream, and the human nature of animate entities is revealed in the dream realm. I have been told that every northern community has a nearby cliff where memegwesiwag live (Brightman 1990, 1989). If they don’t live there any more it is because they find modern hubbub offensive, but they stay close by, near enough to help. They played an important role in Pauingassi as ceremonial assistants and helpers of Naamiwan, Angus, Omishoosh, and Jacob Owen, famously attending shaking tent ceremonies in the community. One would assume that they have connections with several of the men still living in Pauingassi who are known for their herbal remedies (KO 2006). That they are still around is without doubt. David Owen (Ochiip), Omishoosh’s cousin, told me that they leave impressions in stone. “Where there is a smooth rock, that’s where he [the memegwesi] sat. This is where he thought to leave an impression where he sat down. They [the impressions] looked like they were made by an Anishinaabe. It’s amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. There is one in Pauingassi. If you went there you’d see it,” he told me, “Everyone knows of it.” (DO 2006)

Ningoji zhooshkwaabikaang mii imaa bizaanigo e-gii-namadabid. Mii-sh imaa gaa-izhi-inendang ji-mazinisininig odabiwin awedi gaa-gii-namadabid imaa. Anishinaabeng izhinaagwanoon ini. Daabishkoo anishinaabe imaa e-gii-namadabid. Maamakaach. Gaawiin maawiin wiikaa gii-waabandanziin idinookaan. Obaawingaashiing osha bezhig ayaa idinookaan. Izhaayan gidaa-waabandaan. Gakina awiya ogikendaan.

If active stones and furtive dwarves have both grammatical animacy and human ontological status to an Ojibwe speaker, then grammatical animacy has some important semantic implications. The other-than-human person ethnoseme does not fully account for grammatical animacy, but Hallowell did not claim that it did. He objected to the narrowness of formalist linguistic analysis in part because he accepted that linguistic terminology, animacy and inanimacy, originated in

63

Naamiwan’s Drum

conversations with intellectually curious Ojibwe people who willingly assisted the earliest word-list compilers as William Berens had assisted him. At the same time, he took pains to recalibrate animacy and develop his ideas about personhood within what he came to call the Ojibwe world-view, an anthropological task, beyond the remit of linguistics. It led him to conclusions about personhood which have contemporary theoretical parallels in the work of Marilyn Strathern and Alfred Gell among others (to which I will return in chapter 5). He argued that answering questions about the meaning of animacy to Ojibwe people involves a perspectival turn, from “what is alive” to “who can act.” “Who did it, who is responsible, is always the critical question to be answered,” he wrote (Hallowell 2010:558). He argued that the capacity to act in the world, the essence of power in Ojibwe eyes, was a characteristic shared by some of these apparently anomalous animate entities, from stones to the charming cliff-dwelling mystics, memegwesiwag.

Animacy since Hallowell While the linguistic literature regarding gender agreement written in the 1960s and 1970s mostly proceeded along formalist lines, Hallowell’s anthropological argument for the semantic relevance of gender was revisited in 1976 by Regna Darnell and Anthony Vanek. They looked at Plains Cree word lists and found, among other things, a culturally plausible explanation for the animate status of the anomalous raspberry. They said that if one grouped plants according to whether they had thorns instead of whether they had edible berries, then one could posit that the fruit of thorny bushes like wild roses, gooseberries, and raspberries, which make a credible effort at defending themselves, were animate (as they are), whereas the inanimate strawberries are deficient in this regard (as are inanimate blueberries, cranberries, and saskatoons in Cree).16 Darnell and Vanek argued that, when approached from a native perspective, “the Cree category of animate/inanimate demonstrates sufficient semantic unity to make the claim that it is grammatically arbitrary clearly untenable.” They argued that Algonquian gender appears to be amenable to semantic analysis and that further analysis, preferably by native speakers, would produce more semantic intelligibility of the animate/inanimate distinction (Darnell and Vanek 1976). Anne Terry Straus and Robert Brightman, in their subsequent article provocatively titled “The Implacable Raspberry” (1982), used an admirably detailed analysis of the Cheyenne language to challenge Greenberg: We have not found shrines to the raspberry, but we have found a cultural explanation for this and other instances of apparently indefinable gender. We do not intend to suggest that formal factors are absent or unimportant in the determination of gender, but we support Hallowell in arguing that semantic factors are of pre-eminent importance in this regard. (Straus and Brightman 1982:99)

They describe gender assignment as “overwhelmingly definable” and emphasize power as a determining criterion if one evaluates things in terms of a “Northern

64

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

Cheyenne behavioural environment.” They go on to suggest that “failure to adopt such a perspective may well account for the inability of previous analysts to appreciate the pervasiveness of semantic motivation” (Straus and Brightman 1982:100). They provide examples of a Cheyenne “cultural rule” which is a readily observable Ojibwe protocol. “If you don’t know for sure that something or someone is powerless, then treat it/him as if it were powerful and potentially dangerous. Pragmatically this cultural rule underlies the linguistic rule … Many animate terms which appear initially to contradict semantic motivation can be accounted for in this way” (Straus and Brightman 1982:132). This idea is behind the common Ojibwe expression used to scold a younger person who is being socially careless, “Giga-goshkwi’ig! That person will surprise you!” (Roulette 2009). Mary Black-Rogers made a detailed study of animacy in Weagamow, Ontario, a Northern Ojibwe community 322 kilometres north of Pauingassi. After initial expressions of frustration (Black-Rogers 1969:179), she too wrote emphatically about the role of power in the attribution of grammatical animacy. She also pointed out another cultural rule, that the assessment of relative power is a long-term thing. Power is unevenly distributed in the Ojibwe world; knowing that, one waits and watches to see what transpires and, as a result, lives comfortably with a high level of ambiguity. “Power does not reveal itself until the results are in,” she wrote: A basic and irreducible indeterminacy was shown to be part of the belief system, in which the loci of power vary for different individuals and also over time, with a stockmarket type of fluctuation that must be constantly monitored and one’s own input taken onto consideration … The validation of an individual’s power lies in the state of affairs subsequent to its use, so that evidence for assessment of the current situation is often not available until a later time … Awaiting post hoc news, about just who it is that one is currently interacting with, contributes to the generalizing of cautionary behaviour. (Black-Rogers 1982:63, 64)

Black-Rogers argued that this ambiguity is reflected in the semantic correlation with grammatical animacy; power potential may be indicated by animate grammatical assignment, but actual power is hard to trace in both language and life (see also Black-Rogers 1973). This observation underlies the difference between the linguistic and the anthropological project. There is an assumption in linguistics that gender assignment ought to mean more than it apparently does. In anthropology there is an assumption that a broad range of observable relational patterns also signify. Since the 1982 Black-Rogers article, there have been more conciliatory linguistic approaches. George Lakoff (1987) revisited the marked/unmarked or Class 1/ Class 2 concept in his work on the Dyirbal language, proposing that the marked category circumscribes a number of prototypical animates and radiating sets of related animates. The unmarked category, loosely typified as inanimate, would be the “elsewhere” category. Amy Dahlstrom (1995), following Lakoff, applied these marked and unmarked categories to Algonquian languages, using her data on the Fox language to question Hallowell and his followers as to whether power and grammatical animacy are related. She mapped a kind of cascading semantic

65

Naamiwan’s Drum

relationship between prototypical spheres of animacy and related animates in terms of Lakoff’s “radial categories.” She showed that in Fox there seemed to be a core of central members of the animate class with semantically motivated links to other members. At the same time she concluded that membership in the animate category was not semantically predictable and she specifically warned that while power “does play an important role in the animate category, we cannot use gender morphology to simply read off the power associations of objects in Algonquian culture” (Dahlstrom 1995:65). The most interesting recent contribution to this literature is that of Ives Goddard (2002), who begins with a review of the history of attempts to explain Algonquian gender agreement, when Baraga, Schoolcraft, and the early French missionaries were not yet committed to the terminology of animacy. He points out the danger of taking the terms of linguistic categories too literally, a mistake of which Hallowell and others may be guilty, and he argues strongly for anthropologists to return to linguistic rigour. Attacking Darnell, Brightman, and Hallowell obliquely, he says that those who believe that decontextualized collections of animate nouns directly reveal the mental culture of the Algonquian Other on its own terms seem to have been describing instead the projection of their own culture. Uncritical cultural relativism, made more extreme by unexorcised Neo-Wharfianism, has produced an interpretation of the Algonquian world-view that is insupportable on the facts as it should be inconsistent with common good sense, though it may seem to confirm and affirm the exoticism of the Algonquian mind in a way that, however circularly, validates the approach taken. (Goddard 2002:225)

He challenges power as an explanation of grammatical animacy, saying that the missionaries were right initially. Quoting Baraga (1850:18), he declares that “speakers do not regard the unexpected animates, as a class, as living or powerful”; rather “the Indians treat [them] in their language like substantives that signify living beings” (Goddard 2002:224–5). “The Algonquin genders do not,” he writes, quoting Hallowell (1988 (1955):109), “reflect a ‘cognitive out-look that is a radical departure from the framework of our thinking,’ and still less does the list of animate nouns give us a list of ‘the other selves’ in the Algonquin environment” (Goddard 2002:225).17 Goddard’s analysis of Fox and other Algonquian examples does reveal some semantically motivated patterns. He finds that “the basic meaning of the animate gender is a function of a contrast with the inanimate gender” (Goddard 2002:224). So rather than seeing marked and unmarked categories, he returns to the idea of meaning derived from gender opposition. When large numbers of seemingly arbitrary animates are examined together with semantically close inanimates, patterns of contrast are revealed that define the semantic correlates of the animate category. The constant feature seems to be close to what the seventeenth century Jesuit linguists labelled “noble” as opposed to “base,” though without the necessary component of esteem. We might update these terms as simply high and low. The animate is the high gender, and the inanimate is the low gender. (Goddard 2002:224)

66

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

Goddard’s approach revolves around related functional contrasts; for example, meat as food is animate but meat as flesh is not. Goddard argues that distinctions like high:low, part:whole, and small:large and ideas of rank and nobility will prove to be more useful than trying to find semantic explanations matching the alive:not alive diagnostic pair. In spite of the sharpness of his critique of anthropologists who, in his view, play fast and loose with linguistic data, his conclusion that the “Algonquian gender system does have something to tell us about the cognitive structures employed by the Algonquian speakers, but in a subtler, less expected, and perhaps more interesting way than heretofore assumed” (Goddard 2002:225) allows a way forward for anthropologists and suggests that, for rigorous and sceptical linguists, continued analysis of animate and inanimate usage in a thoroughly contextualized manner is likely to be productive. It seems fair to say that most gender distinctions in most languages involve unpredictable usage. As we have seen, from a strictly formalistic linguistic perspective, even absolute predictability does not prove an indigenous semantic basis for the distinctions which are being made by speakers. It simply makes linguistic analysis more predictable. Grammatical analysis is an intellectual system, an overlay on data which helps to reveal patterns in speech. As Goddard has helpfully reminded us with respect to grammatical gender distinctions and as Marilyn Strathern has warned with respect to the anthropological project as a whole, the “danger lies in making the system appear to be the subject under scrutiny rather than the method of scrutiny” (Strathern 1988:7). Strathern further reminds us of the danger of letting the analytical vocabulary get out of hand: Analytical language appears to create itself as increasingly more complex and increasingly removed from the “realities” of the worlds it attempts to delineate, and not least from the languages in which people themselves describe them. Making out how diverse and complex those worlds are then seems to be an invention of the analysis, the creation of more data to give it more work. There is thus an inbuilt sense of artificiality to the whole anthropological exercise. (Strathern 1988:6)

Goddard in 2002, like Greenberg in 1954, has thrown down the linguistic gauntlet. This argument over the semantic import of gender agreement has significant consequences for Algonquian anthropologists. Linguists often have wonderful data, and they have admirably strict rules about its deployment in academic debate. They have, to a significant degree, shaped the way the Ojibwe world-view has been imagined by anthropologists and now, in an age when the Ojibwe have linguistic training, by the Ojibwe themselves. But although linguists have provided valued contributions, linguistics is a necessarily narrow practice. If one is to build on these contributions, both the import and the limits of linguistic evidence need to be taken seriously.

Animacy and Artefacts Accepting this view of the strengths and limits of linguistic analysis and encouraged by the possibility that it is nonetheless revealing to see how things are said,

67

Naamiwan’s Drum

I turn to a detailed analysis of Omishoosh’s remarks about the artefacts in the museum (from chapter 2) – a thick description of a thick description – looking for evidence of animacy in a seminal conversation. In the spirit of Clifford Geertz, this is an experiment in cultural analysis which he describes as “guessing at meanings, assessing the meanings and drawing explanatory conclusions from the better guesses” (2000 (1973):20). “The whole point of a semiotic approach to culture,” Geertz writes, is “to gain access to the conceptual world in which our subjects live so that we can, in some extended sense of the term, converse with them” (2000 (1973):24). In this case we are eavesdropping on the conversation with Omishoosh in the previous chapter, conducting an analysis of his attribution of grammatical animacy to artefacts. Our intention is to try to overcome what Geertz identifies as the central problem of anthropology. Alluding to his own Moroccan fieldwork, Geertz writes that what prevents us from “grasping what people are up to is … a lack of familiarity with the imaginative universe within which their acts are signs” (2000 (1973):13). I will argue in this section that animate objects are an essential feature of the “imaginative universe” of Omishoosh and other like-minded Ojibwe.

On the day that Omishoosh visited the museum, he spoke confidently about the artefacts in fond and respectful terms, never faltering over the names or functions of the things he saw. He was emotionally composed, neither shy of things nor anxious to touch them. He frequently used grammatically animate forms for the objects that are ceremonially important but he did not use them consistently. Some artefacts were always animate; some were never animate. Sometimes, with the substitution of a euphemism, a grammatically animate object became inanimate; sometimes the reverse was the case. One distinct pattern was that although the artefacts individually or as a class were often animate, the nouns referring to the overarching category “tools” or “implements,” which includes all the museum artefacts from rattles to snow-shoe needles and for which Omishoosh uses two terms aabajichigan(an) and aabajitaawin(an), were, with one exception, inanimate, even when he was talking about how much these objects are valued and what wonders they have performed. This would tend to support Goddard’s notion of semantic oppositional pairs, the individual entity or class (animate) versus the aggregate category (inanimate) (Goddard 2002:216). This opposition also works with trees (Roulette September 2008), where an individual tree, birch for instance, wiigwaasaatig(oog), or poplar, azaadii(g), a single tree, mitig, and trees as a class of being, mitig(oog), are animate, but when one talks about the idea that “there are many trees,” mitigokaa, like all “verbs of abundance” it is inanimate. This is also true of the verb “there are many moose, moonzokaa,” and “there are many Thunderers, animikiikaa” (David Pentland, pers. comm. October 2008). In the conversation with Omishoosh, artefacts which are grammatically animate when their proper names are used cease to be grammatically animate when subsumed under the generic category of “tools” – a phenomenon which occasionally

68

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

took place within a paragraph. For example Omishoosh was looking at leg garters, gashkidaasebizon(ag), using the animate noun which indicates that these bright strips of red wool, bear fur, and tinklers hug the leg when they are tied on. He says of them, zhinawishinoog, “these beings jingle.” But in the next phrase, in spite of the garters being animate, he uses the overarching category “tools,” aabajitaawinan, and the agreement becomes inanimate. In subsequent references Omishoosh uses inanimate pronouns, and in the final sentence, referring directly to garters but not naming them, he uses the inanimate verb “agwapidoomin, we tied those things up” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:8 and EBB 2002). In the text, there are many artefacts which Omishoosh speaks about in a consistently grammatically animate way, rattles, zhiishiigwan(ag), among them, including the euphemism for the small tambourines, the diminutive of drum, dewe’iganens(ag). Similarly, the ceremonial animal hide stringed pouches, gashkibidaagan(ag), used in the Midewiwin ceremony, playing sticks for gambling, naabawaagan(ag), and even such apparently secular objects as spoons, emikwaan(ag), and snowshoes, aagim(ag), are consistently animate (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:9 and CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:15,11). On the face of it, given their ceremonial importance, drums ought to be similarly consistently grammatically animate. Naamiwan’s dream drums were personal enough to have names, Gaa-gizhewaadizid and Gibaabaanaan. They became “alive” when the maker, Omishoosh’s father, Wanachence, put a goose-bone rattle in the centre and thus gave them “their soul, odajijaakiwi’aan” (Matthews and Roulette 2003:280). Water drums are also “alive” when their hide covering is in place (Roulette 2005). But on this day in the museum, Omishoosh uses three different ways of talking about drums and drumming, two that require animate agreement and one that does not. Omishoosh uses dewe’igan(ag), an animate noun, for all drums, especially for the dream dance drum. He uses mitigwakik(wag), an animate noun, for water drums. But on several occasions, while clearly referring to water drums, he switches in mid-paragraph to madwe’igan(an), an inanimate noun, which means any thing to strike or beat upon (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:28). Margaret, in response, refers to the water drum by the euphemistic term “kettle/pail,” akik(oog). “Kettle” is grammatically animate and obviously related etymologically to mitigwakik – literally, wooden pail, and an instance of humorously downplaying the significance of a powerful object (Black-Rogers 1986b). There is a fourth, and very special, way to talk about a drum using a derivative of the animate verb madwe’o, “to beat upon something animate.” Madwe’akokwe is rarely heard except on ceremonial occasions. Because it reveals specialist knowledge in ongoing ceremonial activity, Omishoosh did not use this word on this rather public occasion. There are places in the transcript where a single drum is consistently grammatically animate, and these tend to be occasions when the drum is acting or being acted upon. There is a characteristic way of speaking of a drum as “sitting” some place. Omishoosh uses this verb “he/she sits,” abij/abid, many times, and as we will see later, this Ojibwe construction has moved easily into metaphorical English. Eddie Benton Banai uses the phrase in both languages to underline the animacy of water drums. Omishoosh uses it to introduce Margaret to his grandfather’s water drum.

69

Naamiwan’s Drum

“This type of being [animate] that is sitting here, he/she is called a water drum,” he says. (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:4)

Ono wa’ dinoowikaan gaa-abij, mitigwakik izhinikaazo.

Similarly, when Omishoosh tells Margaret about how he lost his grandfather’s dream drum in a fire, he speaks of it as an animate being consumed by fire. The animate verb he uses, “some being burns,” jaagizo, in its reduplicated preterite form, jajaagizopan, indicates that he/she burned for a long time and was completely consumed by the fire (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:27). Although some artefacts associated with the Boodaade and Midewiwin ceremonies are consistently grammatically animate when they are called by their proper names, those names were not always used by Omishoosh. The usual name for the embroidered breast panel (gorget) which is a part of Midewiwin regalia, apishtaagan(ag), is animate, and there is a particularly beautiful example in the collection which was made by Omishoosh’s aunt especially for him. However, when he saw the embroidered panel, he uses an inanimate euphemism – first an inanimate verb, agoodeg, “something hangs down,” and then a noun locative ogikaakiganimaang, “on one’s chest.” There are at least two other frequently used inanimate euphemisms, aagwiigon(an), a shield, and agobizon(an), a bib or apron, which he could also have chosen. With drumsticks animacy seems to be optional. The name for a drumstick is either the animate noun dewe’iganaak(oog) or the inanimate noun dewe’iganaatig(oon).18 Omishoosh was surely familiar with both of these, but the word he uses for drumstick is an inanimate euphemism, obagamaagan(an), the name for the Ojibwe ball-headed war club after which this drumstick is modelled. “Certainly these are his clubs/drumsticks.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:27)

Mii osha ono obagamaaganan.

Later, looking at another type of drumstick meant for a water drum and excited to have found a drumstick he remembered his grandfather using, he retains consistently inanimate gender agreement (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:30). While the word Omishoosh uses for drumstick, obagamaagan(an), is inanimate, the words he uses for their decorations are animate. Omishoosh told us that he remembered seeing his uncle Angus carve what looks like a Maltese cross on the handle of his personal water drumstick. Stars, anang(oog), are animate, as are images, maazinichigan(ag). In this case, the Maltese cross represents a very particular star, the forever star, gaagige anang, an animate entity which is a character in legend and a potential dream visitor (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:4). Another example: the embroidered bandolier which Omishoosh is wearing in figure 2.4 is normally referred to as gijipizon(an), an inanimate noun also used for “belt.” Omishoosh instead uses a euphemism, the name of the caribou dewclaws which decorate it, adikwaganzh(iig), changing the agreement from inanimate to animate (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:5). Even the thimbles on this bandolier,

70

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

gaanda’igwaason(ag), drilled and strung like dew-claws, which are to our way of thinking a plebeian women’s tool of European origin, are animate in this context (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:6). One final point. We have seen that when Omishoosh refers to the collection as a whole he uses inanimate forms whether he speaks of “tools, aabajitaawin(an),” collectively or “regalia, wawezhi’on(an).” The emotional context makes no difference. Even when he is explaining the joy these artefacts bring, speaking metaphorically of them as things to play with, odaminowaya’iin, they are nevertheless inanimate (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:67). Even when he is intensely proud of what his ancestors were able to make, he says, “Well, that’s all we’re going to see of the exotic visual wonders of the old Anishinaabeg” (CGO 199 Nov16 AM:62),

Mii gondasha i gii-ishkwaamayagaabishinang geteanishinaabeg,

and the mayagaabishinan, the “exotic visual wonders,” are grammatically inanimate. The only time in the entire text when Omishoosh refers to the artefacts collectively and employs animate agreement is when he makes a plainly metaphorical reference: “Apparently, these [inanimate] have found their way over here.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:39)

Mii nangwana ‘omaa gaa-biizhaamaganogobanenan onoweniwan.

Omishoosh’s sense of humour is evident in this exchange. He is making ironic use of what is called an augmentative; the addition of -magan in izhaamaganogobanenan adds the thought that this inanimate thing “can act as the verb implies”; in this case, that inanimate artefacts made their way to the museum of their own volition. In addition to animacy, there is a second implication; this comment can be interpreted as an oblique reference to the workings of divine power. In this mode, although the artefacts came to be in the museum, it might have been the work of a higher/divine power to whom a careful speaker, following the rule of “respectful speech,” would only vaguely allude (Black-Rogers 1986b:13). Inserting -magan allows for grammatically inanimate objects, like pawns on a chessboard, to appear to move on their own while withholding judgment on the definitive attribution of power (Roulette October 2008). This combination of metaphorical talk works even if the subject of the sentence is a person, a prototypically animate entity. For example: I have often said that I showed little faith in the artefacts and their ability to bring about the outcome they desired when I decided to go to Wisconsin to confront Eddie Benton Banai. But in Ojibwe it would be possible (and indeed is very likely) that what people say about me is that I acted as I did because I was “compelled to do so by a divine power, gii-wiikoshkaa ji-noojitood o’owe,” or that I was simply the right person at the right time, “gifted with sufficient standing to do something at the crucial moment, gii-inenimigoowizi ji-noojitood o’owe,” a situation equally under divine control.

71

Naamiwan’s Drum

To underline this implication about the actual source of power, they would say I am being used, that “I (animate) am the implement (inanimate) of another, mii a’awe aabajichigan.”

Observations I am in deep linguistic waters here, but I have been assured that linguists lose interest after they sort out the syntax, whereas I am interested, à la Geertz, in the “signs” embedded in what is being “said” and in the trajectory of the conversation, the emotional, historical, and physical context, the metaphorical allusions, and the various underlying Ojibwe cultural understandings. In this chapter I have tested the idea that grammatical animacy might help to define and characterize the artefacts which have been collected by the museum or at least to draw a line around those artefacts which are ceremonially important to Ojibwe experts. I have asked whether animacy would help to define the artefacts a museum curator might categorize as “sacred.” Obviously I have not found gender consistency with respect to the naming of artefacts, nor can “sacred” objects be distinguished from “secular” simply by checking gender agreement. Omishoosh flipped back and forth from grammatically animate to grammatically inanimate references in multiple fascinating ways. But I do not conclude that this means, pace linguistic formalists, that gender agreement is a habit of speech which conveys no meaning. I think that Black-Rogers, like Hallowell, Darnell and Vanek, and Straus and Brightman, who find evidence of the operation of various cultural rules, provides useful guidance. Black-Rogers suggests a cultural rule something like “time will tell” which accounts for the openended ambiguity evident in Omishoosh’s references to the artefacts (1977, 1986b). The Ojibwe language contains a great many ways of saying “maybe,” “probably,” and “apparently,” and speakers are, as Pat Ningewance points out to her students, “very precise about their uncertainty” (pers. comm. 1998). But this clarity about uncertainty is not to be confused with a lack of authority. For anyone familiar with this sort of talk, what is remarkable about Omishoosh’s remarks at the museum is the lack of conditional phrases. He is providing a first-hand account and is certain about what he says; the extremely common interjection, iinzan (apparently), indicating hearsay evidence, which peppers Ojibwe historical and philosophical conversation, is almost entirely absent. Straus and Brightman suggest another cultural rule having to do with treating things which may be powerful and potentially dangerous as if they are ­dangerous – at least until you know for certain that they are not (1982:132). They suggest that many entities which are inexplicable animates can be accounted for in this way. This seems to be the case with stones, rattles, medicine pouches, and so on. But the analysis of the text of Omishoosh’s visit to the museum leads me to think that the reverse is also true; that emphasizing the animacy (or whatever grammatical quality “animacy” signals) is regarded as pretentious. Discreet speech, a form of what Black-Rogers calls “respectful talk,” is admired, and understatement is almost a cultural reflex (Black-Rogers 1986b).

72

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

The argument against this view, indeed against any semantic interpretation of gender agreement, is that speakers don’t think about it that way; that they use agreement habitually not intentionally. But I would argue that although Omishoosh’s discreet speech could indeed be learned by ear, its employment in irony or humour is none the less significant. Deliberate play with grammatical animacy in Ojibwe is common. I have, on occasion, heard a mother speak of her lethargic teenage child as inanimate, as a parcel to be put on a waiting plane. On another occasion I overheard a humorist in a bar speak of his arm as animate (it is normally grammatically inanimate), which caused general chuckles. The implication was that his arm lifted the glass of its own accord, offering him a drink, and he was powerless to stop it. The text we have been examining has examples of this humorous use of improbable animacy, including the ironic use of the augmentative verb element -magan. If speakers can make deliberate jokes about animacy that other speakers understand, then inverting grammatical expectations is meaningful. Omishoosh often opts for inanimate ways of speaking about something that was animate in a previous phrase. Instead of looking at these as instances of grammatical inconsistency, one might consider the possibility that a few animate references are enough to maintain in the mind of a speaker the idea that this is a special object. On some occasions, one animate reference is the only hint you will get (Roulette August 2008). It seems to me that minimized animate/privileged references, inanimate euphemisms, and the consistent obscuring of agency are in fact signs of ceremonially significant objects. There seems to be a cultural rule of the sort envisioned by Black-Rogers (1986b) and Straus and Brightman (1982) about the necessity for discreet speech, waawiimaajimowin, the spoken correlative of personal humility in other kinds of interpersonal interactions. Caution and discretion are watchwords in a world where causing offence, even inadvertently, brings illness and misfortune. So when Omishoosh repeatedly falls back on the least extravagant references to objects he knows to be active and powerful, he is following a cultural rule, which we might call the “discreet speech rule,” and thus confirming his identity as an initiate. The more spiritual power people have, the less they reveal and the more they waawiimaajimowin, “obfuscate” (Roulette May 2009). My final bit of evidence for such a rule has to do with the rarity of some deeply meaningful words, words saved until trust has been established between speakers. Omishoosh and Roger eventually spoke about drums in the most reverent and grandly animate way one can speak of them, using the animate verb, madwe’akokwe. This is a word which they both knew and which they both refrained from using for over a year because it is a signal; to use madwe’akokwe in this part of Manitoba is to acknowledge belief and participation in ceremonies. Language this revealing is deployed with discretion and never in the face of ignorance or disbelief. Speakers are not confused by discreet speech. I argue that Ojibwe speakers consider the few grammatical references to the special status of objects to be hints at true meaning, and they are not fooled by grammatical ambivalence towards ceremonially important drums, garters, bandoliers, and drumsticks. It appears that this Ojibwe cultural rule confounds grammatical prediction while signifying semantic consistency. It also interests me that this idea of a rule about discreet speech, waawiimaajimowin, can be considered in Ojibwe:

73

Naamiwan’s Drum

“What one ought to think when speaking Anishinaabe is this. The very first thing, even before one speaks, is that one contemplates so one doesn’t speak carelessly or verbally offend somebody. For one is being listened to by others, and also being listened to by the powers that be. One ought to be very meticulous in speech which designates something.” (Roulette November 2008)

Aaniin ji-inendangiban awiya anishinaabemod. Maawanj igo nitam, jibwaa abooshke maajii-gaagiigidoyan, ginaanaagadawendaan gegoo ji-bani-ikidosiwan gemaa ji-maji-ikidosiwan. Gibizindaagoo’ aaniish, gibizindaagoowiz igaye. Aapiji ji-nanekaajigiizhweyan aaniin gegoo enwaadaman.

Animacy in the Museum It is natural and productive to look for ancient meanings in the Ojibwe attribution of grammatical animacy and to consider the possible semantic implications of animacy for museum artefacts which were once ceremonially important. Turning the linguistic gaze on Euro-American phraseology with respect to these museum artefacts is discouraging because, although we talk about museum objects conveying meaning, speaking to us as it were, linguists consider Indo-European languages to be characterized by relatively arbitrary and therefore relatively meaningless gender assignment (Kilarski 2007:334). Nevertheless we use Indo-European languages to make taxonomic distinctions about the natural world and to make metaphorical and ironic observations which hint at our emotional engagement with artefacts and reveal our philosophical history. Museum artefacts are especially prone to expressions of metaphorical animacy because of very old European ideas about the role of objects as mnemonic devices; enduring assumptions framed in the Renaissance coexist with contemporary ideas and are carried forward into the museums of the present (Hooper-­Greenhill 1992:164 and Findlen 2000:163). The foundational idea of museums – that knowledge inheres in objects – is an intellectual convention of the Renaissance. “Knowledge meant knowing and relating all the dense layer of signs with which a thing may have been covered, in making everything speak” (Hooper-Greenhill 1992:133). The role of objects as mnemonic devices in the practice of the art of memory led to the Renaissance development of museums as “theatres” of memory (Yates 1992 (1966)). John Mack draws a direct line between Renaissance theatres of memory and the “palace” of memory, the British Museum, “the keeper of the world’s memory” (Mack 2003:17). Objects are collected because they bring the past or the “other” to mind; they are displayed because they encapsulate some aspect of history or the exotic. Strathern finds that this capacity of objects to “point sometimes to very particular values and sometimes to very general ones” (Strathern 2004b:1) is an interesting example of a “summoning of metonymy, the convention of parts standing for wholes … It is a figure seen twice (Riles 2000, pp. 166–70). People understand that an object can both be a specific item and contain the world within itself: it condenses or miniaturizes a wider context. Thus an object may make present powers or forces that affect a person’s life, whether imagined as environment, the cosmos, or the

74

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

community. Paraphernalia used in … ritual performances are an obvious example” (Strathern 2004b:7). Thus early Western concepts about artefacts are with us still, as uncontested common sense or as a foil for criticism and revision. Contemporary museums exist because, broadly speaking, we believe that they are mnemonic treasure houses, that knowledge inheres in the collections they preserve, and that we learn something from our encounters with artefacts and the memories they provoke. These assumptions about objects as tangible mnemonic evidence of vanishing cultures led to the 1970 salvage ethnography project undertaken by Jack Steinbring, professor of anthropology at the University of Winnipeg. He went to the community after a colleague warned him that a new tourist camp had opened up on the river nearby and tourists were buying up old ceremonial regalia. With the proceeds of a small research grant, he went to the community in the winter of 1970, where he purchased Naamiwan’s drum and the 240 other artefacts in the Pauingassi Collection. Having promised the people that they would be safe, he brought them to the university’s Anthropology Museum with the intention of using them to teach about Ojibwe culture (Steinbring clips 1996, interview 2002). In the most positive sense, salvage ethnography is an attempt to save culture by saving the artefacts: the message to others is “Don’t worry about your culture, we have your stuff!” Wolfgang Ernst says that the contemporary museum has become a “memory-producing machine,” “the site of the preservation of objects as memory triggers and archival resources” (Ernst 2000:26). Susan Crane observes that this task of preservation is one of the most important roles for museums, which “deliberately forge memories in physical form to prevent the erosion of memory, both personal and collective” (Crane 2000:9). Given this role, it is not surprising that museums are sites of contested repatriation. “Contested social relations,” as Charlotte Townsend-Gault has pointed out, “both intra- and extra-group, have always tended to focus on the material culture, as arguments over the display and transmission of ownership” (1997:142). Euro-American participants in museum systems are inheritors of an understanding of museums as the home of animate artefacts, knowing, speaking, memory-holding, culturally active icons of otherness. In addition they may have learned about Ojibwe or pan-Indian conceptions of animacy, particularly those which originate with the rhetoric of subaltern protest (see chapters 4, 5, and 6). It became clear, as Omishoosh’s visit progressed, that the museum staff did not have any idea he was attributing animacy to some of the artefacts in their care, or that he often spoke about them metaphorically as if they were alive. In fact the museum manager assumed the opposite. In a memo shortly after the discovery of the repatriation, the museum manager wrote that Omishoosh thought the artefacts were all “dead” and had no conception of how “sacred” and “restricted” items, which traditional people understood to be alive, ought to be dealt with.19 As I look back, I see that there were several turning points. The museum staff probably expected that some sort of initial ceremonial smudging with sweet-grass ought to have taken place. At this time, it had become accepted museum practice in certain Canadian institutions to smudge “sacred” artefacts as a way of attending to the “spiritual needs” of these animate objects (Conaty and Janes 1997:32),20 and I had been at a Three Fires event where this was said to be an essential way to

75

Naamiwan’s Drum

show respect to ceremonial objects.21 That Omishoosh made no move to bless the artefacts or sanctify the event in this way would have been seen by the staff as a serious omission. The fact that Omishoosh was so breezily confident in the presence of these objects must also have come as a surprise. Even if they had a certain amount of Ojibwe, which they did not, the museum staff could be forgiven for missing the reverence with which Omishoosh spoke about the artefacts, in part because, as I have said, this reverence was shown by the extent to which he underplayed their animacy, power, and ceremonial importance. In addition, the museum manager must have known, from the accession notes about the objects, that Omishoosh was one of the major sources of the artefacts. In the records of the museum, his apparent participation in selling off his patrimony is hard to deny. Of the 236 objects in the collection, 15 were attributed to him directly, 14 to his wife, and 52 to various members of the Owen family, for a total of 91 objects, more than a third of the Pauingassi Collection. The museum manager would even have known how much he was paid. The files of which I have copies indicate that he received a total of nine dollars, so she couldn’t have supposed him to be avaricious, but his wife got thirty dollars for a couple of dancing capes. As we have seen from the transcripts, Omishoosh denied selling anything to Dr Steinbring and suspected his wife of selling things behind his back. The museum manager knew none of this because, although Omishoosh told Margaret about his suspicions while we were at the museum, she discreetly decided not to translate those remarks (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:63). The museum manager would also have had reason to believe that Omishoosh was a Christian, a stance which could make him appear hostile to “traditional” practice. Dr Steinbring (clips 1996, interview 2002) often spoke of the success of the energetic Mennonite missionary in Pauingassi, and when Omishoosh started the afternoon lecture with a prayer which included a reference to Jesus, the museum manager may have had assumptions confirmed. Initial misgivings were evident because, as I compare the list of things Omishoosh remarked upon (virtually everything he saw) to what I now know was in the collection originally, I realize that certain things were not brought to him. The entire range of “secular” objects, spoons, snowshoes and netting shuttles, scrapers and axe heads, were there when we arrived. I believe most of the ceremonial regalia, the capes, garters, bandoliers, and drumsticks, were also out on the tables. As the morning progressed, the water drums and the rattles which meant so much to Omishoosh were brought out at our request, but we saw no pipes, not even the personal pipe of his grandfather which was in the collection at the time, no sucking tubes, no miigis shells, no medicine, no medicine bags, nor the loon-skin bag made by his mother and sold to Dr Steinbring by Omishoosh’s wife. A major misunderstanding emerged when the museum manager inquired whether Omishoosh had any suggestions about which artefacts should be shown to the lecture audience and which should be put away for the event (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:65). There was an assumption that some objects were too “sacred” for public display. These sacred/secular categories are thoroughly embedded in the storage regimes of all museums which store indigenous ceremonial collections.

76

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

Whereas the alphanumeric accession numbers of the Pauingassi Collection presumably reflect the order in which the objects were acquired, and other lists group the objects alphabetically, revealing taxonomic categories and sub-­ categories (drumstick, straight vs. drumstick, curved, and so on), the sacred/secular dichotomy is established in storage; there was a separate cupboard labelled “Restricted” for those artefacts deemed “sacred.” One can only conclude that assumptions about the sacredness of some artefacts lay behind the museum manager’s response to Omishoosh. Each time he challenged these categories, he would have undermined his authority. When I listen back to the recordings of this day, is seems that when Omishoosh was confidently shaking a ceremonial rattle (that they both would have agreed was animate) – in public – a rattle that the museum manager had put away because of its “sacred” nature, he must have seemed to be lacking in reverence. In our conversation the next day it emerged that Omishoosh did not understand the distinctions the museum manager was making, and, in hindsight, it appears that the museum manager took his good-humoured approach to the artefacts to be evidence of disrespect. This ordering of sacred and secular objects which underlies the museum’s classificatory system is by no means unique to the University of Winnipeg. The remnants of the Pauingassi Collection have now been moved to the Manitoba Museum, but this division has persisted. What is left of the “sacred” collection is in a Sacred Storage room on one side of the building with other “sacred” objects. They are treated by museum staff and native visitors alike as sentient beings that deserve respect. The other half of the collection, which includes a number of ceremonially significant, grammatically animate objects, is stored with the general collection in another part of the building entirely. Pauingassi categories, family connections, or ceremonial roles are not reflected in the storage system. It was this sacred/secular classificatory system which most profoundly scrambled communication between Omishoosh and museum staff. Daniel Miller suggests that the meaning of objects in museums derives from “the orders into which they are incorporated” and that “the artefact may change its implication simply by being introduced into some new order” (Miller 1997 (1994):400). Or not, as the Pauingassi Collection seems to show. Miller also argues that the force of artefacts is surreptitious. “In a sense artefacts have a certain ‘humility’ in that they are reticent about revealing their power to determine what is socially conceivable. Curiously it is precisely their physicality which makes them at once so concrete and evident, and at the same time causes them to be assimilated into unconscious and unquestioned knowledge” (Miller 1997 (1994):408). Because Omishoosh handled these artefacts casually, he transgressed many of the expectations embedded in the taxonomic system of the Anthropology Museum. He did not distinguish among artefacts with regard to the museum’s sacred/secular classifications. Crucially, he did not offer tobacco or insist on a smudge, and when he prayed, although it was entirely in Ojibwe, he included Christian themes. In doing so he failed to conform to some of the key conventions most museum professionals would have expected to see as part of a respectful, traditional Anishinaabe 1990s museum practice framed by the idea of repatriation as a “social justice movement” and by politicized understandings of “Traditional

77

Naamiwan’s Drum

native spirituality” (Riding In 2000:108). While a conversation about animacy, both grammatical and metaphorical, including Ojibwe and museum meanings, might have been the start of a shared re-imagining of these objects within the museum, a rigid taxonomy, which imposed “sacredness” by shelf location, conspired to make that conversation impossible.

Conclusion As we have seen, there is much to be learned by looking at grammatical and metaphorical animacy from a Pauingassi Ojibwe perspective and comparatively from the perspective of museums. Working out the attribution of grammatical animacy in Ojibwe is complicated, even with the help of distinguished linguists and their precise proofs, and this small sample shows that an analysis of grammatical animacy provides neither a key to identifying ceremonially significant artefacts nor an absolute proof of the semantic import of grammatical agreement. The linguistic analysis of the transcripts of Omishoosh’s visit to the museum shows that “discreet speech” causes speakers to underplay the quality we call animacy in important objects, masking their significance. A precise examination of what animacy means to Ojibwe speakers is a necessary first step because untested assumptions about the animacy of ceremonial objects underpin contemporary museum practice and derive in part from Euro-American conventions about the mnemonic role of museum artefacts. What can be said with confidence is that grammatical animacy is used by Ojibwe speakers metaphorically to indicate objects which are thought to be unusual and to provisionally credit them with the potential to act in the world. Sophisticated Ojibwe speakers confirm their esteem of artefacts by downplaying their animacy, obscuring their potential agency in euphemism, and disguising their significance by employing “discreet speech.” The attribution of animacy, or whatever animacy really means to Ojibwe speakers, is infinitely semantically nuanced and, of course, does not fit museum categories or helpfully answer museum questions about the care and sorting of artefacts. Grammatical agreement certainly does not provide a key to categorical sacredness. We have also seen that, where Ojibwe sensibilities conflict with rigid patterns which have grown up around museum understandings of animacy and sacredness, real competence will be discounted and unilingual Anishinaabe men ignored. This is the material consequence Miller imagines when he asks, “What are the implications for people who are living within a world which largely manifests the ideals and values of others?” (1997 (1994):405). The subtlety of Omishoosh’s sharp mind and expert knowledge is no match for the power of ordered artefacts. Miller believes ideology like that which lies behind museum categories is revealed by objects because “certain interest groups in a society have more influence to create the world of artefacts in such a manner that they embody the ordering principles established by those same interests.” He goes on: “people who are brought up surrounded by artefacts which embody such ordering principles will tend to understand the world in accordance with this order, with the result that dominated groups will tend to have some difficulty in understanding the nature of their

78

Animacy: Linguistic Considerations

own interests, since these are not given concrete form in the world they inhabit” (Miller 1997 (1994):404). This power of museum objects to order people’s thinking affects both those who work in museums and those who oppose museums. As Deborah Doxtator observes, the museum has become the “custodian of the standards of ‘true’ Indian culture” and “authenticity” (1985:23, 24). Thus the judgments instantiated by museum categories are reflected in the repatriation demands of Canadian and American native groups. Museum categories set an agenda about what is to be valued even for those who oppose museum ownership of artefacts. The list of “sacred” objects in the Pauingassi Collection so perfectly matches the list of “reclaimed” artefacts that there can be no question that this is so. The risk, of course, is that an Ojibwe perspective will be seen to be a historic anachronism, a sweet but flawed way of thinking about the world. Recent anthropological scholarship points in the opposite direction, towards the fundamental necessity of thinking along these lines. Tim Ingold argues that “what the Ojibwa have arrived at is not an alternative science of nature but a poetics of dwelling. Far from having been superseded, in the West, by the rise of modern science, such poetics is the necessary ground for all scientific activity” (Ingold 2000:11). Thus in chapter 5 I argue that Ojibwe perceptual values, essential to the understanding of Ojibwe collections in museums and their events, have a broader interpretive possibility and indeed underpin a contemporary theoretical analysis of repatriation.

79

4

Dewe’igan Repatriation

When he visited in 1995, Omishoosh asked that I photograph the artefacts at the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum. From time to time I approached the university to do this, producing letters of support from the Pauingassi Band Council and the Tribal Council, but permission to photograph the Pauingassi Collection was never granted. It was odd, because the other two museums which house Pauingassi artefacts had welcomed me. I’d brought photos to Pauingassi from both the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC, and the Red Lake Cultural Centre in northeastern Ontario. Red Lake had Naamiwan’s dream dance drum, a stupendous dream drum photographed in its retirement by me and in its glory by Hallowell (figure 4.1). The National Museum of the American Indian permitted me to photograph the artefacts that had been resting in big varnished plywood boxes labelled “Midewiwin paraphernalia” since the day Hallowell donated them. When we showed these photos at a community slide show, people remarked that Hallowell, whom they called Midewigimaa (Midé chief), knew how to use the artefacts, and they presumed that he had done so. I made big prints of the women’s dance capes and showed slides to the teachers, students, and the band council. We’d shown the photos to individual elders, including Omishoosh, taping their responses, their names for things, and the memories the images provoked. We’d organized several well-attended community slide shows in Pauingassi and in nearby communities. Omishoosh wanted me to make a beautiful book that he could use when he spoke to students at the school, a book which would make the Pauingassi artefacts and their former owners properly famous. With this in mind, I had been trying to get permission to photograph the Pauingassi Collection for several years. The museum kept turning me down. My first request in 1993 got a firm no, but it inspired the museum to hire another photographer, who documented most of the collection. Dr Jennifer Brown and I were given copies of the slides, but some of the photos were dark and fuzzy and some of the sacred artefacts were not photographed at all. After Omishoosh’s speech, I once again organized letters of support from the Chief and the Band Council and worried when I got no response.

4.1  Naamiwan’s dream dance drum in Niimi’idiiwigamig (dance lodge) or Boodaadewigamig at Poplar Hill, 1933. The drummers are three nephews of Naamiwan – Omishoosh (James) Owen and his brothers, Gezhiiyaash (Fast Wind) (John) Owen and Joozhi (Joseph Owen) Moose – who brought Naamiwan’s drum to Poplar Hill in the early 1920s. Photograph A246, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Naamiwan’s Drum

It became slightly embarrassing. I visited Omishoosh next on February 13, 1996 with Margaret Simmons. We drove in on the winter road this time, starting from Winnipeg in the afternoon, arriving at the edge of Lake Winnipeg at dusk. We crossed the narrows at Pine Dock, traversing an ice ridge and a gaping crack on wobbly wooden planks, drove most of the night on hard-packed, snow-covered muskeg and finally across the twenty kilometres of wide ice road on Fishing Lake to Pauingassi in the early morning . It was very cold, –35 C, ideal for winter travel. When Margaret and I went to visit Omishoosh the next evening, he raised the subject of the photos. We were talking about whether there was any community interest in returning the artefacts to the community, and he said the people had asked him what he thought: “I told them, ‘I don’t think this would work.’ And, this is what I said. ‘There would be no one here that would keep them properly. What would be the purpose for someone to use them?’ [inanimate] And, that’s what I told them. ‘We wouldn’t know.’ I told them this. ‘It’s better for them [inanimate – the artefacts] to be kept over there [in the museum],’ I said.

Zhigwa dash gaawiin maawiin daa-minosesinoon ningii’inaag ingii’ikid. Gaawiin ‘omaa misawaa awiya odaa-ganawendanziinan gwayak ‘iwe. Aaniin ge-inamandang awiya gaa-inaabadaninigin ji-gii-aabajitooj? Mii’ owe gaa-inagwaa. Gaawn gidaa-gikendanziimin ingii’inaag. Nawaaj onizhishin wedi gaganawendaagwakin ingii’ikid.

“Another thing I told them when I was informing them is this … I’m asking about these [inanimate – artefacts] that they be photographed, I also told them this.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:13–14)

Zhigwa eta miina gaa-gii-inagwaa geyaabi ngii-wiindamawaag … Gaa-gagwejiminagog ayi’ii jimazinaatesegin, mii oweni miina ngii-wiindamawaag.

Margaret turned to ask if I had taken the pictures, and I told her no. When she translated this, he said: “Well that’s certainly what should happen, yes.”

Amii gosha’iwe, eh.

Margaret reassured him, “The pictures you’re asking about are not finished yet. However, she will bring them here.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:14)

Gaamashi ji-giizhichigaadegin ini mazinaakiziganan gaa-gii-gagwed[w] eyan. Oga-biidoonan-sh wiin omaa.

We’d really expected that Omishoosh would be invited back to do a thorough review of the artefacts in the museum, but he never received an invitation. We had seen obvious mistakes in the names of both people and artefacts and had thought they’d want to sort out the provenance and correct the records. We imagined Omishoosh’s taped stories of life-saving ceremonies being used to explain the objects that were instrumental in his grandfather’s practice. Omishoosh was still excited about the possibilities of working with the museum and willing to share his expertise. He began to explain the importance of the water drum in the healing practice of his uncle.

82

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

“Before you make your medicine, one has to say a few words and one has to sing,” he told Margaret. (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:1)

Mii dash ‘imaa ji-gaa-giigidoj jibwaa ozhitooj i’i omashkikiim, ji-nanigamoj.

“The type of water drum [animate] I saw there [at the museum]. Those were the type of songs [inanimate] he was using. He would do it as a Waabano practitioner. He was expressing thanks/giving honour for it [the medicine]. It [the singing and drumming] is to assist him in using the medicine [inanimate] for whatever purpose he intends. This is the way they gave thanks/ gave honour. That’s what the old men did.

Gaa-gii-waabamag wedi mitigwakik a’ dino. Miiwan i’dino nigamonan gaa-gii-aabajitooj . Daabishkoo e-gii-waabanoowij. Mii e-gii-nanaakodang i’iwe. E-odaapinang mashkiki aaniin igo ge-izhi-bagosenimoj ji-inaabadanig ji-wiiji’igoj. Mii gosha gaa-izhichigewaaj akiwenziwag.

“They didn’t do anything [in isolation] without doing this [singing and drumming] when they went to look for medicine. As you should know, it was of great importance!” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:1–2)

Mii ‘iwe gaa-izhi-nanaakomowaaj ‘iwe gewiinawaa gete-Anishinaabeg. Gaawiin wiin igo biniskwe gegoon gii-ayenendanziiwag o’o gaa-giiomashkwewaad. Gii-gichi-inendaagwanini aaniish!

“All these things would work on you if one followed what has always been done. However, you see, that’s gone in the past. No one does this now; not a single person knows this. Today an Anishinaabe does different things. He just prays. He uses white man’s practice.

Gidaa-izhise gakina gegoon gii-doodangiban awiya, na, aazha dash apane odaanaang o’owe. Gaan awiya odoodanziin noongom awiya bezhig ganage ogikendanziin o’. Noongom bakaan Anishinaabe izhichige. Michi-anami’aa. Wemitigoozhiwan odizhichigewinini odaabajitoon.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him [Anishinaabe]. As a result, the practices are abandoned, along with the knowledge which was bestowed on the Anishinaabe regarding the ability to heal.

Mii-sh ‘awe namanj ezhisegwen. Mii dash apan gii-nagajigaadeg ‘owe mayaa gaa-izhi-, gaa-izhi-miinidiban Anishinaabe da-gii-izhi-aabajitoon nanaandawi’iwewin.

“This is thoughtfully understood.

Mii ‘owe weweni nisidotaagwan.

“The ancient ones who worked on this, they almost certainly knew, you see, they all probably knew. However these young people, they don’t know anything.

Igiwe gaa-gii-bimi-anokaadamowaad gi-g[w]ete-bimaadizag, ogikendaanaawaadog gosha, na gakina ogikendaanaawaadog.

“I’m telling you what I have observed, what I have seen, what I understand regarding that.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:3–4)

Zhigwa ogoweniwag oshkaadizag gaawn gegoon ogikendanziinaawaa’. Mii ‘owe ayinaajimotawinigog gaa-izhi-waawaabandamaan, gaa-izhi-gagikendamaan i’iwe.

83

Naamiwan’s Drum

Margaret asked Omishoosh if he thought it would be possible to tell young people about this. He replied that it would be difficult because it requires a mutual understanding or partnership (ge-izhi-wiijiiwaaganidangiban) with someone else of the type that he had with us (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:4), and he’d seen some contemporary healers who seemed to him to be misguided: “The young, those types [of contemporary practitioners], what they know is different. And this ancient Anishinaabe practice, if they just hear about it, they wouldn’t know what it is. They wouldn’t know. They’d have to have that mindset if they are to practice.

‘Awe oshkaadiz noongom ogo dino gaa-dinoowikaaniwaad bakaanadini gaa-gikendamowaad. Zhigwa ‘iwe gete-anishinaabewi-izhichigewin, e-michi-noondamowaaj, gaawn odaa-gikendanziinaawaa’. Gaawiin odaa-gikendanziinaawaa’, ji-gii-naagadawendamowaapan ‘iwe nakey ji-gii-izhi-doodamowaapan.

“I am recalling what the old man who raised me told me. The one called Angus. I saw all the medicines he made for his healing practice. The old man truly had power. Many who were sick, he treated them/gave them life and they lived.

Megwaa e-gii-gikendamaan ngii-wiindamaag ‘awe akiwenzi gaa-gii-nitaawigi’ij. Angish gaa-gii-inind. Ningii-waabamaa minik gegoon gaagii-izhi-mashkikiiked, gaa-gii-izhinanaandawi’iwej. Awiinge bigo gashki’ewiziwin e-gii-ayaad a’ akiwenzi. Niibiwa awiya [o]gii-onji-bimaaji’aan gaa-gii-aakozij.

“When people were sick, he’d walk about everywhere here treating the sick. That’s the medicine he used. Eventually everyone got well. This is the reason why I’m saying this; no one could do that now.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:4–5)

E-gii-aakoziwinikaanig miziwe gii-babaamose ‘omaa e-gii-nanaandawi’iwej e-aakozinij. Mii a’ mashkiki gaa-gii-aabajitooj. Biinish gakina gii-mino-ayaawa’. Mii dash ‘owe gaa-onji-ikidoyaan, gaan awiya odaa-gashkitoosiin i’ ji-doodang.

At this point Omishoosh made a typically oblique reference, referring to the source of Angus’s power to heal as “awenenan, whomever” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:5) and began to speak about how this healing legacy was conveyed to him by Angus. “As you may know, he [Angus] called me ‘my boy,’ that’s what he who raised me called me. He arose. ‘How are you, my boy?’ he said. ‘Today I’m going to leave you,’ he said. This is when he knew he was going to die.

84

E-gii-ganoozhij aaniish “ningwiiwizensim,” ingii-izhinikaanig e-gii-nitaawigi’ij. Gii-wanishkaa. “Aaniin ingwiiwizensim?” Mii osha noo’om gaa-giizhigak ge-naganinaan,” gii-ikido. Mii e-gii-gikendang e-wii-, ayi’ii, wii-ishkwaa-bimaadizij.

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

“‘All of my activities that you know of, all the ailments/problems that have been resolved. You know they’ve all happened,’ he said. ‘These are the things you have to contemplate. Should you, one day, experience problems; I’m not taking one single thing with me of those things which I have done here,’ that’s what he said. ‘If you do these things exactly as I have done them, they will defend/help you one day,’ he said to me.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:5–6)

“Minik idash gegoon gaa-gii-gikenimiyan e-gii-bimi-izhichigeyaan. Gaa-gii-nanaandagiizhigwaadamaan gakina gegoon izhi-ayaawinan,” gii-izhise ikido. “Miiwan isa onoweniwan ge-gagwe-naanaagadawendaman. Ningodin gegoo aanimiseyan izhi-ayaayan, gaawiin gosha a’ bezhig ningagigimaajaasii ‘owe minik gegoon gaa-gii-doodamaan o’omaa,” mii gaa-ikidoj. “Mii dash onoweniwan giishpin naabidoodaman mayaa, da-izhise ji-naadamaagooyan ngodin giizhigak ingii’ig.”

Omishoosh went on to list and describe the medicines he had learned to use, happy that Margaret was familiar with them. He explained how he used them to help various members of the community, always emphasizing the role of the implements, aabajitaawinan, the drums and rattles which were employed by the heroic Anishinaabeg, the gete-Anishinaabeg, the ancients, gete-bimaadizag, or simply the gichi-akiwenziwag, the great old men. Omishoosh emphasized their humility of mind, dabasenimoomaganinig odinendamowin, and said to us: “This is the same thing that you guys are trying to do. Seeking the ancient things. A good life will come from your efforts in seeking it.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:49)

Mii-sh endinoowang ‘owe gaye gaa-gagwe-doodameg [inaudible] ‘owe geteya’ii gaa-noojitooyeg. Daa-onjise ‘imaa bimaadiziwin aaniish ‘owe gaa-babaa-andone’ameg.

He went on: “The white man didn’t teach me anything when I was a child. I never went to school. I was raised naturally/uninfluenced.

Gaawn gegoon ngii-gikina’amaagosii wemitigoozhi e-gii-bi-abinoonzhiishiwiyaan. Gaawniikaa ngii-iskooniwisii. Mii bigo gaa-izhi-nisidetaawigiyaan.

“The way I understood something, I followed all of it completely. Also, all that I’ve learned, I didn’t learn from books. I’m telling you this, you guys, because this is what happens when one seeks to understand. We don’t have the final say in our destiny [lit. “we don’t control our fate” – Roulette].

Aaniin gaa-izhi-nisidotamaan gegoon, gakina ngii-biminizha’aan. Gakina gaye ngii-ganwiike, gaawniin eta mazina’iganan ngii-gikina’amaagosiin. Mii ‘owe ezhi-wiindamoonagog ge-izhiseg awiya gaa-wii-gagwe-gikendang gegoon. Gaa-wii-gagwe-nisidotang gegoon. Aaniish gaawiin gidibendizosiimin.

85

Naamiwan’s Drum

“For the ones who are not worthy to do this, we will know. If we all rely on each other’s clans, we won’t have difficulties. This is what is said to us. For we are told, help each other. This is what appears to be the case all the times you’ve come to work with me. Coming over to see me, this is beneficial.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:49–50)

Aya’aa dash awenen gaa-inendaagoziyang ji-doodang ‘iwe giga-gikendaamin. Miiwan isa ono onizhishin awiya ji-doodang. Wiiji-odoodemidiyang gakina, gaawn gegoon giga-maazhisesiimin. Mii aaniish egooyang. Wiiji’idig gidigoomin. Mii dash daabishkoo dash mii bezhigon ezhinaagwak o’owe minik gaa-bi-wiidookawiyeg ‘owe. Gaa-bi-naanaazikawi-, gaa-bi-nanandawaabamiyeg. Minose ‘owe.

That night he’d told us the story of his life and he emphasized the most important lesson he had learned. “You see; humility does work. Not the things that are thought to be valued, they don’t work, just humility. Another thing is compassion for one another, mutual support, and kindness. This is regarded well. This is what I’m saying to you, what I’m talking about today when you came here.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:50)

Dabasenimowin aaniish anokiimagan i’iwe. Gaawiin wiin gaa-ishpenimoomagakin anokiimagasinoon i’imaa dabasenimowin eta. Gidimaagendiwin miina wiiji-bimosendiwin miina zaagi’idiwin, mii ‘iwe gaa-minwaabanjigaadeg. Mii gaa-izhi-ganooninaan, ezhi-gaganooninaan noongom ‘owe gaa-bi-izhaayan.

He said a little prayer for us and our work before we left, concluding with this thought: “By allowing us to cherish one another, let this be what you bestow upon us.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:51)

Ge-izhi-zhawendiyaang idash mii giga-izhi-miizhiyaang maanoo.

I went back to Winnipeg determined to take the photos of the collection, but I was unable to secure permission. I continued to visit Omishoosh and he continued to ask about the photos, but it wasn’t until the fall of 1999 that I made another concerted effort to gain access to photograph the collection. At that particular moment, Roger Roulette and I had a small grant from the Canada Council for translation and photography for this elusive book, so I asked to undertake a ­directed-reading course in anthropology at the University of Winnipeg. I would document and photograph the collection and connect the objects in the museum with the documentaries I had made in Pauingassi about Naamiwan, his dream drum, his water drum, and his major spirit-helpers, Thunderbirds (Matthews 1993, 1994, 1995a and b).1 The course was approved and things seemed to be coming along when my course supervisor got a distressing letter. After a preamble about my course came the following: We are informing you that some of the materials Ms. Matthews may wish to study have entered back into the traditional spiritual community and are no longer within

86

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

our purview. Specifically, we refer to a drum (catalogue # E5 211) purchased by Jack Steinbring in 1970 that was noted in our records as “purchased from Napaykun, made by Namuin, 50 years old.” The appropriate repatriation of materials from our collections has been a mandate in our Museum Policy for many years now, as you know from the copy of the Museum Policy Manual that was given to you in 1996 (pertinent pages attached). The request for any repatriation is taken extremely seriously, and this request was no different. In this case, we consulted via intermediaries with a wide variety of traditional mentors throughout the aboriginal community. These individuals include: Carl Bird (Ojibway), a main contact for the Manitoba Museum of Man and Nature for advice in matters pertaining to aboriginal items and contexts; David Blacksmith (Cree), shaman, Cross Lake; (Ojibway), medicine man, Fisher River; William Dumas (Cree), South Indian Lake; Charlie Nelson (Ojibway), drum keeper, Roseau River; Mr. Whiteway, Pauingassi; and Associate Chief Judge Murray Sinclair (Ojibway), Peguis. If you wish any further information, you may contact Judge Sinclair (Provincial Court of Manitoba).2

There was a bit more about my course, and the letter was signed by the chair of the department and her predecessor, both members of the museum committee. The repatriation policy attached to the letter consisted of a handwritten note entitled “Policy on Sensative [sic] /Sacred Material” as follows (in its entirety): The museum will work towards “repatriating” items of a sensative [sic] or sacred nature to eliminate restricted items from the collections. These include items from Ethno, archae. and forensic collections including gorgets, stone pipes, burial remains, etc – These items will not be recorded in the database but the circumstances surrounding them will be recorded in collection files with a copy in repatriation file.

Further rationale was provided in a memo written by the museum manager a few days earlier (September 23, 1999) and circulated in the anthropology department: The Anthropology Museum has served as the caretaker of items, in some cases for more than 25 years. Some of the items were designated as “sacred” or “sensitive.” Restrictions were placed on these items. Storage cabinets were labelled as restricted. Special permissions were required for accessing these items. The Manitoba Museum of Man and Nature placed one of their Aboriginal Interns at our museum. She physically would not enter this storage room. A museum is about people. It is not a place that should make people uncomfortable or sick. It is not a place that should be avoided. Why should a museum have things that no one can access or see – except to keep them in trust until the time is right for them to re-enter the community.

87

Naamiwan’s Drum

Dr Steinbring, the original researcher connected with the acquisition of these items, stated that the collections were not to be used for financial and personal gain by researchers. We do not “own” these objects. We took care of them until the time was right for them to re-enter the community. The request was made. They have now re-entered the community and have helped many people in many communities. They did not go to one person. These things belong to a people. They are not “owned” by one person or an institution. Frankly, it is none of your business at this point in time as to the intricate details of how they were transferred or where they are now. They are gone and they will never re-enter this institution.3

Attached to this memo was a critique of my course proposal interesting in two respects. Omishoosh was written off in a sentence: “The objects she [MM] wants to investigate were considered ‘dead’ by their principal informant.”4 The attachment went on to distinguish between my “informant” (Omishoosh) and those “Indigenous people” who adhere to a “Traditional value system” and by whom Pauingassi’s sensitive objects were rightly “reclaimed.” And my request to conduct research was deemed objectionable on the grounds that it involved “interviewing” people and that I did not understand the “sensitive” nature of the objects. The Anthropology Museum has consulted with Indigenous people regarding “sensitive” objects within our collections. These objects have been “reclaimed” through proper channels. The fact that Ms. Matthews views these objects as “religious” shows a western bias and a mindset that is a conflict to native spiritual belief systems implying a western value system. These “sensitive” objects are still utilized by the people who adhere to a Traditional value system in the Ojibwa/Saulteaux Nation. To do this type of research on these objects and practices will do irreparable harm not only to these Traditional people but to the Anthropology Museum’s relationship as it pertains to them. Objects have re-entered the Traditional community through such events as the convening of the Grand Medicine Lodge (Three Fires Society) in Bad River, Wisconsin (summer 1998).5

This was a total surprise. More shocking was the fact that these objects were given away so soon after Omishoosh’s visit and speech. One party to the repatriation claimed that it occurred in 1997, less than two years later.6 “I alone was present for the removal and repatriation of each and every article that was housed in the Ethnographic collections of the university,” he wrote in an email.7 The author of the attachment to the memo, dated September 15, 1999, reports that the objects were completely distributed by the summer of 1998, less than three years after Omishoosh’s speech. It seems that there had been a longstanding connection between museum staff and the group to whom the artefacts were given and that their interest was related to the artefacts’ traditional and sacred status rather than their community connections. Neither I nor anyone from Pauingassi found out about the repatriation for a year and a half.

88

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

And now we had to tell Omishoosh. We had a hard time finding him because he had been brought in to Winnipeg five months earlier for a disastrous knee replacement operation which left him with a permanently stiff leg. He told us the translators were so inept that they were unable to facilitate the necessary physiotherapy, so his knee locked straight and immovable. He had been languishing in hospital because his family didn’t know where he was – for five months. It was obvious they hadn’t visited because his fine black hair had grown so long that it was in his eyes. His fingernails had curled around the ends of his fingers. So we didn’t tell him about the artefacts immediately. We went back to visit him a few days later, once Margaret had contacted his daughter, who lives in Winnipeg, and roused the Pauingassi social services. I was to meet Margaret at the hospital and she was delayed, so I sat in his room while he talked to me. He said something about minikwe (drink), so I fetched his favourite Orange Crush, apparently hitting on the right answer. Then I sat while he chatted to me in Ojibwe and held my hand. When Margaret turned up a half-hour later, he said a prayer for us and thanked us for “loving him.” It made Margaret, who loves Omishoosh like a father, cry. Margaret has a brilliant way with old people. She sits close and holds their hands softly. She strokes their arms gently while she talks. I’ve seen her do this time and time again. I had brought scissors, so after a while I set about cutting Omishoosh’s hair and trimming his fingernails. While I was doing his nails, kneeling on the floor beside his bed, a nurse came in apologizing, thinking I was saying a prayer for him. Far from it; he had been saying a prayer for us. A month went by before we brought Roger Roulette to explain the situation at the museum. This was going to require some careful talk. “Do you remember when we all went to the university [gikinoo’amaadiiwigamigong] here? They displayed the artefacts (tools) on the table,” Roger said.

“Yes,” he replied.

Ayi’ii, ah, gigikendaan na imaa gaa-gii-izhaa-, ayi’ii gakina gaa-gii-izhaayingiban omaa, ayi’iing omaa gikinoo’amaadiiwigamigong omaa um gaa-gii-izhaaying, ogii-niibidesidoonaawaan ayi’ii, adoopowining aabajitaawinan. Mm hm.

“Those things that were displayed there, some of those things [ayi’ii – pausal inanimate] were given out from there,” Roger went on. “Have you heard about that yet?”

Ayi’ii imaa gaa-gii-achigaadegin ini, ayi’ii, gegoonan gii-miigiwem imaa onji. Mashi na ginoondaan i’iwe?

“No,” he replied, “I haven’t yet heard about anything, anything about something being given away.” (CGO 1999 Oct18:1)

Gaawiin. Gaawiin wiin ndoonji-noondanzii gegoo ji-gii-, ji-giionji-miigiweng mashi i’iwe.

89

Naamiwan’s Drum

Roger went on to explain that, from what he understood, the people at the museum had given away the drum, among other things, because they weren’t being used (CGO 1999 Oct 18:2). Omishoosh initially responded by saying: “Those who had owned him had probably finished using him [animate – the drum].” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:2)

Aazha aaniish niin ndinendam e-gii-ishkwaa-aabaji’aawaaj.

He appeared to be puzzled by the question of ownership, as the original owners were deceased and the drums would, under normal circumstances, have been left in the bush when they were retired. “I don’t know who ultimately owns them [inanimate], the implements that are no longer used. The ancient old men, the ones who had their drums, they didn’t give theirs up. They kept them,” he explained.

Gaawn geniin ngikendanziin awenen, awenen debendang ini aabajitaawinan aazha gaa-gii-ishkwaa-aabadakin. Ogowe wiin gayete-akiwenziwag gaa-gii-ayaawaawaad odewe’iganensiwaa’, gaawiin wiin igiweniwag ogii-bagidinaasiwaawaa’, ogii-ganawenimaawaa’.

“When they finished they would take them somewhere in the woods,” he said. “Or they might place them on a standing tree. Or they would hang them up when they finished using them.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:3)

Zhigwa ngoji noopimiing, ogii-izhiwinaawaa’ apii gaa-boonitoowaad, gemaa ogii-asaawaa’ mitigong e-badakizonid. Gemaa ogii-agoonaawaa’ mii e-gii-ishkwaa-aabaji’ aawaad.

He described how they would leave them with a living tree, usually a poplar, symbolically giving the drum back to the kind of tree from which it was made. This was what he did with his father’s tools when he died in 1968 (Neufeld and Neufeld 1991:3). “Well, that’s what the Anishinaabeg who owned drums used to do,” he told Roger. (CGO 1999 Oct 18:3)

Mii wiin gaa-izhichigewaad igiweniwag godagiyag Anishinaabeg gaa-gii-dewe’iganensiwaaj.

He described one occasion years before when he found a drum while walking in the bush. “He/she was one that was retired/left behind. Those were the ancient Anishinaabe’s retired implements. That’s what some used to do,” he said. (CGO 1999 Oct 18:4)

Mii ‘awe bezhig nagajigan. E-giigete Anishinaabe onagajigan. Mii aanind gaa-izhichigewaaj.

Roger asked what one ought to do if one found something. “Did they bother it or did they just leave it there?”

Ogii-babaamendaanaawaa’ na gemaa ogii-michi-nagadaanaawaa’ imaa?

90

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

Omishoosh replied with an example: “Those [objects] they treated as sacred. I’ve heard many say that they had birch bark which they rolled up [scrolls]. They would have been inscribed. They had placed them underground. When someone slept there [where they were buried], they would be haunted. They would hear from them [animate], someone speaking about something. That was the scrolls that they heard. That’s how those spiritual items, which they buried in the ground, worked.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:10)

Gaa-gii-manidookaaniwaad. Niibowa awiya ngii-noondawaa e-gii-ikidoj wiigwaasan aaniish ogii-ayaanaawaan gii-ditibanisi-, gaa-gii-ditibaninamowaad, ge-gii-mazinibii’igaadenigin. Anaamakamig e-atoowaad, ngodin awiya e- nibaad ‘imaa, gii-amaniso. Ogiinoondaanan e-danwewidamoomaganinigin ‘imaa gegoonan awiyan gaagiigidonij. Miiwan iniweniwan wiigwaasan gaa-gii-noondamowaad. Mii gaa-izhi-anokiimagakin iniweniwan. Manidookewinan gaa-gii-ningwa’amowaad akiikaang.

Roger asked again about those who took the artefacts. “What they did, these other Anishinaabeg who took the water drums [animate] away, did they do the right thing, or what do you think?” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:5)

I’iwe gaa-gii-izhichigewaad, bakaan ogo anishinaabeg gaa-gii-maajiinaawaad ini aya’aa mitigwakikoo’, gwayak na gii-izhichigewag gemaa aaniin giin enendaman i’i?

Omishoosh began to sort out the possibilities as he talked, trying to imagine what these other Anishinaabe might have been thinking. “Maybe a village or individuals wanted to see what he/she looked like [the drum]. They probably were impressed by his/her appearance. They may have thought about him in such a way that they may learn something from him/ her.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:5)

Gemaa inagamig, gemaa e-wii-waabamaawaaj aaniin gaye gaa-izhinaagozinid. Ogii-gichiinenimaawaadogwenan aaniin gaa-izhinaagozinid. E-wii-onjigikendamowaagobanen ‘omaa gii-inendamoog gegoon ini.

“Maagizhaa mii’iwe (Maybe that’s it),” said Roger, in a neutral way. But Omishoosh carried on, puzzling over protocol. “However, it isn’t usually like that. It’s more similar to what happens when something has been discarded and it wasn’t going to be used again, that’s what the owners of the water drums thought. I saw those [animate] who were my grandfather’s water drums. I have seen him utilize him. [I saw] when he was finished using him and when he put him away. Those were the ones [animate – drums] that were taken away.”

91

Gaawiin dash aaniish, aazha daabishkoo gegoon gaa-webinigaadeg gegaa miinawaa ji-aabadak, mii gaa-inendamowaad igiweniwag gaa-gii-dibenimaawaad omitigwakikowaa’. Miiwag ngii-waabamag gaa-gii-omishoomisiyaan omitigwakikwa’. Minik gaa-ani-aabaji’aad, gaa-ni-ishkwaa-aabaji’aad gaa-ni-na’asiminj, miiwag gaa-gii-odaapinindwaa.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Again Roger asked, “Should they have taken him/her or should they have left him/her there, the Anishinaabeg who took these drums?”

Ji-gii-odaapinaawaapan na gemaa ji-gii-naganaawaapan imaa gidinendam, igiweniwag Anishinaabeg gaa-gii-maajiinaawaad mitigwakikoo’?

And again Omishoosh searched for a motive. “I don’t know what they may have thought. Maybe that’s what they may have thought, they may have tried to show how he [drum] came from the ancient Anishinaabe ways.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:5)

Aaniin isa iidog gaa-inendamowaagwen gemaa mii ‘iwe gii-inendamowidogwenag. E-gii-, -e-gagwe-waabanda’iwewaad aandi gaa-onjiinid gete-anishinaabewi-izhichigewina’.

Roger explained that we were told the drum was being used again.8 Omishoosh offered a diplomatic but firm reply: “They might possibly have attempted to do that. However, no activity works well if it is just a whim of one’s Anishinaabe will in their attempts to do something.

Gii-gagwe-doodamowidogwenag. Gaawiin aaniish minosesinoon gegoon gaa-michi-onendaagwak gegoon wiin igo awiya odanishinaabewining gaa-michi-inendang gegoo e-wii-izhichiged.

“They [old Anishinaabeg] have said that doesn’t work well. Only after one is bestowed a gift in their life, only, only after that, will they succeed, that’s how I understood the Anishinaabeg when they spoke about it.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:6)

Gaawn minosesinoon gii-ikidowag. Awiya go baanimaa gii-izhimiinigoowizij o’owe obimaadiziwining ‘iwe, eta, mii eta ogagii-gashkitoon gii-ikidowag. Mii gaa-initawagwaa igi gaa-giigidowaad Anishinaabeg.

Roger asked if it would have been better if the water drums had been left at the university. “That’s what they should have done,” Omishoosh answered. “Especially this is what those who are keeping it should have done. How did they know they were going to be keepers? Maybe they thought there was life left there with which they may be blessed. Careful deliberation exists!” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:6)

92

Mii gosha ji-gii-izhichigewaapan i’i, gaawiin goda wiin ogowe gii-ganawenimaawaaj aaniin ‘iwe gaa-gii-izhi-gikendamowaad ‘iwe e-wii-ganawenjigewaad. Gomaa bimaadiziwin ‘imaa ogii-onjidanendaanaawaa’ ji-wiiji ‘igoowiziwaad. Naanaagadawendamowin aaniish ayaamagan!9

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

This is a typical Omishoosh remark.10 Without naming names or assigning blame, he underscored the importance of seeking guidance. He went back to reflecting on the possible motives of those who had taken the drums from the museum. He appeared to be worried about what they intended to do with them and especially about the danger of using the drums recklessly or without authority. “The skilled, those skilled in customary practices, if one of them is attempting to understand [the practice], he may get support from it. However, [if it is only] by one’s own volition, one wouldn’t get any assistance.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:8)

Gaa-wawiingezij izhichigewin gaa-wii-gagwe-gikendang, maagizhaa odaa-wiiji’igon, zhigwa wiin igo michiwinendang wiin igo ‘iwe gaawiin odaa-wiiji’igosiin.

No one can operate a drum like this without Thunderbird help and indeed without Thunderbird authorization (Matthews and Roulette 2003:289). The danger of presumption is not to be underestimated. From an Ojibwe point of view, illness and misfortune are frequently caused by the ill-considered actions of careless persons. This explanation of events is referred to by the Ojibwe term onjinewin. Subsumed within this term are various unhappy possibilities: that the consequences of your action will make you ill or unfortunate, baataa’idizowin; cause your children to suffer, obaataa’aan; or blight the community as a whole, baataa’aa (Matthews and Roulette 2003:346). Omishoosh was very worried about the possibility that the repercussions of making a mistake with the drums would come back to the individual involved: “It is as if someone is being pursued by something when they get sick from it. That’s the thing.

[D]aabishkoo gegoo e-biminizha’ogod ji-onji-baataa’idizod ini onji aakozid. Mii ‘iwe, mii ‘e-.

That’s what they used to say. That one shouldn’t act on a whim. One has to be certain before doing that.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:8)

Gaa-ikidowaad egaa-wiin awiya ji-michi-onendanzig gegoo ji-izhichiged. Gechinaawid etago ji-doodang awiya.

He described the consequences of onjinewin: “I saw many to whom this happened. Those who acted on their will. They still exist. It’s as if they are losing their mind; that’s who they are when they start getting ‘onjine.’ That’s how those ones were. That’s how this condition is.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:9)

Niibiwa ngii-waabamaag aanind e-gii-izhinaagoziwaad. Gaa-gii-wiinawaa bigo izhichigewaad ondinendamowiniwaang. Geyaabi gosha ayaawag, daabishkoo gii-ani-giiwashkwe-izhi-nooji’igowaad i’iwe. Gaa-ni-onjinewaaj. Mii ga-izhiayaawaad igi, ezhi-ayaag ‘iwe izhi-ayaawin.

93

Naamiwan’s Drum

So Roger asked what we should say to those who have taken the drums. Omishoosh said that they should be asked about their intentions. “They should be asked what they are going to use it for, that’s what should be done. They should be told that he [animate – water drum] is finished doing his work. Perhaps they should be told what he [the drum] did.”

Ji-gii-michi-gagwejimindwaaban aaniin waa-inanokaanaawaaj, mii aaniish eta ji-gii-doojigaadegiban. Ji-gii-wiindawindwaaban aazha e-gii-ishkwaa-aabadizinid aaniin gaa-inanokiinid.

He suggests, “They must suppose it was newly made, that’s what one of them probably thought if they have done that.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:9)

Daabishkoo bezhig gegoo miinawaa gaa-ni-wawozhichigaadeg gaa-inendamowaagobanen ji-doodamowaad.

Later in the conversation Omishoosh repeated this thought and wondered if the Three Fires group could be asked to return the artefacts they have. “If they were told something [about returning things] it may be for naught. What might they have done with them [animate]? Maybe they have discarded them [animate] already, or they may have ruined him [animate – the drum] and that would destroy the whole collection [inanimate]. That also may have happened.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:16)

Wiin ogo de-dago-izhi-anishaa enaawindwaa, waa-doodawaawaagwen, gemaa aazha ogii-webinaawaa’, gemaa ogii-biigowaawaa’ mii aaniish i’i gii-nishiwaanaajitoowaad i’iwe. Mii gaye ge-ayizhiseg.

But after this dark thought, and having travelled to a contemporary religious event on Manitoulin Island some years before, he makes another suggestion: that they may want to keep it. He understands the desire to revive old practices. “It’s like someone searching about … that’s what their activities appear to be. What you’re trying to find, the attempt, it’s like being stuck (mired) when you’re trying to use something. That’s what that practice seems to me.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:12)

Daabishkoo gaa-babaa-nanaandoniged awiya niibiwa omikaan gegoon ini, mii ezhinaagwak obabaamakamigiziwiniwaa’. E-wii-gagwe-mikameg ‘iwe wegonen gaa-wii-gagwe-geyaabi-, daabishkoo akawibitoweshin onji aabajitooyeg ‘imaa gegoon. Mii enendaagwak i’i izichigewin.

“And about these [inanimate – artefacts], were you happy with the way they were kept at the university?” Roger asks.

Ayi’ii, zhigwa, gigii-minwendam ina giin imaa gaa-gii-ategin imaa, gaa-gii-ganawenjigaadegin imaa ini aabajitaawinan imaa gikinoo’amaadewigamigong?

94

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

“It appears that they were properly used where they were kept,” Omishoosh replies. “When they were sitting about [in the bush], that wouldn’t have been ideal, because they [animate] would have deteriorated. However when they [animate] were looked after [by the museum], when they [animate] were ‘owned properties,’ the artefacts, that worked well the way they [animate] were treated.

Amii aaniish i’i ji-inendaagwak gwayak gaa-gii-aabadakin e-ganawendaagwakin. Anoojigo wiin gii-ayategibaniin, gaawiin ‘ow daa-gii-minosesinoon i’i gegoon, awiinge gaa-nishiwaanaadak gegoon. Zhigwa e-gii-ganawaabanjigaadegin, e-gii-ganawendaagwakin, gete-izhichigewinan, gii-minose ‘iwe gaa-gii-doojigaadegin.

“[He/she being left in the bush] would certainly not have been good for him [animate – water drum], he will be worn away. Where they were sitting [at the university], where they were being kept, they would never deteriorate” [consistently animate references].

Gaawn aaniish daa-onizhishisii, daa-ni-biigwadoowi. Zhigwa imaa gaa-izhi-ayabiwaaj, gaa-ganawendaagoziwaaj; gaawn wiikaa da-biigwadoowisiiwag.

Roger asked again, “Do you think it was better for them [animate] to have been kept there?”

Nawach imaa dash ji-gii-ganawenimindwaaban gidinendam na?

“It would be best.” Omishoosh replies, “It would be best if they weren’t used again, that is what I think.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:15–16)

Mii-sa daa-minoseni … Miina da-gii-ani-giitwaam aabadasinoon ndinendam.

Omishoosh went on to talk about how the old men drummed and sang, sitting together at the tip of a sandy point which reaches out into the water in front of his house in Pauingassi. “There they used to sound their drums,” he said (CGO 1999 Oct 18:19).

Gaa-danwewe’aawaad ako odewe’iganiwaa’.

His thoughts returned to those who had taken his grandfather’s drum. “You should urge them, ask them,” he said to Roger. “How do they know what they took? Who were the ones that did that? You should ask them what they are intending to do with it. What are they using it for? Maybe they should leave it be and bring it back. You should tell them.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:21)

Mii gondasha awedi gidaa-onjiikawaawaag ji-wiindamawegwaa aaniin ezhi-gikenimaawaaj gaagii-odaapinaawaaj. Awenenag gaa-doodamowaaj i’i, gidaa-michi-gagwejimaawaag aaniin waa-doodawaawaad ini? Daga gegoo enaabaji’aawaagwen, gemaa gaawiin, ji-bagidinewaapan, ji-bi-giiwewinaawaapan? Ji-michi-wiindamaawegwaa.

95

Naamiwan’s Drum

This interview has an Ojibwe trajectory. It starts with some conciliatory reasoning, builds a base of authority and expertise, and finally expresses a firm opinion – the drums and other artefacts should be returned to the museum. This rhetorical structure is the exact opposite of a news story, a lecture, or a lawyer’s argument. As a listener, one has no idea how it will conclude. It begins so politely that it is hard to imagine there is a firm opinion at the core. It is entirely typical of older Ojibwe and Cree speakers. In this case, we had caught Omishoosh completely off guard, knowing nothing of the situation. He is an extraordinarily diplomatic person in any case, and his thoughts are nuanced and reflective. After recording this interview, given the importance of Omishoosh’s connection to the artefacts, Roger Roulette transcribed all thirty-one single-spaced pages in a weekend and sent the transcription, along with a letter emphasizing its importance, to the president of the University of Winnipeg. Roger received neither a reply nor any thanks for the transcript. Omishoosh heard nothing from the museum either. Finally in late 1999, a letter of protest written by the Southeast Tribal Council on November 24 generated a reply from the university. A letter from the Chief and Council written about the same time produced no response whatever, but on December 2, 1999, Joe Malcolm, the executive director of the Southeast Tribal Council, received a reply. It included a copy of a computer inventory of the collection with the missing objects stroked off with a thick black marker. A total of forty-one objects were erased from the record in this way. The letter also contained a promise not to remove any more items until there had been a “full resolution of the issue” and the following conciliatory remarks in point form: 3.) We [the university] have taken action to research repatriation policies and to develop a new University wide collections policy.

And: 4.) We will attempt to facilitate discussions between the two Aboriginal groups involved in this matter: the people from the Three Fires Midewiwin Society to whom the items were given, and the Pauingassi people from whom they originally came into the University’s possession.

The letter then went on: “I understand and respect the strong feelings that you have about this matter. I hope you will appreciate that in universities as well as in Aboriginal and other communities, people of principle may disagree about appropriate courses of action.” It was signed by the president of the university.11 In February of 2000, Omishoosh sent his own letter to the president of the university. It was dictated to Roger Roulette, who wrote it in syllabics so that Omishoosh could read it. Omishoosh’s reply was then translated into English by Roger and submitted to the university in syllabics, English orthography, and English. It said in part:

96

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

“This is important. We [the previous owners of the artefacts] believe the course of action which would be most appropriate would be for them [the artefacts] to be returned. This is what should happen. This would have the best result, should those to whom they were given still have them in their possession. This is what we believe. I, Charlie George, in what I say now, I am referring as well to our practices of long ago. Our grandfathers’ practices long ago, when they were alive, inform what I say.”

Awiinge dash, ndinendaamin ji-gwayakosegibaniin, ge-minoseg ji-gii-izhisegiban ji-bi-giiwemagakibaniin ji-doojigaadegibaniin nawad daa-minose, giishpin genawendamowegwen ndinendaamin. Niin, Charlie George, gaagigidoyaan gayeniin nindizhichigewininaan mewinzha, nimishoomisinaabaniig odizhichigewiniwaa’ gaa-gii-bi-doojigaadeg mewinzha, megwaa e-gii-bimaadiziwaad ndikid.12

And he signed it with an X. After that things just fell silent. I have no knowledge of what went on at the university, but for the next two years, the staff in the museum carried on with their duties, there was no apparent move to recover the objects, I was not invited to photograph the objects, and Omishoosh wondered why no one answered his letter.13 By the fall of 2001, Omishoosh was upset that nothing had been done. I suggested to my colleague at CBC national news that it was a story which raised important questions. He accompanied Roger and me to do an initial interview with Omishoosh, now in a ghastly seniors’ residence in downtown Winnipeg. Omishoosh was there because his knee was stiff and straight. The stiff leg made it awkward for him to be at home in Pauingassi, which is not exactly wheelchair friendly. He hated the seniors’ residence. He mostly sat with his back to the window because, up on the twelfth floor, he could feel the building swaying and it made him queasy. The food was boring and not what he was used to. They treated him as if he was senile because he had no English, and the translators were inept. He didn’t lose his mind, but it is a wonder, because he sat day upon day staring at the walls. On the bedside table, he had a picture of Naamiwan in a cheap frame with cracked glass; that old photo from Hallowell and a few clothes were all he had in the room. I tried to leave him money once when I saw that he had none, but he told me to use it to buy him food because his money was always stolen. When Roger and I arrived with my CBC colleague, we entered the seniors’ residence with some foreboding. Going to visit Omishoosh at this place was like entering Bedlam. On this particular afternoon there were fifteen people in wheelchairs jammed into a small hallway trying to use the one functioning elevator. On Omishoosh’s floor a grizzled old woman grabbed us and asked imploringly about long-lost loved ones. Several others just staggered up and down the hallway looking dazed and peering at us. The nurses hid out in a small supply room. We found Omishoosh and gratefully closed the door even though his room smelled particularly bad that day. He was flat on his back in bed and unable to get up. He had been left like that since early morning, he told us. No attendant had come to visit him. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he had been forced to urinate on his

97

Naamiwan’s Drum

clothing because he couldn’t get out of bed without assistance. He was not incontinent; he just needed help getting up. It was a continuation of his ongoing medical humiliation, made worse by the fact that the nurses and caregivers on the ward came from abroad and hardly spoke English themselves, and many of the other residents really were senile. When we took my CBC colleague in to see Omishoosh, I felt horrible for everybody, for the assault on the senses and the shame of it all. Sometimes when we visited, the residence was just dirty and stale, but this time it was gross. In spite of this, gathering what dignity he could, Omishoosh answered questions with his usual courtesy and thoughtfulness. Listening to the tape you would never guess the dire context. Once again Roger conducted and translated the interview and transcribed it immediately. The most interesting thing was that Omishoosh’s position had hardened. This time, in response to a question about the removal of the objects, he called it theft, gimoodi. “Of course, when one takes something secretly, it is theft. That’s how this situation would be understood,” he said. (CGO 2001 Feb:18)

Mii gondasha iwe gegoon gaagiimooji-odaapinang, gimoodi.

“Did someone come to see you to talk about the artefacts before they were taken away?”

Awiya na gigii-bi-andawaabamig ikido, ji-bi-dazhindang ono aabajitaawinan gaa-gii-maajiijigaadegin ikido?

“No,” he replied.

Mii ezhinaagwak i’i izhichigewin’.

Gaawiin.

And again to be sure, Roger asked, “No one ever came over to ask you if they could take something away, if they could take something from you? Did anyone do that?”

Gaan awiya gii-bi-izhaasii ji-bi-gagwejimig ayii, ji-, daga ji-maajiidoowaad gegoo, daga ji-odaapinamowaad gegoo? Gaawiin gii-izhichigesii awiya?14

“No, no one’s ever come to see me.” (CGO 2001 Feb:13–14)

Gaawiin-, gaawn awiya wiikaa mbi-waabamigosii.

“Should they have told you before they took them?” he was asked. (CGO 2001 Feb:17)

Gidinendam na ji-gii-gagwejimikwaa jibwaa maajiidoowaad gegoo ikido?

“I too was unaware of these people. I wouldn’t ever think someone would bother with them [the artefacts]. It appears they just took them.” Then he began to explain:

Gaawiin ningii-gikenimaasiig aaniish geniin. Gaawn awiya abooshke ndaa-inendanziin awiya ji-babaamendang. Gii-, daabishkoo aaniish e-gii-michi-odaapinamowaad.

“Consider this: consider what happens when someone wants to know something of the sort that you’re asking me about. I bartered for [offered to pay or give a gift in exchange for] something that I asked about, something that I wanted to know.

Nashke ezhiseg o’owe gegoon awiya gaa-wii-gagwe-gikendang, o’owe gaye gaa-gagwejimiyan. Ningii-dadaawe gosha niin gegoon e-gii-gagwedweyaan gegoon e-wii-gikendamaan.

98

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

“One has to give an offering of money when one wants to ask. He/she will be granted because they’ve paid for them. Anyone who isn’t bartering for something, he/she will understand absolutely nothing because they just took something without compensating.

Zhooniyaan osha ji-bagidinaaj awiya wii-gagwedwed. Mii-sh i’ da-miinaa, aaniish odiba’aanan. Bigo wiin awiya gaa-diba’anzig, gaawn gegoon aabiinj oga-gikendanziin aaniishinaa michi-odaapinige.

“It’s as if he’s using credit. Do you understand?”

Daabishkoo michi-mazina’iged. Ginisidotaan?

“Yes,” replied Roger, “I understand. It’s as if one gives an offering. I understand.” (CGO 2001 Feb:17–18)

Mm-hmm. Ngikendaan. Daabishkoo bagijigaage gegoo, ngikendaan.

And he does. Roger’s family has a drum too. It has been kept by a member of the family since his father’s death: “You’d have to kill twelve Roulettes to get it. Using other people’s religious objects is unheard of. I’ve never heard of that and I’m from a traditional society,” Roger told me. “I never heard of any object being handed to another group, never. If you were trying to bring them into a community like Sandy Bay, they wouldn’t allow you because you’re not from there. I’m just amazed that people would take these, just dumbfounded!” (Roulette March 2002). Omishoosh couldn’t really believe it either. “My grandfather … he cured a good many people. Through his water drum, he revived someone [from death] when he sang. That’s how he was. Also he would revive them through the drum when they did the Boodaadamowin, the Grand Boodaadamowin. That’s how they used it. That’s how they used their gifts.

Nimishoomis, niibiwa awiya’ ogii-bimaaji’aan. Omitigwakikwang gaye ogii-onji-bimaaji’aan awiya’ gii-nigamoj. Mii gaa-izhi-ayaaj. Zhigwa gaye dewe’iganing awiya’ ogii-onji-bimaaji’aan e-gii-boodaadamowaaj gaa-gichi-ijigaadeg boodaadamowin. Mii gaa-inaabaji’aawaad, gaa-inaabajitoowaad gosha ini omiinigoowiniwaan.

“I don’t know what is happening today. It’s the doctors’ fault. The hospitals are ruining everything of traditional Anishinaabe practice.” (CGO 2001 Feb:10–12)

Gaawn aaniish geniin ngikendanziin noongom aaniin eni-izhiseg. Mashkikiiwinini aaniish gaa-doodang. Mashkikiiwigamigoon obiigwanaan gakina gegoon, anishinaabewichigewin.

Omishoosh had an understandably jaundiced view of Western medicine. Before his failed knee operation he’d had his appendix out. His story of how he was “filleted” without a word of explanation to him in Ojibwe would be funny if it weren’t a classic example of how vulnerable a non-English speaker is in our medical system (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:8–12). Roger transcribed the interview, but the story went no further. At the time the CBC reporter was working on other things and shortly after that he was transferred to Ottawa. I replaced him as national radio news reporter but had no time to return 99

Naamiwan’s Drum

to the story until the fall of 2001. I went to Pauingassi for a last visit with Omishoosh that fall, on October 22, 2001. He had been back in Pauingassi for a month, in his home with his wife Janet, eating wild food again and happily looking out at his favourite view across the bay. When we arrived at his house on the edge of the lake, he rolled his wheelchair to the door to meet us. As I ran my tape recorder that last time, he again reminded us of the importance of the drum and he asked if the artefacts had been returned. He reminded me of my promise to take photographs and encouraged me to write the book about the ancient Anishinaabeg. Later in the evening, someone came to visit who was interested in spiritual revival. After a few clumsy questions and a few diplomatic answers, Omishoosh gently suggested that the person speak to Roger Roulette, who might be able to sort it out. It was beyond Omishoosh to figure out what he wanted. Omishoosh passed away just after Christmas 2002. He was somewhere between eighty-six and ninety-two. He reckoned eighty-six, but Indian Affairs Department records say he was born in 1909, which would have made him ninety-two.15 Before he died, the university had made little effort to rectify things. His letter had not been answered. He and his family had received no apology and no explanation. His grandfather’s drum was in Wisconsin in the possession of the spiritual leader and chief executive officer of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Eddie Benton Banai, who had no Pauingassi community connections to the drum. Omishoosh’s funeral took place December 30. I flew in with Henry Neufeld, the Mennonite minister who had lived in Pauingassi for ten years and still visited frequently, his son, an electrical engineer who’d grown up in Pauingassi and was fluent in Ojibwe, and Omishoosh’s great friend, Margaret Simmons. We arrived by plane in Little Grand Rapids and travelled the last twenty kilometres in an open, unpadded toboggan pulled by a skidoo, bouncing over ice ridges and breathing the familiar oily fumes of a two-stroke engine. There were lots of skidoos at the school when we got there and people were trickling into the gym. Omishoosh’s coffin was in the middle of the floor on trestles. The chief and a couple of others set up chairs and amplifiers for their three-guitar band and installed a microphone for speakers. Every chair and desk in the school had been carried into the gym. There were long rows of chairs down one side of the gym and a cluster of desks and chairs on the opposite side for the family. Omishoosh’s wife, Janet, and a great many other women, eyes red-rimmed from crying, were already sitting there, dressed in plaid Pauingassi dresses, their long hair hidden by bright headscarves. The room gradually filled up until there were more than 250 people in the gym. Older adults sat in the chairs and desks. Young men leaned on the walls. Girls gathered near the doors. Babies cried fitfully. Children played quietly or ran around, gently guided away from the coffin when they ventured too close. I was definitely the only blonde head in the room. Finally the band played a mournful country-western version of “Rock of Ages,” and then Henry Neufeld spoke the familiar Ojibwe words of the funeral service. Henry spoke for a long while, and then Omishoosh’s family and friends began to speak. They each had some nice memory of him, a strong, charming, family man who would cheerfully help with any task, from taking his turn with a Swede-saw to pulling nets. I was well into recording my second tape – at least an hour and a

100

Dewe’igan: Repatriation

half later – when I realized that I was being introduced. I hadn’t prepared anything to say, but, in the pauses while Margaret translated for me, I gathered my wits. I told the assembled crowd that Omishoosh had become known across the country as an authority on Ojibwe life because of the radio shows we had made together and that I was going to miss him very much. After the speeches were over, the people rose to sing. As the ceremony wound down, everyone in the gym filed past the open coffin and either kissed Omishoosh or gave him a last gentle touch. All around me were teary, shining eyes. Some of the women in the family collapsed, sobbing. In a long shuffling line, everyone shook hands with the chief, Moses Owens, members of the band council, Omishoosh’s widow, Janet Owen, and the other family members. I joined the line, kissed the old man and then followed as the line turned on itself and everyone shook hands – brushing fingers in that very northern way – with everyone else in the whole room. There were murmurs of sorrow and consolation; Ojibwe voices are naturally soft, even more so at a funeral. The coffin was eventually closed and carried outside where a fresh grave had been dug in the sandy soil. The front-end loader employed for the job was parked beside the grave. The coffin was lowered, and Omishoosh’s cousin David Owen said a few words, his breath making a white cloud around his face. At last he threw a handful of sand into the grave. In turn everyone there threw sand onto the coffin. And then the crowd drifted away. It was a grand goodbye. Standing by the hockey rink afterwards, an old friend, Boushey Pascal, spoke to Margaret about his feelings for Omishoosh. He said that Omishoosh was older than he and had taken him trapping as a young man: When we camped out overnight somewhere he would speak to me because I was just a boy. Do you remember the big drum? He used to call to us in the evening and he would say it is time for us to sing. He used to start singing, “OK, my grandchildren, it’s your turn to try.” He taught us how to sing and he would encourage us to sing. So we sang! (CGO 2002 funeral:3)

Boushey said that Omishoosh taught him about Ojibwe life and ceremony and that he became in time Omishoosh’s wiikaanan, his ritual brother (CGO 2002 funeral:3). He said that Omishoosh drank heavily for a few years, which caused problems, but that in the 1970s he stopped and never touched alcohol again. It was at that point that he became pivotal in community life, setting an example for others to follow. After Roger translated Boushey’s interview, he reflected on what this meant to Boushey. “He taught him everything,” Roger said. “And I think, the way I understand it is when somebody takes you on as a student or apprentice you have to carry on their responsibilities after they’re gone so I think that’s what he’s wrestling with right now. That’s a tremendous responsibility” (CGO 2002 funeral:4). And for Roger it was equally profound. He loved Omishoosh for his eloquence and his philosophical sophistication. To me Charlie George [Omishoosh] exemplifies what Ojibwe traditional thought is. He exemplified that. Just by the language. Pure thought. Absolutely beautiful

101

Naamiwan’s Drum

language. And you know what. The funny thing is, when you asked me to ask him something, he’d look at me with that look of contempt. “How dare you. You know better than to ask me that,” and I’d say, “She wants to know. I’m just your conduit here.” But he never changed the language for me. The best way for him to describe it was in that sophisticated very high Ojibwe language. He was amazing. How he looked into nothingness in reflection, it seemed. It’s absolutely deceiving. And I think I want to immortalize him. Above all people I’ve listened to, besides my immediate family, his words I’ll always remember, Charlie George. And I think the world is a little bit more empty without Charlie George. That’s how I see it. Mii’iwe. That’s what Charlie George would say, “That’s it.” Mii’iwe. (CGO 2002 funeral:4–5)

Roger’s mother, Dorine Roulette, had an astute Anishinaabe reaction. “Those people who took that drum had better look out,” she said. “That old man is free of his body now!” (Roulette February 2002)

102

Ji-ayaangwaamiziwaad eta gaa-giidoodawaawaad. Gaawiin awashime owiiyawisii!

5

Personhood Wiikaan and Artefact

In Hallowell’s field notes about stones, there is an extended version of his conversation with Kiiwiich, Alex Keeper, in which Kiiwiich tells Hallowell that, although not all stones are alive, “some are.” “[W]hat really interests the Indian,” Hallowell wrote, is “the fact that “some are,” rather than the more abstract question whether all are. The stones that are alive are valuable to him in terms of culturally defined purposes. These fit into his scheme of things. Whether other classes of stones have similar potentialities is an open question” (Hallowell 1936:1). For Hallowell, the proof that stones were rightly classed as other animate ­entities lay in their ceremonial function and in the way they were addressed and accorded respect as “grandfathers.” He found the following anecdote “compelling evidence that stones are intelligible within the context of Ojibwa language and culture”: A white trader, digging in his potato patch, unearthed a large stone similar to the one just referred to. He sent for John Duck, an Indian who was the leader of the wabano [waabano], a contemporary ceremony that is held in a structure something like that used for the Midewiwin. The trader called his attention to the stone, saying that it must belong in his pavilion. John Duck did not seem pleased at this. He bent down and spoke to the boulder in a low voice, inquiring whether it had ever been in his pavilion. According to John the stone replied in the negative.

“Speaking to a stone,” Hallowell went on, “dramatizes the depth of the categorical difference in cognitive orientation between the Ojibwa and ourselves” (Hallowell 2010:541). In chapter 4, Omishoosh described his grandfather and his uncle speaking to stones.

5.1  Kiiwiich, Little Grand Rapids, 1933. Photograph A115, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

“The ones who were in the Midewiwin, they spoke to everything. This is how the Midewiwin was.1 They spoke to their trees [animate]. They spoke to their stones [animate]. That’s what they did. That’s where they began to understand what was being taught, what they were to do in the future.” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:4)

O’owe gaa-gii-midewiwaaj, gakina aaniish gegoo ogii-gaganoodaanaawaa’. Zhigwa Midewiwin aaniin ezhi-ayaanig, omitigomiwaa’ ogii-gaganoonaawaa’, odasiniimiwaa’ ogii-gaganoonaawaa’. Mii gaa-doodamowaad. Mii-sh ‘imaa gaa-ani-onji-gikendamowaad wegonen ‘iwe gaa-ni-gikinoo’amaagowaad, gaa-gii-ani-izhichigewaad.

The grammatical agreement of trees and stones, both animate here, is less important than their social interaction; they converse and teach. This is the sort of “culturally defined purpose” to which Hallowell refers; trees and stones pass on secrets in dreams, acting as intermediaries for Gaa-dibendjiged, the owner of all. Gaa-­dibendjiged, the source of all life, is not anthropomorphized. This overarching omnipresent force is almost never named but always implicated when the attribution of effective power is under discussion. In this sort of talk, discreet speech is a must. If one wants to avoid offending Thunderbirds, one need only wait for winter; in their absence, it is safe to speak of them. Not so with Gaa-dibendjiged, who is in all things all the time. As I understand it, this force sees with our eyes, hears what we hear, and knows all our thoughts. In the cascading kinship of power in the Ojibwe world, the spirit-­entities act as intermediaries. Medicine men who “know” spirit-entities act as further conduits, channelling power on behalf of their patients, family, and community. When Omishoosh says that his grandfather and uncles spoke to their stones, the functional personhood of those stones in this context of distributed power is evident.2 This was what mattered to Hallowell, that these “reified person objects which are other than human … have the same ontological status … More important than the linguistic classification is the kind of vital functions attributed to them in the belief system and the conditions under which these functions are observed or tested in experience” (1960:24). There is no doubt that the attribution of life to things means something important to the Ojibwe. They play around with this idea grammatically, as we have seen, both to make jokes and to obscure meaning in discreet speech. Omishoosh told us that the ability to see that some things have life was the Anishinaabe’s gift. “This was the Anishinaabe’s ability, you see. This is what you’re looking for isn’t it? If one understands, it would be beneficial, to receive knowledge from it. What was the source of their health? This is how this works still. You see, we were told that the gift bestowed to the Anishinaabe would never cease, that we would always have clarity. Like the day and the night that God created. We were given everything we needed to live.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:12)

105

Mii gaa-izhi-anokiimagak anishinaabe ogashki’ewiziwin ina. Mii ‘owe gaa-nanaandone’ameg naa’a. Giishpin awiya nisidotang, daa-minoseni ji-onjiimaganigiban onaagadawenjigan ina. Wegonen dinoowikaaniwang ‘owe gaa-gii-bi-doodaagod awiya ji-onji-­mino-ayaapan. Mii ‘owe osha ezhi-anokiimagak ‘ow geyaabi. A’ii aaniish ingii-igoomin, gaawn wiikaa

Naamiwan’s Drum

da-gibichiimagasinoon o’owe anishinaabe gaa-gii-izhi-miinind, o’owe gaa-bimi-giizhigak wiin manidoo gaa-gii-ozhitood gegoon waaseyaag. Miina dibikan, gakina gegoo gigii-miinigonaan ji-onji-bimaadiziyang. This sort of thinking must have come up frequently in the conversations Hallowell had when he was on the Upper Berens River, and his subsequent focus on the Ojibwe conception of personhood was probably inevitable. His own coming to grips with the idea was framed by – but opposed to – the scientific perspective prevalent when he was doing his fieldwork, a very narrow definition of personhood which included human beings and no others. It was against this conceptual backdrop that he developed the idea of “other-than-human persons.” It seemed to him to be the only way that he could cope with Ojibwe categories in which “the concept of ‘person’ is not, in fact, synonymous with human being but transcends it” (Hallowell 2010:537). While Hallowell is careful to credit Robert Redfield with the phrase “world view,” his use of the phrase “other-than-human persons” passes unremarked (Hallowell 2010:535). Its recurrence in contemporary anthropology is similarly unremarked, but as Alfred Gell, who used a similar phrase, “agent-person,” points out, the “entire historical tendency of anthropology has been towards a radical defamiliarization and relativization of the notion of ‘persons.’ Since the outset of the discipline, anthropology has been signally preoccupied with a series of problems to do with ostensibly peculiar relations between persons and ‘things’ which somehow, ‘appear as’ or do duty as, persons” (Gell 1998:9). Hallowell, like Gell, found the idea of other-than-human persons to be a useful way of expressing unorthodox conceptions of the perceptual world of others. Gell, who seems to have been unaware of Hallowell, founded his theoretical approach on the work of Marcel Mauss and Marilyn Strathern. Mauss’s explanation of the complex social obligations entailed in gift exchange led Strathern to think (via Gell) of individuals in terms of “distributed” personhood, “dispersed across a spectrum of relationships, belonging to diverse groupings. But while these relationships converge on the one person (rendering the person a composite of diverse ties), the ties as such are dispersed, and can never be gathered together in anything but that person” (Strathern 1999:14, cf. Gell 1999c). That person, Strathern argues, is a composite of all the relationships in his or her life, each an image, framed by the obligations born of each relationship. “In their multiple roles, persons are always half hidden from one another; in contrast, a form presented to be seen must be seen as a whole image: an image can only ever be a whole thing” (Strathern 1999:9). So the divided person, known partially to many, is distributed through images and objects. Our fond names for people – mother, sister, friend, etc. – reflect these relationships and the corresponding images. The sum of these relationships defines the person and constitutes that person’s culture. Strathern calls this mode “dividual,” and while she is primarily interested in humans as “dividuals,” she sees no reason why objects cannot share this state of being.3 As she describes it, a thing becomes person-like when it has relationships. A person becomes thing-like when it simply has form and is most thinglike when what matters most is the singular form the person presents (Strathern 106

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

1999:16). Thus there should be no problem in applying the idea of “dividuality” or “partible personhood” to Ojibwe other-than-human persons, including the ceremonial objects involved in the Pauingassi Collection repatriation. Strathern argues that dividuality and distributed personhood are particularly relevant conceptual frameworks in instances where relations are impinged upon by conceptions of human rights, as they are in repatriation (e.g., Riding In 2000), and where the distinction between persons and things is material. One effect of the Euro-American division between persons and things is to promote property rights (between persons with respect to things) as the paradigmatic exemplification of ownership – so that when one talks of ownership one implies that rights are being exercised over (in relation to) some “thing” or other. The more entities approximate to things, the more legitimate ownership appears. (Strathern 1999:6)

Ironically, one of the principal rationales for repatriation is that a Euro-American distinction between persons and things is erroneous; the objects in question are understood to be animate. Gerald T. Conaty and Robert R. Janes (1997) point out that this assumption of animacy informs the choice of the word “repatriation” for the act of returning museum artefacts. Historically, repatriation applied to the return of people dislocated by war, and “restitution” was, in the strictest sense, the return of possessions. The term “restitution” is still favoured by human rights lawyers (e.g., Nafziger 2008) and academics who are talking broadly about injustice (e.g., Barkan 2000), but it is also used strategically by those uncomfortable with the emotionality of “repatriation” (Feest 1995). Choosing the term “repatriation” emphasizes the personhood of artefacts; “repatriation” is the rightful return of animate entities to their homeland. But a repatriation claim is a cultural rights claim, and as Strathern (1999:17–18) points out, rights claims engage assumptions about ownership of cultural and intellectual property. One of the reasons contemporary repatriation literature is so unsatisfying is that it fails to grapple with the conflict between rights claims as ownership claims and indigenous understandings of animacy and personhood. Claiming cultural property rights, asserting ownership rights over artefacts as property, as Strathern points out, means that cultural understandings related to the nature of animate entities are suppressed. Setting repatriation literature in the context of human rights, as many authors do (Cowan, Dembour, and Wilson 2001; Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009), and pressing for legal remediation based on Euro-American property law, as is the case in the United States with NAGPRA (Trope and Echo Hawk 2000), has altered the concept of “culture.” As Strathern (referencing Rapport 1998:386) points out, rights claims require that “we live in a ‘post-cultural’ world … which ‘posits individuals as ontologically prior to the cultural milieu which they create.’” It is individuals who animate and transform cultures: individual actors are “the anthropological concrete” (after Augé 1995) who can “adopt or reject cultural personae.” Strathern continues: If human rights are understood as political procedure (human rights as a “transnational juridical process”), then “culture” becomes “an optional resource,” one to be employed by individual actors on a global stage who are free to create identities for themselves [Rapport 1998:387, 388]. It is a modernist position of course to imagine

107

Naamiwan’s Drum

that one can choose. Much of the rhetorical justification for Culture is in fact cast in terms of allowing people (the “right”) to practice their customs as they always have done. (Strathern 1999:17–18)

Strathern argues that this is a serious problem for those who are imagined to have these rights. Cultural rights are sought by people who do not have power. If they had power they’d do what they want. To elicit cultural rights, supplicants are called upon to present a “culturally authentic image” of themselves, both thinglike and partial, in order to be entitled to those rights. Colin Samson has shown that the Innu of northern Quebec are forced into narrowly defined cultural performance in order to elicit rights in a political environment which, like northern Manitoba, is still profoundly colonial and coercive. “This means that in order to receive rights … they are required to adopt a particular view of themselves and of the world that fits with the rights conferring political machinery of the state” (Samson 2001:228). While Samson is talking about land claims, this is equally true of rights-based repatriation claims. In the case of repatriation as a human right, culture (performed by persons who claim cultural property) becomes something individuals “have” or should have, can lose and regain, the authentic expression of which has been defined in advance by the very museums that will decide on the validity of the claim. Museum views of indigenous culture inescapably frame the options of those who engage in repatriation. Strathern argues against this essentializing of culture. Calling for a return to the “foundational anthropological concretivity: relations” (1999:18), she argues that anthropologists must focus on social relationships and begin with the idea that “culture is carried by persons,” not the other way around. Individuals do not interact “with” culture – they interact with persons whom they have relationships with. While it may be consciously in accord with “cultural values” that they follow this or that path, much of the motivation to act comes from claims which bind them to others. (Strathern 1999:18–19)

Strathern goes on to point out that many of these relational obligations are “non-optional,” a useful reminder when applied to the case of the Pauingassi Collection repatriation. The relational field of Naamiwan’s water drum illustrates both the typical push and pull of conflicting, overlapping, and “non-optional” social obligations of museum artefacts and the theoretical relevance of personhood and “dividuality.” Naamiwan’s water drum, a person/object with a primary Pauingassi social context, carries Pauingassi meanings into multiple new relationships and, in turn, acquires new meanings in relationships with museums and others.

The New Animism These other-than-human person/artefacts neatly fit in the unfolding world which has been so usefully described by the anthropologists one might call the new animists, anthropologists working with hunter-gatherer peoples in South America, India, and the circumpolar sub-arctic. In scholarship inspired by Maurice

108

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology (1962), they have come back to animism and have found a vocabulary for explaining the world-view of hunter-gatherers who perceive living in the world as a process of constantly coming into being. It is these scholars of the new animism who, like Hallowell, use the theoretical construct of other-than-human persons with alacrity (Harvey 2006; Stringer 1999; Bird-David 1999; Viveiros de Castro 1996, 1998; Ingold 2006). Hallowell was interested in the “unified phenomenal field of thought, values and action” (Hallowell 2010:536) which he believed characterized an Ojibwe world-view, but he was, as I have mentioned, firmly dismissive of the idea that the Ojibwe were animists in the sense that it was understood in the 1930s. He did not believe that his Ojibwe informants anthropomorphized the natural world and he found that the Ojibwe were interested in possibilities and potentialities rather than categorical pronouncements about the structure of the natural world. In a similar mode, Rob Brightman emphasizes the ambiguity of hunting and human/animal relationships of the Rock Cree, near neighbours of the Pauingassi Ojibwe (2002 (1973), cf. Black-Rogers 1971, 1873,1977b). Brightman writes that animal spirits participate in ceremonies like the shaking tent in a way which reveals their essential “human nature,” and on these occasions, the Cree say of them that “they come to be like human,” but “the differentiation of animal from human is also fundamentally important, constitutive of and endlessly objectified in the human practice of killing and eating animals” (Brightman 2002 (1973):179). This is equally true in Pauingassi, where a distinction is made between “seeing” a particular entity, the material form in the material world, and “knowing” via dreams (Jacob Owen in Matthews 1995a:5). Tim Ingold, who has an abiding interest in hunting as a mode of relating to the natural world, was among the first to call for a new look at animism. The Perception of the Environment (Ingold 2000) advocates a relational, ecological model of human interaction which includes objects and animals as part of a social ecology. He calls this the “dwelling perspective,” by which he means that “Humans … are brought into existence as organism-persons within a world that is inhabited by beings of manifold kinds, both human and non-human. Therefore relations among humans, which we are accustomed to calling the ‘social,’ are but a subset of ecological relations” (Ingold 2000:5). Several chapters of Ingold’s book were stimulated by a reading of Hallowell’s 1960 article “Ojibwa Ontology, Behaviour and World View” (Hallowell 2010), and contains the declaration that this article is “one of the great classics of northern circumpolar ethnography. I have turned to it over and over again for inspiration, and every reading has yielded some new insight” (Ingold 2000:90). While Ingold is slightly dismissive of some of the arguments of some of his new-­animist colleagues (Ingold 2006:11),4 he is in broad agreement with Nurit Bird-­David, who argues that animism is a relational epistemology, “a way of understanding relatedness from a related point of view within the shifting horizons of the related viewer” (1999:S77). Bird-David did her fieldwork among the Nayaka, a hunter-gatherer group in India. South Americanists Viveiros de Castro (1998) and Rival (2002), who share Bird-­ David’s interest in animism, both study hunter-gatherer groups, as, for that matter, did Ingold, whose fieldwork was among the Skolt Saami of northeastern Finland. They and others, notably Hugh Brody (2000), have argued that hunter-­gatherers perceive the world in a way which would serve us all well. It is this overarching application that Ingold put forward most recently. He argues that our own

109

Naamiwan’s Drum

anthropomorphizing, from our desire to find the men on Mars to our willingness to chat to our cars and computers, has led us to underestimate the insights of people who are not categorical about the nature of things but open to “their becoming.” He talks about “souls as trails,” of the relational world as a “mesh work” of intersecting trails, a rhizome-like web of life, and reminds us that the environment in which this happens is not empty air but is full of weather that beats upon us, shaping our perceptions and bracketing possibilities (2006). Ingold concludes that “what the Ojibwa have arrived at is not an alternative science of nature but a poetics of dwelling. Far from having been superseded, in the West, by the rise of modern science, such poetics is the necessary ground for all scientific activity” (2000:11). One of the things which most impressed Ingold about Hallowell’s explanation of Ojibwe perception is the idea that their “knowledge is grounded in experience, understood as a coupling of the movement of one’s awareness to the movement of aspects of the world. Experience does not mediate between mind and nature, since these are not separated in the first place. It is rather intrinsic to the process of being alive to the world. This is linked to a view of personhood in which the self is seen to inhere in the unfolding of relations set up by virtue of its positioning in an environment” (2000:11; cf. Brody 1981:34–48). This understanding of the mind/ soul in relation to an unfolding world of which it is a part allows us to see beyond the apparent dichotomies of animate and inanimate. The point is not that the Ojibwa draw classificatory distinctions along different lines, but rather that in their ontology, life is not a property of objects at all, but a condition of being. The nature of the things one encounters, their essence, is not given in advance but is revealed only “after-the-fact,” and sometimes only after the lapse of some considerable period of time, in the light of subsequent experience – which of course may differ from one person to another. This Ojibwa way of dealing with perception is, as Black puts it, fundamentally antitaxonomic, reducing to a shambles any attempt to bring it within the bounds of a neatly ordered system of classificatory divisions. (Ingold 2000:97)

This taxonomic failure is a confirmation of the relevance of Strathern’s theory of dividual personhood. Each unfolding encounter, each fleeting relationship, is fraught with classificatory ambivalence. Each involves an apparently whole and compelling relationship, but the totality of the person/being remains relatively unknowable, unpredictable, and multifaceted. Hallowell argues that in the Ojibwe ontological frame, all animate beings of the person class have a “similar structure – an inner vital part that is enduring and an outward form which can change. Vital personal attributes such as sentience, volition, memory, speech are not dependent upon outward appearances but upon the inner vital essence of being” (Hallowell 2010:556). This inner essence is ajichaag (also ajijaag), which is normally translated as “soul,” another reason why “animate,” from the Latin, anima, soul, is not an unreasonable characterization of the privileged gender. The importance of this Ojibwe concept cannot be overstated. If the soul is the only constant, if form and appearance are optional and the world is unfolding in an unstable and original way, little wonder it is hard to elicit categorical Ojibwe statements.

110

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

These general anthropological considerations mean that attending to the personhood of the artefacts involved in the repatriation is urgent. The outlines are simple. Omishoosh, the mildest of men, came to regard the repatriation to the Three Fires society of the Pauingassi artefacts as theft, gimoodi. The artefacts were his ritual brothers, wiikaanan, object/persons bound by a personal and ceremonial relationship which included his grandfather and his spirit-helpers. There are taboos against being explicit about these relationships, but as the years have passed, much can be said about the relationship between Naamiwan, his ceremonial tools, and his principal dream spirit, Thunderbirds. From a museum perspective, the view that this relationship was in the past and the fact that the artefacts had been in storage for many years left the impression that Omishoosh no longer had a valid connection to the objects. A changing political and emotional context generated by the cultural-rights imperatives of repatriation gave the artefacts an urgent role in an altogether different scenario. They were seen to have been abandoned by Pauingassi people who had stopped practising their “culture” in favour of Christianity. The needs and values of a contemporary Ojibwe spiritual revival group trumped whatever claim Omishoosh might have had.

Pauingassi Personhood “The one they call binesi, that one [animate] has everything.” “A’awedi binesi gaa-ininj gakina osha wiin gegoo odayaan.” (Jacob Owen, Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:5)

On my fourth visit to Pauingassi, in September 1994, I was accompanied by Ojibwe translator Roger Roulette. On this trip, we recorded an interview with Omishoosh which we call “the Recipe tape” because of the detailed answers Omishoosh gave to Roger about the performance of Midé initiation rites and the roles of various artefacts. They had never met before, so at the beginning of this conversation Omishoosh tested Roger, using some of the more arcane vocabulary of the Midewiwin. “That was the old people’s life-giving abilities. Do you fully understand?” Omishoosh asked.

Mii ‘iwe bimaadizi-, bimaaji’idizowiniwaa gewiinawaa geteanishinaabeg. Weweni ginisidotaan?

“Ah, definitely. I understand everything. My late father did the same thing,” Roger replied.

Ah, miinange. Gakina gegoo ninisidotaan. Geniin mbaabaayiban, ndedeyiban mii gewiin gaa-izhichiged.

“This is what I’m telling in detail,” Omishoosh went on in his direct way. “It is fortunate that you speak Ojibwe. You really understand. This is beneficial, for I am speaking the truth. It is very beneficial.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:14)

Mii osha ‘owe weweni giwiindamoon awiinge minose anishinaabemwiyan. Wiinge nisidotawiyan. Minose ‘owe aanawii ndebwe, wiinge minose.

111

Naamiwan’s Drum

On this particular trip, we stayed in an old teacherage at the back of Naamiwan’s famous ceremonial hilltop, overlooking a school playground knee-deep in grass. I got up early one morning to take photographs and walked out into the stillness. There was no one about, so I wandered towards the lake. A drifting mist blurred the shoreline. I stepped out onto the long sand spit which cuts across the bay in front of Omishoosh’s house and as I reached the point where Naamiwan was supposed to have kept a tame dragon, the rising sun caught the yellow leaves of a birch tree and it flared up like a blaze in smoke. To my eyes it was simply beautiful. To Ojibwe eyes, mist indicates the nearness of aadizookaanag, legendary ancestors. The mist marks the border of the interactive (but normally inaccessible) world in which these spirits are said to live. The name of our province refers directly to this ephemeral demarcation. Manitoba (manidoobaa) means “where the spirits exist” and refers to the morning mist on lakes and rivers, which signifies the presence of spirits while it hides them from sight (Roulette 1995). A swirl of mist on the river near a whirlpool indicates the presence of one of the most feared spirit-beings, Gichi-ginebig, the giant serpent. This is not a historical irrelevance in Pauingassi. As I write, misty mornings and a few sightings of a sinuous shape floating in the water have stopped early morning motorboat traffic on Fishing Lake. People have turned their boats around in midtrip to the nursing station in Little Grand Rapids when they spotted this misty omen; they have missed flights out of the Little Grand airport because they did not want to risk an encounter with a giant snake. There is perpetual enmity between gichi-ginebigoog, great snakes, and Binesiwag, Thunderbirds; they are powerful rivals in the spirit world. On another occasion, William Thomas told Roger about a fierce storm which followed the sighting of a great snake near Berens River. His friend was driving a motorboat across Lake Winnipeg when he saw it: “He thought it was a deer. The horns of a deer, you see. He got closer to it so he could grab it. Goodness, he then recognized it, a serpent!”

Roger asks: “I wonder, did it rain later on?”

Waawaashkeshiwan gii-inendam. Waawaashkeshi odeshkanensa’ ini igikendaan. Mii iwe jiigaya’ii eni-izhi-ipizod e-wii-debibinaad. Bay, ezhi-nisidawinaad, ginebigoon! Ganage dash, gii-gimiwanini ani-naagach?

Mr Thomas replies: “It became windy. It was windy on the water. So, the man fled. There’s a station there where they cut catfish. That’s where he went.

Gii-ni-noodin. Gii-noodina’am. Mii gaa-izhi-dabaziid awe inini. I’imaa isteshin ayaamagan. Catfish [Maaname(g)] giishkizhigaazo, mii imaa gaa-izhaad.

“My, when he travelled into the river, apparently, a violent storm occurred. You see, it was due to them [Thunderbirds] coming. This is why I’m saying this. (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:19)

Bay, gaa-biindigebizod iwe ziibi, mii iinzan ezhi-gotaamigwak. Na, mii iwe gaa-gii-bi-ayaawaad. Ayi’ii wenji-ikidowaan.

112

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

Thunderbirds attacked that giant serpent for two reasons. First, it is simply their nature. “You see, that’s what their kind eats,” Omishoosh told us.

Mii aaniish enanjiged o’dino gii-ikido.

A friend told Omishoosh about a Thunderbird nest where the remains of their food could be seen. “That’s how the lake got its name, Binesiiwaabiko-zaaga’igan,” Thunderbird Rock Lake,” Omishoosh said. “Thunderbirds had spent time there,” he said. “They had a nest,” he says … That’s where they saw bones,” he says. “And they’re lengthy,” he says. “It’s like ribs how they lay,” he says. “Those were the snakes they’ve killed,” he said. (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:17)

Binesiwag gii-dazhiwag wedi ikido. Gii-wawazasonewag ikido. Mii dash o’owe gii-dadibaajimotawid … Mii imaa gaa-gii-waabandamowaad okanan ikido. E-gagaanwaakwanoon osha ikido. Opigeganag o’owe izhishinowaad ikido. Miiwan iniweniwa’ gaa-nisaawaad ginebigoo’ gii-ikido.

Omishoosh explained that when the clouds roam the sky on a stormy day, Thunderbirds are hunting snakes, feeding themselves while ridding the world of these gigantic, odious reptiles. They are protecting humanity. “If it wasn’t for the Thunderbirds, you would see many evil things come to be here on earth. Some things which are very vile.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:19)

Giishin gegaa ongoweg Binesiwag, aapiji niibowa gegoo gidaa-giiwaabandaamin maji-gegoo ji-giimookiimagak, omaa akiing gaagagwaanisagaadak.

Thunderbirds are the most powerful spirit-entities in the Ojibwe pantheon. They are revered and feared. Their existence, even today, is unquestioned. If you speak Ojibwe, there simply is no other way to talk about certain kinds of weather.5 In the same way that the mist I see drifting on the lake obscures ginebigoog, the thunder clouds, wakwiin (inanimate), hide Thunderbirds, Binesiwag (animate), from the eyes of mere mortals. Binesiwag is actually a euphemism. The least used, most explicit word for these entities is Thunderers, Animikiig (animate). Omishoosh told us they normally appear as hawk-like birds: “These black spruce, the tall ones standing at this height (thirty feet), that’s how tall the Thunderbird is, sitting there. That’s how big he/she was. That’s very amazing. That Thunderbird is large.” (Matthews 1995a:3)

113

Ogoweniwag aya’aag mina’igoog gaa-gagaanwaakoziwaad, gaa-apiitakizowaad, mii gaa-apiitabinid e-gii-namadabinid i’imaa. Epiichimindidod a’awe. Mii iwe maamakaach wiinge. Mindido a’a binesii.

Naamiwan’s Drum

He is not visible but you know he is there because you can hear him in the thunder clouds. When you hear him, his sound [animate] shakes the earth.” Omishoosh explained to Margaret. “You see, when this being [Thunderbird] makes a noise, the earth trembles [metaphoric].6 …

Gaawn aaniish naagozisii wakwiing aaniish ayaa gaa-danwewidang.

It’s true, I have personally heard when there is a thunderstorm. Sometimes he/she is painfully loud. And sometimes he/she is fiery.”

Debwe geniin ngii-bi-noondawaa’ geniin megwaa e-babinesiwang. Naanigodin aapiji gii-aakwendaagozi. Bakizige aaniish gaye ngoding.

Ishke noondaagozid goshkose aki. Goshkoseni aki e-noondaagozid …

As evidence he pointed to an island just off the shore near his house in Pauingassi. “Here at the mouth of the water the island floats. That’s where a stone lies into the woods where they strike/shoot. They [tumbled stones] lay in such a way. That’s them striking it. It’s like when people fire a shot, that’s how it is when it happens. The result of how powerful their lightning is!” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:4)

Omaa gaa-ani-zaagidawaag owe minis omaa gaa-agwindeg. Mii osha imaa ezhi-gopishing asin bezhigwan gaa-bapakizigewaad. Wiinge wa’a izhishinoog gichi-babikosiniig. Miiwan obaaginiwewiniwaa’. Daabishkoo ogo gaa-bakizigewaad dino isa mii ezhisenig. Zoongise gaa-izhiseg waasiganiwaa’!

“It is true there is a Thunderbird above. It is heard everywhere in the sky,” Omishoosh declared. (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:1)

Binesi debwe ayaa ishpiming. Gaa-noondaagozid miziwe giizhigong.

This belief in Thunderbirds was something that impressed Hallowell sixty years earlier. In his “Ontology” article he mentions his “somewhat feeble” attempts to articulate the scientific explanation of thunder to the Ojibwe he knew. “Of one thing I am sure,” he wrote, “My explanations left their own beliefs completely unshaken” (Hallowell 1960:546). Among unilingual Ojibwe speakers in Pauingassi, this is still true; the existence and personhood of Thunderbirds is a given. I made a two-hour documentary about Thunderbirds in 1995, and although most of my interviews were conducted with people who had been nominal Christians for thirty years, they simply did not conceive of thunder as anything but the most powerful of all the aadizookaanag, the legendary figures who make life possible. And although Ojibwe speakers firmly believe that aadizookaanag can kill and you’d be a fool to toy with them, they speak of their pristine, altruistic love of humanity, zhawenim, to cherish someone. Omishoosh uses a nice Ojibwe metaphor to further evoke the closeness of this relationship; that they become so close, it is like one “wears them, gigishkawaa.”

114

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

“If a dream visitor, aadizookaan, cherishes/loves you, it will go to your body and you will ‘wear’ him/her, this one who maintains your life. That’s what the old men say.”

Zhawenimig aadizookaan da-giiyawing da-izhaa giga-gigishkawaa. Mii ‘awe ge-ganawendang gibimaadiziwin. Mii ekidowaad akiwenziwag.

When Roger asked him about this, he explained in more detail. “It’s like something we wear; they [the old men] beckoned their lives. Or, they may wear that spirit-helper, one that cherished him/her. Maybe it might settle in their body. It would communicate with him/ her.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:13)

Daabishkoo gegoon gaa-gigishkamang, ogii-naadidaanaawaa’ obimaadiziwiniwaa.’ Gemaa ogigishkawaan ini aadizookaanan gaa-gii-zhawenimigoj. Gemaa gii-gabeshiwan wiiyawing. Ogii-gaganoonigoon idash.

This is a familiar Ojibwe idiomatic expression, but gigishkaw (animate), to bear/ carry someone on one’s body, is also a polite euphemism for pregnancy; hence the second interpretation that it might “settle in” one’s body (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:54).7 Omishoosh says these men “beckoned their lives, ogii-naadidaanaawaa’ obimaadiziwiniwaa’.” Bringing a good life, bimaadiziwin, into being is possible only with the help of aadizookaanag, the spirit helpers whom they are calling upon in this instance. Ingold develops this point. Life in this sense is not given, ready-made, as an attribute of being that may then be expressed in one way or another. It is rather a project that has continually to be worked at. Life is a task. As an ongoing process of renewal, it is not merely expressive of the way things are, but is the very generation of being. And power, in effect, is the potential of the life process to generate beings of manifold forms. Thus conceived, it is a property not of individuals in isolation but of the total field of relations in which they are situated. Only within such a field can a person strive for pimädäziwin [bimaadiziwin]. (Ingold 2000:97–8)

When Omishoosh says, “they beckoned life, ogii-naadidaanaawaa’ obimaadiziwiniwaa’,” he is saying that these old Anishinaabe were calling for the renewal of a relationship with the aadizookaanag who will help when help is needed as life unfolds. The willingness of a particular aadizookaanag to protect humanity is sometimes explained in legend. In the case of Thunderbirds, it’s a gripping love story, one that Omishoosh must have known well,8 a creation myth, a confirmation of the personhood of Thunderbirds, a romance, and, amazingly, a tale of mountain-climbing bravery told by people who live in one of the flattest places on earth. The metamorphosis of Thunderbird girl into a beautiful woman starts the story. A young man falls in love with her. When his jealous older brother kills her, she flies home to the family nest. The younger brother follows her and, after climbing an appalling mountain full of treacherous beasts and perils of all kinds, he finds her and meets her family. They appear to him as humans who live and hunt like humans. In this case their metamorphosis is situational. Like the memegwesiwag, when they are at home, these entities look like humans and live like humans – except that

115

Naamiwan’s Drum

they eat disgusting reptiles. Their outward form in the everyday world of mortal experience is a matter of choice, but at home they revert to their essential personhood. The Thunderbird girl’s father eventually allows her to marry the young man and gives her sisters to the young man’s eight brothers; thus humans and Thunderbirds are legendary relatives. Here is Strathern’s dividual, a giant bird in one relationship, a woman in the next, morphing dramatically from one socially constructed image to another as if to highlight shifting relational contexts. This lack of concern about the stability of physical attributes intrigued Hallowell. “The conceptualization in myth and belief of Thunderbirds as animate beings who, while maintaining their identity, may change their outward appearance and exhibit either an avian or a human form exemplifies an attribute of ‘persons’ which although unarticulated abstractly, is basic to the cognitive orientation of the Ojibwa” (Hallowell 2010:549). He continued: The senselessness and ambiguities which may puzzle the outsider when reading these myths are resolved when it is understood that, to the Ojibwa, “persons” of this class are capable of metamorphosis by nature. Outward appearance is only an incidental attribute. And the names by which some of these entities are commonly known, even if they identify the character as an “animal,” do not imply unchangeableness in form … The world of myth is not categorically distinct from the world as experienced by human beings in everyday life. In the latter, as well as the former, no sharp lines can be drawn dividing living beings of the animate class because metamorphosis is possible. In outward manifestation neither animal nor human characteristics define categorical differences in the core of being. And, even aside from metamorphosis, we find that in everyday life, interactions with non-human entities of the animate class are only intelligible on the assumption that they possess some of the attributes of “persons.” (Hallowell 2010:549–50)

The everyday nature of metamorphosis became evident one afternoon when Margaret Simmons and I were visiting widower Jacob Owen in Pauingassi. As we sat in his kitchen drinking strong, sweet tea, a small bird perched on his windowsill, looking in. “Oh, that’s my wife,” he told us. “She visits me every day” (JO 1994). Hallowell gives a similar example. A small bird lit on the mast of a boat, and the operator of the boat explained that it was his deceased granddaughter visiting him (Hallowell 1988 (1955):159). The soul of a person continues to exist after the death of their body; and while it normally takes up peaceful residence in the land of the dead, it can remain mobile, visiting the land of the living and even acting in the land of the living in whatever form it chooses. It is this possibility that Roger’s mother is referring to at the end of chapter 4 when she speaks of Omishoosh being freed of his body by his death and thus able to move about and act in the world. “Metamorphosis to the Ojibwa mind is an earmark of power,” wrote Hallowell. Within the category of persons there is a gradation of power. Other-than-human persons occupy the top rank in the power hierarchy of animate being. Human beings do not differ from them in kind, but in power. Hence, it is taken for granted that all the atiso’kanak [aadizookaanag] can assume a variety of forms. In the case of human

116

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

beings, while the potentiality for metamorphosis exists and may even be experienced, any outward manifestation is inextricably associated with unusual power, for good or evil. And power of this degree can only be acquired by human beings through the help of other-than-human persons. Sorcerers can transform themselves only because they have acquired a high order of power from this source. (Hallowell 2010:553)

Some medicine men are extremely adept at metamorphosis and, like Roger Roulette’s father, have a reputation for appearing where, when, and how they choose – even long after they have passed away.9 Naamiwan, likewise, was reputed to be a master of metamorphosis, using this technique to travel back and forth from the land of the dead. On one occasion he used the persona of a wolverine, gwiingwa’age, to bring Omishoosh back from certain death. Omishoosh told the broad outline of this story when he spoke at the university in 1995 (chapter 2), but in the “Recipe tape” he explained the crucial role of one of the artefacts, a tambourine, in accomplishing metamorphosis. As you may remember, Omishoosh had a terribly swollen cheek, and he felt that he had slipped into a dream. In this dream he was walking along a beautiful path lined with flowers, which he later realized was the road to the land of the dead (cf. Hallowell 1988 (1955):153): “As it happened, my grandfather had a little drum [tambourine drum, University of Winnipeg collection E5 812]. It was small. It had a tail and was shaped like this [indicates round tambourine about 15 cm]. He/she [the small drum] was red. He was evidently using that one when he rattled. He banged it on his chest, it was said. You see, it was that type of drum.

Mii-sago ‘iwe, mii-sh a’awedi nimishoomis ogii-ayaawaan dewe’iganensan gii-agaashiinzhiwan. O’owe gii-izhi-ozowiwan. O’o gii-inaagiziwan. Gii-miskozi a’awe. Miiwan nangwana ini gaa-gii-aabaji’aad e-giizhinawishimaad. Okaakiganing ogiiizhi-bapakiteshimaan. Mii ‘iwe gaainaawaad. Mii wa’a dinoowikaan na.

“This is the type that he used to invoke [this persona] which they called being a gwiingwa’age [a wolverine]. He [Naamiwan] was a wolverine. It was he, it turned out, whom I heard when I travelled yonder. He was evidently the one I heard when I went back. This is what I thought.

Miiwan osha ono dino ogii-aabaji’aan e-gii-, gii-izhinikaade ‘iwe gwiingwa’agewiwin. Gii-gwiingwa’age. Mii nangwana gaagii-noondawag e-biidwewidang wedi gaa-gii-izhaayaan. Mii nangwana ‘awe gaa-gii-noondawag aaniga-azhegiiwenodawag. Gaa-gii-inendamaan.

“It turned out that it was my grandfather using this persona who was following me. This was the means by which he could get my life to come back. But, you see, I woke up. This is how the old man was when he healed others. This was truly effective.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:10)

Mii nangwana a’a nimishoomis gaagii-aabaji’aad e-gii-biminizha’od. Mii-sh ‘imaa gaa-onji-gashkitood i’i mbimaadiziwin ji-azhegiiwemaganinig. Na, ishke dash. Mii gaa-izhi-goshkoziyaan. Miiwa’ gaaizhi-ayaad wa’a akiwenzi na. E-gii-, gaa-gii-anda-bimaaji’iwed. Wiinge debwemaganini ‘oweni.

117

Naamiwan’s Drum

In this wolverine form, using the strength and intelligence a wolverine is reputed to have, Naamiwan was able to follow Omishoosh, call him back, and return safely himself. On one occasion when we were showing slides at a community meeting in Pikanjikum, two old men sitting near Roger began to discuss Naamiwan’s reputation. One leaned over and said to the other, “He used to say that he could go to the land of the dead and bring back a flower from the path.” After a pause, the other said in reply, “I wonder if he ever did?” and they both laughed nervously.10 “That is how I interpreted what I saw the old men do. That’s power!” Omishoosh said (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:3), making the same connection between power and metamorphosis that Hallowell observed.

Mii gosha gaa-izhi-waabandamawag gaa-gii-doodamawaaj akiwenziwag. Mii ‘iwe gashki’ewiziwin!

Omishoosh uses many different words for power, and they reveal Ojibwe thinking about the source and distributed nature of power. The usual word for power as an attribute of a person or as the functional explanation of an event is the word Omishoosh uses here, gashki’ewiziwin. Mamaandaawizi declares that a person has supernatural powers. Omishoosh uses a form of this word, nanaandawi’iwej, to provide supernatural assistance, for his Uncle Angus’s healing practice. “The one called Angus. I saw all the medicines he made for his healing practice. The old man truly had supernatural power. Many who were sick, he treated them/they lived.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:4–5)

Angish gaa-gii-inind. Ningii-waabamaa minik gegoon gaa-gii-izhi-mashkikiiked, gaa-gii-izhi-nanaandawi’iwej. Awiinge bigo gashki’ewiziwin e-giiayaad a’ akiwenzi. Niibiwa awiya [o] gii-onji-bimaaji’aan gaa-gii-aakozij.

Omishoosh repeats the word for power here, gashki’ewiziwin, and uses an interesting verb for medical treatment, bimaaji’aan, from the verb -bimaaji’iwed, literally “to provide life to someone.” Life is a gift of Thunderbirds, and the traces of its distribution are evident in the words for healing which refer to the gift of life, including “to be saved from death, ogii-onji-bimaaji’aan” and the all-encompassing idea that they maintain your life, awe ge-ganawendang gibimaadiziwin. Healing involving supernatural power is distinguished from everyday medical interventions, salves for burns, infusions for fever, etc., and the “life” offered by a medicine man with divine connections, an extra portion beyond what would normally be available to you, originates with Thunderbirds (Matthews 1995a:6). Omishoosh repeatedly emphasized that the powers given to Naamiwan and Angus were used to give life. “They healed/gave life to someone. They were bestowed power. It’s true what they’ve done.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:5)

118

Ogii-bimaaji’aawaan awiyan. Giimiinigoowiziwag gashki’ewiziwin, Debwe owe gaa-gii-doodamowaad.

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

The phrase used here, “miinigoowiziwag, to be bestowed,” contains a word fragment, -goowizi, which, like -manidoo, implies that the action is happening in the context of divine intervention. -Goowizi appears frequently and is sometimes used to convey the idea that the distributed power of spirit-beings enables objects to act in the world. Omishoosh used this form to speak about being blessed by Naamiwan’s water drum, ji-wiiji‘igoowiziwaad. Omishoosh used another word with -goowizi when he recalled the phrase his Uncle Angus used to say in thanks for the medicines he collected in the bush. “They used to say this, ‘whatever type of help for life is provided, this is what I hope,’ they’d say. They would speak of the divine gift they’d be given.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:13)

Gii-ikidowag wiin o’ow, wegonen isa gaa-dinoowang o’owe jiondinamaan bimaadiziwin mii-sa ‘iwe begosenimoyaan, gii-ikidowag. Mii akawe gii-inootamowaad gegoon ji-miinigoowiziwaad ina.

The formal Ojibwe honorific for the spirit-beings who provide these divine gifts is “the great many different names, endasweyaanagak wiinzowin.” It is a euphemism which implies humility in that one wouldn’t know them all and also smoothly avoids naming them. Omishoosh ended one long evening of stories with a prayer that included this phrase, deftly including all kinds of divinity in his thanks: “The many things happening to us here may be attributed to the great many different names.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:51)

O’omaa gaa-bi-aangaaniseyaang mii ge-izhinaagwak i’i endasweyaanagak wiinzowin.

I find it interesting that throughout these tapes Omishoosh refers to the source of this power and these healing gifts primarily as aadizookaanag, legendary figures. Omishoosh neither refers to them as bawaaganag, the word for dream-spirits which Hallowell mentions frequently (although Omishoosh definitely knew the term, Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:13), nor uses “grandfathers,” mishoomisag. This discrepancy may be explained at least in part by the fact that William Berens translated aadizookaanag, legendary figures, as “our grandfathers” (Hallowell 2010:542). It is possible that Omishoosh’s reticence is another example of “respectful talk” (Black-Rogers 1986b:13), or it may be accounted for by the fact that Omishoosh is speaking retrospectively about these person/objects and spirit-entities. If he were in a ceremonial context, speaking formally to them, he might have used a familial term. In any case, Hallowell made much of stones and Thunderbirds as “grandfathers,” but the only occasion on which I recorded a reference to Thunderbirds as grandfathers was when Margaret Simmons recalled something her grandmother, Mrs Nancy Berens, used to say in a storm. “She would raise her hands, like this,” said Margaret. “I give you this tobacco to smoke – my mishoomisag, (grandfathers). And as soon as she offered her plug of tobacco, her share, to Gimishoomisaanag Binesiwag (our grandfather Thunderbirds), [they’d] be gone” (Matthews 1995a:16).

119

Naamiwan’s Drum

These words would have been familiar to Hallowell, who stayed with Nancy and William Berens while doing his fieldwork. Hallowell recorded a story about Naamiwan using tobacco to communicate with Thunderbirds in much the same way. Hallowell used the anecdote to illustrate the idea that Ojibwe personhood not only “transcends the notion of a person in a naturalistic sense; it likewise transcends a human appearance as a constant attribute of this category of being.” An informant told me that many years before he was sitting in a tent one summer afternoon during a storm, together with an old man and his wife. There was one clap of thunder after another. Suddenly the old man turned to his wife and asked, “Did you hear what was said?” “No,” she replied, “I didn’t catch it.” My informant, an acculturated Indian, told me he did not at first know what the old man and his wife referred to. It was, of course, the thunder. The old man thought that one of the Thunderbirds had said something to him. He was reacting to this sound in the same way as he would respond to a human being, whose words he did not understand. The casualness of the remark and even the trivial character of the anecdote demonstrate the psychological depth of the “social relations” with other-than-human beings that becomes explicit in the behaviour of the Ojibwa as a consequence of the cognitive “set” induced by their culture. (Hallowell 2010:549)

In Hallowell’s field notes on Thunderbirds, the story of the conversation continues. Hallowell identifies the couple as Naamiwan and his wife, Koowin, and quotes Koowin as saying that she had not heard “very plainly,” and his reply, “He’s asking me whether I have a pipe and why don’t I light it?” She then answered, “Well then, why don’t you get your pipe out?” and he snapped back, “You get my pipe out and hurry up about it.” “So,” the notes go on, “the old woman hunted around and finally located Fair-wind’s pipe and tobacco bag and also got some sägαtagαn [zagataagan – Polyporus betulinus].”11 She passed this to a skabewis [oshkaabewis] who happened to be present at the time. He filled the pipe, put some sägαtagα n on top of the tobacco, struck a spark with the flint and steel and lighted the tinder, after which he passed it to the old man. Namαwin took a few puffs, then bowing his head he said, mïapαne [mii apane], (here it goes) and turned the stem of the pipe clockwise thru the air. Everyone present was extremely quiet, even solemn. My informant did not remember the exact words spoken as this episode happened a number of years ago but they had reference to the fact that he had not spontaneously made a smoke offering to pinesi [binesi]. He asked to be pardoned and for merciful treatment. (Hallowell 1936:8)

Naamiwan reacted swiftly when he feared he had offended a Thunderbird. Jacob Owen told Margaret that it was an old Anishinaabe tradition to give smoke to Thunderbirds. “There aren’t very many who do that,” Jacob told us.

120

Gaawn baatiinosii awiya iwe gaa-izhichigej.

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

The only ones who would “do that” have special knowledge. “Someone who knows about them [Thunderbirds], they may know a little something about them. He/she would never forget when they hear them coming. They’re ready to give (tobacco) to the one coming.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:1).

Awiya gaa-gii-gikenimaad iniweniwan, maagizhaa bangii ogii-gikenimaan. Gaawin wiikaa da-waniikesii noondawaad bi-ayaanid. Aazha oga-gwayaandonaan awe ji-miinaad iniwen gaa-bi-ayaanid.

As I understand it, when smoke disappears in the air, it is understood to be crossing that intangible border between this world and the spirit world; it carries a message to the spirits. In a sense you are notifying the spirits that you want them to witness something or be a party to something, a legend, a song, a dance, a treaty. Roger told me that it was simple: “They like smoke, and it’s also the closest way to contact them, [from] their world to ours. Smoke is apparently enjoyed by the spirit-beings” (Matthews 1995a:14). Hallowell described the process: “A pipe is lighted, slowly turned in the 4 directions and then smoked. This is accompanied by an inward petition of mercy and sometimes simply the words ‘peka, peka, peka, [bekaa] wait, wait, wait’ or ‘go easily’ or ‘peka, peka kinsegi’mauwαk apinungïαk [bekaa gizegi’aawaag abinoojiiyag] – wait, wait you frighten them (the) children’” (Hallowell 1936:7). Smoking before a storm and leaving gifts of tobacco are signs that someone knows Thunderbirds. It was Omishoosh who identified Jacob as someone who knew Thunderbirds. Margaret and I were at Omishoosh’s house looking at the photograph of the Pauingassi oshkaabewisag (figure 2.7). It shows Jacob Owen (back row, far right) wearing a feather. Omishoosh pointed to Jacob and explained the significance of the feather, miigwan: “If one was to become a sanctioned warrior, he/she must don a feather. This is the type of thing that one must have to hold a dance, the Boodaade. This is the exact type of thing. This is what it would be for. This is how I understood it.”

“Where did they obtain that?” Margaret asked.

Giishin awiya wii-ayaan ogichidaawiwin, bigo miigwanan ji-badakijiged. Mii ‘iwe ayaa o’o dinoowikaan daabishkoo owe dinoowikaan ji-niimi’iwed awiya, ji-boodaadang. Mii owe dinoowikaan, mii endinoowang o’o dinoowikaan. Mii niin gaa-izhi-nisidotamaan o’owe. Aandi gaa-ondinamowaad?

“In their dreams,” he replied. “The ancient Anishinaabeg sought their dreams. That’s where they got their knowledge.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:8)

Obawaamowiniwaang. Gii-andabawaamowag gete-anishinaabeg. Mii dash imaa gaa-onji-gikendamowaad gegoo.

“This was the type of spirit [thunder] that spoke to him to perform the Boodaade. The feather is evidence of the Thunderbird, you see. This is exactly what sanctioned warriors do … that don a feather. It’s for the Thunderbird,” Omishoosh said.

Miiwan dash onoweniwan dinoowikaanan gaa-gii-ganoonigod ji-boodaadang. Binesi aaniish miigwan badakijige awiya, na. Mii iwe weweni ogichidaawiwin gaa-doodamowaad … gaa-badakijigewaad … binesiwa’ onji.

121

5.2  Es, Jacob Owen, Pauingassi, 1996.

5.3  Close-up showing Es, Jacob Owen, as a young man, Pauingassi, 1933. Jacob is wearing a feather, which indicates that he has Thunderbird help in life. See the caption to figure 2.7 for the names of the others. Photograph A201, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Omishoosh had little more to say about the search for dreams except to emphasize that it was an essential step in developing the necessary relationships for the ceremonial activities of the old Anishinaabeg. Omishoosh’s reluctance to talk about dreams would not have surprised Hallowell (cf. Black-Rogers 1986b, Brown 2006). “There is a general taboo imposed upon the human being which forbids him to recount his dream experiences in full detail, except under certain circumstances. Specific taboos may likewise be imposed upon the supplicant. If these taboos are violated he will lose his power; he can no longer count on the help of his ‘grandfathers’” (Hallowell 2010:560). This was confirmed by one of Margaret’s uncles, Gordon Berens. As a young man he had accompanied his father and Hallowell on their research trips up the Berens River, and later in life, he became a respected United Church minister. We visited him in a retirement home in Fisher River, Manitoba, and I asked him if he was surprised by the story of Naamiwan speaking to Thunderbirds. He was not: “Could you understand what they said?” I asked him. “Well of course I do.” “So tell me.” “I couldn’t tell you. That’s a secret. That’s a secret. That’s a secret. Yeah, that’s one secret I got to hold on to, not to give away myself. That’s my life and death between that secret. Now you understand. “Between my life and death! “If I let the secret [out], in less than five minutes, I’ll be dead. Yeah, now that’s a secret! If I don’t hold that secret to myself it’s between life and death for me. If I let that secret, just like that, I’m gone! It must be interesting to tell people what you know and what you are. But that’s one thing I can’t, that’s a secret. I can’t let that secret. If I let that secret, in that final moment when I start to tell the secret, I’ll be dead. Maybe one or two words and I’m gone.” “I don’t think very many people realize that any more,” I said to him. “No, no. They don’t realize it. A lot of people don’t believe me … But I understand them. I can talk to them in my own language and they understand me. If I say to a big thunderstorm, ‘That’s enough! You scare the kids. You scare the children. That’s enough!’ Thunder just talk like that [softly], yeah.” (GB 1992:13–14)

So imagine Margaret’s surprise when Jacob Owen began to tell her just such a story, the dream in which he met a Thunderbird named Waagishagonesi. I have a three-hour tape of this conversation. The first hour is a very Mennonite-inflected prayer for our souls and our safe travel. Then Jacob asked what else we would like to know. Margaret said, “Did you ever see Thunderbirds?”

Wiikaa na gigii-waabamaag Binesiwag?

Jacob began his answer by saying, “To see them with my own eyes as an Anishinaabe, no.”

O’owe wiin igo ji-waabamag owe gaaanishinaabewiyaan nishkiinzhigong, gaawiin.

124

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

But that was just the beginning of another two hours of tape. After saying he had not seen a Thunderbird with “his own eyes,” Jacob spoke of another kind of “knowing,” a dream experience: “I know of this one [a particular Thunderbird]”, he began. “He also spoke to me. I also sometimes use this [relationship] during the day. Every time I speak to him/her, I wish for something to happen. You may see what I mean.” He then began the story of how he was introduced to a Thunderbird:

Ingii-gikenimaa dash wiin wa’awe. Ingii-ganoonig gaye. Indaabajitoon gaye o’owe ingodin e-giizhigak. Dasing ganoonag, ganoonag-, Ambegish goda izhisegiban i’i, gidaa-waabandaan i’iwe gaa-ininaan.

“[I met him] here, on this side of Little Grand Rapids, where the big rapids are but on this side of it where there are small rapids. There he [memegwesi] sat. No one else seems to know of him. Every time I went to where he was, I saw him/her sitting there.

O’omaa Mishi-baawitigong ondaas, gichi-baawitig gaa-ayaag, ondaas dash imaa baawitigoonsiwan. Mii ‘imaa namadabi a’awedi. Gaawn awiya ogikenimaasiin. Mii wiin igo dasing e-gii-izhaayaan e-aniayaad gaa-waabamag e-namadabid imaa.

“[When I saw him] I was standing at the smooth rock in the middle of the rock island. It’s an island in the rapids.

Ingii-niibaw imaa zhooshkwaabikaang. Minisaabikong imaa naawaya’ii. Minis iwe. E-gichi-baawitigowan. Inganoonig, izhaan iwedi indig.

He spoke to me. ‘Go over there [to the island],’ he said. “‘How will I be able to get there?’” Jacob wondered. “‘Walk into the big rapids,’ he apparently said.

Aaniin-sh ji-izhi-gashkitooyaan ji-izhaayaan ji-bimoseyaan wedi gichi-baawitigowang.

“‘Okay, when I was looking at it, time passed. I didn’t see what I expected to see. Suddenly there was very bare rock [the water had stopped].

Haanm, e-gii-ganawaabandamaan, weniban ji-waabandamaan. Mii ezhi-misaabikaag awiinge. Haawnm, maajaan indig. Maajaan, izhaan wedi gaa-ininaan ji-izhaayan ndig. Mii gaa-ani-izhi-maajaayaan. Gaa-ani-izhi-aazhawishkaayaan i’iwe. Akawe e-ani-oditamaan gegaa i’iwe gaa-gii-minisiwang, gaa-noondamaan aaniin baakach e-gichi-baawitigong.

‘Okay, leave from there,’ he said to me. ‘Leave from there! Go to where I told you to go [to the island].’ So I began to make my way over there. I crossed over there. At first, when I was nearing it, I was almost at an island, then I heard [something], it was incredible, at the big rapids. “But, just before I got there [to my destination] it [the rapids] began to fill up with water. ‘What am I to do?’ I thought when I heard this [Jacob was safely on the island].

125

Mii jibwaa ani-oditamaan imaa mii aazha ani-mooshkinebiig. Aaniin-sh ge-izhichigeyaan e-gii-noondamaan.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Then he spoke to me. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to me. ‘Do you have a pipe?”’ he said. I didn’t have anything like that on me at that time. I often put it inside here [gestures to his pocket].

Amii gaa-gii-ganoonzhid. Gego godino inendangen indig. Gidayaawaa na opwaagan indig. Gaawn aaniish i’i apii ngii-ayaawaasii a’a dino. Moozhag o’omaa ingii-biinawaa.

‘Yes you do have one,’ he said.

Gidayaawaa osha indig.

‘But, I don’t have one,’” Jacob replied.

Gaawn osha niin ndayaawaa[sii].

“However, I did have one! ‘Who [pipe, opwaagan, is animate] was inside?’” Jacob said to himself as he discovered to his amazement that his pipe was in his pocket. “I did have him!”

Ingii-ayaawaa-sh aaniish! Awenen o’omaa gii-biinzo? Mii gaa-izhi-ayaawag!

“‘Fill him [animate],’ he said.

Mooshkine a’awedi ndig.

‘I don’t have any tobacco,’ I replied.

Gaawn awiya asemaa ndayaawaasii.

‘Yes, you do have tobacco [animate].’

Gidayaawaa osha asemaa.

‘Where could it come from that I might have some?’ I said.” Jacob was certain he had none when he set out for the day. “So I put my hand inside my pocket here. I felt something. I didn’t know what it was. ‘It couldn’t be tobacco,’ I thought. However, I prepared it anyways. So, I filled him [animate – the pipe]. And he was lit (magically).

Aandi-sh ge-ondinag ji-ayaawag?

“‘He is coming here already,’ the other one [memegwesi] said. However, that’s when I misspoke. I misspoke. I misspoke because I didn’t know [what I was supposed to say]. He then spoke to me. The place [the island] was getting surrounded with water. So I stood up.

Aazha omaa bi-ayaa awedi ikido. Mii-sh imaa gaa-wani-ikidoyaan. Ingii-wani-ikid. Ingii-wani-ikid gaawn aaniish ingii-onji-gikendanziin. Mii nganoonig, mii aazha gii-ani-mooshkinebiig iwe gaa-giiayaag. Gaa-gii-izhi-niibawiyaan.

“He [memegwesi] spoke to me. ‘Okay, offer it to him. Point it out,’ he said. ‘Do you not smoke?’ he said.”

Mii nganoonig, haawnm. Ina’amaw. Inoo’ iweni ikido. Gizagaswaa na-sh wiin indigo?

Jacob hesitated. “I called him ‘Thunderbird.’ ‘All right, Thunderbird, I offer you a smoke.’

Iya’ii, binesii ndizhinikaanaa.

Ezhi-biinjinikeniyaan omaa, pocket. Gaa-mikonamaan awegodogwen. Ezhi-, gaawiin wiin asemaa. Mii dash wiin gaa-izhi-ozhi’ag. Mii gaa-izhi-mooshkine’ag wa’a. Amii izhi-zakawind.

“Haawnm, binesii gizagasweyan.” “Thus, he [Thunderbird] spoke to me. ‘Why are you calling me that?’ he said, ‘I don’t like it when someone calls me that,’ he said. ‘Do you not know what I am called?’ he said to me.

126

Haawn, mii gaa-izhi-ganoonzhij, aaniin-sh wenji-izhinikaazhiyan indig. Gaawn minwendanziin iwe ji-izhinikaazhij awiya ikido. Gaawn ina gigikenimisii ezhinikaazoyaan indig.

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

“‘No, I don’t,’ I told him.

Gaawiin ndinaa’.

“‘Waagishagonesi is my name,’ he said.”

Waagishagonesi osha ndizhinikaanigoo’ ikido.

“Waagishagonesi. The Thunderbird’s name is Waagishagonesi. That’s why I’m saying that to him. He [the bird who appeared to be standing on the water] continued to bob on the water. That’s how he became as the tobacco burnt out.

Waagishagonesi. Waagishagonesi izhinikaazo a’awedi binesi. Mii wenji-inag, haawn. Mii osha miina apane jaachaangobiinibi. Gaa-aniapiichi-ayaaj wa’a, gaa-ani-apiichijaagaakizod wa’a.

“Again, gone was the water [from the rapids]. ‘Okay, go home to where you came from.’ Those were his parting words. That’s what I have seen. That’s why I’m saying this.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:5–8)

Mii apan miina gaawn gegoo giinibi. Haawnm, mii ani-izhi-giiwen gaa-gii-bi-izhaayan. Gaa-bi-izhi-waabandamaan o’o. Mii dash owe gaa-onji-ikidoyaan.

This amazing revelation was followed by a story so quotidian that it convinced Margaret that Jacob could call Waagishagonesi to his aid whenever he wanted. He told us about a request for help he received from his granddaughter that morning. She wanted to do her laundry and her water barrel was empty. She needed it to rain: “She had a big metal container. It was a big one that she put water in. It was sitting outside. It was empty. She also didn’t ask anyone to fill it up for her. After the passing of the Thunderbirds today, they [Thunderbirds] didn’t speak to her.

Michaa gichi-biiwaabik gaa-giiayaad, nibi gaa-izhi-achigaadeg. Mii imaa agwajiing gii-ate. Gii-bizhishigwaa. Gaawn gaye awiyan oga-anoonaasiin ji-naanaabiibaagod awedi. Mii noongom ishkwaa bimisewaad igiweniwag, gaawn dash aaniish ogii-onji-ganoonigosiin.

“When I was going over to visit her she spoke to me. ‘Hey, grandfather, I regret something very much. That which I didn’t know about [Thunderbirds] is why I called you here. They [Thunderbirds] should have filled that vessel when they passed by where it sat.’

Mii-sa awi-biindigeyaambaan gaa-gii-ganoozhid, mii a’awe noozis. Eh, nimishoom, etiye niminjinawez gegoon ikido. Egaa gaa-gii-gikendanziwaan ji-ganooninaan o’omaa, ji-gii-mooshkinebadoowaapan i’i gaa-ateg noongom gaa-gii-bimisewaad igi gaa-ateg ogoweniwag.

“‘No, wait,’ I told her. ‘Wait for it.’ I told her to wait for it. ‘Just let it sit. Don’t bother with it.’ It wasn’t long before I heard someone [a Thunderbird] coming.

Gaawiin. Bekaa ndinaa’. Biitoon ’owe. Biitoon o’owe ndinaa’. Mii-go ge-inateg i’iwe gego gegoo babaamendangen. Gaawn ginwezh aazha gaa-noondawag wedi gaa-bi-noondaagozij.

127

Naamiwan’s Drum

“So, I just asked someone a favour because I quit smoking. I just asked someone who was there to go fetch someone to help me. Someone to help me. And so, they came and gave him [animate – tobacco] to me. There I spoke to that one [Thunderbird]. ‘Okay, they’re going to fill up the metal vessel,’ he said.

Mii gaa-izhi-, ingii-michi-anookii, aaniish ngii-boonitoon niin ji-zagaswaawaan. Ingii-michi-gagwedwe iya’aa ji-giiwed gaye a’awe bezhig. Awiya ji-wiiji’ij. Mii ingii-bi-miinigoog. Mii ‘imaa gaa-izhi-ganoonag mii ‘awe. Haawnm, ji-mooshkinebadoowaad i’i biiwaabik ikido.

“It didn’t take very long. They were most certainly coming over here. It was just pouring rain. It wasn’t a long time. When I went outside, the metal vessel was filled to overflowing. I entered my grandchild’s place. ‘Okay,’ I spoke to her. ‘Did you see your metal vessel?’ ‘No.’ ‘Go and check it.’ She was quite amazed. ‘This is what you wanted.’ I knew of him [the Thunderbird, Waagishagonesi] over there.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:8–10)

Gaawn ginwezh aapiji ajina eta. Mayaa o’omaa gii-bi-ayaawag. Bizaanigo michi-ziiginigaadeg i’i. Gaawn ginwezh. Mii giizaaga’amaan awiinge onzaamibiibiiwaabik. Mii gaa-izhi-biindigeyaan noozis. Haawm, nganoonaa gidoonji-waabandaan ina gibiiwaabikom. Gaawiin. Nashke awiwaabandan. Aapiji gii-maamakaadendam. Mii ‘owe gaa-gii-andawendaman. Ingii-gikenimaa osha awedi.

In this story a Thunderbird is a named, biddable, kind-hearted, personable soul waiting to be summoned with a smoke, but he would have been a key participant in ceremonial activities in Pauingassi as well. This was more than a relationship with Thunderbirds as a class of beings; this was a personal relationship with a particular Thunderbird, Waagishagoneshi, who seems to have a special affinity for the people of Pauingassi. Other community members, including Omishoosh’s eldest son, Kenneth Owen, and his cousin David Owen, named Waagishagoneshi, and it seems reasonable to assume that he was the same Thunderbird with whom Naamiwan conversed. It was a vital relationship for the artefacts: “This is why they had drums,” Omishoosh told us. “The Thunderbird was the reason why they had the drum … That is the Anishinaabe cultural way when it was bestowed. This is certainly the reason why they did that. The old men were empowered,” Omishoosh explained. (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:12)

Mii gondash gaa-onji-dewe’iganiwaad. Binesiwan aaniish gaa-gii-onji-dewe’iganiwaad … Anishinaabewi-izhichigewin i’iwe gaa-gii-bagidinigaadeg anishinaabewi-izhichigewin. Mii ‘iwe gondasha gaa-onji-doodamowaad i’i. Gaa-gii-gashki’ewiziwaad akiwenziwag.

While speaking to Roger, Omishoosh named the ceremony in which the combined powers of Thunderbirds, medicine men, and ceremonial tools came together for maximum effect, employing a venerable euphemism for the Midewiwin, Giikaaniwaan. 128

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

“This was the nature of their ‘ritualistic’ activity,” he says. “They called it ‘Giikaaniwaan,’ our ritual. This is what they referred to it as spiritual/sacred activity,” he adds. (CGO 1999 Oct 18:4)

Mii gaa-izhi-ayaanig gosha “owe owiikaaniwi-izhichigewiniwaa’ mii gaa-izhinikaadamowaad. “Giikaaniwaan” ogii-ididaanaawaa’ odizhichigewiniwaa’. Mii o’owe omanidookewiniwaa’ gaa-gii-idamowaad.

Wiikaan, ritual brotherhood, is a very old way of referring to the leaders of the Midewiwin, first recorded by William Warren (2009 (1885):43), who wrote about “We-kauns,” or initiating priests in the “Me-da-we society.” The “Recipe tape” includes a description of a Midewiwin initiation ceremony, giikaaniwaan (same root word as wiikaan), naming the plants used, specifying the order of the ceremony, the songs sung, and the identities and roles of the animal medicine bags with which the patients were ritually shot. But the thing which is of interest from a relational point of view is the way that spirit-helpers, medicine men, and their implements, drums, stones, and the like, are said to collaborate as “owiikaaniwaad, ritual relatives.” “He was Midé, the one who was my grandfather,” said Omishoosh. “He was responsible for the Waabano lodge and he erected poles, stones, all those things that were ritually related. These [animate] were ritual relatives. One stone was very thin, that was the snapping turtle. That’s how they acquired life, you see.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:4)

Gii-midewi, gaa-gii-omishoomisiyaan. Gii-izhichige ‘iwe waabanoowigamig e-gii-, gaa-gii-badakinaad mitigoo’, asinii’, gakina miiwa’ ono gaa-gii-owiikaaniwaad. Wiikaaniwag miiwan ono. Bezhig asin, gii-bibigwaa a’ asin awiinge, mii ‘awe mikinaak. Mii ‘imaa gaagii-­onji-gashkitoowaad bimaadiziwin, na.

First the patients were taken to a lodge Omishoosh calls aniibiishigiwaam, “a lodge with boughs,” the predecessor of the Waabano pavilion in the photographs: “We were invited where they were singing. We were standing where the water drum sat while they were singing and we were dancing in one spot. We were dancing for them [the old men]. After one of them had finished singing as is normally done, they’d move him [animate – the water drum] to another old man. We’d move again and dance. Eventually, we would go round to all these ones in the picture [figure 2.8] that were singing. That was what happened in the Midewiwin.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:4)

129

Mii ‘imaa gaa-gii-andomigooyaang ‘iwe gaa-gii-nigamowaad, mitigwakikwan gaa-abinid, mii ‘imaa gaa-niibawiyaang e-gii-nigamowaad, e-gii-niimiyaang bezhigwanong. Niniimitamawaanaanig. Miinawaa gaa-ishkwaa-nigamojin bezhig, miina gaa-ani-izhi-aandakinaawaad wedi miina bezhig ini akiwenziwan. Mii wedi miina gaa-izhaayaang e-gii-niimiyaang. Biinish dedibaa’ayi’ii ogoweniwag gaa-mazinaateshinowaad ogo gaa-gii-nigamowaad. Mii gaaizhiseg ‘iwe Midewiwin.

Naamiwan’s Drum

Omishoosh attributed his long life and personal happiness to this ceremony. He was made well by the synergy of Naamiwan’s mitigwakik, his water drum and his other wiikaana, his ritual relatives in his “owiikaaniwi-izhichigewiniwaa’, his ceremonial practices.” In the transcripts, this idea of “ritual brotherhood” is emphasized in situations where, again, based on Hallowell’s work, I would have expected to hear about grandfathers. Instead, Omishoosh speaks of the importance of “these ritual relatives on whom he depends, wiikaana’ e-gii-dazhimaad epenimod ina,” and he means the aadizookaanag, the other ceremonial participants and the tools. He uses a form of wiikaaniwan to indicate that poles and stones are “ritually related, gaa-gii-owiikaaniwaad.” When Naamiwan and his rattle – “his ritual companion, owiijiiwaaganiwanan” – act together, as we have seen in this chapter, they achieve metamorphosis. When Boushey Pascal spoke of Omishoosh, using the term niikaan, “my ritual brother,” he was talking about a relationship formed by ceremonial participation; a relationship which made the passing of Omishoosh particularly hard for Boushey to bear (chapter 4). They were brothers in ceremony, brothers in healing, conceptually an equal partnership, an altogether less hierarchical idea than the grandchild/grandparent relationship. This is the essential background to Omishoosh’s declaration that the repatriation was a theft. The artefacts had been his grandfather’s cherished possessions and ritual companions, closely held between ceremonies and prized because of their connection as wiikaan, ritual brothers, to him, to other artefacts, and to his aadizookaanag. While there is no sense that objects are considered to be human beings, they have a significant degree of personhood in a context where personhood is fluid and ambiguous. If they are seen as “loci of causality” (Hallowell 2010:557), it is because of their place in the cascade of distributed power/personhood which originates with spirit-entities. When they play an essential role in healing, as the tambourine and the water drum do here, their role as conduits is embedded in the language. The personal and individual connections with spirit-beings, exemplified by relationships with the Thunderbird Waagishagoneshi in Pauingassi ceremonial life, are close, fond, and collaborative. The ceremonial artefacts in the Pauingassi collection embody those relationships. Thus their new life at the museum pleased Omishoosh. He saw it as an appropriate home for retired ceremonial allies and liked the idea that they would have a second career as teachers, educating Pauingassi youth about the deeds of the Ogichidaag and Ogichidaakweg. Unfortunately, Omishoosh’s Ojibwe vision and diplomacy were thwarted, and his concerns about the artefacts would be ignored.

Museum Personhood The relational status of the Pauingassi Collection artefacts changed with the advent of their residency in the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum, and these relational transformations, when viewed from the theoretical perspective of personhood, can be seen to have made the mistaken repatriation possible if not quite inevitable. The artefacts’ primary relationship with the university was as wholly owned property; obligations deriving from ownership by a publicly funded educational

130

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

institution bound the museum to care for the artefacts according to best museum practices and to attend to their secure storage. As I argue in the first section of this chapter, following Strathern, ownership is a claim made by persons (or institutions) in respect of things, and to be subject to an ownership claim is the most thing-like mode for an object/person. The obligations of ownership are far from optional, and the relationship is inevitably dominant, but however overwhelming the obligations appear to be, other relationships may coexist. It is the nature of partible personhood that correspondents in a relationship will never know of or understand all the relationships (including other ownership claims) that constitute the relational world of a person/object. It is this multiplicity of coexisting, sometimes conflicting, frequently invisible relationships as they relate to the tenure of the artefacts at the University of Winnipeg that we are exploring here. When the Pauingassi Collection arrived at the museum in 1970, it was, in Jack Steinbring’s words, the product of a “salvage ethnography” trip.12 In characterizing the expedition this way, he underlines the idea that the artefacts were collected to save them, and that the people who made them were no longer using them, were unlikely to make more, and were incapable of protecting those objects they still had. The artefacts of “salvage ethnography” are profoundly vulnerable: a metonym for the people who share their plight. As such, these artefacts entered the museum and developed new relationships prefigured by the salvage ethnography paradigm. They did not cease to have personal and ceremonial connections in Pauingassi, but the paradigm shift initiated a new set of previously inconceivable relationships. As Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett has observed, objects “become ethnographic by virtue of being defined, segmented, detached, and carried away by ethnographers. Such objects are ethnographic not because they were found in a Hungarian peasant household [or] Kwakiutl village … but by virtue of the manner in which they have been detached, for disciplines make their objects and in the process make themselves” (1991:387). The objects in the Pauingassi Collection became ethnographic when Dr Steinbring brought them into the museum; thus, as part of the reciprocity alluded to by Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, they contributed to the discipline as material evidence and to Dr Steinbring’s identity as an ethnographer and expert on the Northern Ojibwa. At the time the repatriation to the Three Fires Society occurred, the Pauingassi Collection had resided in the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum for more than twenty-five years. In those years, as beneficiaries of the university’s duty of care, the objects were accessioned, cleaned and sorted, stored, and documented. Throughout their residence in the museum, the artefacts maintained relationships which derive from institutional ownership, including those with Dr Steinbring and his technical staff, other professors, and other artefacts. These relationships were shaped by university and museum protocols, historical scientific approaches, anthropological practices, and contemporary indigenous politics. James Clifford (1997) suggests that to accommodate a relational analysis, a museum might best be viewed as a “contact zone.” “It is inadequate to portray museums as collections of universal culture, repositories of uncontested value, sites of progress, discovery and the accumulation of human, scientific, or national patrimonies. A contact [zone] perspective views all culture-collecting [and

131

Naamiwan’s Drum

classificatory] strategies as responses to particular histories of dominance, hierarchy, resistance, and mobilization” (Clifford 1997:213). This concept facilitates the theoretical personhood of objects; it permits objects to join the relational action in the museum as “contact zone.” Clifford borrows the term “contact zone” from Mary Louise Pratt (1992). Pratt’s contact zone is “a space of colonial encounters, the space in which peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other, establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality, and intractable conflict” (Pratt 1992:6–7). Strathern argues that object/persons are most person-like (partible) when they are “engaged across a plethora of relationships in multiple contexts” and “most “thing-like [embodying a concept] when they are regarded as unitary, whole and abstracted from all social contexts but one” (Strathern 1999:16). This diagnostic range from personhood to “thing-ness” adds new dimensions to the “contact zone,” introducing objects as actors (and people as “things”) and allowing us to trace multiple relational trails of both objects and people. Arguing that museums enable just this sort of contact zone, Clifford quotes Pratt at length about the interpretive shift this entailed. A contact zone, she says: is an attempt to invoke the spatial and temporal copresence of subjects previously separated by geographic and historical disjunctures, and whose trajectories now intersect. By using the term “contact” I aim to foreground the interactive, improvisational dimensions of colonial encounters so easily ignored or suppressed by diffusionist accounts of conquest and domination. A “contact” perspective emphasizes how subjects are constituted in and by their relations to each other. [It stresses] copresence, interaction, interlocking understandings and practices, often within radically asymmetrical relations of power. (Pratt 1992:6–7 in Clifford 1997:192)

In Pratt’s contact zone the encounter is colonial in nature, a context which Samson (2001:227) has shown to be apt for Canadian native people, who, as members of source communities, are part of the colonial asymmetry of power which shapes the structure of the museum-as-collection. Clifford writes that “[a] center and a periphery are assumed: the center a point of gathering, the periphery an area of discovery. The museum, usually located in a metropolitan city, is the historical destination for the cultural productions it lovingly and authoritatively salvages, cares for, and interprets” (Clifford 1997:193). Relations between the Anthropology Museum and its hinterland, particularly those which undermined Pauingassi’s cultural authenticity, are profoundly colonial. Significantly, Samson argues that colonialism in the Canadian mid-north directly intrudes on cultural identity. His observations about the colonial role of the Canadian state in awarding property rights on the basis of cultural performance apply equally to the power of the museum to judge source communities against museological expectations about cultural performance. “This means that in order to receive rights [including the right to repatriate], colonized people are culturally transformed in the discourses and procedures of the state [and museums]. For such purposes, they are required to adopt a particular view of themselves and of the world that fits within the rights conferring machinery of the state [or museum]” (Samson 2001:228).

132

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

Having surrendered their objects – convinced that these precious things would be safe – Pauingassi elders were powerless to prevent their being given to others. In part this was because they were not performing their “culture” as museum staff expected. I believe that Omishoosh’s failure to act as an urban elder might have undermined his credibility with the museum staff, particularly the fact that he did not insist on a smudge, the washing of the collection with smoke from sweetgrass, which is de rigueur among urban native people but not a part of Pauingassi practice, and his failure to acknowledge the “sacredness” of the artefacts in some demonstrable ceremonial way. For these reasons, during the repatriation and after it had occurred, he and his cousins had no moral purchase whatsoever with those at the museum who operated the “rights conferring machinery” and might have taken their interests to heart. In this phase, both the Pauingassi elders, perceived as de-cultured Ojibwe, and the artefacts, perceived as “sacred,” were dealt with in their most thing-like modes, depersonalized, static images in an overpowering (colonial) relationship. Pratt envisaged a “contact zone” with multiple overlapping relational scenarios playing out in the same space, where “peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other” (Pratt 1992:6). The actors in this repatriation are certainly geographically and historically separated; many never met each other and some are long dead, although their ghosts may be socially active. Except through the nexus provided by the objects (Gosden and Knowles 2001), many of the principal players in the scenarios of the previous chapters had no “temporal copresence” at all. Perhaps it would be helpful to imagine Pratt’s “contact zone” having the same qualities as the Ojibwe “unified spatiotemporal frame of reference” (Hallowell 1976:468). Strathern’s multiple “possible destinies” (1999:14) would emerge in parallel interactive universes like Ojibwe dreams and realities, the events in one sphere impinging upon the other because of binding relational obligations and a shared geographical setting. This multi-universe stage would accommodate coexisting contradictory scenarios which posit radically different causal explanations and feature a relational unpredictability and categorical tentativeness that Hallowell and his Ojibwe informants, and Ingold and his new-animist colleagues, would recognize instantly. Taking ownership as a focus, a Pauingassi-centred scenario involving the intersection of the artefacts and the museum might look like this: the artefacts are person/objects which have had astonishing relations with people in Pauingassi now deceased, whose memory they embody. From an Ojibwe point of view, the deceased may still be active in the world and may also act though their retired animate artefact/collaborators. The artefacts were owned in the Ojibwe way not as commodities but as spiritually authorized wiikaanag, ritual brethren, where ceremonial experts are said to be owned by the ceremony. The artefacts bring these potentialities with them into the museum passively as objects, and actively through the memories of Omishoosh. Omishoosh himself comes to the museum, an institution of which he has no prior conception; he has no understanding of its purpose, its commonly understood public role or history. (On the few occasions when he names it, he refers to the museum as a school, gikinoo’amaadewigamig(oon)). Omishoosh is reacquainted with the artefacts and then they are gone.

133

Naamiwan’s Drum

While Omishoosh never meets those who “reclaimed” his grandfather’s wiikaanag, these strangers are ultimately forced to respond to his accusation of theft after his death in a kind of virtual capitulation. If we think of the Pauingassi artefacts as Naamiwan’s assistants in an unequal battle, the brethren did all right. An entirely different scenario emerges from the museum perspective. In this version, the doomed person/artefacts are rescued from an apparently collapsing community, after a hurried but professional “salvage” ethnography expedition. The story is told that they were purchased cheaply after the abandoned and lifeless artefacts were dragged out from underneath wood-boxes and rescued from the bush.13 These newly ethnographic objects, now the property of the University of Winnipeg, arrived at the museum dusty, forlorn, and tattered, and their new owners spruced them up and sorted them out. Meant as material culture emblems of the endangered Northern Ojibwa, as embodiments of endangered cultural knowledge, they were instead stored and ignored, their teaching possibilities in abeyance. They were divided into relatively important “sacred” objects and those of lesser secular interest, and then they all entered a somnolent period. As ideas about cultural rights blew through the museum community, the “sacred” objects were re-animated by the rhetoric of repatriation, and as their frail voices began to be heard by an indigenous staff member, their liberation from the non-indigenous colonial institution of the museum became an imperative.14 Some of the artefacts left and never came back. From the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge perspective, some of the objects, having been liberated needed a sympathetic home, and as lost souls, were adopted by a friendly, welcoming community. Others, as we shall see, in the wake of the scandal over the repatriation, “walked back,” conveniently person-like, to take their place in the collection again.15 These coexisting biographies (Kopytoff 1986; Gosden and Marshall 1999; Hoskins 1998) allow not just for multiple relationships and multiple outcomes but for multiple opportunities to examine the nature of inequality and coercion which are characteristic of the “contact zone” encounter. There is inequality between Pauingassi Ojibwe and museum staff, between Pauingassi Ojibwe and urban indigenous people, but particularly between Pauingassi artefacts and the oppressive logic of the museum’s storage regime, which meant that artefacts from Pauingassi were given category designations by museum staff which did not reflect Pauingassi sensibilities. “When museums are seen as contact zones,” writes Clifford, “their organizing structure as a collection becomes an ongoing historical, political, moral relationship – a power charged set of exchanges, of push and pull” (Clifford 1997:192–3). Ultimately the organizing structure of the collection determined which artefacts were vulnerable. Of the forty-one artefacts initially reported missing by the president of the university at the time of the repatriation, thirty-nine were classified “sacred” and had been “sacred” since the collection was first sorted. The role of museum artefacts is framed by their museological and intellectual context, their relationships as it were, and both Ojibwe and museological contexts, as distinct sets of relationships, may have multiple manifestations which coexist and conflict (Hooper-Greenhill 1992:164), giving the “contact zone” of the museum its characteristic multidimensional aspect.

134

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

In this new ethnographic relationship, Pauingassi identity was subsumed under a new role as material evidence of the “Northern Ojibwa.” The artefacts were accessioned and sorted according to pre-existing taxonomic principles, drums and rattles here, beadwork there, and, in this classificatory process of “discriminating between things” (Hooper-Greenhill 1992:158), the artefacts were reduced to those identities which were deemed elemental and comparative; “Things could only be constituted as meaningful objects in one relation at any time … Thus [in the construction of classifications] vast semiological ideas were ignored, and conversely, meanings and things which did not have a material identity could not be included on the classificatory table” (Hooper-Greenhill 1992:163–4). Within these new museum roles, asymmetrical “relations of advantage” diminished the personhood of the Pauingassi artefacts and imposed upon them onerous representational obligations. The flawed nature of this historic classificatory system, Hooper-­Greenhill argues, still forms the conceptual backbone of many contemporary museum collections. The articulations of relations of advantage (acquisition policies, selection grids, display technologies) through which a single selected meaning is offered as the natural, authoritative, and complete meaning-potential of material things, constitute some of the micro-processes of power in the present day museum, instrumental technologies with the functionality of enshrining the specialist, academic knowledge of the “curator”; as “truth.” (Hooper-Greenhill 1992: 165–6)

In this way the Pauingassi artefacts were gathered and divided, gathered to serve as ethnographic evidence of comparative native cultures and divided in accordance with the classificatory codes. Those artefacts designated as “sacred” or “sensitive” had restrictions placed upon them, and special permission was required to access them.16 Looking retrospectively at the storage regimes and the various iterations of the catalogue of the collection, it is evident that the sacred/ secular dichotomy has existed for years, and, although restrictions on access may be more recent, there has been virtually no shifting of assignment since the artefacts first entered the museum, and the classification system has persisted even though the collection is now housed elsewhere. The initial criteria for assignment are a little hard to discern, and the existing records of the collection offer few clues, but some of the attributions are unconventional: for instance, moccasin rasps for softening hide (after it gets wet and dries stiff and hard) were in the sacred cupboard and the dance capes and Omishoosh’s Midé gorget were not. In any case, a spiritual/secular classificatory dichotomy contributed to a suppression of the Pauingassi community and family meanings. The intransigence of the collections data is interesting. Various spelling mistakes and erroneous attributions are repeated in each new list over the fifteen years for which I have records. Once, after Roger and I had visited the museum, he offered the name of a particular rattle, bashanzhe’igan(an), a combination of tinkling cones and a rather sharp spike used to frighten dogs away from ceremonies; the name was added, spelled pasinzha’igan, in the column “local name.” This is the only intervention I am aware of which produced an alteration in the records, and it has

135

Naamiwan’s Drum

remained (misspelled) through two more iterations. Despite its rather secular task (dog training), this rattle has always been stored with the “sacred” objects and is one of the articles “reclaimed” and now missing. A second less successful example: during his visit to the museum, Omishoosh sorted the drumsticks according to whether they partnered a water drum or a dream drum, carefully identifying each one and describing some of the decorations. His sorting was quickly undone, and the existing erroneous attribution (they are reversed in the collection records) reasserted itself (for a similar museum experience see Fienup-Riordan 2003:32). In many ways taxonomic classification appears to be inviolate. Although much more is now known about the ceremonial role of the “secular” objects, and the collection has been through the upheaval of relocating, the artefacts are still stored in the same “sacred” vs. “secular” cupboards, which are located on separate floors in separate wings of the new museum. In the ongoing historical, political, and moral relationships between the University of Winnipeg museum and the community, this collection structure has not altered one iota. I am reminded of Strathern’s assertion that there are many “non-optional” aspects to relationships. One of the non-optional aspects of being a wholly owned ethnographic artefact seems to be classificatory immobility. As a consequence of this classificatory immobility, the artefacts were vulnerable to the imposition of stereotypical rather than local understandings. In this case, the issue is the nature of Ojibwe ownership, and for the Pauingassi Collection, this had important consequences. It has been asserted that some aspects of ownership are inalienable (Weiner 1992), a concept which is relevant here. “The primary value of inalienability,” Weiner writes, “is expressed through the power these objects have to define who one is in an historical sense. The object acts as a vehicle for bringing past time into the present, so that the histories of ancestors, titles, or mythological events become an intimate part of a person’s present identity. To lose this claim to the past is to lose part of who one is in the present” (Weiner 1985:210). In this sense, the durability of Pauingassi personal connections as Omishoosh explains them is evidence of this type of inalienability. But in a document about the collection, Dr Steinbring denies Ojibwe ownership concepts altogether. “There is no tradition of private ownership in Northern Ojibwa culture so things that come into anyone’s hands [his example is another drum] … become effectively the property of the person who has it [sic]. This applied to almost any material object … there was no real persevering concept of ownership” (1994:14). This idea, as we have seen, was an important part of the rationale for allowing Three Fires to claim the Pauingassi material. A memo about the repatriation quoted in the previous chapter said, among other things, “These things belong to a people. They are not ‘owned’ by one person or institution.”17 Dr Steinbring was a respected member of the anthropology faculty for many years and it is not unreasonable that his ideas outlived his tenure; nor was he alone in asserting this concept. These ideas were championed by Marxist anthropologists in the 1970s, notably Eleanor Leacock, who argued that boreal forest peoples lived in egalitarian societies and that all kinds of property were held communally (Leacock et al. 1978:255). This claim is insupportable as regards the Ojibwe people of Pauingassi, given contemporary linguistic and cultural evidence, including that outlined by

136

Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact

Omishoosh in the previous chapter, but it has become part of a politicized cultural stereotype. I emphasize that it is very normal for an Ojibwe person to claim that he/she owns someone or something animate in Ojibwe, ayaaw, or dibenim. Dibenim is also a way of referring to the spirit-beings as owners of particular animals. The name for the most powerful force in the world, Gaa-dibendgiged, the owner of all, comes from the same root. To be owned by someone, dibenjigaazo, is an alternate way of talking about initiated members of ceremonial societies (Roulette 2002; Nichols and Nyholm 1995:224). As Roger Roulette explained in the previous chapter, with ceremonial things, ownership is even more absolute. Omishoosh, in declaring the artefacts stolen, is emphasizing this inalienable, “ownable” aspect of the artefacts. The idea of communal ownership is nevertheless a commonly and uncritically held belief about hunter-gatherer peoples; generally one with which they must contend when dealing with indigenous rights claims when the vocabulary of the commons is expected of them (Keesing 1994; Strathern 1999:17–18). Strathern argues that the mistaken attribution of communal ownership hides the multiplicity of relationships which inhere in a person-like thing (Strathern 2002:28). The Pauingassi artefacts, for instance, have coexisting relationships with ethnographers, museum staff, curators, professors, journalists, other ceremonial tools, other artefacts, individual Ojibwe people, communities of Ojibwe people, and aadizookaanag. While individuals might grasp the complexity of one or another set of relationships – for instance, the set of relations which derive from museum ownership and involve curators, visitors, researchers, and a particular set of objects – another set revolving around Pauingassi ownership and ceremonial relations could be completely unknown. This point, which I will develop in the next theoretical chapter, illustrates the subtlety of partible personhood as a theoretical prism, expanding the frame of the “contact zone” rather than restricting it, welcoming more actors and their conflicting and secret scenarios. The museum as “contact zone” provides a vantage point for observing how personhood may wax and wane, and it reminds us that the risk of being objectified, of being pinned down by one image or identity, is real and present for people as well as objects.

Conclusion The moral obligations of personhood in the Ojibwe world transcend Pauingassi and museum perspectives. In calling for “careful deliberation, naanaagadawendamowin,” Omishoosh is invoking those rules about moral conduct. He makes it clear that there are serious consequences to committing “a moral wrong, baataa’idizowin, onjinewin.” Calling the repatriation a “theft, gimoodi,” a specific kind of moral wrong, he emphasizes the danger the water drum might pose to someone who offends through ignorance or foolishness. This must have been made clear to Hallowell as well: [T]here were moral responsibilities which had to be assumed by an individual if he strove for pı¯mädäzı¯win [bimaadiziwin]. It was as essential to maintain approved standards of personal and social conduct as it was to obtain power from the “grandfathers”

137

Naamiwan’s Drum

because, in the nature of things, one’s own conduct, as well as that of other “persons,” was always a potential threat to the achievement of pı¯mädäzı¯win. Thus we find that the same values are implied throughout the entire range of “social interaction” that characterizes the Ojibwa world; the same standards which apply to mutual obligations between human beings are likewise implied in the reciprocal relations between human and other-than-human “persons.” In his relations with “the grandfathers” the individual does not expect to receive a “blessing” for nothing. It is not a free gift; on his part there are obligations to be met. There is a principle of reciprocity implied. (Hallowell 2010:560)

Implied reciprocity is evidence of the kinds of multiple relationships which characterize people and objects at their most distributed and person-like (Strathern 1999:16). Focus on the personhood of objects clarifies both Pauingassi and museum perspectives related to the events of chapter 4. From a Pauingassi perspective, personhood gains import when the paradigm of human and other-than-human persons in ceremonial relationships is taken into account (Hallowell 2010). As we have seen, there is some reticence about identifying the spirit-entities who are party to these relationships, but there are constant allusions to their agency. From a Pauingassi perspective, we see evidence of numerous coexisiting active relationships with humans, cherished other-than-human partners, and other objects, which underscore a healthy broad-based personhood. From a museum perspective, the theoretical personhood of objects appears to shift when the rhetoric of repatriation is engaged. Initially the artefacts were referred to only as objects: material acquisitions, possessed by the university and stored according to taxonomic models. With the advent of rights-based discussions of cultural property, a vocabulary of rightful ownership of animate artefacts is engaged. And yet, ironically, the events described in this chapter show that repatriatiation does not always enhance personhood. At heart, repatriation is a property claim framed by property law conventions; it is a claim made by persons in respect of things and has the effect of objectifying the artefacts. The narrow engagement of political rhetoric and legal rights concepts in repatriation can result in the radical attrition of personhood, and in the case before us, it facilitates the denial of contradictory relationships, notably Pauingassi family relationships. In examining the specific events surrounding the Pauingassi Collection and its removal from the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum through the lens of personhood, one sees that the complex personhood of the Pauingassi artefacts, their multiple relationships, and the alternate possible destinies Strathern imagines are, at least temporarily, denied.

138

6

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge Ojibwe Advocacy and Revitalization

From the first moment of contact between white people, waabishkiiweg, and the original peoples of North America, there was brisk commerce of all kinds: trade objects travelled in both directions, copper pots and beads going one way, furs another, and for a very long time the advantage lay with native people (Brown 1980; Peers 1994). For more than two hundred years it was evident to the Ojibwe that waabishkiiweg were inept and would starve to death or die of loneliness without the help of native people. The scales began to tip when epidemic diseases raged through native communities, and they crashed down firmly on the side of newcomers when the signing of treaties led to an overwhelming influx of agricultural settlers. During this later period, native people, the Ojibwe among them, watched and waited for a moral reckoning, but instead they became the subject of condescending scientific curiosity and salvage ethnography. As their apparent authenticity waned, ethnographers purchased Ojibwe ceremonial objects, the better to understand their doomed cultural ways. Human remains were collected for scientific study in this arrogant age: so much so that in 1988 the Smithsonian museum had the skulls and skeletal remains of 18,600 Native Americans, and the remains of a total of 43,306 individuals were stashed in 163 museums in the United States, a palpable affront to the sensibilities of native survivors (Gulliford 2000:13). These museums were equally full of Native American clothing, pots, tents, totem poles, and artefacts of all kinds; formerly part of useful Native American lives and generative Native American ceremony, they became, like the medicine bundles, Midewiwin paraphernalia, and manidookaan, “medicine dolls” which Hallowell contributed to the Heye Museum of the American Indian in the 1930s, caged and somnolent, trotted out on occasion to satisfy the curiosity of the mostly waabishkiiweg voyeurs who attend museums. In 1967 the American Indian Movement was formed in the mode of the Black Panthers as a militant cultural identity movement, and although their focus was the reclamation of land, the end of police brutality, and the reformation of an iniquitous

Naamiwan’s Drum

legal system, they included Native American objects held by waabishkiiweg institutions among the unjust prisoners of the dominant society. They spoke of artefacts as captives of an unfair, manipulative, and coercive scientific enterprise, who needed above all else to be liberated. In the 1970s native people found in captive artefacts a metaphor for their history and a focus for their rage at the gross injustice of it all.

Edward Benton Banai, Bawdwaywidun (Biidwewidam – “one who is heard coming”),1 has, for many years, been the Grand Chief and spiritual leader of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, a US-registered not-for-profit corporation, a so-called 501C3 (PD 2002:12). He has a master’s degree in education from the University of Minnesota and is a pioneer in culture-based curriculum development. He founded the Little Red School House in Minneapolis, Minnesota, one of the earliest experiments in Indian-controlled education. And, as the Three Fires website states, “along with Dennis Banks and Clyde Bellecourt, he founded the American Indian Movement, arguably the most influential movements [sic] that has led to self-identity, pride and revival of American Indian culture for the last generation of Anishinabe [Anishinaabe] people. He [Eddie Benton Banai] was the Movement’s spiritual leader.” “The [American Indian] Movement was born in a prison setting,” a native reporter who has followed AIM told me. “That’s where Benton Banai was with Clyde Bellecourt. You know, he helped to bring about a cultural revival in prison” (PD 2002:12). In an online interview, co-founder Clyde Bellecourt explained Benton Banai’s role in the conception of the American Indian Movement: Its roots go back to Stillwater State Prison [Minnesota]. In 1962, while I was an inmate there – at that particular time I was in for third degree burglary – I ran into a young spiritual leader named Eddie Benton Banai. He was a full-blooded traditionalist from the Wisconsin Lakota Rails [sic – Lac Courte Oreilles] reservation who came from a family of medicine people and spiritual leaders. (Bellecourt 1993:1)

Benton Banai had been convicted of killing someone accidentally (PD 2002:6). While they were incarcerated, Bellecourt and Benton Banai were approached by an Irish case worker, James Donahue, who had an idea that cultural education, trades training, and Alcoholics Anonymous would benefit native inmates. The two of them worked with Donahue to form the American Indian Folklore Group. Bellecourt says this was the first Indian studies program in America. What we did was trace people’s background and family trees, found out what tribe and clan they belonged to, and what the characteristics of those clans were. We began developing careers around those characteristics. Then we started getting Indian people into alcoholics anonymous and narcotics anonymous and getting them to go into skilled and technical training and to look at higher education. It was a tremendous program, a very successful program that’s still going on today …

140

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

It was the turning point of my life. I spent about two years running the program with Mr. Benton Banai and I came out of prison with the philosophy of self-­ determination, that we Indians had to quit depending on the government, the churches and the offices of education to help us to change things. We had to make those changes ourselves. (Bellecourt 1993)

Clyde Bellecourt got out of Stillwater in 1964 and went to Minneapolis to develop an organization which would do for urban youth what the American Indian Folklore Group did for prisoners. Shortly after that, Benton Banai was pardoned; new evidence was brought forward which cleared him (PD 2002:13). Benton Banai stopped drinking, became a high steel worker in Chicago, married, and had kids. He told me that in 1964 his uncle, Pipe Moustache, came to him. “Nephew,” he said, “it’s time for you to take up your real work. The real work is the [Midewiwin] Lodge.” Benton Banai says he wasn’t ready for the responsibility. “I didn’t immediately return home at that time but I said, ‘I will, I will.’” And he did: So in 1967, I did return home and at that time we uncovered the drum. We feasted the drum and he [Pipe] sang to me all of its songs and he said these songs are the songs of this drum. These are the songs your grandfather placed in this drum and I turn them over to you. It was 16 songs. They come in sets of four. And so I didn’t get them through tape or through transcription of any kind. I committed them to memory. And so I didn’t take the drum immediately but through that ceremony he [Pipe] was to keep it until the time when I will formally take up my work in the Lodge. And I did do that formally in 1968. I took possession of the drum and I’ve had it since. (EBB 2002:22)

Benton Banai received his fourth degree Midewiwin credentials from John Rogers at St Croix, Wisconsin. The lodge at St Croix had been dormant since 1948 but was resurrected in 1971 at Benton Banai’s request. “That lodge down there, they became active as a result of that,” he said; “during those five years he [John Rogers] gave me a lot of things because he did not have a son who would inherit his songs, teachings and ceremonies … I received what they should have received … Since that time [1984] I’ve been conducting the Midewiwin ceremonies of the Three Fires Lodge” (EBB 2002:19). So Benton Banai, or Biidwewidam as he is known within the lodge, has a sense of responsibility with respect to Midewiwin objects and a sense of mission that derives from growing up in a community where historic Ojibwe ceremony was teetering on the edge of oblivion. He has seen cultural renewal inspire people, and his own quest to broaden his cultural and spiritual base has been positive for him. He is plainly a sober, happy, vigorous, and moderately prosperous Ojibwe gentleman. Three Fires has been good for him and for a lot of other people. “That’s what the Three Fires Midewiwin Society2 is about,” he told me, “to restore pride and faith and the possibility of a good full life. That’s what we’re about, to restore that covenant, that spiritual bond” (EBB 2002:10). In 1969, around the same time that Benton Banai received the summons from his uncle, he received an appeal from a group of people in Minneapolis, Clyde

141

Naamiwan’s Drum

Bellecourt among them. They had formed an organization called Concerned Indian Americans and had risen up, as Benton Banai put it, “against police brutality and other racist Gestapo tactics in Minneapolis, Minnesota. They were a group of Indian men and women, principally Indian women, who were just sick and tired of being sick and tired” (EBB 2002:24). They said, “We need you. We need you to come home. There are elders who have knowledge of our traditional ways but they don’t know how to talk to us. We need someone who we can talk and speak with.” And they brought me tobacco. So I said, “Let me think about this.” By that time I was in possession of a drum. I was already in possession of a pipe. So I considered that and then in February of 1970, a vision occurred while I was standing on the 42nd floor of the John Hancock building in Chicago, Illinois and that was it. I packed up my family and moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I became involved with the group which became the American Indian Movement. I was considered its first spiritual advisor. (EBB 2002:24)

The tumultuous history of AIM is beyond my brief here (see Banks and Erdoes 2004; Meyer 2002), but I expect Biidwewidam would agree that he was strongly influenced by the experiences he had with the American Indian Movement. “Eddie was always with the Movement,” a Haywood newspaper man told me, saying that the leaders maintain a connection with him to this day. In 1971, at the invitation of the Lac Courte Oreilles council chairman, AIM held one of the first non-urban protests in Haywood, in opposition to a dam which had flooded part of Benton Banai’s home reservation. “Ed organized a whole crew out of Minneapolis to come up here and if you look at the pictures, you’ll see Ed Benton and Rick Baker, Monty Diamond and the Tribble brothers, Clyde and Vern [Bellecourt] and Herb Powliss and Russell [Means] and all the AIM boys backing Benton Banai up” (PD 2002:3). The Courte Oreilles protest was a relative success, and AIM left Haywood with a national reputation for being useful in skirmishes with powerful institutions and for being able to draw positive press attention to injustices. On another occasion, AIM supported the Tribble brothers of Lac Courte Oreilles in a successful and extremely important Treaty Rights case, a challenge to the Wisconsin fish and game laws which had national impact (Nesper 2002). On another occasion they occupied a local museum called Historyland and reputedly “liberated” a few artefacts (Banks and Erdoes 2004:353). It was on this latter occasion at Historyland that Dr Richard St Germaine, former chairman of the Lac Courte Oreilles Band and now a professor of American history at University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire, remembered meeting Benton Banai for the first time. In an article in News from Indian Country he recalls being very impressed by Benton Banai. “He was a young man with a lot of savvy. I met Eddie, Clyde ­Bellecourt, Dennis Banks in the summer of 1969 at Historyland in ­Hayward … AIM, I think, was way ahead of their time,” St Germaine said. “There weren’t tribal leaders with that kind of foresight. The founders [of AIM] were ex-cons, carousers, bar fighters. On a moment’s notice someone could drive in and get the media’s attention” (Graef 2008). St Germaine never joined AIM, although he said he was invited many times. He kept his distance because he’d experienced

142

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

a darker side of the movement. He organized a conference of the National Indian Education Association in 1974, and, at his invitation, a group of AIM leaders came. They “partied, wrecked hotel rooms causing thousands of dollars in damage,” he said. “They burned my organization NIEA, Bellecourt, Banks, Means. They left a trail of anger. Yet how could we be mad at them? They were doing courageous things” (Graef 2008). In 1973, AIM members were involved in an armed standoff in the village of Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge reservation, a galvanizing event in Native American history. The standoff produced a kind of radical fame for AIM leaders which lasts to this day. Eddie Benton Banai is still able to call on Clyde Bellecourt from time to time, and in fact Bellecourt came to Winnipeg on Three Fires business not long before I met Benton Banai. I happened to see him at the University of Winnipeg. But Benton Banai has always been more involved in education projects like the Little Red School House and its successor, the Heart of the Earth School, than in national politics. A journalist who has followed the American Indian Movement says that Benton Banai separated himself from AIM over the issue of drugs and alcohol abuse. “There were much more colourful [medicine] people who accepted and tolerated the uses of drugs and alcohol at a time when Benton Banai was beginning a path of alcohol and drug free life style. Ed seemed to move off on his own path and to seek his own vision, his own dream. And yet there’s always been this very close tie” (PD 2002:3). One of the intellectual threads in Native American activism has been the revulsion native people have felt towards the idea of native human remains in museums. Although it wasn’t their first priority, AIM members contributed to the intellectual development of ideas to do with cultural property and to framing the argument for repatriation. An AIM policy statement from October 1972, the famous twenty-point position paper presented to President Nixon, has a brief section on cultural integrity but no mention of museums, human remains, artefacts, or repatriation (American Indian Movement 1972: Point 18). These ideas were expressed later, mostly by an offshoot of AIM called American Indians Against Desecration (AIAD) formed in 1980 by Jan Hammil, a Mescalero Apache (Fine-Dare 2002:78). The focus of AIAD was to bring an end to the excavation of graves and the sale of human remains and to facilitate the repatriation of human remains and artefacts to source communities. Devon Mihesuah writes vividly about an AIAD protest at an auction in Waco, Texas, in 1985, describing how shocked they were by a coffee table which was presented for sale with a glass top covering a skeleton, and about being intercepted by security guards and lied to by officials (Mihesuah 1996:234). American Indian Movement members were sensitized to these issues during the Trail of Broken Treaties, a coast-to-coast protest during which they visited many museums. Jan Hammil was among the walkers: As we crossed the country and visited the universities, museums and laboratories, we found the bodies of our ancestors stored in cardboard boxes, plastic bags and paper sacks. We found our sacred burial places stripped and desecrated, the bodies and sacred objects buried with our dead on display for the curious and labelled “collections,” “specimens” and “objects of antiquity” … It is AIAD’s objective, goal

143

Naamiwan’s Drum

and intent to ensure that all Indian remains and sacred objects buried herewith are returned to their nations, relatives and allies. (Hubert 1988:13)

AIM members were among the first to express ideas which were ultimately enshrined in the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) (1990). These ideas about the rightness of returning sacred material and human remains to source communities are now widely accepted among museum professionals. The small protest organized by Benton Banai at Historyland in Lac Courte Oreilles was just one of many actions taken because native people were forbidden access to the objects they felt they needed to revive traditional ceremonies. The Historyland event, although controversial at the time, is now viewed in the Courte Oreilles community in a generally positive way; drums were returned to family members during a period when they were being put back into use, and spiritual revival was facilitated by the “liberation” of these artefacts (PD 2002:6). Benton Banai’s views on artefacts and museums will have been shaped by this ethos. He told me that people often bring him ceremonial items and ask him to keep them. He considers it an honour and a sacred responsibility. But these transactions are entirely within an Ojibwe sphere as far as he is concerned, and he has made it clear that that is where they belong. I don’t believe that either the United States Government or the Canadian Government, any department or branches of either White government has any control, ownership, of any traditional religious artefacts that’s come from our people. None whatsoever! (EBB 2002:7)

Biidwewidam says he first saw the two drums from the Pauingassi Collection, Naamiwan’s water drum and the one that once belonged to Sagashki Strang, Naamiwan’s nephew from Poplar Hill, at the Bad River Three Fires Midewiwin ceremonies in June 1986. Charlie Nelson, the western doorkeeper of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, who lives in Roseau River, remembered the moment very well.3 “There was a phone call about some articles in a Winnipeg museum,” he told me, “but I didn’t really know what was going to be happening with them. So next thing I knew they were at ceremonies at Bad River” (CN 2002 March:1). Charlie Nelson remembered the two drums clearly and described his impressions of them. “They weren’t dressed, eh. They weren’t prepared to do any work … these articles, they wouldn’t be activated because of age, eh. But sitting with them, sensitizing ourselves with them, that’s … why those articles are there for us” (CN 2002:1). The spring ceremonies at Bad River in June 1986 were a memorable event for Charlie Nelson because it was at these ceremonies, after twenty-three years of working towards his goal, that he achieved his Midewiwin fourth degree. “When I had done that ceremony in June that year to go into the Midewiwin four times, Benton Banai looked across the room where these old drums was, and he said to me, ‘You’re going to take one of these home.’” But it never happened. Years went by. “I know they didn’t, they didn’t [give it to me], eh” (CN 2002:2). I was interested in Charlie Nelson’s ideas about the ownership of religious objects. His own drum was passed down to him by an uncle. “My uncle lived here

144

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

at the Rapids and when I took him down in 1977 to spring ceremonies, he dreamt, he dreamt and when the dream was interpreted, that’s when there was a connectedness with Benton Banai’s dream or vision to establish this Western Doorway of a lodge that spans a thousand miles, eh, so we’re the Western Doorway. And that [drum] was sent home to my uncle. And I worked with him for about six years. But during that time he reflected, he said, ‘You’ll be sitting with this drum some day.’ So that’s the one that came in 1983. That’s when that one came to me” (CN 2002:2). Naamiwan’s water drum had also made a powerful impression on Charlie Nelson. “It must have helped a lot of people before, that drum, you know, when the people needed wellness,” he said. It was the type of article that he watched out for, “to retrieve the things of our people that were left along the trail. It’s almost like a prophecy unfolding so that maybe these are some of the articles that we would pick up along the trail and that we would retrieve them. That’s our responsibility. It’s been foretold. We would want to meet with these people,” he said, referring to the people of Pauingassi, “and see how we could help them relate how special that drum is, to have worked with it spiritually.” He told me about his reaction when he saw the drum at the centre of the ceremonies. For people, there are many steps to the inner circle, he explained. “But the drum didn’t need that. All we had to know, he was there. Straight to the centre. Right away. No steps. He was on the trail, so, that’s something we thought he must have enjoyed – to have gone through that doorway once more” (CN 2002:13). Charlie Nelson described the emotional impact of having the drum at the ceremony. “It was a spirit released from where it was and has found a sense of freedom. We would want to see it more, like, presented with the same freedom, you know. It’s almost like it has found some way of being released from captivity now” (CN 2002:8).

Edward Benton Banai, Bawdwaywidun (Biidwewidam), lives at on the Lac Court Oreilles Reservation in northwestern Wisconsin. On March 18, 2002, when he agreed to be interviewed, he told me how to find his place and warned me that he had a Dobermann that didn’t like reporters. Benton Banai’s home is several miles out of Haywood, Wisconsin, and in March after a heavy spring snowfall, it is a very beautiful drive; first through open fields, two miles past the Casino, then a mile down another road into open parkland among tall poplars and birch trees, leafless but graceful in the sunshine, then left towards the lake where the gravel path bends towards the house. Benton Banai lives in a red bungalow on the shore of the lake. It is surrounded by a large deck approached by six narrow wooden steps. Benton Banai and the dog were at the top of the stairs as I drove up, the dog barking heartily and Benton Banai watching. He was right about the dog. Benton Banai doesn’t like reporters either. We settled at his kitchen table, a conventional Formica rectangle in a neat, bright kitchen. As I dug out my recording gear, his clock chimed the hour in bird

145

Naamiwan’s Drum

chirps, a different bird for every hour. It’s the kind of clock you can buy through the National Public Radio catalogue. I had looked at that item in the catalogue myself, thinking that my mother, a bird-watching enthusiast, was the sort of person who might enjoy it. Apparently Benton Banai was the same sort of person, or at least one of his children thought so. Aware that this was all going to be “on the record,” I suggested that we just run tape from the start and I clipped my microphone to his shirt. “Likewise,” he said, “I want to tape what we do and I’ll tell you why. I don’t fully trust white people and I don’t know who you are. You might be with the FBI … You’re a very fine looking white lady and I’m sure you have a good heart, but the FBI and law enforcement has used a lot of people. So then, you’re going to tape and I’m going to tape.” And then he began: The date is March 18th in the year of their Lord, 2002 and the time is 10:20. I’m here in my house with Maureen Matthews … She’s here to do a search, I suspect for evidence but we’ll see how this conversation goes and this recording is made for my own self-protection. I don’t have no qualms about that. White people have a great habit of distorting what Indian people say and I want this tape for my own protection and the protection of the Midewiwin Lodge. And you’re with the [reading business card] CBC Radio which also distorts information and likes to put their own spin on things. (EBB 2002:1)4

After this and a forceful tirade about native objects being a native affair, I asked, “Which objects do you have?” and he replied that he was not going to tell me. I asked, “Do you know which objects are missing from the museum?” and he said that another reporter (Martin 2001) had asked him the same question: A person by the name of Nick Martin called me last fall, and when he asked me if I had all the articles from the University of Winnipeg I said, “I do not know. How many articles are you talking about?” And he said, “There’s 42 [sic]5 articles missing,” and I almost fell over and I said, “I’ve never seen 42 articles from any collection, from any place.” And so he asked me how many had I seen and I will tell you the same thing that I told him, “Six. That’s it. Six articles” … There’s one old water drum that was made from a pickle barrel.6 There’s one that was carved from a log. That’s two water drums. I have an old drumstick and I have two scrolls from Jackhead.7 And I have, I believe it was a drawing stick, and a cloth that the old drum was wrapped in. That’s the six that I know of. That’s the six that I have seen. I don’t know where forty-two articles went or are or who has them.

So I asked, “Why do you have them?” and he replied: I believe that the spirit directed them to me to take care of. That’s my belief. They weren’t sold to me or no deal was made for them. I did not ask for them. But I will take care of them until Midewiwin people of that community ask for them to come home. I won’t give them to you or to any other white person. There’s been too much destruction. There’s too much hatred that is pronounced and preached by the church.

146

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

And the government is rampant with white racists that still hate us and very likely you’re one of them. (EBB 2002:6–7)

He went on, taking the file of photos and transcripts that I had brought with me in his hand, saying, “I don’t think there is anything positive in this. I don’t think I’ll find anything positive here. But I could be mistaken.” I told him that I just wanted him to see the pictures and look at the transcripts because Pauingassi is an honourable place. “Well I’ve not been there,” he admitted. “But I think that very likely that community has been pounced upon by white racist preachers, who are doing everything they can to destroy us, to destroy our covenant with the spirit. And the results, the results, I believe, are evident. High rate of self-hatred, suicide, and it’s not a very healthy environment” (EBB 2002:8). In this respect, many people would agree. They have seen the shocking newspaper headlines about the community. Pauingassi has existed in the media for some time as Manitoba’s suicide capital, a sniff-addled abyss, a place of no hope and “no culture” (Rabson 2002). In 2007, Pauingassi made headlines around the world when a six-year-old boy was drowned by an eleven-year-old bully (Canadian Press 2007). In 2009, the Pauingassi chief talked on the radio about yet another child’s death, a fifteen-year-old girl named Jessica Owen, the third in her family to commit suicide. In the interview he said that 80 per cent of the children in Pauingassi are in care (CBC Radio News, March 7, 2009). This number has since dropped to 50 per cent, an improvement, but still not acceptable. On August 2005, the banner headline in the Winnipeg Free Press read, “Who will help the kids? Night patrols search the bushes for children who have passed out.” It was a Sunday Special: “Welcome to Pauingassi First Nation, located on the edge of nowhere. Half the kids here are gasoline sniffers. Their one hope is a social worker who’s fighting to save them. He needs help because he’s losing the battle.” In this story, the social worker is quoted as saying that “the people have no culture” and that he needs funding for a cultural camp because the kids need to be given “a culture” (Rabson 2005). He has been active in bringing Powwow drums and fancy dancers from Winnipeg to show the children of Pauingassi what they lack and complains that the elders don’t support him in this endeavour. The follow-up article three days later kept the spotlight on Pauingassi; “Babies Who Smell Like Gas” (O’Brien 2005) explored the ghastly consequences of FSS, fetal solvent syndrome, which, like FAS, fetal alcohol syndrome, causes permanent brain damage before birth. The article blamed a lack of adequate social and medical resources, and while this is certainly true, the corollary, that there is no “culture” in Pauingassi adequate to the task of overcoming these problems, no elders in the community who are critical of the way things are, and no community members who have experience in changing their own lives, is profoundly disempowering. Alcohol and solvent abuse, drunkenness, and violence are the enemies of Ojibwe souls that Benton Banai has been fighting all his life: “Native people have lost respect for themselves. They’ve lost their covenant and their spiritual ties. The attempt has been to replace that with white racist-born, racist-foundational religion,” he said angrily. “The conspiracy between organized religion, education, and white government, the conspiracy is very plain! Why are you not paying

147

Naamiwan’s Drum

attention to that? Why are you concerned with articles that are in safe spiritual keeping? Why are you not concerned about young people that chose gang life and death rather than life? That’s the question!” I answered with a question of my own: “How do the articles you have help you to accomplish your aims?” “I didn’t say that they helped accomplish our goals because I was doing this work for 30 years prior to ever coming into this situation. These articles that you refer to have never been used in any kind of ceremony except for feasts of respect and recognition.8 They have no bearing on what I do. I do what I do without them. They have spiritual, historical value to Pauingassi. That’s it.” He continued, acknowledging the fact that he doesn’t know enough about Pauingassi: I wish I could go there and I wish I could talk to people. And you know, when the day comes I will personally see to it that … the day that Pauingassi does the traditional ceremonial things that are required and if they convince me that they will never again fall into white hands, I’ll see to it that they get returned. The items that belong to Pauingassi. That’s it. I have absolutely no knowledge of anything else. (EBB 2002:11)

Benton Banai attacked again: “I’m in full understanding that you have done everything to indict the Three Fires Society and all of the things that you have said and done are negative towards us but we had no role in this!” “Well, if that was the case,” I told him, “I wouldn’t be here,” and I turned the conversation towards the list of people who were said to have been consulted about the repatriation. I asked about the possibility that the reputations of others may have been wrongly used to explain away an awkward situation. He looked over the list. Of the ten names he recognized only five. “But here’s the thing. The Three Fires Society was getting indicted,” he said, becoming angry again. “I have absolutely no knowledge of it. And people that claim they were representing the Three Fires. It’s not true. It’s not true!” (EBB 2002:14). The question remained unanswered, so I asked it again, “How did you get the six articles you say you have?” He replied carefully. “There was a delegation of Midewiwin people who came to me and said, ‘There are articles that we believe need the Lodge’s protection and specifically your protection so we are asking you, what is your opinion?’ That is what I was asked.” Then he went on in more detail: Again I’ll reiterate. I did not receive anything from any person associated with the University of Winnipeg. I did not. I never talked to anyone at the university, no one. My understanding is this. That a person from the University of Winnipeg, a ranking official, how much consultation prior to what I’m going to describe to you I do not know. OK. But a number of articles were given over for safe-keeping to a member of the Three Fires Society in Winnipeg, Manitoba. They were not delivered here. They were not delivered here by anybody from the university and they were not delivered here by anybody from the Three Fires Society that resides in Manitoba. That, I can tell you. (EBB 2002:15–16)

148

Plate 1  Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), Pauingassi.

Plate 2A  Drum E5 returned to the Owens with Naamiwan’s drum, May 21, 2002.

Plate 2B (left) and 2C (right)  Naamiwan’s rattles, zhiishiigwanag, E5 811 (green) and E5 812 (red). The red rattle and the water drum collaborated as ritual brothers, wiikaanag, to save Omishoosh’s life.

Plate 3A  Naamiwan’s water drum, mitigwakik(wag).

Plate 3B  Naamiwan’s water drum drumstick, dewe’iganaatig(oon).

Plate 4A  Dance cape, wawezhi’on(an), belonging to Omishoosh’s first wife, Eva Owen.

Plate 4B   Dance cape, wawezhi’on(an), belonging to Koowin, Naamiwan’s wife.

Plate 5A   Miskwa’o’s dance cape, wawezhi’on(an).

Plate 5B   Dance cape.

Plate 6  Gorget, apishtaagan(ag), made by Miskwa’o Owen appx. 1926.

Plate 7A  Dance cape, wawezhi’on(an), belonging to Animinigiizhigong.

Plate 7B  Dream drum ceremony, Boodaade, drumstick made by Angus Owen appx. 1915, called either dewe’iganaatig(oon) or obagamaagan(an), the name of a war club after which the drumstick is modelled.

Plate 8  Bandolier, Gijipizon(an), worn by Omishoosh in ceremony, made by Miskwa’o Owen appx. 1926.

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

So I moved on to the question of what should happen next. “Do you feel the onus is on the community to get in touch with you about things should they want them back?” “Definitely,” he replied, “The community knows where they are.” He said that he understood someone from Three Fires had visited Omishoosh: The information said that, ah, is it Charlie George [Omishoosh], who just recently passed away? He was informed about the articles, where they were going, and from my understanding he was in agreement with that. Now I’ve read in articles that the opposite is true. I don’t know. (EBB 2002:16)

This is a significant point, because if Benton Banai thought Omishoosh was in agreement, it would make a big difference to his approach to the artefacts. We had heard these claims before I went to Wisonsin, and after I came back I visited Omishoosh with Margaret and Roger. Margaret asked Omishoosh if he had been visited by someone he knew. “Did someone come to visit you – someone else you know – come and ask you something?”

Awiya na gigii-bi-mawadisig ako? Bakaan onji ji-gikenimad, gegoon ji-bi-gagwejimig o’o?

Omishoosh replied, “Not at all. However, there were two men [strangers] who came over to see me once.”

Gaawiin gegoo. Iya’aa eta ‘omaa miinawaa ininiwag niizhin ingii-bi-odisigoobaniig aabidin.

“Who were they?” Margaret asked.

Awenenag igi?

“I don’t know who they were,” he replied. “One was a young man. They asked me about the Midewiwin that we used to have to see if I can speak about it. However, I didn’t do it because they only came for a short time.”

Awegwenag. Oshki-inini bezhig.

“Did they ask you anything about those artefacts that are being kept?” Margaret asked.

Gegoon ina gigii-gagwejimigoog imaa ini gaa-ganawenjigaadegin?

“Those are the things they were asking me about. It was as if they were going to take them,” he replied.

Miiwan ini gaa-gii-bi-gagwejimiwaaj. Daabishkoo e-wii-odaapinamowaaj.

“What did you tell them?”

Ingii-gagwejimigoog mii o’owe Midewiwin gaa-gii-bi-ayaayang. Ji-dibaadodamaan, gaawiin idash ingii-doodanzii. Ajina eta ozaam gii- biindigewag.

Aaniin-sh gaa-inadwaa?

“Nothing, nothing in answer to their question. They weren’t supposed to do that to them [take the artefacts]. I’ve already said that they ought to send them home to here [Manitoba]. They had already been taken, I said to him.

149

Gaawiin gondasha, gaawiin gondasha ji-gii-doojigaadesinoon. Ingii-dibaajim aazha gii-giiwenizhamowaaj o’omaa. Gii-odaapinamowaaj ingii-inaa’.

Naamiwan’s Drum

“‘The Anishinaabeg in Pauingassi weren’t pleased about it,’ I told him [the visitor who spoke Ojibwe]. They [visitors] said, ‘We wouldn’t know what to do with them,’ “I definitely told him [the visitor who spoke Ojibwe], ‘I don’t know what they were thinking [those who took them].’” (CGO 2001 Apr 21)

Anishinaabeg idash wedi Obaawingaashi gaawiin ogii-minwendanziinaawaa’ ingii-inaa’. Aaniish gaawiin indaa-gikendanziimin aan miinawaa awiya ge-doodangiban ikidowag indinaa’. Namanj idash gaa-inendamowaapan.

These mystery visitors may have been from Three Fires. Omishoosh said that only one spoke Ojibwe. He didn’t recognize either visitor, but from Omishoosh’s perspective, he believed he had communicated his disapproval of what had happened. As usual, he also expressed his concern about the danger to which inexperienced people might be exposing themselves. In Benton Banai’s kitchen, I sought a way to convey Omishoosh’s point of view. I pulled out the transcript of our conversation with him while he was in the hospital in 1999 and we first told him what had happened. Benton Banai jumped on the first line, seeing ambivalence in Omishoosh’s words. “Well, what does it say here? He says, ‘I wouldn’t know what to say without knowing how they intend to use them’” (EBB 2002:17). Then Benton Banai flipped to the section about bartering for life in the Midewiwin. “See here, he says ‘I bartered or offered to pay or give a gift in exchange for something I asked about, something I wanted to know.’” Benton Banai thought this was an error in protocol; within Three Fires, if you wanted information, you just offered tobacco. “And if it’s in your heart to give someone something, it’s never required, but if it’s in your heart to give something for that, that’s what you do” (EBB 2002:17). This is understandable because there has been so much controversy in the US over fake Indian healers charging for sweat lodge ceremonies that in 1984 an AIM conference published a statement condemning people who charge for Indian spiritual cures and ceremonies (American Indian Movement 1984). In an interview in 1993, Clyde Bellecourt said that charging for ceremonies is having a “tremendously damaging effect on Native traditions” (1993:5). This may be what Benton Banai was thinking, but in any case, I abandoned the transcript. Omishoosh’s subtle point about appropriate relations with spirit-helpers was lost. I tried another tack having to do with the protocol of retiring drums when the owner passes away, but again this was an idea Benton Banai rejected. He said, “The lodge doesn’t die with the person which is what you’re describing, that in essence the lodge dies when the drum dies.” I responded that the old people in Pauingassi would never say the drum had died, at least in part because it is grammatically animate. But he went on, “Well, so that’s the same thing here. The drum is never retired. It never goes defunct. It carries the spirit with which it was first consecrated. The vessel is passed from generation to generation.” I argued that medicine men who needed drums made drums, thinking of Naamiwan’s Boodaade drum, and suggested that when singers ceased to use them, some drums were retired, as Omishoosh had explained to us. Benton Banai responded with a story. He was visiting the Peguis reserve north of Winnipeg, speaking to a crowd, and four old people got up and came to him. “We’ve been waiting for you. We

150

Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

knew you were coming!” they said to Benton Banai. “And to them,” he said, “that was the beginning of the Seventh Fire when the New People would rise and make every attempt to restore our nation to its covenant with the spirit” (EBB 2002:21–2). He is critical of Canadian native leaders; critical of the lack of native radicalism in Canada generally. He believes his leadership is welcome. “In Canada,” he told me, “you have this stand of acquiescence. You know, they don’t stand up and say we have a right to this and we’re going to do it! It’s still that hat-in-hand, could we do this? Do you think? You know! And the native community of Canada is still in that position and it’s very painful. It’s very painful. It’s the cause of a lot of grief! A lot of self-imposed grief! It really is! How do you wake up a nation?” (EBB 2002:25) A person with Eddie Benton Banai’s point of view could easily mistake Pauingassi deference and diplomacy for lethargy; could easily mistake polite concern for Christian-induced apathy. He actively engaged the Canadian indigenous population. With the exception of Benton Banai, all the other drum keepers of Three Fires at the time of the repatriation were Canadian (Three Fires website). A native reporter in Haywood told me that, for many reasons, Three Fires was more active in Canada than in the US: It’s much more a Canadian movement nowadays than it ever was and that may simply be where Canadian communities are in terms of revival of their language and culture and in a revival of pressing their sovereignty and treaty rights. There’s a certain radicalism there that is joined by people needing and wanting to learn about their history and heritage. And Ed is called upon throughout Canada to go conduct ceremonies there. (PD 2002:5)

Benton Banai became interested in the photographs I had brought, both the recent ones I had taken of Omishoosh and the old ones of Naamiwan taken by Hallowell in the 1930s. We talked about the missing articles and their value on the market. The estimate is over one hundred thousand dollars.9 “Wow!” he said. But I said I didn’t think that was what mattered to Omishoosh’s family. “Maybe it’s an awakening for Pauingassi,” Benton Banai suggested. “So my hope is – and I’ll tell you the truth – I’m hoping that somewhere, someplace, somebody has knowledge of where these articles are. That doesn’t mean I want them to go back there [to the museum], but then on the other hand if communities, individuals, families don’t wish them to be repatriated, what else can you do?” (EBB 2002:32–3). “It keeps them safe until somebody does want them,” I offered. “Yup,” he said, “and that’s my vow, my responsibility. I will safe-keep everything that would be given to me in trust. That’s what I will do. That’s my spiritual and moral obligation.” He went on, reflecting on our conversation. “What you’re telling me is very good information for me because of other kinds of information that I’ve received that Pauingassi has completely turned white-Christian and they don’t want that kind of remembrance or even the articles” (EBB 2002:33). On that hopeful note I turned off my recorder. We looked at the photographs on his living room walls of his children, his grandfathers, and ceremonies in Lac Courte Oreilles years ago. We talked about his current work as an educational consultant. He has been helping set up a master’s degree program in Indigenous Knowledge

151

Naamiwan’s Drum

at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay (EBB 2002:32). We share many of the same radical political reflexes. I had been involved in establishing the Saskatoon Free School at about the same time as he was setting up the Little Red School House, and half our students were native kids who were having difficulties with mainstream education; I remembered the strong sense of obligation to do something. We began to talk about drums, and Benton Banai went to his basement to get a drum he uses for teaching. Drums without hide tops are not yet animate, so Benton Banai uses drums like this for instructional purposes. This drum was tall and narrow and open at one end and it had a bunch of drumsticks stuffed in it. He dumped them out on the table. Among them were two curved drumsticks which I recognized immediately, bound together with duct tape, their University of Winnipeg museum ID numbers clearly visible; two drumsticks that had not been accounted for or even mentioned in this conversation. Benton Banai had told me he had six items altogether, including only one drumstick. Meanwhile Benton Banai was expanding on his obligation to protect drums and look after them. I asked him to let me start the recorder once more. I clipped the microphone to his shirt and sat down across the table again. The dog was barking in the background. “Shush!” he said. The dog barked twice more and fell silent. Well the last thing that I may want to say to you is that of all the articles that have been entrusted to me, I’ve taken with honesty, with respect and I treat all the articles with great care and great respect. It’s my spiritual and moral obligation to do so. I will take care of them. I’ll protect them. I’ve never taken. I’ve never stolen. I’ve never spirited away any objects out of Canada. Never, and I would never do that and the articles that have been entrusted to me I would never desecrate. Never! It is not for me to use anyone’s drum or articles that they may have used because I was given those articles and I carry those articles. I would never use another man’s drum unless it was by invitation or by permission. (EBB 2002:34)

I said, “These two drumsticks here have University of Winnipeg identification numbers on them.” He looked down. Drumsticks E5 172 and E5 192 lay on the table between us. Both had wrapped handles and were of the bent wood type used with water drums. I recognized them from the day that Omishoosh had so carefully sorted them at the museum. Both had obviously been used for years. One of them was painted green, paint that matched one of Naamiwan’s rattles and his water drum. Benton Banai paused and then said angrily, “They do. I don’t know” (EBB 2002:34). He put his hand over the microphone, pulled it off, and tossed it across the table. I packed my gear, said my thanks, hopped into my rented truck, and drove home.

152

7

Repatriation Cultural Rights and the Construction of Meaning

I start with a paradox. I have been building a case that artefacts are metaphorically animate both in museums and for fluent Ojibwe speakers. I have shown that they may be both metaphorically and theoretically ascribed personhood as actors in social relationships which connect them with Ojibwe communities and museums. Yet scholars mindful of the role of museums in colonization often use a vocabulary of metaphorical death to criticize this history. Ruth B. Phillips and Janet Catherine Berlo, for example, speak of practices of collecting and display as “forms of mortuary practice, laying out the corp(u)ses of the Vanishing American for post-mortem dissection in the laboratory, for burial in the storage room, and for commemoration in the exhibition” (Phillips and Berlo 1995:6–7; cf. Preston 1989 ). Pawnee scholar James Riding In describes universities, state historical societies, museums, and federal agencies as “mausoleums” (Riding In 2000:114). Michael Ames’s book on the anthropology of museums, Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes, starts off with a quotation of a description by Jane Thompkins of the Buffalo Bill museum as a “kind of charnel house,” concluding that “museums are a form of cannibalism made safe for polite society” (Thompkins 1990:533 in Ames 1992:3). Ames goes on to say that “museums are cannibalistic in appropriating other peoples’ material for their own study and interpretation, and they confine their representation to glass box display cases. There is a glass box for everyone” (Ames 1992:3). This scholarly vocabulary of killing cultures and consuming artefacts is by no means unusual, and this negative view is an example of the ways in which underlying assumptions provide a foil for rhetorical criticism: it shocks because it inverts foundational ideas. Native American performance artist James Luna, while still very much alive, takes the idea of dead artefacts in museums and turns it on its head. In a performance called the Artifact Piece, Luna claims his own glass box, lying still and apparently mummified, surrounded by other glass boxes displaying the paraphernalia of his life (Fletcher 2008). Luna’s website emphasizes that he is

Naamiwan’s Drum

being deliberately ironic. “Many museum visitors as they approached the ‘exhibit’ were stunned to discover that the encased body was alive and even listening and watching the museum goers. In this way the voyeuristic gaze of the viewer was returned, redirecting the power relationship” (Luna 2009). Artifact Piece shocks museum goers into an awareness of the potent animacy of artefacts. Luna, a Luiseño Indian, is the artefact and it/he returns the colonial gaze, mocking the inquisitiveness of museum audiences. Artifact Piece engages with the colonial history of museums and articulates a subaltern view of museum display, criticizing the complicity of museums in dismissing real native people in favour of their ethnographically authentic alter egos. Luna’s Artifact Piece derives its power from his authenticity but is a reminder that indigenous authenticity is a product of museum discourse and that the “conceptual structures of colonial discourse are preserved in this symbolic elevation of the ancestral past” (Keesing 1994:53). Engaging with museums to reclaim representational authority involves an awareness of the precepts of museums and a familiarity with contemporary museological criticism. Challenging the animacy of museum objects by positing their death is a rhetorical strategy within “museal discourse” (Crane 2000:9). As Roger M. Keesing observes, “in a situation of subjugation, confrontational politics are inherently structured in the terms and categories of the dominant … this is because of a strategic realization that one must meet the enemy on his own turf” (Keesing 1994:54). By claiming the right to repatriate Ojibwe ceremonial artefacts, Three Fires members are acting, as James Luna does, from a sophisticated understanding of museums. Engaging with museums in the struggle over representation, they implicitly acknowledge the assumptions upon which museums are based: that, in collecting Ojibwe ceremonial artefacts, museums have collected some important element of Ojibwe culture. In repatriation claims, there is a corresponding assumption: that these carefully preserved artefacts embody cultural knowledge and that their return will contribute to a revitalization of contemporary cultural practice. Susan Crane argues that, like James Luna’s strategic confrontation of “the enemy on his own turf,” many of these struggles over representation are simply examples of the breadth of “museal discourse.” Museums around the world are struggling over issues of repatriation and … responding to specific demands for objects to be removed from view and from museum holdings. The limits thus imposed on museum collections imply a limit on museal discourse – but they do so without fundamentally challenging the existence of museums, and indeed many of the same native American tribes that deplore the ownership and display of their heritage in other museums have established separate museums and participate in museal discourse in ways more appropriate to their own desires for collective memory. (Crane 2000:9)

James Clifford makes much the same point about the tenacity of museum ideas, specifically museum “traditions of conservationism,” and their ability to shape indigenous options. Citing a Canadian example in which Kwagiulth objects moved from one national Canadian institution to two indigenous-controlled local museums,

154

Repatriation

he writes, “As a condition of relinquishing the objects, the ­conservation-minded museum world successfully extended itself into the tribal world” (Clifford 1997:212; cf. Jacknis 2000:273–4). Both Luna’s artistic challenge to the representational conventions of museums and their role in creating contemporary stereotypes of native people and the Kwagiulth reclamation of their tribal art, an example of contemporary indigenous people struggling to reclaim representational authority and assert contemporary vitality, are politically and strategically connected to the radicalism of the American Indian Movement discussed in the previous chapter. There may be a substantial range of engagement with the museum, but sit-ins, protests, and repatriation claims are part of “museal discourse”; the museum is a partner even if the discussion is fraught with hostility. While Eddie Benton Banai and his Three Fires colleagues are participating in this “museal discourse” to some extent, they are unlikely to see museums – no matter who controls them – as partners in a solution. They might accept the museum precept that artefacts embody Ojibwe culture, but one of the distinctive features of this case study is the Ojibwe character of Three Fires radicalism. Eddie Benton Banai has an Ojibwe sensibility about the animacy and personhood of these artefacts which underlies his viscerally negative response to museums. “I won’t give them to you or to any other white person. There’s been too much destruction!” (EBB 2002:8). He is not about to engage creatively with the irony of museum representation or the “metaphoric death” of artefacts in museum display as Luna does. His ideas about artefactual animacy are grounded in Ojibwe thinking. He argues that museums have no place in indigenous life and no valid ownership or moral claims with respect to animate Ojibwe artefacts, period. As far as he is concerned, the place for Ojibwe ceremonial objects is in the company of contemporary Ojibwe ceremonial practitioners. “I don’t agree that white people of any stature, friend or not, has [sic] any business in, in this,” he told me. “It’s not a white matter. It’s not a Christian matter. It’s an Indian, it’s a Native issue. That’s it!” (EBB 2002:7). For Benton Banai and his Three Fires colleagues, these ceremonial artefacts are metaphorically alive and they were waiting, imprisoned in museum storerooms, in need of liberation. Naamiwan’s drum was, as Charlie Nelson explained in the previous chapter, “a spirit released … released from captivity now” (CN 2002:8). He talked at length about the drum’s apparent enjoyment of the ceremonies and of how the drum’s obvious age and importance ensured that he would be looked after. “That’s something we thought he must have enjoyed – to have gone through that doorway [of the Midewiwin lodge] once more” (CN 2002:13). “He was on the trail,” Nelson said of the drum (CN 2002:13). The reference to the trail is a metaphor, of objects abandoned by ancestors and of a new generation following gamely in their footsteps. “It’s almost like a prophecy unfolding so that maybe these are some of the articles that we would pick up along the trail and that we would retrieve them. That’s our responsibility. It’s been foretold” (CN 2002:13). Charlie Nelson was concerned that the drums had been neglected. “They weren’t dressed, eh. They weren’t prepared to do any work … But sitting with them, sensitizing ourselves with them, that’s … why those articles are there for us” (CN 2002:1). These shared Ojibwe meanings, which emerge from the overarching Ojibwe experience, make the mistaken repatriation all the more difficult to accept. There

155

Naamiwan’s Drum

is evident respect for the artefacts among Three Fires members and remarkable cultural idealism. And yet, somehow, the people of Pauingassi were discounted and ultimately ignored; there is a definite break between the meanings evoked by Pauingassi’s ceremonial history and those which emerge from Three Fires museum discourse of radicalism and cultural revitalization. Something Eddie Benton Banai said of the drum typifies this difference. “The drum is never retired. It never goes defunct. It carries the spirit with which it was first consecrated. The vessel is passed from generation to generation” (EBB 2002:21–2). This reference to the undying, “consecrated” vessel is partly a rhetorical response to the imperative of Ojibwe cultural revitalization and partly the transposition of a museum assumption: that the artefacts of the past will speak in the future. From a Pauingassi viewpoint, as we have seen, Omishoosh and others believe that the drum was retired, that it had done its work and could rest. Omishoosh imagined that the drum and the other artefacts might passively teach students about Ojibwe history but asked specifically that they not be asked to do active ceremonial work again. The differences between the way Three Fires and Pauingassi people think of the artefacts seem to centre on their relative awareness of museums and engagement in museal discourse. The elders of Pauingassi had no prior exposure to the idea of museums – they called the university museum a school (gikinoo’amaadewigamig(oon)) – and were entirely unaware of the history or complexities of museal discourse. They saw and approved of the care and cosseting of the artefacts. Three Fires members, given their familiarity with museum constructs, felt that, by allowing the artefacts to be in a museum, the people of Pauingassi had betrayed the artefacts, voiding their community and ceremonial connections. This rhetorical position reminds us that, while it is uncontroversial to assume that ancient ideas lie behind Ojibwe concepts about objects, these sharp differences between Ojibwe peoples, which hinge on their exposure to the Western concept of museums, show that venerable Euro-American ideas intrude as well. As we have seen in the chapter on Animacy, the Euro-American conviction that objects embody knowledge of the “other” and have the capacity to “speak” across cultural barriers shapes assumptions about the metaphorical vitality of objects and underlies their museum function. Radical shifts in the meaningfulness of collected objects are effected by alterations in their intellectual context (Hooper-Greenhill 1992:163–4). The normalization of the idea among contemporary Ojibwe people that objects are reliable, metaphorically animate mnemonic devices has meant that museums and artefacts are understood in a common contemporary way. While the debate over representation and repatriation takes place, the vitality of museum artefacts is never questioned. Ruth B. Phillips and Christopher B. Steiner observe that the “materiality and physical presence of the object make it a uniquely persuasive witness to the existence of realities outside the compass of an individual’s or community’s experience. The possession of an exotic object also offers imagined access to a world of difference, often constituted as an enhancement of the new owner’s knowledge, power and wealth” (Phillips and Steiner 1999:3). There is a direct connection between the exotic object, the imagined world of difference, and the functional logic of museums. Museums make sense now because we accept that objects

156

Repatriation

make/instantiate/embody cultural knowledge. These ideas have contemporary political implications. Sophisticated Ojibwe people like those who belong to Three Fires accept that objects contain knowledge and embody culture. That is why they want them back. It is the deployment of these European ideas by contemporary native people which has led to the repatriation movement in North America.

Repatriation A repatriation claim is an “epitomizing event” (Fogelson 1985:84), symbolic of a radical shift in meaning for the claimant, the museum, and the artefact. Repatriation claims unmask unexpected and undetected coexisting relationships. Following Marilyn Strathern, I accept that artefacts as person/objects are partible and that many of the relationships which come together in that person/object are masked or hidden. “At the moment when claims [such as ownership] … are activated,” Strathern writes, “the singular person (thing-image) is seen to have many social origins, to be a partible entity combining in itself many particular concrete histories. The point at which a claim is translated into a gift or the carrying out of a duty is the point at which the ‘one’ relationship is (re)perceived to be one among many. The person [artefact] has other possible destinies” (Strathern 1999:14). With respect to museums and repatriation, this is a crucial point. A person/object, as a partible entity, may have conflicting ownership and rights relationships, may be sold, stolen, or given away and yet be bound by inalienable personal relationships, all the while retaining its multiple possible destinies. Personhood is not a zero-sum game, and these multiple relational conflicts proliferate and new contradictions assert themselves when a repatriation claim is activated. This is one of those moments Bruno Latour anticipates; previously silent objects push their way into the accounts of events, they speak up, as it were, “recalcitrant” artefacts dig in their heels, and the obligations deriving from the multiple personal relationships of artefacts become imperatives (Latour 2000:116 and 2005:79–82). Repatriation is revealing because, as Strathern points out, mobilizing claims necessarily shifts our perspective on person/objects and brings into sight at least some otherwise invisible relationships (1999:13). In this case, Pauingassi and its relationships to the collection (eventually) became visible to Three Fires and the museum, and relations with the members of Three Fires were discovered by Pauingassi people. When a rights claim like repatriation is publicly activated, the conflicting or thwarted claims of others are exposed and an artefact then “becomes a particular entity in a history of particulars” (Strathern 1999:14). Strathern suggests that rights claims should be thought of as a form of ownership claim, made by persons (who have choices) in respect of objects (who do not), and as with other relational claims, a repatriation claim may be one among many.

The Collectors Ironically, it was Franz Boas who precipitated the first repatriation case in North America. The aggrieved parties were Cowichan Indians who lived on Vancouver

157

Naamiwan’s Drum

Island. The case had to do with the collection of human remains and grave goods, an activity of which Boas was rightly ashamed, calling it “repulsive work,” but as he famously rationalized, “someone has to do it” (Boas diary entry June 6, 1888, published in Boas and Rohner 1969, footnote 53, cited in Cole 1985:308). In 1888, Boas commissioned William and James Sutton, two entrepreneurial residents of Vancouver Island, to provide him with osteological specimens: twenty dollars for a complete skeleton and five dollars for a skull. The Suttons “collected” more than he had asked for – forty-eight complete skeletons and seventy-four skulls for a total of 123 individuals, and Boas did not have the money. He paid half of their asking price immediately, a sum of five hundred dollars, but as time slipped by and no final payment came, the Suttons became agitated. There had been “a disturbance,” wrote William Sutton to Boas, and the Cowichan Indians had raised “quite a rumpus.” “I would like to get them [bones] off my hands as soon as possible,” he wrote. By the time Boas had sent payment and the Suttons had shipped the skeletons and crania to New York, “invoiced with a falsified origin and labeled as natural history specimens – an incognito that answered well” (Cole 1985:121), the Cowichan band had filed suit against the Suttons. The band obtained a warrant to search the Suttons’ sawmill for bones (nothing was found) and made it impossible for the brothers to go after the bones “they had stowed away” (Cole 1985:121). The band hired a lawyer to proceed with the case, but it was eventually abandoned (Cole 1985:333n31; Peers 2005). Although this first case failed, the dubious means by which these human remains were acquired has come to epitomize museum collecting in North America, and this generalized affront motivates contemporary repatriation claims. Boas later regretted the part he played. Sitting in a longhouse during the performance of a ceremony, he observed with a degree of pathos that the masks and ceremonial objects which ought to have been part of the ceremony were in museums on the other side of the continent (Cole 1985:xxi; cf. Stocking 1985, 1988, 2004). According to Christian Feest, it was Canadian museum officials in the early 1970s who initiated the current usage of the term “repatriation.” As Feest points out, “Since the sixteenth century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word ‘repatriation’ conveyed the meaning ‘return or restoration [of a person] to one’s own country,’ but of late it has been applied to a process that was formerly only known as ‘restitution’: the ‘action of restoring or giving back something to its proper owner’” (Feest 1995:33, my emphasis): [T]he Canadian government in the 1970s embarked upon a spectacular program of repatriation by the pocket book (cp. MacDonald and Alsford 1995). It spent a million and a half Canadian dollars for the purchase of the Speyer collection of American Indian material (Bolz 1993:69–70; Greenfield 1995 (1989):208–9), including some that was clearly not of Canadian origin, and sent its agents to terrorize the American Indian art auctions of the world by outbidding every competitor (and thus also pushing market prices to spectacular levels). As far as I can tell, it was in this connection that the new meaning of “repatriation” was established – both because “restitution” would have been a plainly inappropriate term, and as if to convince Canadian tax payers of the truly patriotic use of their money (see, e.g. Taylor 1976:7). (Feest 1995:34)

158

Repatriation

This rather cynical view raises an important initial issue. There is still some debate about the proper term for the return of artefacts. Lawyers and people who work in the field of international human rights tend to reserve “repatriation” for the return of humans – dead or alive – and use “restitution” for the return of art or artefacts (Nafziger 2008; Clements 1991; Stanley 1998; Tythacott and Arvanitis 2014). I have chosen the word “repatriation” in part because it is understood and accepted by North American scholars and in part because it incorporates the metaphorical animacy of objects, bringing it in line with Ojibwe sensibilities and my theoretical interests. As we have seen, activists started to agitate for the protection and return of indigenous artefacts in the 1960s and early 1970s (Ames 1988). The American Indian Movement and the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge were more than twenty years old and the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) (1990) had been passed into law before North American anthropologists began to publish accounts of source community/museum relations and the anthropological consequences of repatriation claims. Very important repatriation negotiations were going on throughout the 1980s, particularly around the Zuni Ahayu:da claims that followed the passage in the US of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978 (Merrill et al. 1993:524), but with the exception of a prescient article by Gathercole (1981) and some early accounts of the Zuni work (Ferguson 1983; Ferguson and Martza 1990; Ferguson and Eriacho 1990), there was a marked lag between discussions of repatriation and the political outrage of native activist groups. Their attitude was typified by Vine Deloria’s Custer Died for Your Sins (1969), an indictment of phlegmatic, disconnected, and self-interested American anthropology. Greenfield (1995 (1989)) provided the earliest overview of controversial European repatriation claims. Early Canadian repatriation literature included an article about the “Spirit Sings” exhibition at the Calgary Winter Olympics (Harrison and Trigger 1988) and two articles by Fenton (1989) and Tooker (1998) about the (probably mistaken) repatriation of wampum belts to Canadian Iroquois. Most American literature on repatriation followed the enactment of NAGPRA, which obliged American museums that receive federal funding to catalogue and publish their holdings of ancestral remains and of ceremonial and funerary items. The new law facilitated the return of these objects to the families or federally recognized tribal groups from which they came. It also invited parties to settle disputed claims before approaching a museum and made claims public so that contested repatriations could not go forward secretly. The resulting academic work involved case histories of various collections, all or part of which were successfully repatriated in ground-breaking ways. Bray and Killion (1994), Simpson (2001 (1996)), Barkan (2000), and Barkan and Bush (2002) dealt principally with the fate of human remains and grave goods. Ferguson and Martza (1990), Ferguson and Eriacho (1990), and Merrill et al. (1993) discussed one of the earliest and most influential cases, the repatriation of a Zuni Ayayu:da in 1987. This repatriation predated NAGPRA and challenged museum conservationism; in this instance the artefacts were returned for community-sanctioned intentional destruction by natural weathering. Like the Zuni case studies, this early repatriation literature is, for

159

Naamiwan’s Drum

the most part, descriptive, and achieving repatriation is an administrative struggle but the right thing to do. Around the same time as the US legislative passage of NAGPRA, Canadian museums signalled their institutional interest in a collaborative approach to repatriation. The Canadian impetus was the Spirit Sings controversy and the Lubicon Cree boycott of the Calgary Olympics (Harrison and Trigger 1988). The Assembly of First Nations and the Canadian Museums Association sponsored a series of consultations and, in 1992, jointly published the Task Force Report on Museums and First Peoples, Turning the Page (cf. Nicks 2003). “Since the late 1980s, the report has come to be the foundation of professional museum practice in Canada,” Phillips writes, favourably contrasting Canada’s flexible, opportunistic approach to the proscriptive legal process south of the border. “Its recommendation that museums consider not only the common law of property but also ethical principles and the needs of the First Nations has resulted in the return of objects to which museums had title in strictly legal terms” (Phillips 2003:157). Shortly after the publication of Turning the Page, Nick Stanley (1998) encouraged Canadian museums to seize the opportunity which repatriation – he uses both the term “restitution” and the term “liberation” – offers (1998:24; cf. Hanna 1999; Alberta First Nations Sacred Ceremonial Objects Repatriation Act 2000). Michael Ames advocated the study of museum-centred relationships, including repatriation, saying that objects in Canadian museums are “repositories of culture, machines for recontextualization, and platforms for the creation and promotion of cultural heritage” (Ames 1992:47). At the same time, he complained that there seemed to be little theoretical development associated with material culture research at the time and that “ideas derived from collections research are rarely being related to broader intellectual or professional issues” (Ames 1992:40). Phillips (2003) contains the first academic mention of the Pauingassi Collection repatriation. She says that healthy Canadian repatriation processes have built “new kinds of relationships between museums and First Nations based on the articulation of common interests in these materials” and that “at its most positive, repatriation negotiations open up the possibility of a ‘third way’ to exorcise the ghosts of history” (Phillips 2003:151). She used the University of Winnipeg situation as an instance where “[v]ery difficult questions may be raised in the negotiations. These include defining what is meant by ‘sacred’ and what is meant by the ‘origin’ of an object – the community where it was made, to which it was traded, or from which it was collected. Should an object be repatriated that was voluntarily and knowingly sold by its owner, because the societal context has now changed?” (Phillips 2003:162). Phillips says that the University of Winnipeg repatriation started as a media controversy: In 2001, however, newspapers across Canada reported on the dispute that arose after a curator at the University of Winnipeg’s Museum of Archaeology repatriated Ojibwa medicine objects originating among Manitoba Ojibwa to the U.S.-based Three Fires Society, which also claimed them as medicine objects necessary to the revival of Native spirituality. The descendants of the original owner of some of the objects have strongly objected to their removal from the Museum, where they had been placed by

160

Repatriation

his relative to preserve them against destruction by Christian fundamentalists in his community. (Phillips 2003:158)1

Phillips’s brief mention, quoted here in its entirety, of the events at the University of Winnipeg illustrates the difficulty, within the frame of advocacy scholarship, to draw any other lesson than warnings against bad museological practice. Phillips calls for excellence in determining provenance and authenticating community connections, saying that “[o]ne of the most serious impediments to repatriation is probably the need to demonstrate histories of ownership” (Phillips 2003:162). Such precise museological practice, Phillips reminds us, “requires sensitive and sometimes arduous negotiations and difficult day-to-day decisions. For example, which First Nations person or group is the appropriate authority with respect to a particular object or objects is often not clear” (Phillips 2003:159). While Phillips rightly identifies the need for thorough museological research, and other authors show that a careful community approach can be rewarding (e.g., Peers and Brown 2003; Conaty and Janes 1997; Clavir 2002), this is not the only lesson to be drawn from this Pauingassi Collection repatriation. The optimistic, practical literature cited above has recently been joined by a more adversarial, legally inflected discussion of Canadian repatriation cases deriving from the American model of NAGPRA, as well as the UNESCO Convention on Cultural Property (1970). Two works by Catherine Bell and collaborators Val Napoleon and Robert Paterson (Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009) focus on the inherent sacredness of cultural property and advocate legal approaches for the protection and restitution of First Nations cultural heritage via the application of what they call First Nations legal principles. In a survey article on First Nations cultural issues, in the 2008 volume, Bell, Graham Statt, Michael Solowan, Allyson Jeffs, and Emily Snyder challenge museums to acknowledge the potential healing role of artefacts by wholeheartedly repatriating sacred objects: Sacred items are also considered to have a role in healing the scars left by colonial oppression, residential schools, and the economic and social hardship imposed in the reserve era. Because these sacred items are viewed as family members whose presence is required for the protection and provision of the community as a whole, receiving these items on loan is analogous to having those members come for a visit rather than return home to take their place. (Bell, Statt, Solowan, Jeffs, and Snyder 2008:208)

This emphasis on sacredness has many American counterparts (Mihesuah 2000; Cowan, Dembour, and Wilson 2001; Fine-Dare 2002; Dean and Levi 2003). Nancy Rosoff, for instance, quotes George Horse Capture speaking about spiritual artefacts: “Sacredness is like the early morning dew, it falls over everything. Nothing is exempt, everything is sacred. But there are degrees of sacredness, places where the dew only lightly touched, and others where the dew heavily coated. These are the areas of intense sacredness, of power” (Morris 1994:1,3 in Rosoff 2003:74). There are echoes here of the rhetorical stance that Eddie Benton Banai takes in the previous chapter, a rhetoric shared by Canadian indigenous activists. At the initial 1988 conference of the Canadian Museums Task Force process, Chris McCormick, a

161

Naamiwan’s Drum

spokesperson for the Native Council of Canada, said of museums, “The pattern in Canada, as in the United States, has been to assume our imminent demise, take our sacred objects and lock them up in a mausoleum for dead birds and ­dinosaurs … it’s not surprising then that the cultural professionals – ­anthropologists, archaeologists, museum directors – have often been the handmaidens of colonialism and assimilation” (in Ames 1992:146). Bell and her colleagues approach the problem of repatriation from an advocacy perspective, arguing for the need to recognize the “distinctiveness of First Nations cultures.” Bringing the words of various elders to the forefront, they argue that “First Nations laws, which many feel should govern matters of cultural heritage, are not given equal standing in Canadian law and negotiations and that, instead, they are constantly adapting to conform to Western legal concepts and values” (Bell and Napoleon 2008:19), and that there is a need for “an intercultural dialogue between First Nations law and Canadian law” (27). They focus on the Kainai repatriation experience, which featured concepts of communal property and spiritual inheritance (224–5), and conclude and that there are Kainai protocols which rightly ought to supersede Canadian property law. In the overview chapter mentioned earlier, Bell, Statt, Solowan, Jeffs, and Snyder (2008) specifically discuss the controversy over the Pauingassi Collection. The events of the repatriation are described as an unfortunate case featuring “numerous conflicting accounts” and “challenges” (379). They introduce the situation of “the Pauingassi” this way: Sympathetic to the interests of First Nations, museum personnel have engaged in repatriations pursuant to formal and informal processes. Despite good intentions, challenges can arise when clear deaccessioning policies are not in place or are not followed … An example of the complexity of repatriation and problems that can arise in the absence of detailed records for deaccessioning. (Bell, Statt, Solowan, Jeffs, and Snyder 2008:378)

Using flawed newspaper accounts, they describe the situation as one in which a Three Fires representative “did not believe the Pauingassi’s [sic] claim to have knowledge. His understanding was that the repatriation occurred with the full knowledge and consent of members of the Pauingassi community and that the controversy was contrived” (378). Quoting the transcript of my radio documentary (Matthews 2002b), they then observe that Eddie Benton Banai “did not want the items returned to the Pauingassi [sic] if they were going to end up back in a museum or in the hands of those other than First Nations” (379). Presuming that repatriation is always a good thing, the writers blame the controversy on “complexity” and conclude with the enigmatic observation that on “21 June 2002 (National Aboriginal Day), members of the Three Fires Society met in a private ceremony in Winnipeg with representatives of the Pauingassi community to return the two water drums, a drum rim, a drum plug, and two drum sticks. The remaining items in the collection were never found” (380). Obviously the mistaken repatriation of the Pauingassi Collection to the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge does not lend itself to an analysis focused on a comparison

162

Repatriation

of First Nations and Canadian law, nor does this comparison provide a theoretical understanding of the processes at work in repatriation generally. Repatriation raises unique moral questions within as well as between social groups, and this literature based on the hopeful presumption that indigenous legal concepts will provide guidance does not advance our understanding significantly. Phillips’s intuition that solutions based on thorough museum research are made relevant by vibrant connections with source communities seems to provide a better guide to practice. Much recent repatriation literature is based on exploring this often fruitful relationship with source communities (Peers and Brown 2003; Edwards et al. 2006). Ann Fienup-Riordan has written wonderful accounts of what she calls “visual repatriation.” Yup’ik elders travelled to Europe to visit collections originating in their communities (Fienup-Riordan 2003 (1998):23–30): [T]heir primary concern was not to reclaim museum objects but to re-own the knowledge and experiences that the objects embodied. And … instead of resentment at what has been lost and taken from them, elders expressed profound gratitude toward both the collectors, without whom the objects would surely have been destroyed, and the museums, who so carefully preserve these objects today. While repatriation and struggles for the physical control of objects remain contentious issues, Yup’ik elders’ work in collections provides a lesson in how native access to collections can work to everyone’s benefit. (Fienup-Riordan 2003 (1998):40)

Clifford anticipated this cheering possibility, arguing that in accepting their role as “contact zones” and by “thinking of their mission as contact work – decentred and traversed by cultural and political negotiations that are out of any imagined community’s control – museums might begin to grapple with the real difficulties of dialogue, alliance, inequality and translation [and repatriation]” (Clifford 1997:213). But from an anthropological point of view, aside from Clifford’s rather useful adaptation of the concept of “contact zone” and preliminary work by Michael Ames (1992), there has been slight use of anthropological theory in repatriation accounts; the literature to date has provided little more than practical museological advice and unrewarding legal analysis. This is in spite of the fact that repatriation is an event where people and meaningful objects are engaged at an emotional level, where the outcomes are charged and uncertain, and where the major themes of anthropology – gift exchange, personhood, power, memory, and agency – are overtly in play in the creation of emergent and unpredictable social worlds.

The Collected The collected and their collectors shared the mutual experience of coming to know one another through objects. While “exotic” objects were helping Europeans formulate theoretical ideas about the nature of man as a social being and work out the place of Native North Americans in this schema, trade in European goods coming to North America and the matching trade in native-made goods flowing in the

163

Naamiwan’s Drum

other direction taught the Ojibwe about Europeans. We turn here to the experience of source communities and the process by which their artefacts become ours. Although many indigenous groups did not actively engage with explorers and fur traders, the Ojibwe certainly did. They participated in the early fur trade, guiding explorers inland, with the result that Ojibwe place names predominate in the Great Lakes region and across the northern prairie. Their close association with the fur trade meant that the Ojibwe prospered relative to their neighbours. For much of that time, trade was conducted on a relatively equal footing. Close family ties between the Ojibwe and European men meant that European material culture was subsumed into Ojibwe social contexts (Peers 1994:35, Swaggerty 1981; White 1982). As Nicholas Thomas observed in the colonial setting of the Pacific islands, there was “a kind of symmetry between indigenous appropriations of European artefacts and the colonial collecting of indigenous goods” (Thomas 1991:5). The fur trade was economically dominant in what is now Western Canada for two hundred years, and in places like Pauingassi the fur trade economy remained viable for more than three hundred and fifty years (Lytwyn 1986:151). During this period, Ojibwe people were able to satisfy their curiosity about Europeans, many of whom had learned to speak Ojibwe, while Europeans an ocean away knew the Ojibwe only through the few artefacts which made their way to the museums of Europe. There is considerable evidence that when European trade goods entered Ojibwe communities they were assimilated into Ojibwe regimes of significance. There has been interesting archaeological work on the fetishization of gun stocks and the connection between dragon side-plates on guns and Ojibwe hunting magic (Miller and Hamell 1986), showing that even objects as overtly technical and manifestly European as weaponry were amenable to Ojibwe appropriation. Like their rather individual and aggregating approach to religion, the Ojibwe appear to have incorporated trade goods, particularly clothing, cooking utensils, and hunting and trapping gear, on Ojibwe terms, without being overwhelmed by European material culture hegemonies. Chris Gosden and Chantal Knowles (2001) and Thomas (1991) emphasize the importance, relative equality, and optional nature of trade in the early colonial period, and although they are speaking of the South Pacific, Canadian historians have painted a similar portrait of early fur trade relations in Canada (Lytwyn, 1986, 2002; Peers 1994; Brown 1980, 1989; Brown and Gray 2009; Van Kirk 1980). It seems that a comparison can be made between the change induced by material culture and the process of religious conversion. Susan Gray (2007) has written about Christian conversion on the Berens River and she observes that conversion is often framed by pragmatic choices, as was the case with Hallowell’s friend William Berens, and characterized by partial and sometimes syncretic belief. For many of the people Gray interviewed, Christ is simply one more other-than-­ human spirit-being. Gray uses a conversation with Naamiwan, cited by Hallowell, in which Naamiwan refers to Jesus coming from the heavens where the spirits of the dead reside (85). Either Naamiwan is including Christ as one of the many occupants of the sky world or, knowing roughly what Christians are said to believe, he is simply framing his answer so that a Christian might understand. Naamiwan

164

Repatriation

apparently rang a bell on Sundays and read from a Cree syllabic prayer book, but those who knew him said he was not a Christian and that it was simply an aspect of his “gift” (Matthews and Roulette 2003:282). Christian conversion appears to be bracketed and incomplete even if missionary contact has taken place over multiple generations. Percy Berens, seventy years after his father, a professed Christian, worked with Hallowell, still believes completely in the powers of memegwesiwag, and unconditionally credits them with the major successes in his life (Matthews 2007). The process of conversion to a dogmatic religion like Christianity seems to be incomplete until language is lost and people have moved away from the land which is home to their stories. The alteration to Ojibwe material culture caused by the introduction of European objects, including guns, housing, boats, motors and the like, is at least as complex a process as religious conversion and, in many instances, as partial. The characterization of Amerindian peoples in the colonial period as dupes in an unequal trading relationship has been shown to be inaccurate and simplistic (White 1991:xv). For the people of the Upper Berens River this negative stereotype was never true, especially when one considers the museum collecting which has taken place on the river. While museum collections in other parts of North America were sometimes the result of mean-spirited laws or even the odious practice of grave robbing (Pettipas 1994; Cole 1985), the known Pauingassi collecting was undertaken by anthropologists who had good relationships and benign intentions towards the community. Hallowell in the 1930s believed he was collecting the artefacts of deceased practitioners of a ceremony which was no longer conducted (Hallowell 1936:30), and Steinbring, in 1970, believed he was saving Pauingassi material culture from a tourist outfitter and his thoughtless souvenir-hunting guests (Steinbring 1994). Speaking from a Maori perspective, Paul Tapsell argues that one can look at this sort of interaction in a positive light. “Since the nineteenth century the conscious agency (Thomas 1991) by elders of planting object-associated knowledge within museums – eagerly accepted by curators for their own ethnocentrically driven reasons – is now providing an invaluable bridge over which today’s urban-raised kin are beginning to reconnect with their ancestral past if they so choose. Until recently, it appears neither museums nor urban-raised kin have understood the foresight of agency that elders have quietly carried when engaging, or not engaging with museums” (Tapsell 2003:244). In reaching out to the Anthropology Museum as he did when he came to speak in 1995, Omishoosh was offering to make good on that foresight. How is it then that Eddie Benton Banai has such a negative view of museums and the status of artefacts in their care? The reason lies in the way that meaning is constructed. When Omishoosh rediscovered his ceremonial regalia and the drums and rattles of the Ogichidaag in the museum, his experience was like that of a family reunion, characterized by the bubbling up of old and profound personal ties and the memory of social obligations. His impulse was to tell about the ceremonial relationships between these wiikaanag, ritual brethren, and to use the occasion to restore the memory of the men who were able to bring life into things. When he saw the “old valuable implements, gichi-aabijitaawin,” at the museum, he said,

165

Naamiwan’s Drum

“Look here. Given the length of time they’ve been here, they’ve been aesthetically preserved/cared for properly. It’s as if the ancestors from whom we came – because we are all ­descendants – it seems that we are being watched by them. That’s what I think when I look at their creations; that these are the benefits of their preservation.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:67)

Nashke-sh wiin ‘omaa ginwezh gwayak izhinaagwanoon ono, gwayak gii-ganawaabanjigaadegin. Daabishkoo gete-anishinaabeg gaagii-bi-onjiiyang gakina. Mii aaniish ‘imaa gaa-onjiiyang gegiinawind. Daabishkoo e-bimi-ganawaabamangwaa i’ gete-anishinaabeg indinendaan ‘owe gaa-waabandamowagwaa odoozhichiganiwaan. Mii ezhi-minoseg ‘iwe.

Throughout, artefacts are under the watchful eye of the ancestors, still engaged in the ritual relationships which gave them power. This is why Pauingassi Ojibwe people like Omishoosh don’t imagine objects as embodying knowledge; instead they embody present and active relationships. This implies a more active degree of sociality for artefacts than thinking about objects as cultural exemplars or mnemonic devices. I do not argue that Ojibwe people never used objects to remember. Visiting the artefacts in the museum certainly brought back memories for Omishoosh, and, at some level, well-recognized articles engender memories for anyone. Photographs of children and grandchildren line the top of the walls in most Pauingassi homes; old and respected objects remain in families, wrapped in blankets.2 These mementoes have survived moves and disruptions through the deliberate acts of those who attach meaning to them (Dening 1996:43). The subject of memory (minjimendamowin) itself is a vital one for Ojibwe speakers, centred on a concern about accurate, although not necessarily word-for-word, renditions of stories, history, and essential news (Matthews and Roulette 2003). Thus the Ojibwe have many implicit and explicit theories about how memory comes about and how the mind works. Hallowell questioned William Berens about memory and found that among other things Berens felt the mind was infinitely capable of accommodating life’s learning. “You will learn many things in life and you will find room in your mind for them all,” his father Jacob had told him (Brown 1989). My friend Louis Bird, a well-known Cree story teller and historian, talks about places in the mind. He says he “goes” one way or another following a memory path when he is looking for a particular story. Working with him, I found that he likes a day’s notice in order to bring a story fully to mind. He also said that although one could learn memory tricks – he for instance made a game out of learning a phone number by heart, having heard it only once – the stories of the legendary figures, who are animate entities in Cree as they are in Ojibwe, were a gift and they came of their own volition. But, significantly for the purposes of this discussion, objects are not primarily seen as mnemonic devices. In the various Pauingassi Ojibwe discussions so far there is no sense that the artefacts hold special meaning because their material being can be read for meaning; rather they are valued because their relative personhood means that they have had meaningful relationships with others who are

166

Repatriation

present or remembered. The social status of artefacts is fundamentally altered by the assumption that they exhibit the relational characteristics of personhood. Eddie Benton Banai, as we have seen, has an entirely different response to artefacts and museums, shaped by his personal and political history and his acute understanding of the cultural cost of overt and internalized colonialism. While arguing that artefacts ought to be in Ojibwe hands, he nevertheless accepts the museum idea that artefacts are mnemonic objects, that they hold cultural knowledge, and that the ownership of artefacts confers status and credibility. He considered being the “safe-keeper” of culturally precious articles from the Pauingassi Collection (EBB 2002:15) a sacred responsibility. “I treat all the articles with great care and great respect. It’s my spiritual and moral obligation to do so. I will take care of them. I’ll protect them” (EBB 2002:34). His life’s work has been centred on trying to help Ojibwe people reclaim their cultural identity and he is reputed to have a collection of books, manuscripts, and artefacts in aid of this project. Many others share his subaltern view of the symbolic capacity of objects to liberate the oppressed. Benton Banai believes museums have made this difficult, withholding objects necessary for cultural revitalization. His approach is part of what Nancy Fraser has called “the shift in grammar of political claims-making from social equality claims to claims of group difference” in which “culture” becomes “a rhetorical object” (Fraser 1997:2 in Cowan, Dembour, and Wilson 2001:2, 3). In this mode, cultural objects are politicized, and the rhetoric revolves around their ownership and control.

Culture? Anthropology has “lost control” of two of its most basic terms, remarked Jean and John Comaroff in 1992, and one of the terms they had in mind was “culture.” “We have entered a conceptual free-for-all,” they wrote. “Our tropes have been taken over, our signs seized” (1992:ix). As I mentioned in a previous chapter, Marilyn Strathern would argue that this is no great loss and largely the fault of anthropologists themselves, who have contributed to culture’s misconception, a mistake compounded by the vocabulary of human rights advocates. According to Strathern, it is an error to think that culture is an optional practice of which people can be deprived or by some means helped to reclaim. “Individuals do not interact ‘with’ culture – they interact with persons whom they have relationships with,” she writes (1999:18). “The sum of these relationships is what defines the person and constitutes that person’s culture” (1999:9). lf culture is emergent in relationships which change over time, it becomes impossible to reify culture, and, more importantly, this focus emphasizes relational obligations: There is … a non-optional aspect to the relationships into which people are locked, producing a situation in which, once brought into being, the very fact of relationship becomes a condition prior (“ontologically prior”) to action … People are nowhere “free” to create relationships. This is true both because every relationship has a momentum and character of its own, that is, must take the form of a (specifiable)

167

Naamiwan’s Drum

“relation” and thereby embody a particular image of itself, and because each relationship involves other parties, at a minimum, in sustaining the relationship. (Strathern 1999:18–19).

Following Strathern, let us not forget that we have accepted the dividual nature of museum artefacts as person/objects (chapter 4). If the sum of a person’s relationships constitutes that person’s culture, then this must be true of artefacts, and thus “cultural property” is the name of but one relationship an artefact might have, one image among many, each predicating a different possible destiny. The apprehension of multiple relationships is an acknowledgment of the artefact’s relative personhood, whereas the dominance of one image – one relationship – captures the artefact in its least person-like mode (Strathern 1999:16): One effect of the Euro-American division between persons and things is to promote property rights (between persons with respect to things) as the paradigmatic exemplification of ownership – so that when one talks of ownership one implies that rights are being exercised over (in relation to) some “thing” or other. The more entities approximate to things, the more legitimate ownership appears. (Strathern 1999:6)

When one relationship/image, “cultural property,” for instance, trumps all others, the object is reduced to its most thing-like, least agentive state (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:28). It was in this vulnerable mono-dimensional, thing-like state, as “cultural property” trapped in the obligations of a cultural rights claim by a self-appointed “traditional spiritual community,” that forty-one sacred objects in the Pauingassi Collection were repatriated to the wrong party. A critique of “cultural property” as a mono-dimensional mode may be made without denying that some objects are indeed some individual’s or some group’s rightful patrimony and that some claims about cultural property are perfectly valid. In these cases, complementary historical, family, and ceremonial relationships will confirm the claim. The critique of “cultural property” I advance here is that, in suppressing the personhood of artefacts and ignoring their multiple relationships and complex provenance, we make them vulnerable to cultural hijacking. In the case of the Pauingassi artefacts, they were repatriated to an activist group because one image, their persona as alienated Ojibwe cultural property, was allowed to trump all other identities. The artefacts slid into a vulnerable thing-like state. For a museum artefact, being “possessed” by the museum is one of Strathern’s “unavoidable” relations. Being “cultural property” in relation to one or more contemporary indigenous groups is probably another of the multiple “unavoidable” relations of indigenous artefacts in public museums in an age of repatriation (1999:18–19). I accept Strathern’s critique of culture, and in fact one need look no further than the story of this repatriation to see the mischief that concepts of cultural property can cause. “Culture,” Roy Wagner warns, “is a kind of fiction.” Wagner says that an anthropologist creates culture comparatively while describing and explaining his field of interest. “It is only through ‘invention’ of this kind that the abstract significance of culture … can be grasped, and only through the experienced contrast

168

Repatriation

that his own culture becomes ‘visible.’ In the act of inventing another culture, the anthropologist invents his own, and in fact he reinvents the notion of culture itself” (Wagner 1981 (1975):4). “Culture” becomes “visible” to anthropologists who reflect comparatively on the way they and others live. This perceptual shift occurs in everyone with comparative cultural experience and was surely a part of Eddie Benton Banai’s radicalization. The development of forceful contemporary indigenous cultural activism provides a bulwark against racist and colonial Euro-American pressures. The creation of compelling contemporary indigenous religious practice provides an alternative to Christianity. These are laudable elements of the political agenda of the American Indian Movement. Eddie Benton Banai’s indifference to Pauingassi seemed to be rooted in his frustration with their “acquiescence” in the colonial struggle and their apparent abandonment of their spiritual roots (EBB 2002:9, 57). Benton Banai, interestingly, rarely used the word “culture,” and when he did, he used it comparatively as a rhetorical object, talking about the appeal of “black culture” to indigenous youth (EBB 2002:24–6). Most of the time, he referred to culture in terms of an Ojibwe “covenant with the spirit.” His critique of Pauingassi was stated in these terms. Describing the people of Pauingassi as having “turned white Christian,” he says they have been “pounced upon by white racist preachers, who are doing everything they can to destroy us, to destroy our covenant with the spirit” (EBB 2002:2). There is an uncomfortable racist undertone to this kind of rhetoric. Benton Banai tells me that “the government is rampant with white racists that still hate us and very likely you’re one of them” (EBB 2002:7). But his position on repatriation is conventional in the context of the international struggle for indigenous cultural rights. When he says, “It’s not a white matter. It’s not a Christian matter. It’s an Indian, it’s a native issue” (EBB 2002:8), he is not alone in this sentiment. The assertion that indigenous people have a overriding interest in the definition of their own culture and inalienable rights to their own cultural artefacts is the assumption upon which most contemporary North American museum practice is based. Many appropriate and successful repatriations have come about because these ideas have been adopted widely. But the obligation to repatriate artefacts to indigenous peoples is also the logical consequence of the politicization of the concept of bounded cultures. Strathern may see the danger in using the term in this way, but “culture” as a rhetorical object has been instantiated in national and international laws, codified by museums, and authenticated by repatriation. As Keesing observes, this kind of awareness of one’s culture as a rhetorical object, so evident in the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, is an international phenomenon. “Kastom,” as culture is called by the Kwayo people in Papua New Guinea, is derived from the experience of colonialism. “Prior to colonial rule … they did not – could not – have kastom,” Keesing argues. “[C]onceptualizing one’s custom as an entity, a symbolically-laden ‘thing’ towards which one can take a stance – positive (as in the Kwayo [and Ojibwe] case) or negative … is possible only under a situation of domination. Kastom does not represent simply the customary practices of Malaita peoples, but represents a hypostatization of customs as a body, the elevation of custom into an externalized political symbol” (Keesing 1994:45). The

169

Naamiwan’s Drum

elevation of culture to an object of symbolic resistance is evident in the rhetoric of Eddie Benton Banai and the American Indian Movement cited earlier. In Canada this “symbolic resistance” among native people was signalled by a name change. Because of our unique Canadian history, the indigenous rights movement in Canada is partially framed by comparisons with a national independence movement in Quebec. When young Indian radicals in the US were talking about Red Power and thinking comparatively about Black Power, Canada’s native peoples concentrated, like Quebec sovereigntists, on establishing their sovereign nationhood; they wanted acknowledgment that their rights were guaranteed in nation-to-nation treaties. Canada’s native political leaders abruptly terminated their colonial mode as “Indians” and started calling themselves “First Nations people.” As Richard Handler points out, nationhood produces expectations about “culture”: The nation is said to “have” or “possess” a culture, just as its human constituents are described as “bearers” of the national culture. From the nationalist perspective, the relationship between nation and culture should be characterized by originality and authenticity. Culture traits that come to the nation from outside are at best “borrowed” and at worst polluting; by contrast, those pieces or aspects of national culture that come from within the nation, that are original to it, are “authentic.” Yet specifying the components or content of an authentic national culture is a secondary operation which follows the assumption that a culture-bearing nation exists. (Handler 1985:198)

Even remote Pauingassi is now a First Nation, but the consequence – that as a “culture-bearing” Nation, they ought to have a “culture” – is problematic. Canadian scholars often write about First Nationhood and the reactivation of First Nations culture as if this were an unalloyed good thing (Phillips 2005; Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009), but the kind of culture the people are expected to perform in Pauingassi has largely been determined by urban pan-­ Indian revitalization movements. Three Fires members, for instance, see certain performative and boundary-marking practices (Powwows, pipe and sweat ceremonies, wearing “Native”-themed clothing and jewellery, long hair) as signs of “having culture.” Not seeing these signs in Pauingassi, they assume that people from Pauingassi are culturally deficient. Pauingassi people are judged failures at being Ojibwe in the accepted cultural way. A local social worker has blamed Pauingassi’s family problems on the lack of “culture” (Rabson 2005), and a battle over what constitutes authentic Pauingassi cultural performance is encroaching. Some of Pauingassi’s newest political leaders are members of groups similar to Three Fires. Some live outside the community and learn about “Native culture” from urban native teachers whose understanding has been formed by the same imperatives that shaped Three Fires. From time to time this indigenous revitalization aesthetic washes up on Pauingassi shores. At the grand opening of Omishoosh Memorial School, along with the minister of native affairs and other dignitaries, a professional Native dance troupe was flown to the community. They arrived with their Plains-style Powwow drum, and the dancers in pink and turquoise satin jingle-dresses and porcupine-quill grass-dance outfits performed a contemporary honour dance.

170

7.1  Omishoosh’s wife, Janet Owen, cutting the ribbon at opening of Omishoosh School, September 2005.

7.2  Visiting dance group at the opening of Omishoosh School, Pauingassi, September 2005.

Naamiwan’s Drum

The local children, many of them monolingual Ojibwe speakers and Ojibwe to the bone, stood with their backs to the wall of the Navaho-blanket-patterned school confronting a spectacle of stereotypical Indian-ness that demeaned them and left them culturally bereft. This cultural taunting is bound to destabilize Pauingassi cultural identity. The asymmetrical power relationships at the heart of this inadvertent but telling instance of cultural intimidation were also at the heart of the mis-repatriation of the Pauingassi Collection.

Tradition? The practice of anthropology has long been based on a perceived dichotomy between tradition and modernity. The Comaroffs write that anthropologists have had an investment in preserving “zones of tradition” as fields of research and consequently have stressed social reproduction and minimized social innovation. “‘Traditional’ communities are still frequently held, for instance, to rest upon sacred certainties; modern societies, instead, to look to history to account for themselves or to assuage their sense of alienation and loss” (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:5). While it is not too difficult to imagine Pauingassi in a classically “traditional” mode because so many old Ojibwe ideas seem to survive there, and to see urban native communities as the ones suffering alienation and loss, contemporary political institutions with modern purposes like Three Fires, which simultaneously claim historic religious beliefs and espouse sacred certainties, pose a problem for anthropology in the way in which they combine tradition and contemporary creativity. Anthropologists and historians call social and religious movements such as the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge “revitalization” or “millenarian” movements. Like the Sioux Ghost Dance (Mooney 1965 (1896)) and the Iroquois Handsome Lake movement (Wallace 1969), Three Fires offers a combination of astute, charismatic political leadership and a mélange of Christian, Ojibwe, revolutionary, and ecological beliefs. Anthropological studies of revitalization movements are often both groundbreaking and heart-wrenching, but they are set slightly apart from other ethnographic work. Because the subject is an awkward mix of syncretic beliefs rather than the manifestation of a discrete “tradition,” the Comaroffs argue that modern millenarian movements are not studied seriously. “[T]heir ‘millenary’ kind are seldom attributed proper political motives, seldom credited with the rational, purposive actions in which history allegedly consists,” they write, emphasizing that anthropologists overlook “important similarities in the ways in which societies everywhere are made and remade” (1992:5). One of the ways to resolve this awkwardness is to consider revitalization movements as examples of everyday social improvisation. Tim Ingold and Elizabeth Hallam (2007) suggest looking at the creative and improvisational nature of social life in a way that avoids a dichotomy between tradition and innovation. By highlighting the creative dynamic of cultural processes (equally evident in the evolution of Three Fires and the everyday events of the lives of people in Pauingassi), they provide an interpretive mode which reveals “how cultural forms are

172

Repatriation

produced and reproduced, rather than merely replicated and transmitted, through active experimental engagement over time and in the generation of persons within their social and material environments” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:19). Rather than looking at societies as either modern or traditional, they adapt a vocabulary derived from the music performance analysis of Nicholas Cook, who insists that both classical and jazz musicians are improvising. “The difference is in their aims,” writes Ingold. “The former is as it were, centripetal, aiming for the bull’s eye; the latter centrifugal, seeking to cast wide. This same variation, from centripetal to centrifugal, can be discerned in many other fields of performance” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:13). Pressing this musical metaphor a little further, I suggest that the improvisational aspects of cultural performance may be centripetal in intent and centrifugal in method, a phenomenon which would neatly characterize contemporary indigenous revitalization movements. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge evolved in a resistance mode, and members express a profoundly subaltern view of culture and politics. As Keesing, following Gramsci, has observed, “The cultures and politics of subalternity are inherently oppositional. They are, to use Gramsci’s phrase, structured by a ‘series of negations’. And, indeed, they may be structured by ‘affirmations’ as well: that is the classic hegemonic process, in which subalterns are deeply implicated in their own subjugation” (1994:54). Keesing argues that “the unities and identities proclaimed in political struggle” are inescapably framed by the colonial context (1994:50). Codifying and legitimizing culture involves a “dialectical process of denying and resisting the capitalist transformation of their society while at the same time seeking to control resources, patronage and political power within the post-colonial state” (Keesing 1994:51). A similar creative resistance is described by Ramon A. Gutierrez, who explores the history of the Pueblo revolt to show how subaltern faith can be strengthened by resistance to Christianity while simultaneously being restructured to match and more effectively oppose Christianity (Gutierrez 1991:143). By articulating the need to reinstate the Ojibwe “covenant of the spirit,” Eddie Benton Banai is strengthening an Ojibwe spiritual revival using Christian biblical vocabulary. Benton Banai’s insistence on the exclusive practice of his version of the Midewiwin echoes the dogmatic monotheism of Christianity. When he does these things while simultaneously condemning the polluting nature of white Christian beliefs, he provides an excellent example of Keesing’s politically situated creative resistance (and an equally good example of Ingold and Hallam’s centrifugal improvisation as well). Indigenous activists like those involved in Three Fires deploy an idealized conception of “traditional,” making astute political use of an anthropological construct to legitimize their cultural claims. They use this ideal form in much the same way that Strathern uses an idealized Melanesia as an interpretive heuristic to make a point about the complexity of ethnographic analysis (Gell 1999c:33) and Omishoosh uses an idealized Ojibwe moral order to explain the constraints of Ojibwe life. “Cultural property” in this idealized “traditional” mode includes those things one needs to exercise one’s internationally recognized traditional cultural rights. “As this term has come into common use,” Lissant Bolton explains, “at least in museums, it usually operates with reference to … groups, which are

173

Naamiwan’s Drum

usually designated ‘traditional owners.’ Cultural property is spoken of as belonging to traditional owners – that is to the makers and users of the object or to their descendants, descent being loosely defined so that it can refer to a specific family or an entire ethnic group” (Bolton 2003:45). When artefacts in museums are claimed as cultural property, it is often argued that their rightful place is among contemporary “traditional” practitioners (Conaty and Janes 1997:35). This is precisely the argument advanced with respect to the Pauingassi artefacts. The Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, a “Traditional spiritual community” whose members “adhere to a Traditional value system of the Ojibwa/Saulteaux Nation,” was identified by museum staff as the rightful claimant, and their authority to hold the objects was said to have been confirmed by “traditional mentors throughout the aboriginal community”3 (a claim later refuted (Singleton 2002:11)). The assertion of traditional connections or authority is often unchallenged because it is difficult to confirm and it seems churlish to suggest that traditional claims could have political overtones (cf. Bell and Napoleon 2008:251). Gerald T. Conaty and Robert R. Janes provide a rare example where years of collaborative work allow them to use the term “traditional” with confidence. Of the repatriation of a Blackfoot bundle they write, “to First Nations people the bundles are not merely collections of physical objects. They are living entities which require the vigilant care and attention which can only be undertaken within the context of a traditional lifestyle” (1997:35; my emphasis). Even in Conaty and Janes’s steady hands, the evolving, improvisational qualities of every lifestyle are sacrificed to assumptions about the stability of tradition. Whereas the word “culture” rarely came up in my conversation with Eddie Benton Banai, the word “traditional” appears frequently. He cites Three Fires’ traditional beliefs, their rightful ownership of traditional ceremonial artefacts, his respect for elders with knowledge of traditional ways who have traditional connections to spirituality, and he even used traditional to describe the ceremonial things Pauingassi is expected to do to get their artefacts back (EBB 2002:2, 7, 24, 26, 11). Roger Roulette (October 2009) believes that this use of traditional elevates religious practice to the esoteric and has the effect of excluding the uninitiated. The Ojibwe word for culture – izhitwaa, as a verb, and as a noun, izhitwaawin – is also used to describe a person’s characteristic daily routine. It has the everyday overtones of Bourdieu’s habitus and none of the pretensions of high culture or spirituality. Over the years, members of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge have created an operational definition of “traditional Ojibwe culture” which addresses contemporary social concerns and serves contemporary political interests. It combines an understanding of the historical practice of the Midewiwin with the need to provide a way for urban native people to participate in their culture even if they have lost their language. It reflects the personal history, education, and creativity of Eddie Benton Banai. It embodies the collective experience of the group and their individual contributions to practice. Some say that Three Fires traditions are partly invention, creatively opposed to the Christian environment in which Eddie Benton Banai and many of his fellow members grew up; they are partly based on historical Ojibwe religious sources, including the Midewiwin practitioners who trained him and the scholarly work he has read (PD 2002). Three Fires members use

174

Repatriation

“traditional” Ojibwe culture to address very contemporary problems: the need to stem addiction, to initiate educational reform, and to articulate a positive contemporary native cultural identity. “That’s what the Three Fires Midewiwin Society is about,” Eddie Benton Banai told me. “We’re going to stand up against alcoholism, drug use, family destruction. We are rebuilding families. We are rebuilding, restoring human dignity through the power of the spirit” (EBB 2002:10). Three Fires is a brilliant contemporary indigenous cultural innovation which draws on the long historical roots of Midewiwin and other Great Lakes Ojibwe ceremonial practices. Its members are clearly grateful and committed. I have spoken to people who have attended the ceremonies and watched in tears while glowing young people pledged themselves to sobriety, higher education, community service, and “traditional” practice. This urgently needed “traditional” practice seems benign, yet it provided the backdrop to Eddie Benton Banai’s condemnation of the people of Pauingassi. He said he would keep Pauingassi drums until the people of Pauingassi conformed to his idea of traditional Ojibwe cultural practice. “The day that Pauingassi does the traditional ceremonial things that are required and if they convince me that they [the drums] will never again fall into white hands, I’ll see to it that they get returned” (EBB 2002:11). Earlier in the conversation he had said, “I will take care of them until Midewiwin people of that community request them to come home” (EBB 2002:8). His idea of the Midewiwin is in stark variance to the practice described in such comprehensive detail by Omishoosh, yet Eddie Benton Banai’s assertion of “traditional” authority was virtually unquestioned by the museum, the university, and most media throughout the repatriation. Adjudicating claims of authenticity and policing the boundaries of traditional practice are a function of the political role of culture in contemporary indigenous society. Native people are validated in their cultural identity when they conform to non-native stereotypes, especially as regards their ecological ideals and spiritual practice (cf. Matthews 1991). Cultural exemplars advance the cause of human rights, performing and explaining culture in ways that elicit rights and establish cultural norms (Samson 2001:227). Traditional ecological knowledge derived from these exemplar/elders has become an imperative in global warming research and sustainable development studies, however manipulative the process of collecting it may be (Samson 2001:237). Cultural ambassadors are called upon to speak authoritatively in cultural negotiations with non-native institutions of various sorts, including museums. In all these interactions, it simplifies things if representatives of native people are seen to be “traditional” and to be engaged in “traditional” cultural practices. The window for the abuse of traditional claims is opened by the stereotypical expectations of individuals and institutions. Native people can hardly be blamed for jumping through these windows of opportunity when there is no other way to access rights and gain political purchase. An example from the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia (UBC) shows the power of traditional claims. In 2000, Ruth Phillips, then director of the museum, organized an event bringing together Kwakwaka’wakw community members and Kwakwaka’wakw artefacts from UBC collections. These artefacts included a rare and valuable ceremonial “copper” and a copper fragment. “When presented or given

175

Naamiwan’s Drum

away at potlatches they embody enormous amounts of wealth,” wrote Phillips. “When purposely destroyed in public rituals by the cutting away of a panel with a ceremonial copper cutting knife, they offer the most aggressive possible challenge to a rival … Breaking a copper … was like wishing somebody dead” (2005:103). Speaking at this conference was a Kwakwaka’wakw gentleman, Chief Dick, who is described by Phillips as “a man whose family had managed to prevent him from being sent to residential school and whom they had chosen to receive the traditional training and knowledge appropriate to his rank” (Phillips 2005:103; my emphasis). In this instance as in many others, “traditional” implies authenticity and is used here and elsewhere in openly political ways. Chief Dick chose to be political. While Phillips sat in the audience, Chief Dick announced that he was going to break the UBC Kwakwaka’wakw copper in a gesture to “the Government of Canada, the province of British Columbia and the museums to challenge them to deal with the issues of repatriation”: I sat in my chair, watching him hold up the copper and bring his “copper breaker” knife toward it, thinking that he would actually cut off one of its panels – certainly the ultimate crime against a museum – and wondering if, as the director of the museum, I should do something. And I remember thinking in the next instant that I would not because if Chief Dick were actually to alter the state of the object, its materiality would then reflect a new layer of history, one imbricated in museum practice, including paradigms of conservation and preservation. But Chief Dick mimed the action, holding aloft the already broken panel from our collection. Although he left the museum’s copper intact, he left his auditors nonetheless shaken and moved – permanently, I think – by the sense of a narrow escape and by the unforgettable power of his actions and words. (Phillips 2005:103–4)

While Phillips draws the lesson that these performances are “rehearsals, the acting out of ‘real’ political dynamics in the museum-as-theatre,” where museums are “useful stand-ins and convenient surrogates for governments that are much harder to engage directly,” this is only true if the event is based on reliably authentic traditional practice. The truth of traditional claims made on Chief Dick’s behalf is essential to her conclusion that “the museum offers a different kind of site for historical practice, a performative space in which it is possible to observe and analyse the ways in which people think about the past and negotiate its legacy in the present” (Phillips 2005:104). The reason this was a positive moment for the museum is that Chief Dick was a diplomat as well as a performer, acknowledging the multiple relationships of the copper whatever his traditional understandings may have been. There is a hair’s breadth here between the acting out of “political dynamics” and an act of politicized vandalism.4 It was a comparable assumption, unwarranted as it turned out, about the traditional credentials of Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge which turned a repatriation into what Omishoosh considered a theft. One of the characteristics of “traditional beliefs” is that they are imagined as constituting a master narrative, an ontology or hegemony, which cannot be interrogated by the believer (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:29). There is a long-standing anthropological convention of writing about these beliefs as if those who accept

176

Repatriation

them do so without reserve, “as if the beliefs mastered and manipulated them (like projected delusions),” but Michael Jackson suggests that when anthropologists “write as if beliefs were fixed, external facts which determine experience and activity, this is tantamount to saying that the ‘believers’ are mad” (Jackson 1989:65). Jackson has advanced the alternative view that “beliefs are best regarded as tokens which are manipulated inventively in critical situations to achieve personal and collective goals. The assertion that beliefs are absolute and objectively given is rhetorically significant rather than empirically realized” (1989:65). He argues that people often simulate or feign belief, and that when they act as if something were true, the phenomenon is often temporary. He invokes by way of explanation William James’s term “extra truth,” “an idea which one stores in one’s mind until such time as one sees a use for it and realizes its truth. But once it has served its purpose, the idea is set aside, its truth again quiescent” (Jackson 1989:65). This observation about the possibility of intermittent belief within an enabling social framework accords well with Ojibwe expressions of their understanding of the world. As Hallowell and I have both found, Ojibwe people speaking in their own language express their understandings in provisional and personal ways, openly admitting that others might disagree or have areas of expertise where they do not, and frequently expressing scepticism. “The Indian is no fool,” writes Hallowell. “He employs the same common sense reasoning processes as ourselves, so that if he firmly holds to certain beliefs, we may be sure that they are supported in some degree by an empirical foundation” (Hallowell 1934:393). At the same time, Hallowell acknowledges that truth claims are often conditional, and proof emerges over time. Jackson quotes another William James observation, which Hallowell, Omishoosh, and the new animists mentioned in previous chapters would appreciate, that truth is what “happens to an idea. It becomes true, is made true by events. The veracity is in fact an event, a process” (James 1978:97 in Jackson, 1989:64). Tradition is like truth in the sense that it is a process, proved (or not) by events. Truth claims about “tradition” are like claims for the distinctiveness of bounded cultures; prior to colonial engagement, there was no need to make such claims. Traditional is a comparative mode, the virtuous opposite of modernity, acculturation, and Christianity. As with other positive stereotypic modes, the great danger is that because traditional claims cannot be systematically authenticated, it means that they can be arbitrarily denied, and a failed traditionalist is an apostate. Of all the assertions made by Three Fires, the most damning was that Pauingassi people had abandoned their traditional spiritual practices. It was a claim Omishoosh was powerless to counter because he never imagined himself as an exemplar of “tradition” in the first place. I have asked if there is an Ojibwe word for tradition and have been told “not really”; that there are ways of talking about old practices, but the category “traditional” is absent (Roulette April 2009). The most consistent claim Three Fires made on their own behalf was that they were “traditional.” After the repatriation was exposed, they blocked effective investigative action by citing “traditional” communal ownership of property and “traditional” ceremonial prerogatives (Martin 2001). They consistently represented themselves as having the “traditional” right to control the drums and the “traditional” religious authority

177

Naamiwan’s Drum

to set conditions for their return. As Jennifer Brown argues, the university became complicit when it chose to accept “traditional” claims and ignore an evident disparity in power relations within the greater Anishinaabe comunity. “The University was very keen to establish good indigenous relationships and indigenous people who are well educated, who are completely fluent in English, who hold good positions in the city, are able to speak very effectively for themselves and for the groups they belong to and the people in these more remote communities, their voices simply are not heard” (Matthews 1993:9). It is evident that traditional claims made in the context of repatriation need to be interrogated thoroughly. In this case, the creatively centrifugal nature of Three Fires practice is obscured by the invocation of “tradition,” blocking the study of a vibrant revitalization movement which is positively reshaping the cultural experience of urban indigenous people. At the same time, traditional claims effectively inhibited investigation of a vigorous, politically privileged Ojibwe ceremonial group who had inadvertently disenfranchised their northern Ojibwe cousins.

Personhood? As Marilyn Strathern has pointed out, claims of ownership or rights claims are claims made by persons in respect of things. In this chapter we have seen that repatriation claims, like other such claims, impose a thing-like mode with non-optional obligations. We have also seen that when repatriation claims are activated, because they demand so much of artefacts, they tend to expose conflicting claims and hidden relationships, thus increasing our awareness of their artefactual personhood if only for a moment. When the multiplicity of social relationships is revealed, an artefact emerges as “a particular entity” with “a history of particulars” (Strathern 1999:14) which may have been hidden from view. In the last chapter, to accommodate the complexity of relations evident in the lives of museum artefacts, we employed the concept of the museum as a “contact zone” (Clifford 1997). Mary Louise Pratt defined the contact zone as a “space where people geographically and historically separated from one another come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality and intractable conflict” (1992:7). Retrospectively applying this view to the repatriation of the Pauingassi Collection is instructive. In combination with our understanding of the personhood of artefacts, it follows that artefacts as well as human persons are “constituted in and by their relations to each other” (Pratt 1992:6–7). This is certainly true of the artefacts, which shift registers of meaning frequently as their multiple and often conflicting relationships come together at the museum as contact zone as much as they cohere in the person/object. In this repatriation there was relatively little copresence, temporal or otherwise, since many of the parties to the repatriation have never met and never will. The repatriated artefacts departed the museum a year and half before the gift to Three Fires became known. The people closest to the artefacts include one person long dead, one person recently deceased, both with socially active ghosts. There are a

178

Repatriation

number of living Owen family members as well as chiefs, band councillors and tribal council officials, translators, museum professionals, curators, professors, media people of various sorts, university administrators, a judge, bureaucrats, religious activists, and political radicals, some of whom live in another country. Most of these people never entered the museum; if they did, it was after the fact, and most never met each other. The conflicts which developed show the understandable inability of various people to anticipate the strength and number of alternate relationships which popped into view because of a repatriation claim activated in the name of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge. In the course of the repatriation, the “coercion, radical inequality and intractable conflict” in some of these relationships made the museum an “inescapable contact (conflict) zone” (Clifford 1997:207). Three Fires people who had never met Omishoosh accused him of the Ojibwe equivalent of malpractice.5 Omishoosh, who never met a Three Fires person, reluctantly characterized what they did as a theft – a sure sign of strong feelings (CGO 2001 Feb:18). Repatriation brings these emotions to museums as “places of hybrid possibility and political negotiation, sites of exclusion and struggle” (Clifford 1997:212–13). The hybrid possibilities of repatriation exist not just because museums contain artefacts with conflicting relationships but because the “organizing structure as a collection creates an ongoing historical, political, moral relationship – a power-charged set of exchanges, of push and pull” (Clifford 1997:192–3). This is not the image of a static stage upon which people and artefacts jockey for position. The museum here is a person-like artefact itself à la Latour, a historically situated, rapidly evolving hybrid innovator reconfiguring the multiple relationships and meanings which flow from its social participation as a collection. But as Bolton points out, “Meanings are rarely without moral and political dimensions” (2003:43), and with repatriation, those moral and political meanings are provided by contemporary indigenous politics. In the case of the Pauingassi Collection, an international cultural rights context rather than the previous lives of the objects shaped the dominant interpretive thinking at the museum; the collection, in the context of a resurgent “traditional” Ojibwe spiritual practice among empowered and politically motivated indigenous activists, was narrowly perceived as the “cultural property” of the “Ojibwe nation.” “The idea that objects, or material culture can epitomize collective identity and epitomizing it, be considered as the property of the collectivity is rarely disputed,” writes Handler (1985:194). “However constituted or mobilized … a self-conscious national or ethnic group will claim possession of cultural properties as both representative and constitutive of cultural identity” (Handler 1985:211; cf. Townsend-Gault 1997:142). One of the difficulties of writing about an awkward repatriation is that there is, as we have seen, a large literature on the beneficial aspects of getting cultural property back in the hands of those who need and want it (Conaty and Janes 1997; Clifford 2004; Bray and Killion 1994). In a recent article, Mohsen al Attar, Nichole Aylwin, and Rosemary J. Coombe argue that the recognition of indigenous cultural rights is a “means of restoring the dignity and political independence of indigenous peoples. The act of reclaiming both tangible and intangible cultural property has served as a way to reunite people, to re-establish social relations, revitalize

179

Naamiwan’s Drum

cultural identities, and reconstruct and reassess histories – all relations historically rent asunder by the violence of modern nation-state building” (al Attar, Aylwin, and Coombe 2009:336). Had there been no provenance, no “history of particulars” to connect the artefacts at the University of Winnipeg with Pauingassi, many would have supported the University of Winnipeg repatriation. Recently, the Manitoba Museum considered revising its repatriation criteria, and one of the imagined scenarios involved returning to contemporary practitioners objects that “were employed by traditional ceremonialists and/or definitively related to traditional or ongoing practice” (Bell and Napoleon 2008:377).6 This is the precisely the claim that was being made on behalf of Three Fires with respect to the Pauingassi Collection.7 Three Fires members were given the artefacts on the grounds that the objects had been used in Midewiwin ceremonies and that the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge was practising the Midewiwin in a “traditional” way. In this same positivist frame of mind, James Clifford has written that the “‘repatriation’ of cultural property establishes indigenous control over cultural artefacts” (2004:18), an apparently unproblematic and admirable sentiment and one with which Eddie Benton Banai would agree. If repatriation were simply an outcome and not a process, this might be true, but as a process, repatriation involves many parties, many relationships and their corollary obligations, and ought to involve some serious scholarly investigation into provenance to avoid surprises when repatriation claims are activated (Phillips 2005). Until the museum has cut off the relationships which derive from possession like the duty of care and the educational and commemorative programs flowing from public ownership, has terminated these obligations, and has de-accessioned the items in question, indigenous control is still being negotiated in the “contact zone” of the museum as a part of “museal discourse” with the attendant asymmetry of power. Once “possession” is transferred and the objects cease to be owned by or have conditions placed upon them by museums, one could say that indigenous control of “cultural property” is engaged, and one of the dominant unavoidable relations of museum artefacts, possession by a public institution, becomes mere history. Until then, the relational obligations which derive from museum ownership remain dominant. The artefacts within museum remits have multiple unavoidable relationships, some of which trap them in nineteenth-century classificatory regimes unhappily echoing the colonial coercion which brought some of them into the museum, others related to the expectations of researchers and visitors. Feest uses these expectations to argue that, because many of the objects in his European collections have much longer European histories than American ones, they are thus not obvious candidates for repatriation (Feest 1995:40). Laura L. Peers, writing about the role of colonial history on the making of Englishness (Peers 2009:87–8, 90), explains that these kinds of relational conflicts are sharply evident when human remains are at stake in repatriation. “Each set of meanings [attached to remains] implies a different set of expected social relations and attendant behaviours toward the dead … One of the central problems of human remains is that they are not only iconic, but ontologically unstable, and are apt to shift registers of meaning abruptly: human remains lurch between signifying the

180

Repatriation

living and the dead, person and object, specimens and ancestors” (Peers 2009:81; cf. Peers 2003). Katherine Verdery observes that these different meanings are always co-present. The most important feature of human remains is their “ambiguity, mutivocality and polysemy” (Verdery 1999:28 in Peers 2009:81). Peers identifies person and object as one of many unstable ontological pairs, but if, like other Strathernian dividual person/objects, human remains are both at once, theoretical personhood could explain the multiplicity and instability of meanings. The abrupt shifting of registers of meaning occurs in the eye of the beholder when hidden facets of partible personhood are revealed. Imagining the dividual nature of objects in their most person-like, least comprehensively knowable mode goes some distance towards explaining invisible co-present meanings. These writers, having identified the shifting registers and mutivocality of objects, are alluding to the reality of their relational complexity: their partible personhood. Artefacts are not just person-like in their sometimes grammatically animate, indigenous setting; their personhood is equally evident in the museum. The sum of all their relationships, their culture if you will, includes relationships built up over time, some which overlap and others which are frankly unconnected, some indigenous and some not, some historical, some journalistic, some anthropological and others rooted in the unhappy legacy of the nineteenth century and the multiple predicaments of the twenty-first century. At least some of these relationships will be of the non-optional variety either for the artefacts, for individuals, for communities, for museum professionals, or for the institutions with whom the relationships and their attendant obligations have been formed. Had the artefacts in the Pauingassi Collection repatriation been thought of in terms of their multiple relationships, acknowledging and facilitating their person-like mode in the contact zone of the museum, had the claim of traditional authority been viewed with more scepticism, and had the idea of culture and cultural property not created such a political imperative, things might have turned out very differently.

Conclusion The events of this repatriation are not just complex but mystifying, and the available anthropological toolkit is insufficient. It is clear that anthropology is implicated in creating the subaltern and politicized perspective of the Three Fires members and their leader Eddie Benton Banai. In introducing this case study, I used the metaphor of an Ojibwe archipelago, thinking of islands of Ojibwe-ness in a colonial sea of “dominant culture.” This may figuratively represent the related but disconnected experiences of Pauingassi people and Three Fires’ members. There is no doubt that Eddie Benton Banai and his colleagues have grappled creatively with an ocean of non-native indifference and malevolence, using the comparative anthropological concepts of culture and tradition to defend themselves in ways that the community of Pauingassi, in its linguistic isolation, has not even begun to imagine. But maybe I have chosen the wrong metaphor, not an archipelago but an arpeggio, because, in his creative response to contemporary colonial alienation, Eddie Benton Banai has been as deft as a skilled musician, hitting a swift series of

181

Naamiwan’s Drum

distinct notes, shifting rapidly with contemporary themes, staying relevant and alert in a world which is dangerous for indigenous people who risk being swept away by a cultural tsunami. In attempting to understand Three Fires as a revitalization movement, I have also employed the theories of animacy, personhood, and power which shaped the previous chapters. It is this combination of metaphorical perceptions – of museum person/objects with trenchant historical and cultural lessons to teach, and as person-like entities with Ojibwe family and kinship ties – which motivated this repatriation. These artefacts exemplify this dual perspective. Their storage in taxonomic groupings, moccasins and netting needles among the secular objects, drums in the “sacred” cupboard, reveals the expectation that their role would be to assist in the construction of knowledge about indigenous technology and act as material evidence of cultural difference. The restrictions placed upon them meant that they were not used as teaching tools, and this failure created an intellectual opening for a proposal that the “sacred” objects among them, now ignored and alienated, ought to be “liberated.” From the point of view of the Three Fires Midewwin Lodge, as we have seen, these were animate indigenous entities, captive in a white institution, conscripted to tell the story of conquest, material evidence of the salvage paradigm of anthropology, simultaneously instantiating Canadian nationalism and disempowering Canadian native people. Looking at museums with this subaltern view, the political imperative of repatriation seems inevitable.

182

8

Nelson Owen Mitigwakik Homecoming

On April 28, 2002, CBC Radio aired my twenty-eight-minute radio documentary about the repatriation (Matthews 2002b). It ended in much the same way as my conversation with Eddie Benton Banai, with me unhappily concluding that a lot of Pauingassi artefacts had gone astray and that several people, including Eddie Benton Banai, were not being perfectly frank. It was a successful piece of journalism, a finalist for two investigative journalism awards. The tape was dramatic; Omishoosh soft and gentle, Eddie Benton Banai brash and arrogant. I used the tape to tell a convoluted, anti-stereotypical story. I knew that the documentary was made under extremely difficult production conditions, and for all of these reasons, I was proud of it. Several months before it aired, the provincial auditor general began a forensic audit at the University of Winnipeg, published June 4, 2002, and immediately after, the RCMP started a criminal investigation, although no charges were ever laid. Eddie Benton Banai called me a few times. He was increasingly concerned about speaking to Pauingassi people. I went to visit Charlie Nelson, the western doorkeeper of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge at the time. We had been told that Charlie Nelson once had the drums at Roseau River, but in my conversation with him, it rapidly became clear that this was not the case. His concern was for the drum which had so recently become a part of their Midewiwin community. “We don’t want to put him back in captivity no matter if it is the university or the community,” he told me. He spoke of the connection the group had formed with the drum. “I don’t know what would happen to all our work, you know. Well, if we’re going to be hurt again then there is gonna be lots of pain, pain for us.” He stopped talking, obviously upset. “We just need to resolve it, eh,” he said (CN 2002:8). I asked what he thought about the idea of ownership and ceremonial objects because it’s a contentious issue. In a newspaper article in the Winnipeg Free Press in October of 2001, a spokesman had said on behalf of Three Fires, “These are sacred items and … The bottom line is that these items do not belong to any one person”

Naamiwan’s Drum

(Martin 2001). Charlie Nelson’s brother Terrance Nelson wrote an open letter to the premier, urging him to stop the auditor general’s investigation for much the same reason, saying, A sacred item has a spirit that works for the healing of the people. What good does a sacred item have sitting in a museum? An item that has sat for a long time may also be cleansed and imbued with another working spirit. The drums and other items received from the University were cleansed and worked with in ceremony. They have begun a new work. It may be that they can be returned to do work in Paugassi [sic], the question remains who is prepared to care for these items and are they capable of working with the sacredness of these items. Who today in Paugassi is trained in Mediwiwin [sic] ceremony? Are the Christian priests in Paugassi prepared to respect the right of Ojibway people of Paugassi to return to their Mediwiwin beliefs and forsake the Christian way of life? (Nelson 2002a)

When I asked Charlie Nelson, he thought for a moment about the question of ownership and then said, “I don’t think I own anything. I know it belongs to the people but I’m a caretaker” (CN 2002:9). He thought about it a bit more. “It’s just a stopover. It’s just like we are fostering them [the drums] almost, fostering them, that’s all we’re doing. We’re just hoping someone will emerge [in Pauingassi] who is well, who we see is well. How do we assess somebody who is well, who will know how to look after this?” He looked again at the photograph of the lodge at Pauingassi. “This drum,” he said, “can make its own setting. You see that lodge, where is your picture [of the Waabano lodge]? See how many people it is going to take to make that thing. Oh, I see lots of work. Oh, is ever beautiful! He [the drum] is going to have lots of help and people ready to serve him, you know … Is it one person? It might have to be more than one person” (CN 2002:9–10). “Look, it was said that we stole those articles to use as ours. All I seen was nurturing, nurturing of that which arrived. I see them as being, you know, out of bondage … We’ve gone through a time when these things were very strong and again when they were silent or barely heard. It’s coming to a time when it will make a sound again … I think the resolution belongs to us” (CN 2002:14). When I asked what needed to be done next, he said that he had written letters to others in Three Fires urging that they bring Eddie Benton Banai up to Winnipeg. “I’ve sent letters saying we need help to get our teacher up here to make that first meeting to meet these people” (CN 2002:14). Eddie Benton Banai visited Winnipeg a month later, and I invited him to listen to the documentary. After a flurry of arrangements, I was able to organize a session for 9:00 PM at the CBC on May 8, 2002. The only Pauingassi person in town and available on short notice was Nelson Owen, a Child and Family Services Band Worker in Pauingassi and a grandson of Omishoosh.1 Nelson and his wife, Elaine, had contacted the university about Omishoosh’s concerns, and I had met them briefly through Dr Jennifer Brown. Fortunately, Nelson was in Winnipeg attending meetings at the Tribal Council. Nelson is the eldest son of Charlie Peter Owen, Omishoosh’s youngest son by his first wife. At the very last minute, he and Elaine agreed to come.

184

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

Nelson and Elaine arrived at the CBC first and settled their eight-yearold son, Joshua, on a sofa, where he promptly fell asleep. A short time later Eddie Benton Banai arrived with two local Three Fires colleagues, a man and a woman who were unknown to me. I brought them all into Studio 14, a small studio where Eddie Benton Banai and his friends sat at a horseshoe-shaped table, with big speakers hanging overhead. Elaine and Nelson sat on chairs in a corner. I started the documentary and we listened through to the end. Then I set my tape recorder on the floor in front of everyone and started recording. Nelson Owen spoke first, in Ojibwe, seizing the initiative. Although he understands English very well, he is at a disadvantage speaking in it. “Do you understand me? Ginisidotaw na?” he began. “Weweni. Clearly,” Benton Banai replied. “Weweni?” said Nelson, wanting to be sure. “Weweni,” Benton Banai replied again. (EBB/NO 2002:1) Nelson started to question Benton Banai with apparent deference. There is nothing Mediterranean or demonstrative about Ojibwe discourse; the barbs are in the words, not in the inflection. The entire conversation was sotto voce, both men speaking with a marked evenness of tone and little overt emotion. In their stillness, as men with considerable authority and strongly divergent views, they were engaging in a classically understated Ojibwe confrontation. That it was a confrontation was evident only from the pace of conversation, rapid and slightly staccato. Nelson’s wife later said it was the closest she had ever seen Nelson to fury in their twelve years together – his jaw set, his lips tight, and his eyes hard and black – and yet to hear it on the tape, to have witnessed it first hand, no conversation could have been more circumspect. There were occasional long pauses. Looking back, I realize each was an acknowledgment of discomfort, a point scored. Nelson started with a direct question about how the Pauingassi artefacts got to Hayward, Wisconsin. “Who took those old implements over there? … Do you understand? Who would have sent them? Who? A white person? An Anishinaabe?”

Awenen gaa-izhiwidooj iwedi ini ayi’iin, aabajitaaganan mewinzha onji? … Ginisidotaw? Awenen-sh gaa-izhinizha’amogwen. Awenen? Wemitigoozhi? Anishinaabe?

“It was a white person who took them,” Benton Banai replied. “It was a white person, a Caucasian, who gave it to an Anishinaabe. No one asked, ‘Come and give it to me.’ I didn’t ask anyone for that. We didn’t ask that of anyone.”

Wemitigoozhi a’aw gaa-mamood. Aya’aa dash Wemitigoozhi, Wayaabishkiiwed anishinaaben ogii-miinaan. Gaawn awiya gagwedwesiin “daga da-bi-miizhishin ono.” Gaawn awiya i’iw gii-gagwedweyaan. Gaawn niinawind ngii-gagwejimaasiwaanaan awiya.

“How did the person know where to take it?” Nelson continued. (EBB/NO 2002:1)

Aaniin-sh ge-izhi-gikendang wedi ji-izhiwidooj?

185

Naamiwan’s Drum

“That, I don’t know,” Benton Banai replied, and, attempting to cut off the next obvious line of questioning, went on, “We also don’t know which Caucasian took that.”

Gaawiin i’i ngikendanziin.

“As you know, he [my grandfather] said, somewhere in the middle [of the documentary, towards the end my grandfather said, ‘It’s as if they were stolen.’” Getting back to his main point, Nelson continued, “I too, I also understood that this is what has happened because the person who took these [inanimate] is nowhere to be found.”

Mii aaniish wenji-ikidoj imaa noongom aabitawaya’ii ‘imaa gaa-ishkwaa-gaagiigidoj. Nimishoomis daabishkoo gimoodiwin aaniish gii-ikido. Mii geniin, mii geniin enitamaan iwe nakeya’ii gii-izhiseg. Gaawn aaniish ji-gikendaagozij awenen ‘awe wedi gaa-izhiwidooj.

“Someone, someone stole them,” agreed Benton Banai. “I didn’t steal them.”

Awiya, awiya gii-gimoodi. Gaawiin wiin ngii-gimoodisiin.

In response, his patience obviously tried, Nelson said, “If someone stole them [inanimate] again, they’d take them back where they were placed, where they should have been placed. That’s what he [my grandfather] wanted to happen. In fact, to the end of his days he wanted that before he died. You see – ”

Giishpin aaniish gii-gimoodij awiya giitwaam, odaa-azhegiiwewidoonan aandi gaa-atenigin, mii imaa ji-gii-atenigin. Mii aaniish iwe ogii-andawendaan ji-izhisemagak. Giiyaabi sago ogii-andawendaan jibwaa ishkwaa bimaadizij. Ishke –

“That’s it. That’s what I say,” Benton Banai interrupted. “I’d take them back if an Anishinaabe asked me. Over there, over where the drum [animate] got up from a sitting position. Back over yonder [Pauingassi], there he [animate] would go back and take a seat [animate] again. That’s what I personally think. No, I didn’t ask for anyone to come and give it to me. Only that I care for it well.

Mii iwe. Mii iwe niin ekidoyaan ninga- bi-azhegiiwewidoonan giishpin Anishinaabe gagwejimid. Owidi, owidi gaa-bi-onji-bazigwiid awe dewe’igan. Mii owidi neyaab. Mii iwidi neyaab da-awi-onabi miinawaa. Mii iwe niin enendamaan. Gaawiin, gaawiin niin niwii-gagwejimaasiin awiya wedi bi-miizhid. Mii etago weweni ganawenimag.

Also, no American owns it. The Anishinaabe own that drum [animate]. He [animate] will go and sit over yonder if you guys ask me.” (EBB/ NO 2002:2)

Gaawiin gaye [gi]chi-mookomaan odibenimaasiin. A’aw dewe’igan anishinaabe odibenimaan. Mii owidi miinawaa ezhi-onabid giishpin igo izhi gagwejimiyeg.

“You see, they spoke here in Pauingassi to establish for themselves where he [animate demonstrative pronoun] should sit,” said Nelson steadily. “I just want to know who, who was responsible for this, because no one from the Anishinaabeg of Pauingassi was asked. Omishoosh was not asked.” (EBB/NO 2002:2–3)

Gii-gaagiigidoobaniinag aaniish omaa nda-, e-gii-ozhitoowaaj Baawingaashiing wiinawaa ge-izhi-abinij. Niin e-michi-gikendamaan awenen i’i awenen, awedi gaa-gii-izhichigej iweni. Gaawn aaniish omaa gii-onji-gagwejimaasii anishinaabeng, Baawingaashiing onji, Omishooshan gaawn ogii-onji-gagwejimaasiin.

186

Gaawn gaye ngikenimaasiin awenen a’aw wayaabishkiiwed gaa-mamood.

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

Benton Banai emphasized that the artefacts were offered to him. “I wasn’t the one who took it there. I wasn’t the one who took it.”

Gaawiin niin ngii-izhiwinaasiin. Gaawiin niin ngii-mamoomaasiin.

“I took them carefully. I also spoke to them carefully. I respectfully offered tobacco and food. I told them to rest. ‘We’ll take care of you guys [the drums] attentively. After a time, if some Anishinaabe arises (arises from sitting) where you come from and makes himself known, or if somebody spoke to me, if that happens in a certain way, I, I will take him [animate] home.’ That’s what I told the drums [animate]. This is what I’m telling you as well. This is what I’m telling all the Anishinaabeg, where you arose.

Gaawiin niin ngii-mamoomaasiin. Weweni igo ngii-odaapinaag, weweni gaye ngii-gaganoonaag. Weweni asemaan miinawaa weweni wiisiniwin ngii-bagidinaan. Anwebin ngii-­inaag, weweni giga-ganawenimigoom. “Baanimaa ngoding a’ayaw anishinaabeg iwidi gaa-bi-onji-bazigwiiyan (get up from sitting) gemaa gaye gii-gaganoonid da-giiwe. Giishpin i’iw izhiwebak, niin, niin mii-gaa-izhi-maajiinag.” Mii gaa-izhi-wiindamawagwaa ingi dewe’iganag. Mii dash giin (awaa akina) gegiin ezhi-wiindamoowinaan. Mii gakina Anishinaabeg ambe ba-onji-bazigwiiyan mii-go akina ezhi-wiindamawagwaa.

“I’ll bring them [animate]. I’ll bring them back [animate]. However I won’t take them [animate] to the University of Winnipeg. I won’t take them there. Where they came from, that’s where I’ll seat them. That’s what I’m going to do. It is fine that God hears what I’m saying.” (EBB/NO 2002:3–4)

Nga-biinaag. Nga-bi-azhegiiwewinaag. Gaawiin dash imaa University of Winnipeg, gaawin imaa nga-izhiwinaasiig. Iwidi gaa-onji-, gaa-onjiiwaad, mii iwidi nga-onabi ‘aag. Mii i’iw waa-izhichigeyaan. Maanoo wiin manidoo ninoondaag ezhi-ikidoyaan.l

He then invited Nelson to the upcoming spring ceremonies at Bad River, Wisconsin. “You’ll be greeted well with a handshake. You’ll eat well. You will clearly hear what the drum is saying these days. We wouldn’t use them, them [animate – the drum(s)], they’re just sitting. No one would ever use them [animate].” (EBB/NO 2002:4)

Weweni iga-zagininjiinigoo, weweni gaye, giga-wiisiinim. Weweni gaye giga-noondawaa aaniin enwewidang noongom dewe’igan. Gaawn ndaa-aabaji’aasiwaanaan a’a, agiw, mii etago abiwaad. Gaaniikaa awiya odaa-aabaji’aasiwaawaan.

Benton Banai continued with a plea for cultural solidarity. “All the Anishinaabe conducted the Midewiwin in a way which is related. We are directly related. That’s exactly what I think. That’s exactly what I’d say to an Anishinaabe if I were speaking to him.” And then he renewed his promise to return the drums: “This is what I’m telling you. If you want very much for me to bring them, I’ll bring them [animate].” (EBB/ NO 2002:5)

Gakina gii-midewiwaad Anishinaabeg ayizhi-naasaab ezhi-inawendid. Naasaab gakina gidizhi-inawendimin. Mii i’iw naasaab geniin ezhi-inendamaan. Mii naasaab ge-ikidoyaambaan giishpin ganoonag Anishinaabe.

187

Mii dash i’iw ezhi-wiindamoonaan. Giishpin misawendaman da-biinaawaag, nga-biinaag.

Naamiwan’s Drum

“They [animate] should be returned,” Nelson said. “They [inanimate] were here at this particular place, here in town,” he said, thinking back to Omishoosh’s speech at the university.

Giiwesegin ogoweniwag ikidowag.

“I had an opportunity to accompany him [accompany Omishoosh to the university]. Instead I went home [to Pauingassi] to my job. I thought it best at the time. Today, however, I think I should have gone, I should have accompanied him. Many talk about these implements [inanimate] and how important they are. If I had accompanied him at the time I would have seen them [inanimate] and what the old man’s implements [animate] looked like.

Ngii-izhise niin ji-wiijiiwagiban gaawiin dash nawach ji-giiwe­ yaan ingii-inendam i’iwapii onji ­ndanokiiwin. Mii-sh geyaabi noongom nindinendam dash, izhaayaambaan ngii-inendam, wiijiiwagiban. Niibiwa awiya odazhindaanan onoweniwan aabajitaaganan e-gichi-inendaagwakin. Wiijiiwagiban i’i apii gakina ono ndaa-gii-waabandaanan aaniin gaa-izhinaagwaninigin mii ini odaabajitaawinan a’a akiwenzi.

“I had seen one of his drums [animate] that caught on fire at his home. I heard talk about it and how unsettled the people were [by the loss of the drum]. That’s what I thought when I saw those [animate] implements from Pauingassi of the Anishinaabeg of long ago.

Bezhig ngii-waabamaa ini aya’aan odewe’iganiwaan gaa-gii-zakizonij endaaj. Ngiinoondawaa ako e-dazhimaaj iniweniwan aaniin gewiin gaabi-izhi-migoshkaajisewaaj. Mii niin enendamaan e-gii-onji-waabamagwaa Baawingaashiing onji aabajitaaganag mewinzha Anishinaabeg i’i.

“I’d be happy, I’d be satisfied if they went back [animate augmented -magan]. No one who has taken them [animate] has to ask me anything before they return them. He/she should just return them [animate] to the Pauingassi area. I think that would be best.” (EBB/ NO 2002:5–6)

Aanawii ndaa-minwendaan ndaa-na’ishkaagon goda niin azhegiiwemagakin. Gaawn memwech awiya ji-gagwejimij gegoon gaa-odaapinang ji-azhegiiwewidooj. Wiin igo ji-michi-azhegiiwewinang Baawingaashiing nakeya’ii. Mii ge-izhi-minoseg niin wiin ndinendam.

O’owe megwaa gii-atewan o’omaa, omaa oodenaang.

Nelson mentioned a meeting he had attended which explained in part why people in Pauingassi might not be positively disposed to “traditional” people.

188

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

“I went to a gathering (they sit around) once. The very first time they [“traditional” teachers] arrived in Pauingassi. All the workers [social work staff] were invited. So I also went. When we were sitting around, the woman had finished naming everyone. There were two women. Where they came from; what clans. That’s where I was sitting, waiting for her to name me.

Gaa-waawiyebiwaaj gaye aabiding ngii-izhaa. Maawach igo nitam e-gii-, e-gii-dagoshinowaaj Baawingaashi. Gakina anokii’aaganag gii-andomaawag, zhigo-sh geniin ngii-izhaa. Gakina e-waawiyebiyaang ogii-jaagi-waawiinaa’ awedi ikwe. Gii-niizhiwag ikwewag gaa-gii-izhaawaaj wedi. Aandi wenjiiwaaj; what clans. Mii ‘imaa gaa-abiyaan e-gii-gwanagi’ag ji-wiinij.

“I didn’t pay that much attention to (heed) them. I also didn’t ask her anything. I just listened to them and studied what she was getting at. I listened very carefully to what they were saying. They were frightening them (verbally) by telling them what the people of Pauingassi are going to suffer [in the future]. Do you know what they mean by that?” (EBB/NO 2002:7)

Gaawn baabizikenimaasiig. Gaawn gaye ngii-gagwejimaasii. Debinaag ngii-michi-noondawaag aaniin nakeya’ii gaa-izhigaagiigidoj. Mbizindawaag aaniin ekidowaaj weweni. Ozaazegimaawaan ikidowag aaniish ayaawaaj wii-gagwaadagitoowaaj Obaawingaashiing awiyag. Gidaa-gikendaamowaan i’i gaa-idamowaad?

Eddie Benton Banai had no answer. There was a very long pause. Eddie Benton Banai still did not answer and so Nelson changed the direction of the conversation, talking about the death of elders and the loss of their wisdom. Benton Banai jumped in, speaking about his rationale, inendamaan (literally, his way of thinking) for his work. “Anishinaabeg are told, God has given us the ability to speak Anishinaabe. God gave us all of them [inanimate], the drum, the rattles, song. The Anishinaabe kept them. All of them. It’s not the Americans. The Anishinaabe will keep them. That’s what was preached to me. And that’s the reason, that’s my rationale.” He turned to the contentious drums.

189

Anishinaabeg inaa, manidoo gigii-miinigonaan ji-anishinaabemoyang. Manidoo gakina gigii-miinigonaan i’iw, dewe’igan, zhiishiigwanag, nagamonan. Anishinaabe oga-ganawendaanan. Gaawiin wiinawaa, gaawiin wiinawaa gichi-mookomaanag, anishinaabeg oga-ganawenimaa’. Mii niin gaa-izhi-gagiikimigooyaan. Mii dash i’iw wenji-, wenji-inendamaan.

Naamiwan’s Drum

“Tell me who, who do I hand it over to? If you, yourself, say to me to take them, I’ll take them. I’ll bring them. There isn’t anyone who would say I took something. I didn’t steal anything. The Three Fires Midewiwin Society, we didn’t ask for them. No one asked. No one stole. Nothing was stolen. However, I’ll take them back.” (EBB/NO 2002:8)

Niin dash, wiindamawishin awenen, awenen ge-ininamowag. Giishpin giin ikidoyan, nga-odaapinaag. Nga-biidoonan. Gaawn wiin awiya ayaasiin da-inendang niin gegoo gii-mamoowiyaan. Gaawn niin gegoo ngii-gimoodisiin. A’aw Three Fires Midewiwin Society, gaawn ngii-gagwedwesiimin. Gaawn awiya gii-gagwedwesii. Gaawn awiya gii-gimoodisiin. Gaawn gigii-gimoodimigoosiim gegoo. Niin dash nga-bi-azhegiiwewidoon.

Nelson had one more question. “If you didn’t want them, why didn’t you tell them [those who brought them to you] that you didn’t want them [the artefacts – inanimate]? ‘Take them back [inanimate] where you got them,’ is what you should have told whoever took them over there.”

Giishin egaa-gii-andawendasiwan, aaniin dash gaa-onji-inaasiwadwaa,’ gaawn ninandawenziinan, azhegiiwewidoon gaa-ondinaman ji-gii-inaj awenen awedi gaa-gii-izhiwidooj owedi.’

Eddie Benton Banai was reluctant to answer. “Or … are you asking me?”

Gemaa gaye, gigagwejim ina?’

Nelson persisted: “Who was it?”

Awenen-sh awedi’?

“You know that person very well. If you want to see him/her tomorrow, I would ask them tomorrow,” Benton Banai told Nelson. “We’d see you somewhere if you want to know who it is.”

Weweni igo gigikenimaa gaye giin a’a, giishpin wii-waabamad waabang, waabang ndaa-gagwejimaa da-bi-, miinawaa ngoji giga-waabamigoo. Giishpin wii-gikenimad.

“Of course I want to know,” said Nelson firmly. “That’s what I’m going to ask him.” (EBB/NO 2002:8–9)

Ninoonde-gikenimaa goda, mii iwe waa-gagwejimag.

But Nelson was in meetings having to do with his work in the morning, and Eddie Benton Banai left in the early afternoon. I went to visit the Owens at home five days later, and they were still rattled by meeting the people who had so boldly claimed the Pauingassi artefacts. As they were leaving the studio, Nelson had commented, “Well, there’s a lot of denial” (EBB/NO 2002:18). Nelson mentioned hearing Eddie Benton Banai say that Canadian Indians were “acquiescent.” “It didn’t really bother me the first time [when the documentary aired on the radio] but I heard it the second time when we were all sitting there. I kind of just smiled at him. I don’t know whether he saw me,” Nelson said, laughing again at the memory. “I didn’t say anything about that but I thought they probably knew [that he took it as an insult].” I suggested that Eddie Benton Banai may have misjudged

190

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

8.1  Nelson Owen, October 2007.

Pauingassi people. “Could be, could be. When I meet him again, I’ll probably ask him that. They probably thought we’ll just forget about them [the artefacts]. Nobody will ask for them” (NO 2002 May 13:3–4). Nelson regretted not being able to meet Benton Banai the next day, “him and the gentleman that took the artefacts to him.” “Maybe it would have been interesting,” Nelson said to me, “how they got there and who released them. That’s mostly what I’m interested in and for the artefacts to be returned because I think that’s what Charlie George wanted before he passed away … I think these other people who have the artefacts should make the effort and bring these things back. That’s my opinion” (NO 2002 May 13:2). That afternoon, May 15, five days after meeting Eddie Benton Banai, Nelson got a phone call from one of the people who had been with Benton Banai at the CBC studio. His purpose was to arrange the return of the two drums in Benton Banai’s possession, Naamiwan’s drum and the one which belonged to his nephew, Sagashki Strang. It was to be a quiet, private, and dignified affair. No media were to be involved; the Owens had to promise not to tell me, and, true to their word, I heard nothing until it was over. But it was far from private and dignified. That night there was a story on Aboriginal People’s Television Network (APTN) showing the drums

191

Naamiwan’s Drum

surrounded by weeping women. The next day the story, “First Nation regains six [sic – only four] sacred artefacts: Returned to Pauingassi after 30 years,” was in the main section of the Winnipeg Free Press (Kuxhaus 2002). It painted Eddie Benton Banai and his Three Fires colleagues as heroes for having returned these drums (and the two drumsticks I had seen at Benton Banai’s home in Wisconsin) to their rightful owners at long last. It was an extremely distressing event for the Owens, and although I visited them many times and many months later we moved the drums from their house to the Manitoba Museum, they didn’t tell me what actually happened until the summer of 2005, three years later. When they finally said they wanted to talk about this event, I set up the recorder, but even then we talked about other things for nearly an hour and a half before the ceremonial return finally came up. They had been told to come in the early afternoon to the offices of the Southeast Tribal Council in downtown Winnipeg, an hour’s journey for Elaine and Nelson in their big four-wheel-drive truck. Elaine, a teacher, had to ask for time off. “When he [Nelson] said we need to go pick up the drums,” she told me, “all I did was phone my boss and say, ‘I need to go. I need this half day off from school.’ It turned out it was Aboriginal Solidarity Day! [May 21, 2002] But when we got there the [Tribal Council] building where we were supposed to meet was closed. There was some humming and hawing about trying to get in and that is when APTN showed up with a TV camera. So I strategically placed myself between Nelson and the camera as much as I could. I don’t know. It was a little bit upsetting” (NO/EO 2005 June 25:12). Gradually other Three Fires members from Winnipeg and Roseau River joined the Owens and Benton Banai in the foyer of the building, but whoever they were expecting to meet didn’t come, so they moved to another office building down the street. By this time there were more than fifteen people,3 including the TV crew and several newspaper reporters. I am occasionally embarrassed by my journalistic colleagues, but I cringed when Elaine remembered how one of the reporters bawled out as he arrived, “This is the first time I’ve covered this story. What’s going on here?” (NO/EO 2005 June 25:15). Nelson and Elaine, wanting only to accept the drums and go home, endured a lengthy ceremony, singing and praying, and a press conference. The women had all changed into skirts for the ceremony. “They made quite an impression with the media around, especially the ladies,” said Nelson. “They even cried because this drum was leaving them. I don’t think that was appropriate to do in front of the media. I think they were filmed when that ceremony was held in that conference room. The media was asked to stay out but the guy in the media [cameraman] stayed in that ceremony.” The Owens said that Eddie Benton Banai conducted the ceremony, playing a small hand drum and singing. “We were off on the side,” said Elaine. “They came over after the ceremony and shook our hands. And that was very quiet. Well, Nelson, you spoke Ojibwe. What did you say?” “I basically told them that I was thankful for the drums that they were coming back,” said Nelson, “coming back to the people of Pauingassi and to the family.

192

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

I was very careful not to say much and to be careful in how I word what to say because I didn’t want to offend anybody. Because I didn’t know who these people were and how powerful they might be, so I was being very cautious.” “But I don’t have respect for those people,” said Elaine with feeling. “None! And maybe they didn’t know what was going on completely either, like … I don’t know if he knew everything that was going on but he said stuff to me, to us – they said they were doing what Charlie George wanted done, but Nelson talked to Charlie George not long before he passed away – I shook his hand and was polite but I knew it was not right. He shook our hands and then Eddie Benton Banai shook our hands and then [we shook the hands of] those ladies and then they kind of herded us off to the back corner and they had a little press conference. That’s about it” (NO/EO 2005 June 25:14). I asked about the two drums. Nelson said they had been on a table, and then explained, “When we were about to leave, a kind person offered to take one of the drums and we walked down with them. We had to use the elevator at the back so nobody from the media will see us or what type of vehicle we were driving, just in case we were followed” (NO/EO 2005 June 25:15). I asked Nelson, looking back, how much did he think the drum mattered to the Three Fires people? “In my opinion, that drum meant a lot to them. And what I saw in that room, a lot of them were wiping away their tears and, and obviously they were showing their sadness. I guess I would say that their sadness [was] of losing the drum and the drum going back to the original birth place which is Pauingassi and to the people of Pauingassi which is where I’m from. And that was one of the comments that Charlie George made before he passed away, was that the artefacts that were taken from the museum be returned to the people of Pauingassi or to the collection that still remains at the university so that they will be back together. That’s my understanding of what should happen.” Elaine turned again to the sadness. I wonder if they were a little bit sad for themselves. Not completely for the drum but sad for themselves, “that now we don’t have this important drum any more, how are we going to carry on or influence others … so were they crying for themselves a little bit. I don’t know. I just know that we weren’t treated well. The media were there and we had agreed – no media – so we weren’t treated as respectfully as we should have been. And I think we did really well. We didn’t say too much. Nelson said what he thought was appropriate, and I kept quiet. And we carefully put those drums away. We put them where they will be safe … People from Pauingassi can come and see them. Anybody can see them and do what Charlie George wanted which was for people to see them and to be taught about them and learn from them. Just not [to be used again] – they’re retired. And I think that’s what irks me in the back of my mind. They were using them. And this is maybe kind of a way-out statement but maybe we got stirred up because the drum knew it wasn’t where it belonged. And somehow you [Nelson] read that article in the paper [Kruizenga 2001], and we decided that we needed to do something. So maybe that was the drum acting because things weren’t being used

193

Naamiwan’s Drum

in the way it should have been, maybe it was calling you or me and we were able to together start getting stuff back and maybe – you never know. You never know. Because, on their own, Pauingassi hadn’t really stepped up.

Nelson, who had been looking on approvingly, finally spoke up. “Yep,” he said, “that was a big step to take on behalf of Charlie George and I still don’t believe it that we did that. That was a giant step.” “But we did it together,” said Elaine, smiling. “Yep.” Nelson leaned back in his kitchen chair and smiled too (NO/EO 2005 June 25:17–18). The failure of the local media is understandable, but in the Winnipeg Free Press, our local daily, Three Fires were repeatedly referred to as those who were “safe-keeping” the artefacts, and the writer quoted a spokesman as saying that the return of the drum to the Owens was part of a “movement to repatriate aboriginal artifacts to help young people understand their culture” (Kuxhaus 2002).4 The fact that only four of the forty-one missing items were being returned to the Owens was nowhere mentioned. The most interesting account of the ceremonial return of the objects was in Grassroots News in a column by Terry Nelson of Roseau River (Nelson 2002b). At the top of the article, there is a photograph of Eddie Benton Banai and three other Three Fires members with the two drums in front of them. Terry Nelson starts his story by describing the trip up from Wisconsin. Eddie Benton Banai drove six hundred miles from Wisconsin to Winnipeg bringing home to Manitoba, a grandfather waterdrum and a “sh-cah-bah-anseh” (helper) [oshkaabewis] little boy waterdrum. “It was the most peaceful ride, they (the waterdrums) were happy to be going home” said Benton Banai, the grand Chief and founder of the modern version of the ancient Three Fires society … a deeply spiritual man, Benton Banai says the spirits of the waterdrums asked to go home. He had to comply despite being forced to enter into a swirl of controversy.

The article concludes with a reference to the Owens. In a ceremony prior to the press conference, Eddie Benton Banai spoke to the grandson of George Owen [sic], Nelson Owen who took possession of the waterdrums on behalf of his family and First Nation. Nelson Owen did not want to be interviewed or be part of the press conference, he only wanted to do the right thing. (Nelson 2002b)

It was perhaps more than a coincidence that the auditor general released his report a week later. The provincial auditor general is charged on behalf of the citizens of Manitoba with ensuring the accountability of institutions funded by government; thus the University of Winnipeg is within its general remit. The provincial auditor’s report was a response to allegations that indigenous artefacts maintained by the Anthropological Museum had been inappropriately removed in contravention of the Anthropology Museum Policy Manual’s stated goals: “the preservation of heritage materials, public education and research relating to the discipline of anthropology” (Singleton 2002:6).

194

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

The auditor general hired KPMG Forensic and an independent museum curator, and on December 11, 2001 conducted an inventory of the ethnological holdings of the museum and interviews with present and past department faculty, university administrators, and members of the indigenous community. These interviews focused on the Northern Ojibwa collection, the bulk of which came from Pauingassi and nearby communities. The auditor general concluded that the “deaccessioning,” as he called it, had taken place without proper consultation within the university. He found that there were actually 58 artefacts missing from the Northern Ojibwa collection altogether, and that 33 of the 243 objects from Pauingassi were gone. He wrote that “the situation we encountered in our investigation of the missing artefacts was dismaying and egregious,” and that while the university might be right about the vigorous academic debate taking place around repatriation generally, this in no way justified “the museum’s failure to keep proper deaccessioning records, or in general to abide by the museum’s own policy on deaccessioning” (Singleton 2002:1). This policy required notification of senior university officials, proper documentation, and assurance that the deaccessioned objects would be properly cared for. The auditor found that, with regard to these policies, the artefacts were given away in a “manner contrary to accepted practice and to its own Museum Policy” (Singleton 2002:4). The auditor general had unprecedented access to the collection, collection records, and staff and had the cooperation of senior university management, so his report reveals some details which would otherwise be unavailable. He worked out a rough timeline, which shows that the museum committee, operating autonomously and without keeping regular minutes, began to discuss repatriating artefacts in late 1997 or early 1998. The artefacts under discussion were those “designated as restricted due to their sacred and/or sensitive nature.” He writes: A University employee external to the Department, who had a connection with members of the traditional aboriginal community that had expressed an interest in obtaining these types of artifacts, was aware of these discussions. That employee facilitated a dialogue between certain members of the Committee and the traditional aboriginal community. This ultimately resulted in a decision in 1998 to repatriate artifacts to them. The deaccessioning of artifacts from the ethnological collection occurred over a period of time and culminated with the delivery of 2 waterdrums and 2 birchbark scrolls to a representative of Three Fires Society on May 8, 1998. No formal documentation existed in support of any of the deaccessioning that occurred. Interviews were not able to determine the present whereabouts of other deaccessioned artefacts. Documentation reviewed stated that consultation with traditional mentors had been undertaken, however, our interviews indicate that very few of the named individuals were aware of the repatriation. Furthermore, interviews conducted and documentation reviewed indicate that neither the individuals who contributed the artifacts, nor the communities from which the artifacts were collected, were consulted or made aware of the repatriation prior to September 1999. (Singleton 2002:11)

195

Naamiwan’s Drum

The auditor general’s report has an important section on possible contravention of the Cultural Property Export and Import Act. The auditor wrote that the water drums and the scrolls which were in Wisconsin were Group II objects under this act; that is, they were valued at over a thousand dollars and made over a hundred years ago. The report revealed that an inquiry regarding the requirement to obtain an export permit had been made by representatives of Three Fires Society only after the whereabouts of the artefacts had been reported in the media. This became a moot point with respect to the drums, which had been given to the Owens, but it still applies to the missing Midewiwin scrolls. In his final recommendations, the auditor general suggested that the university obtain legal advice regarding recovery of the artefacts and regarding the conduct of the individuals who were responsible for the deaccessioning of the artefacts. In addition he recommended that the university set up a bona fide “Aboriginal Advisory Group to offer advice to the [Museum] Committee concerning Aboriginal issues pertaining to the Museum” (Singleton 2002:17). In the intervening years, an Aboriginal Advisory Group was formed. It may have met once, but it is now moribund. At the Owens’ request, the university decided to move the Pauingassi collection to the Manitoba Museum in the spring of 2007. The Owens applied to have the collection transferred to a trust of some sort that will look after the collection in perpetuity, and the University of Winnipeg collaborated with them on documenting the collection and its provenance. The Owens now have complete access to the collection and have made themselves familiar with it. Their inquiries are dealt with cheerfully, although the transfer to the Manitoba Museum, which they asked for from the outset, took five years to accomplish. The new museum manager at the University of Winnipeg has been very accommodating, and when Nelson and another elder wanted to look for a particular rattle, they were allowed access to all the records and were encouraged to have a good long look both at the university and at the Manitoba Museum. Of the forty-one objects initially listed as missing only thirty-three were still gone when the auditor general checked. The eight items returned to the collection before the audit were in a small box on a counter. Since then, as the present museum manager wrote in a recent inventory report, more artefacts have “walked back,” including four drumsticks which reappeared mysteriously in an empty museum drawer (McKinley 2007). Seven items altogether – two drums, a drum plug, two rims, and two drumsticks – are accounted for by the return of the drums to the Owens, so twenty-one objects are still missing. The drumsticks made by Omishoosh’s uncle were among the things returned, but no pipes came back. Two sets of dancing garters with attached sucking tubes attributed to Naamiwan are still gone, as are all the medicine bags and medicines, the dog frightener, and one of Naamiwan’s curved drumsticks. Naamiwan’s water drum is nearer to its ritual relatives now, although bureaucratic and physical barriers remain. The drum is in a special room with other objects that have been brought to the museum for safekeeping by native people from all over Manitoba and Saskatchewan. The rest of the Pauingassi Collection is in storage cabinets on other floors of the museum, safe for now. Once title is transferred to the Owens, they hope that it will be possible to organize a catalogue, arrange community access, set up some sort of travelling exhibitions, and some

196

Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming

day arrange a Manitoba reunion for the Pauingassi artefacts from all four of the museums where they now reside.5

The last time I visited Naamiwan’s water drum was also the first time Nelson Owen had been willing to be in the same room with it since he’d taken it home in his truck. The drum made him nervous. The taboos about trifling with dangerous objects were foremost in his mind, so on the advice of his father and an uncle, his son Joshua had carried the drum to the Manitoba Museum a year earlier. The first time Nelson came to the museum to visit, he nearly fainted. He had to sit down, he was so dizzy. He didn’t go near the drum and didn’t come back for several years. It was Elaine and Joshua who came when I took photographs. Finally, after listening to the tapes of Omishoosh and after talking to his father and uncles, Nelson reached an accommodation with the drum. He had been told that his grandfather’s drum liked to be given water: that’s what he did, and then he spoke to it as a relative in Ojibwe. The main purpose of this trip was to bring his maternal grandfather’s medicine box to the museum. It contained herbs, bandages, and magic stones. The herbs were dried between layers of soft cotton and squared cardboard bound with string, packaged like the specimens of an academic botanist, and labelled carefully in syllabics. There were photographic film cans containing what looked like pollen and lots of gauze for binding poultices and covering wounds. There was the stone mentioned in chapter 3, with its wandering ways. It was an altogether memorable occasion because it was the first time something had been brought to the museum directly by Pauingassi people. The drums were a special case; artefacts looking for refuge. But putting Adam Owen’s medicine box in the museum had been Nelson’s Aunt Dorothy’s idea. She’d heard about the museum from Nelson and knew you could put things there to be safe. Her decision to place Adam’s medicine box constituted the first time that anyone from Pauingassi had approached a museum as a place which might serve Pauingassi needs. It is easy to get caught up in the drama of these events, but now that the dust has slightly settled, one gains perspective. These objects, including the drum, were once unused and nearly forgotten. They are now among the best-known Ojibwe artefacts in Canada. As Eddie Benton Banai told me, “maybe it’s an awakening for Pauingassi. Maybe it’s an awakening for all of us” (EBB 2002:32). In some ways, the artefacts brought about that awakening. They are respected now and hold the attention of the family. Community members have taken an interest. They have been used by the community to support their UNESCO World Heritage Site aspirations.6 The artefacts are helping to restore Pauingassi history by drawing attention to “those old men with power, gashki’ewiziwaad akiwenziwag,” who could do the most amazing things. Nelson was elected to the Pauingassi Band Council at least in part because of the education he received through his involvement with the artefacts. As Greg Dening reminds us, we operate under a misapprehension if we think “relics of the past ‘survive the accidents of time’ [because] it is only the destruction of these relics that is accidental. Their preservation is cultural … They gain meaning out of every social moment that they survive” (Dening 1996:43).

197

9

Agency and Artefacts New Theoretical Approaches

In 1994, when I went to Pauingassi with Roger Roulette, we stayed in an unoccupied house near the old school, optimistically called “the hotel.” One morning Roger was sitting on the steps of our temporary abode smoking a cigarette when one of the old men from the village sat down beside him. This man, St John Owen, a great-nephew of Naamiwan and brother of Jacob Owen, said he knew a bit about Naamiwan, so Roger invited him in. In comparison with Omishoosh, his perspective was critical; he hinted at a darker side to Naamiwan’s practice. “Was anyone afraid of him?” Roger asked, and St John Owen began to tell us about the dangerous world of duelling medicine men, deadly drums, and fearful powers. “There were many who challenged him,” St John said. “There are some Anishinaabeg who live yonder. They speak a different language. They call them Onamebinishiig [residents of Deer Lake]. He [Naamiwan] killed many of them. Isn’t there a picture of his water drum [inanimate] here?”

Niibiwa aapiji ogii-maanenimigoo’.

“There it is. You can barely see it sticking out,” said Roger, pointing at a photo of Naamiwan and Koowin (figures 9.1 and 1.1).

Omaa, ono gaa-abinid. Agaawaa omaa zaagabi.

“It was fairly large. This is definitely the source of his ability to attack those Anishinaabeg. There were a great many [who suffered because of the drum].

Gii-mindidowan osha. Mii osha ‘imaa awiyan gaa-giiondaapinanaad Anishinaabe. Niibiwa aapiji.

Wedi nakekamig ayaawag Anishinaabeg bakaan gaa-inwewaad Onamebinishiig gaa-inindwaa. Miiwa’ onoweniwa’ gaa-gii-nisaad niibiwa. Omaa-, gaawiin na ji-mazinishininid odewe-, omitigwakikwan ‘ow?

9.1  Naamiwan, with his ritual brothers, wiikaanag, his water drum and rattle, beside his wife Koowin, Pauingassi, 1933. Detail of photograph F59, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

9.2  St John Owen, Pauingassi, 1994.

Agency and Artefacts

Before he did this, they worked on him,” St John continued. “They killed him [Naamiwan] for a short while. They killed him for a short time. He fell, when they killed him.

Jibwaa, jibwaa doodang ‘owe, ogii-bi’anokaanigoo’. Ogii-nisigoo’ ajina. Ajina ogii-nisigoo’, gii-bangishin e-gii-nisigod.

“However, the old man arose again. That’s when he started [to kill them], until they were all gone. Until all were obliterated right where they were.

Giitwaam idash gii-aabiziishin mii wa’a akiwenzi. Mii dash gaagii-maajichiged dash, mii biinish awiinge gii-jaaginaad iniweniwa’. Gakina e-gii-mazhashkwanaad odizhi-ayaawinini iniweniwa.’

“That’s how the old man was. The water drum [animate] that I speak of, he took the person [his enemy] into himself [the water drum] after which he/she was entrapped. When they [the victims] had come into it [the drum], that person was unable to free themselves from him [animate – water drum], not even a bit. Eventually that person was killed. Until they were all gone.

Mii gaa-izhi-ayaad a’awedi akiwenzi. Iniwe omitigwakikwan gaa-dibaajimag, ogii-biindiganaan imaa e-gii-biijigaazonid wedi gii-naazikaazowan. Mii imaa gaa-izhi-biindigenid, mii gaawn ‘aw bangii ogii-gashkitoosiin ji-zaaga’ang ‘awedi. Mii imaa gaa-ni-izhi-nichigaazonid. Biinish gakina.

All gone.l

Mii apan.

“There were only a few left of those Anishinaabeg [enemies]. At some time they were all gone. You never see them.”

Biiniskwe eta Anishinaabe gii-bimaadizi. Ingodin igo mii apan. Gaawn giwaabamaasiig.

“So, he [the water drum] took them inside [animate]?” asked Roger.

Mii imaa gaa-biindiganaad imaa?

“That’s how he was, that old man.”

Mii gaa-izhi-ayaad ‘awedi akiwenzi.

“Did he tell you what he had done or was it common knowledge?” asked Roger.

Gigii-wiindamaagowaa na mii gaa-izhichiged gemaa gii-michi-gikendaagod?

“Yeah. You see the water drum [animate] was this high [indicates two feet]. There was blood inside there. It almost filled up. There were things floating in there [laughing in amazement]. Those things that were in there, they were from that Anishinaabe. That old man did terrifying things!”

Ehe. Nashke mii ‘awe mitigwakik, gii-ishpizi. Miskwi awiinge imaa gii-ateni. Gegaa gii-mooshkinebiini. Gegoonan imaa gii-agondeniwan. Anishinaaben gaa-gii-ayii-, (baapi), imaa biinjaya’ii gaa-ategin. Aapiji gii-gagwaanisagichige a’a akiwenzi.

“I would have been very afraid of him,” Roger said.

Aapiji ndaa-gii-gosaa niin?

“He probably ate them.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:13–14)

Maagizhaa ogii-miijinaadogenan.

201

Naamiwan’s Drum

This is a shocking story to an Ojibwe ear. Most Ojibwe people are profoundly uneasy with any allusion to cannibalism. And although it is stated conditionally here – maagizhaa means “maybe but probably” – this statement is very frank. To suggest cannibalism is the greatest possible insult and, if true, justification for murder. There is an extensive literature on Ojibwe ideas about cannibals (see Brightman 2002 (1973), 1988, 1990 and Matthews 2009, among others), but basically, in Ojibwe eyes, normal everyday humanity ends where cannibalism begins. It is equally obvious that medicine men and their drums may be operating on the fringes of conventional morality. Even though Naamiwan was a famous healer, people were afraid of him. “They were afraid because they knew they’d die if they didn’t [respect him],” said Gordon Berens, who met Naamiwan in the 1930s. “That’s right, he used his magic. They had to respect him. But he knew that he was respected. If he knew that person didn’t respect him, try to make a fool of him, that’s the person he was after. And he laid him underground. Six feet underground too” (GB 1992:7). Michael Jackson describes the similar liminal predicament of a Kuranko shape-shifter. His “clandestine gains are at the cost of social integration,” Jackson writes. “His vicarious mastery of the world entails ironically a separation from it” (1989:112). Roger Roulette explains this apparent contradiction, a simultaneously positive and negative reputation, in terms of Naamiwan’s social obligations: As a leader of any community, you have to accept the responsibilities of that leadership. One of those things is the protection of the community and its people. He did that, obviously; and he did it well. And if it takes murder, then it has to be. You hear of historical accounts of such things; they’re called long-distance murder. That’s where our belief comes in. (Matthews 1995a:8)

Roger’s father played a similar role and had a similar reputation, so this explanation is based on personal experience. I have seen people’s eyes widen when Roger’s father’s name, Alfred Roulette, comes up, so the beliefs he speaks of are widely shared. But the Comaroffs remind us that beliefs can be interrogated and that one cannot assume that beliefs are hegemonic: “No hegemony is ever total, it constantly has to be made and by the same token, may be unmade. That is why it is described as a process rather than a thing” (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992:29). Jackson also warns against the polarization of superstition and science: “[B]eliefs are best regarded as tokens which are manipulated inventively in critical situations,” he writes, explaining that believers hold beliefs with “variable conviction and for a variety of reasons … Beliefs are more like metaphors than many dare imagine” (1989:65, 66). Thus beliefs will be questioned; they will be believed or not depending on the credibility of community experts and on how they match our experience in the observable world. “In divination as in science, we seek to reduce ambiguity, to arrive at provisional certitude which will offer us ‘something to go on’ and help us cope with and act in an unpredictable world” (Jackson 1989:66). Beliefs are an idealized form, like theory: a provisional explanation in a world which is evolving.

202

Agency and Artefacts

Roger Roulette’s beliefs, his Ojibwe theoretical toolkit combined with his personal experience, “give him something to go on”; they make it possible for him to conceive of a kindly and skilful healer who would commit long-distance murder and of a healing drum that would help him kill. It is the role of anthropological practice to help us understand this unfamiliar scenario while, as Jackson puts it, “dissolving the boundary which in anthropological discourse contrasts them and us in terms of a distinction between magic and science” (1989:66). I have introduced this story of long-distance murder because it is the kind of anthropological evidence which builds, not dissolves, anthropological boundaries; it credits a man-made object with entrapment, with helping to kill people hundreds of miles away, and in doing so, it tests our willingness to accept the explanations of others. Rather than resort to the suspension of disbelief or attempt to create a shared false consciousness, Jackson recommends a participatory approach. He suggests situating the research among people and incorporating evolving relationships, emphasizing the embodied experience of both the anthropologist and the anthropologist’s subjects (Jackson 1989:51–66), an approach which appeals because it parallels my collaborative practice. Alfred Gell’s theory of agency is attractive for much the same reason: because it draws my subjects and their embodied experience into an evolving narrative. From a Pauingassi perspective, as Naamiwan’s partner, the drum is a forceful actor, a ritual-brother-in-murder credited with sufficient agency to remotely capture and restrain souls. The drum later appears to assert itself among Three Fires members, the ultimate “recalcitrant” object (Latour 2000:116), asking Eddie Benton Banai to let it “come home,” expressing its will and influencing events. This allusion to artefacts having an irresistible degree of agency emerges in museum explanations as well. The mysterious return of four drumsticks to the University of Winnipeg shortly after the auditor general’s forensic audit is couched in a volitional metaphor: these artefacts are said to have “walked back” to the museum (McKinley 2007).

An Anthropological Theory of Artefacts Bruno Latour warns that the problem of agency requires vigorous “conceptual callisthenics” because “actors incessantly engage in the most abstruse metaphysical constructions nor do they limit the kinds and nature of the agencies they produce” (Latour 2005:51, 52). In this section I look at the “conceptual callisthenics” with which Alfred Gell approached the problem of agency and the relevance of his approach to a case study of repatriation. At a 2008 conference on Alfred Gell’s seminal book, Art and Agency (Gell 1998), Simeran Gell pointed out that, as an argument for the agency of objects, the tenyear-old book itself provided positive evidence. Art and Agency, which brought her only the saddest memories (it was published just after her husband’s death), was still the subject of lively debate among scholars who found the ideas compelling. In Art and Agency, Gell proposed a radically new theoretical model which situated art objects, not as signifiers of culture, but as actors in social networks.

203

Naamiwan’s Drum

He cast them as other-than-human persons with both agency – the capacity to act – and a degree of intentionality – the will to act (Gell 1998:16–17). This is an idea that Naamiwan would have understood perfectly (Ingold 2000:72, 89–110). Ojibwe speakers, as we have seen, attribute the possibility of agency to objects with an alacrity that would have gladdened Alfred Gell’s heart. So close are the ideas that Gell puts forward about the nature of objects to conventional Ojibwe understandings that Gell might have been better to do as Tim Ingold has done and model a new interpretive scheme on Ojibwe intellectual precedents (Ingold 2000, chapter 6). The plausibility of Gell’s theoretical ideas to the Ojibwe subjects of my case study is not strictly relevant to its explanatory power as anthropology, but Gell’s ideas about objects and agency mimic an indigenous conceptual category, and by framing events in this way I have been able to discuss these ideas directly with my Ojibwe collaborators, grounding my ethnographic work in congenial debate (cf. Jackson 1989:65). Gell advanced his ideas about the agency of art objects as a theoretical gambit to thwart the application of Western aesthetic standards across cultures and to short-circuit the anthropological search for indigenous aesthetic systems (e.g., Forge 1970; Coote 1992; Morphy 1992). This sort of work, Gell argued, was inescapably a “project of the metropolis,” a form of aesthetic colonialism and an example of the reification of analytical categories. He argued that “the study of aesthetics is to the domain of art as the study of theology is to the domain of religion” (Gell 1999a (1992):161). He said that to study art anthropologically one had to mimic the methodological atheism of anthropologists of religion and adopt a perspective of “methodological philistinism” (160), stepping away from the aesthetic appreciation of art to see and understand the social interactions going on in the vicinity of the art object. “Methodological philistinism,” he wrote, consists of taking an attitude of resolute indifference towards the aesthetic value of works of art – the aesthetic value that they have either indigenously, or from the standpoint of universal aestheticism. Because to admit this kind of value is equivalent to admitting, so to speak, that religion is true, and just as this admission makes the sociology of religion impossible, the introduction of aesthetics (the theology of art) into the sociology or anthropology of art turns it into something else. (Gell 1999a (1992):161)

Gell believed that the agency which typifies art objects studied in this objective mode would be revealed as an “emergent property of the relations between various elements in the social system” (1999a (1992):160; cf. Ingold 1986:247). If the study of art posed unique anthropological questions, transposing an anthropological theory about art would be fruitless, but art is just one of many ways that objects exert themselves socially. The OED says that art is “the expression or application of creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting, drawing or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated for their beauty or emotional power.” Etymology is a kind of cultural proof, and the etymology of the word “art,” which proves its long European history and contemporary social relevance, places the concept of “art” squarely in the European intellectual

204

Agency and Artefacts

domain. Art is so securely Euro-American an idea that we happily engage in vigorous debates about the nature of art, the rules, boundaries, and experience of art. Gell acknowledged that he was susceptible to the conversations of the “art cult,” as he called it. “I too belong to the faith,” he wrote (Gell 1999a (1992):161), but he also identified this faith as an impediment to the anthropological analysis of art. He argued that because of this belief in art, anthropologists have attributed aesthetic sensibilities to other societies and assessed the aesthetic significance of their objects, whether those people thought they made art or not (cf. Gow 1996). The current OED definition of art owes something to the European debate over the nature of art in that it emphasizes the “doing” and “appreciating” of art, referring only secondarily to the objects created by artists. This is an important distinction which has proved useful to anthropology. Philosopher Richard Wollheim began the process of disentangling authorial intention and artistic reception. He argued that art is not an object but an experience, both for the artist and for the observer of art. It was wrong to use the word “art” to describe an object because in many cases (he gave as examples books, productions of plays, operas, etc.) the object is only a token of art, implicated in two separate aesthetic moments, one when art is made and one when art is appreciated. The artist who creates an object and the art observer who appreciates the same object need not share the same temporal, social, spatial, or cultural context, and if their experiences don’t correspond, it doesn’t matter (Wollheim 1968:31–2). This insight made plain the process by which indigenous cultural artefacts are incorporated into Western art and museological regimes (see also Price 1989; Thomas 1991; Steiner 1994; Morphy 1991). Wollheim usefully questioned the idea that art is the object and argued instead that art is a relational experience, and, as with artefacts, relationships are the province of anthropologists. Gell spent years thinking through a definition of art which would accommodate his anthropological interest in the relationships with and near art objects. Tracing the path of his thinking reveals the logic of his search for a truly anthropological way to study socially active objects. In his “Vogel’s Net” article (1999b (1996)), Gell compared three strategies for defining art. First, he rejected the connoisseurship at the heart of the aesthetic/semiotic theory of art. Judging a work of art on the basis of Aristotelian ideals of beauty and inscribed meaning is still, in some form, championed by other anthropologists of art (Layton 1991, 2003; Morphy 2009), but Gell argued that these criteria are Eurocentric; that applying or presuming cross-cultural aesthetic criteria was an unscientific colonialist imposition. Second, he questioned Arthur Danto’s “interpretive” theory, which held that an object was art if it could be “interpreted in the light of a system of ideas that is founded within an art historical tradition” (Gell 1999b (1996):187). This theory allowed Danto to incorporate experimental modern art, including Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (1917), an autographed urinal, Andy Warhol’s self-evident Brillo Soap Pads Boxes (1964), and Damien Hirst’s provocative The Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living (1991), a dead shark floating in a gigantic, formaldehyde-filled fish tank, on the grounds that these pieces are part of a tradition of creatively challenging the boundaries of art. Gell was unhappy with the way this theory privileged the aesthetic intentions of artists and indiscriminately superimposed the European history of art on the

205

Naamiwan’s Drum

cultures of the world. Instead, he turned to a third theory, a radical version of the “interpretive” theory, which he called the “institutional” theory of art. First articulated by philosopher George Dickie, it specifically ignored the aesthetic qualities of the art work and the aesthetic intentions of the artist in favour of the realpolitik of the art market, a context which approximates the market in ethnographic artefacts (Gathercole 1981:2). Looked at this way, Gell wrote, a work “may be unconnected to the mainstream of art history, but if the art world co-opts the work, and circulates it as art, then it is art, because it is the living representatives of this art world, i.e. artists, critics, dealers, and collectors, who have the power to decide these matters, not ‘history’” (Gell 1999b (1996):188). Gell liked the theory at the time because, while it acknowledged the global workings of a Western art market and absorbed almost anything into the category “art,” it did not hinge on aesthetic judgments; it focused on contemporary observed social behaviour. When Gell returned to the question of a definition of art objects in Art and Agency (1998), he had thought it through a good deal more. He wanted the category “art” to be as broad as possible, saying that “in fact anything whatsoever could, conceivably, be an art object from the anthropological point of view, including a living person” (Gell 1998:7).2 Gell reiterated the need for “methodological philistinism” and opted for a definition of art that flowed from sound social analysis and was “theoretical.” Nothing is decidable in advance about the nature of this object, because the theory is premised on the idea that the nature of the art object is a function of the social-­ relational matrix in which it is embedded. It has no “intrinsic” nature, independent of the relational context. (1998:7)

Gell drafted a social-relational matrix that contained the variables that he felt would enable “the theoretical study of ‘social relations’ in the vicinity of objects mediating social agency” (1998:7). Because he wanted to focus on social processes involving art-like objects, he chose the neutral term “indexes” to refer to “art objects.” He called the matrix “The Art Nexus” (29). Nicholas Thomas, in his introduction to Art and Agency, provides a concise description of the elements of the matrix: Indexes stand in a variety of relations to prototypes, artists, and recipients. Prototypes are the things that indices may stand for, such as the person depicted in a portrait – though things may be “represented” non-mimetically, and non-visually. Recipients are those whom indexes are taken to effect, or who may, in some cases, be effective themselves via the index … Artists are those who are considered to be immediately causally responsible for the existence and characteristics of index, but as we have just noted, they may be the vehicles of the agency of others, not the self-subsistent, creative agents of Western commonsense ideas of art-world theory. (Thomas in Gell 1998:ix)

In establishing the matrix, Gell was building on the work of several other anthropologists. He specifically credits Marcel Mauss (1990), whose theory of

206

Agency and Artefacts

exchange, he says, is the “exemplary, prototypical ‘anthropological theory’” (Gell 1998:9). Gell says his own theory, which considers art objects as persons, is “immediately and legibly” Maussian. He credits Mauss with seeing that gifts (objects) are the extensions of persons and argues that it is but a short step to theorizing that art objects are extensions of persons. He relied on the lead provided by Marilyn Strathern, who worked out the many ways that both “people and things assume the social form of persons” (Strathern 1988:145), when he argued that “in order for the anthropology of art to be specifically anthropological it has to proceed on the basis that art objects are the equivalents of persons, or more precisely social agents” (Gell 1998:7). His distinctive theoretical contribution, which Strathern (2004b) took up again after his death, was to put a name to “distributed personhood” – the role of objects as “embodiments of the power or capacity to will their use” (Gell 1998:23) (using the horrifying example of embodied intentionality in Cambodian land mines). Gell’s definition of person/social agent is as important to my argument as his definition of art. He writes that the use of the adjective “social” is probably redundant, as “action” cannot be “conceptualized in other than social terms.” He continues: The idea of agency is a culturally prescribed framework for thinking about causation, when what happens is (in some vague sense) supposed to be intended in advance by some person-agent or thing-agent. Whenever an event is believed to happen because of an “intention” lodged in the person or thing which initiates the causal sequence, that is an instance of “agency.” (1998:17)

It is the relative agency of objects which determines their anthropological interest. “Agency is attributable to those persons (and things …) who/which are seen as initiating causal sequences of a particular type, that is, events caused by acts of mind or will or intention, rather than the mere concatenation of physical events. An agent,” he writes, “is one who ‘causes events to happen’ in their vicinity. As a result of their actions, certain events transpire (although not necessarily the events which were ‘intended’ by the agent)” (Gell 1998:16). Gell takes apart the “causal sequence” mentioned above, arguing that distributed agency, like distributed personhood, is contingent on relationships. This “secondary” agency, which is “socially and cognitively practicable,” derives from “self-sufficient” agents, is attributed to particular objects, and is acknowledged by others. Art objects are an example: [T]he kinds of agency which are attributed to art objects (or indexes of agency) are inherently and irreducibly social in that art objects never (in any relevant way) emerge as agents except in very specific social contexts. Art objects are not “self-sufficient” agents, but only “secondary” agents in conjunction with certain specific (human) associates, whose identities I discuss below. The philosophical theory of “agents” presupposes the autonomy and self-sufficiency of the human agent; but I am more concerned with the kind of second-class agency which artefacts acquire once they become enmeshed in a texture of social relationships. (1998:17)

207

Naamiwan’s Drum

In making this distinction between primary and secondary agency, Gell opened himself to vigorous criticism. Howard Morphy argued that the idea of secondary agency constituted an admission that agency is “an analogy gone too far” (Morphy 2009:6). Robert Layton felt that Gell was “minimizing the importance of cultural convention in shaping the reception or ‘reading’ of art objects” (Layton 2003:447). Gell was terminally ill when he wrote the book and, but for this, it is likely that he would have continued to revise Art and Agency. He would certainly have had some answers for his critics. But Art and Agency is not famous for its coherence; it is famous for its brilliance, for the gems of insight which others have taken and turned to useful anthropological inquiry. It may be that Gell used the category “art” without really corralling its meaning. It may even be, as several speakers who attended the tenth anniversary conference argued, that he wrote two books and the second one contradicts the first, but by setting out to be an aesthetic and methodological “philistine” and by treating art objects as active social participants with tracable social relations, Gell promised to make distinctions based strictly on observed social processes, an admirable anthropological goal.

Artefacts and Agency Gell’s theory of agency is neatly applicable to artefacts. He himself addresses its broader application: “The anthropology of art … is just anthropology itself, except that it deals with those situations in which there is an ‘index of agency’ which is normally some kind of artefact” (Gell 1998:66). Gell distinguishes between socially inert objects and socially active objects (62–3) on the basis of their potential to exercise a measurable, perceptible force on a human being and to initiate or mediate social interaction (cf. Elkins 1996, 2001; Mitchell 2005). When he identifies these objects as “indexes,” he uses the Peircian semiotic meaning of index, “an entity from which a casual observer can make a causal inference of some kind. The usual example of an ‘index’ is visible smoke betokening fire” (Gell 1998:13). To explain the mental mechanics of this process, Gell proposes “abduction,” the philosophical concept of drawing an inference with less than complete understanding. He argues that although abduction is logically flawed, it is an everyday human strategy for intuitively reading the faces and gauging the intentions of the people with whom we interact. It allows us to rapidly sort the infinite number of possible explanations in a given social situation and act instantly on available information. It describes what we do interpretively with the data we receive from both artefacts and other humans, thus reinforcing Strathern’s person/object construct. Abduction is usually the province of philosophers of science, who use it to explain the phenomenon of the brilliant scientific insight. There is a vigorous contemporary debate among philosophers of science about the explanatory power of abduction (Lipton 1991; Niiniluoto 1999), but it is important to note that, in the context of science, abduction is the process of guessing at facts. Abduction may generate a daring thesis, but empirical scientific evidence will eventually prove the thesis right or wrong. In science, abduction does not always produce truth. Gell is using abduction for the purpose of deducing meaning, and from a philosophical

208

Agency and Artefacts

point of view this is a significant difference. There is no laborious and definitive proof to come. Meaning is slippery and retrospective; it can never be confirmed in the way one can confirm scientific facts. This is a useful reminder to anthropologists. In spite of urgent caveats, our social lives and even our fieldwork experiences are made possible by abduction, the human talent for guessing how others might feel and what they might mean. Abduction is considered to be a perfectly valid logical method in certain situations. No error is likely if one uses abduction to infer the existence of historical figures, Napoleon for instance, based on the observation of his historical effects (Niiniluoto 1999:S 442). This verification process is called “justification.” (In detective literature, the “deductions” of Sherlock Holmes are typically abductive and are “proved” (justified) in the resolution of the novel (Niiniluoto 1999:440–1)). When abduction is used to detect something as intellectually elusive as meaning, waiting to see what transpires may be the key. This is a mode of provisional social proof completely familiar to the Ojibwe in the form of “percept ambiguity” (Black-Rogers 1977b:103), and incorporates an acceptance that appearances are not definitive because of the association of metamorphosis with power. The Ojibwe exhibit a willingness to wait for subsequent events in order to judge the meaning of an encounter. This mode also accords with the relational approach we have taken thus far. Relations with artefacts, like relations with people, take place in real time, and although abduction may be near instantaneous (Damasio 2003:151), perceptions are subsequently accepted, rejected, and revised according to the evolving “relational epistemology” in which the interaction takes place (Bird-David 1999). If there is confirmation, abduction is justified. It is, however, very possible that in spite of its illogic, anthropologists and their subjects actually use the sloppiest mode of unproven, emotionally instigated abduction most of the time with art, artefacts, and others.3 Gell says that the qualities which make an artefact interesting to an anthropologist revolve around the potential to abduct meaning. He says that these qualities will lie in the object’s capacity to project an index (possibly Strathern’s relational image) and that the “index itself is seen as the outcome and/or the instrument of social agency.” He uses as an example a stone on the beach. If on looking at it, one detects the signs of its having been worked, it becomes “a tool and hence an index of agency, both the agency of its maker and the man who used it.” He goes on to say that: although this suggestively chipped stone may not be very “interesting” as a candidate object for theoretical consideration in the “anthropology of art” context … it certainly may be said to possess the minimum qualifications since we have no a priori means of distinguishing “artefacts” from “works of art.” (Gell 1998:16)

With no a priori distinction between artefact and art, Lissant Bolton argues that everyday craft objects are just as likely to mediate social activity as art objects. As an example, she uses the woven pandanus textile, singo, made on the island of Ambae. Bolton explores a particular type of agency which Gell calls “captivation.” She has found in her fieldwork that captivation, “the demoralisation produced by

209

Naamiwan’s Drum

the spectacle of unimaginable virtuosity” (Gell 1998:71), is generated by intricately woven singo (Bolton 2001:100). Bolton concludes that Gell’s theory is “not so much a theory of art-objects (conventionally identified) as a theory about all objects” (Bolton 2001:99). If we can agree that Gell’s theory is broadly applicable to objects, we also have to keep in mind his caveats, which resulted in his call for methodological “philistinism” in the practice of the anthropology of art. With respect to the class of objects we are calling artefacts – those which have become part of anthropological practice or are entangled in museal discourse – it is the reification of culture which constitutes the problem. My apologies to the ghost of Alfred Gell, but it seems to me that “culture” is to the anthropological study of artefacts as aesthetics is to the anthropological study of art. Culture is invented by anthropologists reflecting comparatively on the lives of others (Wagner 1981 (1975):4). Artefacts in museums are instrumental in instantiating cultural difference just as art works in galleries instantiate aesthetic regimes. This is an example of one of Strathern’s “non-optional” relationships: artefacts are drawn into an anthropological activity that simultaneously “connects disparate things” and “establishes their disparateness” (Strathern 1995:166). The comparative analysis of objects creates a circular argument; the anthropological “cognizance” of artefacts as cultural evidence “creates the divisions it overcomes” (Strathern 1995:167). But it is also argued that the prime value of the concept of culture lies in this comparative mode. James Clifford admits that although “culture is a deeply compromised idea” (1988:10), a replacement would still have to include “some set of relations that preserves the concept’s differential and relativistic functions” (1988:274).4 “The concept of culture,” writes Roy Wagner, “has come to be so completely associated with anthropological thinking that, if we should ever want to, we could define an anthropologist as someone who uses the word ‘culture’ habitually. Or else, since the process of coming to depend on this concept is generally something of a ‘conversion experience,’ we might want to amend this somewhat and say that an anthropologist is someone who uses the word ‘culture’ with hope – or even with faith” (Wagner 1981 (1975):1–2). That anthropologists might have faith in culture brings us back to the comparison with the anthropological study of religion. And if culture per se is not something we can forego, then we can and should avoid its politicization, what Strathern has called “cultural fundamentalism” (1995:170). Therefore, I would like to take our adapted anthropological theory of artefacts one step further and propose that to do justice to the events of a repatriation we need to be “political philistines,” aware of the extent to which the vigorous politics of cultural rights has politicized “culture.” Gell has pointed out that aesthetics and politics have a parallel intellectual history, having begun “as denoting a certain kind of academic discourse and ended as … something that people have” (Gell in Ingold 1996:79). He argues that politics, like aesthetics (and culture, I would add), is produced by the existence of a disciplinary focus and that the elevation of these discourses to the status of a phenomenon of the real world ought to be resisted. Gell has been criticized for ignoring the politics of representation (Thomas 2001:10–11), but this may be his strength in the case of a theoretical approach to

210

Agency and Artefacts

repatriation. The politics of cultural rights is near omnipresent in North American repatriation literature, yet this academic approach fails to satisfy, as I have shown in chapter 7. Following Gell and Jackson instead, I have turned the ethnographic emphasis away from political rights and back to the events and their faithful description, hoping to keep the focus on the “knowledge by which people live” rather than privileging the evolving theories which anthropologists use to “make sense of life” (Jackson 1996:4). Gell’s theory is centred on happening, evolving relationships. He considered art as a “system of action, intended to change the world rather than encode symbolic propositions about it” (1998:6). In more recent work this focus on the emerging world is exemplified by Tim Ingold, who, like Strathern, emphasizes the way that people are formed by their embodied engagement in the world. Ingold writes that “social life is not something a person does but rather what a person undergoes” – a process in which people “do not make societies but living socially, make themselves” (Ingold 1986:247 in Ingold and Hallam 2007:8). He argues that “creativity and agency come together in the ‘doing’ of a person” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:8). A focus on the social agencies of artefacts which sets aside the posturing of cultural politics to reveal the relationships, obligations, and interactions impinging upon artefacts in repatriation will, as Latour has suggested, take some theoretical heavy lifting. Gell and those who have built on his work in recent years have provided a scholarly scaffold for this project.

Ojibwe Agency In this section I want to return to my dual perspective and reintroduce Ojibwe ideas about agency, looking comparatively at Gell’s theoretical approaches and Ojibwe conceptions of the agency of objects. Ojibwe speakers also distinguish between primary and secondary agency, but they are both more critical and more nuanced in their approach. Animate objects simply live; there is no presumption of volition. To explain this, Roger Roulette used the example of me. I am most certainly animate and may think and act as if I have agency, grandly assuming that I accomplish what I intend. But I am simply one of the bemaadiziwaad – “those who have life.” The bemaadiziwaad are simply following our fate. We are vulnerable because we can be manipulated by medicine men and aadizookaanag. They have the power to make a mockery of our intentions. Aadizookaanag, like Thunderbirds for instance, have primary agency, and the medicine men who can count on their help share this agency. They are bemaaji’iwemagak, “those who bring life into something.” (And naturally they can also take life out of someone, onisaan.) Naamiwan was/is bemaaji’iwemagak. The water drum, his ally, is bemaadizid; it simply has life (like me). The drum has dangerous capabilities but secondary agency, the sort we mere mortals possess. A powerful object may have more attributed agency than a relatively powerless human within a declension of personhood, power, and agency. Following Mary Black-Rogers, it seems that agency, like power, is “subject to a stock market type flux,” and the gifts medicine men possess “vary in potency, giving some the ordinary apparatus for successful living, others the

211

Naamiwan’s Drum

strength to render some men more powerful than the lower spirits on the power scale … In all cases it is felt that the non-human persons have inherent power to live, whereas human beings receive it from spiritual sources and retain it by ‘offerings’ and ‘respectful behaviour.’ The source of power is therefore significant, dividing human persons from non-human” (Black-Rogers 1977a:143). So in this philosophical context, Ojibwe animate artefacts are not art by another name. Their relative agency is unrelated to their appearance. Even the most evocative pieces are not particularly beautiful; the drums are cracked, the capes faded and tattered. Although they must once have looked impressive, they have never been treated as art objects by anyone. They were not made by people who thought of themselves as artists and have never been purchased or intended as art. If these artefacts have agency, it is not because of their aesthetic merits – Ojibwe or otherwise. They fit none of the definitions Gell put forward save the overarching one that includes all objects. Historically, the Ojibwe did not have a word for art, and the representational objects they made could only be made by those who had specific licence from the relevant spirit guardians; there is a virtual lock on the prototype’s copyright, as it were.5 Children are discouraged from whittling sticks because innocently making an image of something, without the licence or authority to do so, could put the maker in mortal danger. But there are certainly Ojibwe ceremonial objects which have considerable agency and some of these even look like “art.” For instance: there are Ojibwe sculptures which are made to look (somewhat) like Thunderbirds. A Thunderbird carving is an interesting case with respect to agency. Thunderbirds, as we have seen, have strong connections with water drums. In their stereotypical mode they are giant birds, rumbling ominously inside towering clouds. Naamiwan, however, seems to have been quite at ease with them. The normal Ojibwe constraints against revealing one’s helping spirits, a variation of the discreet speech rule, ought to have applied to Naamiwan, because, as I have explained, disclosure entailed the risk of losing their help or suffering serious repercussions. But Naamiwan obviously had gifts from Thunderbirds and equally obviously, from an Ojibwe point of view, he flaunted his connection. “The most powerful creature known to Ojibwe – or most native people – is the Thunderbird. And the Thunderbird, no one can just draw one or carve one; you have to be given authority. And for somebody to have been able to be allowed to do that was given a lot of power!” (Roulette in Matthews 1995a:7). At the main door of the ceremonial pavilion in Pauingassi, Naamiwan placed a symbol of a Thunderbird, a carved wooden bird called bineshiishikaan, an ostentatious sign of his connections. While it looks more like a goose than an eagle (to me), it is definitely avian; not a portrait so much as an evocation. Since the external form of Thunderbirds is optional, as we have seen (Hallowell 1988 (1955):179; Black-Rogers 1977a), the sculptural form of the bineshiishikaan reflects a consensus about the usual “look” of Thunderbirds. I have seen other bineshiishikaan, including the one collected by Hallowell and now in the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington. The bineshiishikaan in Washington has a bigger head and more obviously hooked beak than the one beside Naamiwan, but in other respects it is very similar – they seem to be variations on a consistent theme.

212

9.3  Close-up showing carved bird, bineshiishikaan. F59 Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

Naamiwan’s Drum

9.4  Bineshiishikaan, carved Thunderbird figure. Item 18/9926, Hallowell Collection, National Museum of the American Indian.

Other ritual objects like the water drum may derive their power from Thunderbirds, but this sculpture symbolizes Thunderbirds themselves and so has a slightly different agency relationship with the spirit-entity it manifests. With this image of a Thunderbird, bineshiishikaan, we get closest to what Gell was talking about in his chapter on volt sorcery, which involves an object as the means of enchanting another (cf. Frazer 1922), and the distributed person, where the nature of agency exerted by the prototype is to cause the artist to produce a religiously stipulated image according to the conventions for such images, which may be iconic/anthropomorphic or abstract and aniconic. In either case, the artist has to produce a “faithful” rendition of the features of the accepted image of the body of the god, triggering “recognition” of the god. (1998:99)

The Ojibwe word Omishoosh uses for the relationship between the bineshiinzhikewag sculpture in the photograph of Naamiwan and the Thunderbird spirit is inenimaawaad (lit. “to think of something in a certain way”). This word, read

214

Agency and Artefacts

contextually, has a double meaning; the bird both represents Thunder, “triggering the recognition of the god,” as Gell puts it, and instantiates a connection between Thunder and those who sing to it (Roulette Oct 2008). In Naamiwan’s photo, we can see one wooden bird on a post, but Omishoosh reminded us that there were several others mounted on tall poles poking through the Waabano pavilion roof.6 “Their ‘bird figure,’ they hung it up and they sang to it. They used to make them, these bird figures [animate]. There is something like a flag hanging. It [inanimate] would hang underneath the flag. There they’d leave it. They’d sing a song with the bird symbolically facing them. This is what the old men did.

Obineshiinzhikaaniwaan gaa-giiagoonaawaad gaa-gii-izhi-nigamowaad. Gii-bineshiinzhikewag, daabishkoo gikiwe’on gaa-agoodeg, gii-agoode ‘imaa dabazhiish ‘iwe gikiwe’on. Imaa gaa-izhi-naganaawaad-, gaa-gii-izhi-nigamowaad gii-inaasamagoojinoon ono obineshiinzhimiwaan. Mii gaa-izhichigewaad ogo akiwenziwag.

“They interpreted it [lit. designated it] as being the Thunderbird ‘making a noise,’ you see. This is why they did this because they just didn’t do this on a whim. They knew what to do. They were also addressing the Thunderbirds [lit. “pointing in a direction with a pipe”]. This is why they did this, the warriors, the ones who sang.

I’iwe ogii-inwaadaanaawaa’ iwe daabishkoo binesi gaa-noondaagozid ina. Mii ‘iwe, mii gaa-onji-doodamowaad o’owe. Gaawn aaniish ogii-michi-onendanziiwag gegoo igi. Ogii-gikendaanaawaa’ ji-izhichigewaad. Binesiwa’ dash gaye ogii-inaakonamawaawaa’. Mii gosha onoweniwan gaa-gii-onji-doodamowaad, gaa-gii-ogichidaawiwaad, gaa-gii-nigamowaad o’owe.

“This is why they were knowledgeable about something, how they were to heal someone when that one was sick. It is true that their efforts were very significant.

Gaa-ani-onji-gikendamowaad gegoon, gaa-onji-bimaaji’aawaad gaye gegoon awiyan gii-nanaandawi’aawaad i’iwe gaa-gii-aakozinij. Debwe gii-gichi-gegooniwan osha gaa-gii-ayendiwaad.

“This type of practice is both a symbol of the Thunderbird and a symbol of the connection with the Thunderbird.” Thunderbirds 2008 Ojibwe:10)7

Mii ‘iwe daabishkoo binesi ogii-inenimaawaad o’ dinoowikaanan.

This is a fascinating passage from the point of view of Gell’s “distributed personhood.” Bineshiishikaan have a significant degree of intentionality, “the power or capacity to will their use” (Gell 1998:23), which derives from their combined role, ceremonially representing the distributed agency of the spirit and simultaneously creating the ceremonial connection. As a representation of Thunderbirds, perhaps even the particular Thunderbird, Waagishagoneshi, mentioned by Jacob Owen in

215

Naamiwan’s Drum

chapter 5, the carved bird at the doorway to the pavilion acts as a “guard, zhimaaganish” sharing this task with humans.8 Omishoosh explains that that the participants in the ceremony “interpreted” inwaadaanaawaa’, the carved bird, as binesi gaa-noondaagozid, as “Thunderbird making a sound,” to which they responded by singing. Ingold in his reading of Hallowell focused on the auditory aspect of Ojibwe perception: [Hallowell] tells us that under no circumstances can the inner essence of a person, the soul, be a direct object of visual perception. “What can be perceived is only that aspect which has some form or structure … The only sensory mode under which it is possible to directly perceive the presence of souls … is the auditory one (Hallowell 1955:179–80). This is why the other-than-human persons of the shaking tent are heard but never seen. So far as the audience is concerned these persons are their voices, just as Thunder is its clap. In both cases sound is of the essence of being rather than its outward expression.” (Ingold 2000:195)

The bird sculpture is a complex and ostentatious “warning” of the presence of the most powerful spirit-helper in the Ojibwe pantheon; a representation of a Thunderbird, credited with acting both symbolically and premptatively: [T]hey call it: “manidookaan,” which is “god-like.” It is a false god. But you’re using it for something; you’re using its power for bad generally. But you’re also using its power for the protection for your group. That’s why it stands at the doorway: to protect the people inside, so that no evil or bad spirits will enter. (Roulette in Matthews 1995a:7)

I am told that manidookaan(ag) are almost always used for bad medicine. In order to understand what this means, you have to keep in mind that for those who live in Ojibwe, there is no such thing as “pure luck,” no “serendipity,” no “chance meetings,” nothing ever “just happens.” When I go to bingo with my Ojibwe friends, we are not playing the same game. My game is frivolous. Their game involves discovering one’s fate or testing one’s powers in the world.9 Bad medicine, the kind associated with manidookaan, is the kind of medicine exercised by someone with agency, someone with the capacity to impinge on another’s autonomy, to change fate: a person with the power to make a bingo player into a winner or a loser. Love medicine is the same; it is categorical bad medicine because it interferes with a person’s autonomy and rightful fate. When I first went to Pauingassi, I was scolded by old ladies for being careless with my long hair (which I rarely tied up). They told me that if a person with evil intent got as little as one strand of my hair, I could be made to fall for a very unsuitable man. Ojibwe elders in Pauingassi still consider infatuation to be a sure sign of love magic, a sort of mind control of one person over another, odayaawigon. “Real” love of a steady and abiding sort, zaagi’idiwin, is admired, but infatuation, noodendiwin, is never a good thing. Overblown romantic love of the sort experienced by teenagers is viewed as a severe personal weakness and a ridiculous spectacle, if not a symptom of sorcery. Black-Rogers found this to be true among the Weagamow Ojibwe, who use objects as charms to influence the behaviour of others. These objects are treated as emissaries with a

216

Agency and Artefacts

degree of distributed personhood and concomitant agency. “These ‘charms,’” she writes, “each in its own way, can cause others to perform acts or enter into a state that they wouldn’t have if left to their own autonomy” (1977a:150). In the same way, hunting medicine is bad medicine in that it tampers with fate by making a moose or other prey “foolish.” As Robert Brightman points out, hunting medicine is “believed to exert an infatuating influence over the animal or to bewilder it so that it will not perceive the trap or the hunter” (Brightman 2002 (1973):191). A Pauingassi hunter would only resort to hunting magic in desperation because it might take extreme measures to reinstate a positive relationship with the spirit guardian of that animal after abusing the autonomy and relative agency of those he provides for and protects.10 Rather than mocking this kind of explanation of the agency of objects, Gell argues that anthropological distrust in native explanations which incorporate a role for objects ignores kinds of causality (Gell 1998:100). He gives, as an example, the phenomenon of the boiled egg. There are at least two ways to explain how there comes to be a boiled egg on one’s table in the morning. One is a technical explanation about the cooking of the egg, which covers what happens when one puts the egg in boiling water for a certain amount of time, albumen hardens, etc. etc., and this explanation answers the narrow question “How?” A second explanation might attempt to answer the broader question “Why?” or more often “Why me?” by addressing the existence of the whole apparatus of egg boiling – from the egg, to the pot, to the stove – pointing out that none of this would exist if there were not a culturally entangled breakfaster who desired a boiled egg (1998:101). This is an explanation which refers to a deeper level of causality. This distinction is especially clear with respect to Ojibwe attitudes towards illness, framed, as Hallowell reminds us, by the idea that someone is always to blame and person/objects may be included as suspects; mere bad luck is a conceptual impossibility. Anishinaabe people are not unduly alarmed by normal diseases like colds (Hallowell 1941:873), nor are they any different from the rest of us in experimenting with unproven but promising remedies. Their discoveries about the efficacy of certain treatments, purgatives and burn treatments for instance, did not undermine Ojibwe ideas about personal causality because, like the rest of us, they distinguish between the technical questions “How does the disease process work?” or “Does this medicine make a difference?” and the existential question “Why me?” As Gell says, it is a mistake “to imagine that magicians had some non-standard physical theory, whereas the truth is that ‘magic’ is what you have when you do without a physical theory on the grounds of its redundancy, relying on the idea, which is perfectly practicable, that the explanation of any given event (especially if socially salient) is that it is caused intentionally … Magic registers and publicises the strength of desire, increasing the (inductively supported) likelihood that the much desired, emphatically expressed, outcome will transpire, as frequently happens with respect to those outcomes we loudly clamour for” (Gell 1998:101). Gell used as his example the kind of magic implicated in hunting and love medicine, sympathetic magic (Frazer 1922:16) or volt sorcery. He argues that for volt sorcery to appear to work, the image and the identity of the victim need to be “bound” together somehow and that this is often done using “exuviae: hair, finger nail clippings and the like” to make it more effective (1998:102).

217

Naamiwan’s Drum

9.5  Maggie Duck, Little Grand Rapids, 1930s. Photograph F52, Hallowell Collection, American Philosophical Society.

This closely parallels Ojibwe thinking about bad medicine; “binding” is effected either by knowing the secret, true Ojibwe name of a person, or by having a hair (as in love medicine) or some article of clothing which can be incorporated into the charm. “These exuviae do not stand metonymically for the victim; they are physically detached fragments of the victim’s ‘distributed personhood’ – that is, personhood distributed in the milieu, beyond the body boundary” (1998:104). The old Ojibwe attitude towards women’s hair is an example; illustrated by Hallowell’s photo of Maggie Duck, we see that women braided their hair, wore headscarves, and used lots of hairpins so that no stray hair would endanger them. “The importance of exuviae sorcery,” wrote Gell, “is that it forges a direct link between an index as an image of the prototype and the index as a (detached) part of the prototype” (1998:104). These principles of index and prototype are not restricted to bad medicine. There are several important examples of the capacity to “bring life” to someone

218

Agency and Artefacts

in previous chapters. By way of background I should re-emphasize that there are two types of medical practitioners and some individuals may combine both sets of skills. There are those who have herbal knowledge and can bring about cures, providing a tea that relieves pain, a salve that heals burns, or a medication that steadies the heart. Then there are the types of practitioners who work at a higher level, who can intervene with fate, stopping a pre-ordained death or fending off the attack of another medicine man. The first practitioners are predominantly making use of the gifts of memegwesiwag and the collective knowledge of elders. The second are operating on an entirely different plane and are believed to be redistributing the life which Thunderbirds give them. Naamiwan’s son Angus operated at this higher level. Omishoosh described a powder which his Uncle Angus always kept in a small groundhog-hide pouch. When shaken into a saucer filled with liquid, the powder miraculously took the shape of a human body. “If one treats a woman, if it’s a woman, maybe a man, if they dip the medicine inside, an image of an Anishinaabe would appear in the medicine placed in the saucer. It had an arm, legs, a head. This is where one is very competent in treatment.

Giishin awiinge awiya e-gii-andawi’aawaaj ikwe, wegaa ikwe, wegaa inini, giishin e-gii-bakobii’amowaad i’i mashkiki, mii gaa-izhi-bizaanigo Anishinaabe ‘imaa e-mazinisej gaa-inagondeg i’ mashkiki. Giioniki­wan, gii-okaadiwan, gii-otigwaaniwan. Mii ‘awe weweni gaa-gikendang andawi’on.

“After he’s been given the medicine to drink, when it was time for the drink, he’d start from the head area. Then the patient would finish it. Eventually, he [the medicine] treated the whole body. The medicine [inanimate], which created an image, sits on the side. That’s what I saw the old men do, that’s extraodrdinary power.”

Zhigwa e-giizhi-, e-giiwewi-mina’aaj, apii eni-izhisenig ji-mina’aad. Mii wedi nakeya’ii niigaan oshtigwaaning gaa-izhi-mina’aaj. Gaa-ni-izhigidaaj a’aw. Mii miziwe wiiyawing e-gaa-andawi’aaj. ‘Iwe gaa-giimaziniseg ‘owe mashkiki opimeya’ii bakobii’igaade. Mii gosha gaaizhi-waabandamawag gaa-gii-doodamowaaj akiwenziwag. Mii ‘iwe gashki’ewiziwin.

“The other [the patient] would then get well. All that afflicted him/her [augmentative animate] would disappear. This is the treatment/ practice I’m telling you about. This is the kind of knowledge which was bestowed upon the ancient Anishinaabe. His skills/gifts were important for the ones who received life from there.” (CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life:2)

Mii ‘iwe gii-mino-ayaaj ‘awedi. Gii-maajaamaganinig gakina gaa-gii-doodaagoj. Mii ‘awe ‘imaa gaye mayaa nanaandawichigewin ‘owe gaa-bimi-wiindamoonagog. Gaa-izhinaagwak gete-anishinaabe gaa-izhi-miinigoowizij gegoo. Gaye wiin gaa-gii-izhi-miinigoj awenenag gaa-gii-onji-bimaadizij ‘omaa.

219

Naamiwan’s Drum

Omishoosh specifies that the practitioner had power which comes from s­ pirit-helpers. The words gaa-gikendang andawi’on indicate that this practice is a manifestation of spirit power. This kind of “knowledge, gashki’ewiziwin” was, he says, “bestowed by a divine power, miinigoowizij.” This is an Ojibwe articulation of agency, a collaborative radiating agency which originates with spirit-entities, “bemaaji’iwemagak, those who bring life into something.” That he does not specifically name the spirit silently credited with this gift is, as we have seen, entirely typical of discreet speech. It’s not that he doesn’t know. He won’t say. You are meant to consider the possibilities.

Conclusion Alfred Gell’s theoretical approach, developed for the anthropology of art, interprets agency as a function of the “distributed personhood” of objects – a theory usefully adapted to artefacts – including Naamiwan’s drum in its Ojibwe and museum modes. There are striking parallels between Ojibwe conceptions of wiikaanag, ritual brotherhood, and Gell’s ideas about “distributed personhood.” The idea of the distributed person/object is one of Gell’s considerable contributions to the anthropology of personhood, and it led him to conceive of agency as relative and variable, as primary and secondary. The Anishinaabe perspective provides a congenial set of examples which support and clarify Gell’s conception of the agency of objects: the drum as wiikaan, ritual brother, killing in defence of the community, the Thunderbird figures as manidookaan, both representing and embodying the spirit in ceremony, and the sympathetic magic of the powdered medicine which takes the human form of the patient. The Ojibwe conceptual approach, especially the nuanced and precise attribution of primary and secondary agency and the idea of flux in distributed agency, contributes needed flexibility to Gell’s theory and helps to refine its application to the repatriation case study. The other important contribution which emerges from an Ojibwe comparison is that rather than imagining agency as an inherent characteristic of an object, one is presented with an intellectual framework in which agency is attributed tentatively and retrospectively, as it appears in an emergent world. This parallels the views of Strathern, Jackson, and Ingold, who argue for agency as a process, something that happens between person/objects in a field of emergent social relations.

220

10

Repatriating Agency An Agency Analysis of Repatriation

The preceding narrative chapters – the museum visit and speech of Omishoosh (chapter 2), the events of the repatriation (chapter 4), the narrative of contemporary cultural revitalization (chapter 6), and the ceremonial dénouement of the repatriation (chapter 8) – comprise a triangulated biography of Naamiwan’s water drum as told through the stories of the people in his life. This is the sort of cultural biography Appadurai (1986) and Kopytoff (1986) might recommend. The narrative approach uses the artefacts as proxies to talk about the life and ideas of Naamiwan, Omishoosh, Eddie Benton Banai, and Nelson Owen (Hoskins 1998). But for all the detail in this narrative, something remains unexplained. My triangulation orders events and identifies perspectives and emotions but cannot integrate them; motivations, relationships, and obligations still conflict, their inconsistencies jangle. So let us tackle the narrative one last time, allowing for the perspective of Naamiwan’s water drum, our epitomizing object. Placing the focus squarely on the drum, we look at the potential for and the attribution of agency, we follow the overlapping, conflicting relational trails of humans and artefacts in an emergent world. Agencies are socially relevant when they are acted upon, invoked metaphorically, alluded to provisionally, and used retroactively as explanation; the agencies of objects are relational and revealing (Herle 2003). From our dual analytical perspective, the instability of agency in both the Ojibwe context of the source community and in the anthropological museum-based context of repatriation is apparent. In both these contexts, the drum’s agency varies with the acknowledgment of his personhood and the acceptance of his multiple social relationships among artefacts and others. One way of tracking agencies, plural as Bruno Latour suggests (2005:51, 52), is to follow the name changes of Naamiwan’s water drum over time. The names of the drum do not succeed one another so much as coexist; rather than specifying serial identities, they reinforce the composite personhood of the drum and indicate the overlapping, multiple, and conflicting relationships one would expect of an

Naamiwan’s Drum

engaged personality in the midst of a drama. The names are a convenient way to identify facets of the drum’s partible personhood, Marilyn Strathern’s “images” or “forms.” Names indicate a particular image produced by a particular relationship or set of relationships. Images are framed by non-optional obligations “abstracted from all other social contexts in order to exist, however momentarily, in one alone … the image presents an already completed thing” (Strathern 1999:10). As already noted, Strathern argues that person/objects are at their most thing-like when they are reduced to a single relationship, a single image, and at their most person-like when they are regarded as composite beings, engaged across multiple relationships and part of a relational plurality with “obligations and expectations through which kin in belonging to one another are bound to and divided off from one another” (1995:16). The names of the drum structure this analysis of agencies: “Dewe’igan” provides a general introduction; “Mitigwakik” is about specific Pauingassi Anishinaabe relationships; “E5 211” describes the University of Winnipeg Anthropology museum mode; “Grandfather Water Drum” reflects relationships with Three Fires; and “L2.003-B” is a current portrait. Unlike a biography, an analysis of agencies does not presume temporal progression. The Pauingassi relationships have existed and continue to exist throughout; they are not just prior to the museum and Three Fires phases but coexist, then and now. A focus on agency doesn’t imply a trajectory or privilege a narrative arc; instead it provides a warning about premature conclusions and about the danger of a tidy wrapping up of moral tales. It keeps us faithful to our commitment to the specific, the local, the embodied particulars of lived experience as it emerges. And if anything definitive can be said about the social lives of objects, it is that all possible future outcomes always remain a possibility.

Dewe’igan The most common Anishibaabemowin term for an Ojibwe drum, dewe’igan, is grammatically animate. The word can be used for big drums, small drums, hand drums, water drums, and small drum-shaped rattles (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:44). The word which specifically designates a water drum, mitigwakik, is also grammatically animate. A mitigwakik is the personal implement of an Anishibinaabe medicine man and all such drums are historically connected with the Midewiwin (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:88). Although some of them are quite beautiful and they may have intricate lacing incorporating stones and shells, they are prized by Anishinaabe people not for their looks but for their deeds. When museum professionals talk about drums, they too are thinking about the work drums do. They are, in part, referring to the cultural knowledge which inheres in dewe’igan and which is imparted by the drum on close examination: details of construction, form, and decoration, and traces of the human hands which shaped the drum. In expert eyes, the particular form and unusual construction method of Naamiwan’s drum confirm its Midewiwin connections; to conservators and curators it is part of a known set of objects. All artefacts studied comparatively have this “potential to embody and convey distinctive cultural knowledge” (Herle 2003:204).

222

Repatriating Agency

As I describe the physical features of Naamiwan’s drum, in order to keep the awareness of Ojibwe categories foremost, I will refer occasionally to the drum as a person, the way we would if we were speaking Ojibwe. You can see from the photograph that Naamiwan’s water drum is now far from beautiful, although you might still say that he has a robust, muscular look. Other water drums tend to be smaller and more delicate. Naamiwan’s drum is fifty centimetres high and nearly seventy-five centimetres in circumference – about twice as big as most other water drums, including his companion from the University of Winnipeg collection, another very old drum which belonged to Naamiwan’s nephew, Poplar Hill elder Sagashki Strang. Naamiwan’s drum was carved from a fifty-centimetre section of a poplar tree and has an outer diameter of just over forty-five centimetres. The drum was hollowed out by roughly gouging (and possibly burning), leaving the sides and bottom about two centimetres thick tapering to a rim about one centimetre thick. The outside surface of the walls of the drum was smoothed and shaped with a knife or plane; each stoke of the blade has left a trace. The rim of the drum is now rather soft and porous; chips have broken off the upper edge. The University of Winnipeg ID number E5 211 is written on a small white painted patch near the top edge, and an ID tag is tied to the collar which once secured the hide cover. The inside of Naamiwan’s drum is painted dark green, and the rough gouging marks are accentuated by the uneven distribution of paint. The bottom is dark, lumpy, and porous like the rim, and, where colour remains, it is mottled green, dark red, and black. There are cracks in the base of the drum caused by drying, one of which has been expertly repaired. Omishoosh remembered it: “This [animate – drum] was cracked long ago.” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:28)

Mewinzha wa’a gii-daashkikaa.

Around the lower edge of the drum there is a metal ring crudely bent and now loose. There are innumerable tiny worm holes in the sides and bottom of the drum, like dark pin pricks. Circling the base, the outside of the drum has faint traces of the dark green paint used by the Anishinaabeg to seal canvas canoes. The moose-hide drum cover, in place when the photograph of Naamiwan (figure 1.1) was taken, is lost, but the collar by which it was attached and tightened is slung around the top. The hide would have been secured by a system of ingenious rawhide lacing and tuned by snugging the adjustable collar down on the drum. Like all water drums, this one has a bung-hole about half way up the side, and the water added through this hole when he was played would have given the sound a haunting resonance. When Omishoosh first saw the old man’s “pail, odakikwan” (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:32), sitting on a table in the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Lab, he said that the drum and drumsticks came from the East. His grandfather, who made the drum sometime before 1815, was born in Lac Seul, Ontario, which is significantly farther south. This may explain the size of tree from which the drum was hewn. In the murder story told earlier, St John Owen remarks on the size of the drum. In a part of the world where trees are stunted by extreme cold weather, a drum this big would be noticed. But ultimately the reputation of

223

Naamiwan’s Drum

the drum and the agency it was accorded were based not on size or decoration but on the things people believe that he and Naamiwan did together.1

Mitigwakik Naamiwan’s drum is a mitigwakik, a water drum. There are multiple alternate Ojibwe ways of referring to him, which alternately highlight relationships and downplay animacy and personhood, but the name most often used by Omishoosh is the animate form, mitigwakik (lit. wooden pail or kettle). There is also, as we have seen, a grammatically inanimate way of referring to a water drum, madwe’igan(an), which means any thing to strike or beat upon (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:28), and Omishoosh used it frequently, discreetly minimizing the attribution of agency to the drum. Omishoosh and Margaret also used the very familiar (and animate) euphemism the old man’s “pail/kettle, odakikwan,” a nod to the drum’s plebeian prototype (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:32; see also Black-Rogers 1986b. But as Naamiwan’s ritual partner, wiikaanan, a word which specifies the water drum’s privileged ceremonial relationship, the drum is grammatically, metaphorically, and practically alive and thus the possessor of a considerable degree of agency. The drum would be said to have “come alive” at the point in his construction when his maker had secured the hide covering for the first time and thus “given it a soul,” odajijaakiwi’aan. The ritual brotherhood between Naamiwan and the drum connected them to spirit guardians as well as to fellow ceremonial participants – human and object – and to patients and victims in a densely woven relational fabric made up of the “countless threads spun by beings of all sorts, both human and non-human, as they find their ways through the tangle of relationships in which they are enmeshed” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:2). Omishoosh says that Naamiwan’s drum is very old and thus has unusually venerable relationships. This mitigwakik was made for the use of Naamiwan’s grandfather about 1815. He may have made it himself or directed its construction, but regardless of who made the drum, the licence to do so would have come through a dream, and the “primary agency,” in Alfred Gell’s terms, would rest with Naamiwan’s grandfather’s spirit-helper.2 Omishoosh told Roger that when Naamiwan played the drum, he believed himself to be possessed by the spirit of his grandfather, so this connection was more immediate than historical. Naamiwan once invited Omishoosh to attempt to stop his drumming hand when he was playing, and although Naamiwan was in his eighties and Omishoosh was young and strong, the force in Naamiwan’s arm was overpowering. This web of agency expressed as wiikaanag, from spirit-helper to medicine man to drum and shared among ceremonial participants and allies of every degree, may have too many variables for Gell’s nexus. Nevertheless there is value here; the primary agency of the grandfather is distinct from the derivative, collaborative agency of the drum. Naamiwan is both a patient – a beneficiary of someone else’s agency – and an agent in his own right. His encounters with the spirits who also helped his grandfather gave him access to similar powers and guaranteed the allegiance of the drum.

224

Repatriating Agency

As I explained in previous chapters, Naamiwan’s powers included conveying the gift of life from Thunderbirds to his patients. His water drum and various other ritually related ceremonial tools and medicines collaborated to effect a cure. Omishoosh gave an example from his youth. When he was about ten or twelve, he and three other boys in the community became sick. They were afflicted with a strange sort of lassitude, and this illness was unusual enough that Naamiwan decided it was necessary to conduct a sweat lodge. Although sweat lodges have become a very common practice in contemporary “traditional” practice, Omishoosh indicates that in Pauingassi in years past it was a desperate measure, taken in the belief that the illness was the result of an attack. “Apparently that’s when you do the sweat lodge,” Roger told me. “It saves your life and that’s why he lived to be an old man” (Roulette 2003). This was the only time in his life that Omishoosh took part in a sweat lodge, madoodiswaan: “They heated up stones [animate]. We were also taken inside. We sat with the old man doing the sweat lodge. There seemed to be a pail sitting there, and there was water in there, you see. And, these things are in the ground, in the swamp. ‘Binemizhiin’ we call them. We also refer to them as ‘gaagigebagoon’ [“Labrador tea,” Ledum groenlandicum or Ledum palustre var. latifolium]. These gaagigebagoon, they would tie them in a bundle and dip them in there. And the [drum] sticks, they were this long [appr. two feet]. They’d be placed all around there. They used these as drumsticks when they were singing. They’d bang on the pail on this side.

Asinii’ ogii-gizhizwaawaa’. Mii ‘imaa miina gaa-izhi-biindiganigooyaang, ngii-wiidabimaanaanig akiwenziwag e-gii-madoodoowaad. Daabishkoo akik gii-abi ‘imaa nibi gii-ate na. Zhigwa a’ayi’iin, akiing ayaawan ono, mashkiigoong. Binemizhiin ndidaamin. Miina gaagigebagoon ndidaamin. Miiwan ono gaagigebagoon gaa-, ogii-okwadoonaawaan, ogii-bakobii’aanaawaan o’omaa. Zhigwa mitigoonsan, o’ gii-ayaakwaakwanoon, miiwan ini gaa-ategin ‘imaa giiwitaaya’ii. Miiwan ini obagamaaganiwaan e-gii-nigamowaad. Ini akikwan ogii-madwewaawaan o’ dinong.

“And those gaagigebagoon that were soaking, they took them out (saturated with water) and used them to strike the red hot stones. The steam would fill the space. It wasn’t burnt smoke; it was just a puff of steam. The gaagigebagoon smelled good. And that was giving you medicine. They were curing you. That’s how they sought life. When we were having a difficult time, that’s where we were helped out.

Zhigwa iniweniwan gaa-gii-agondegin, gaagigebagoon, asinii’ gaye miskwaabikizowaad, miiwan iniwe gaa-gidaanamowaad e-gii-ziiga’anda’aawaad ini, iniwen asinii’ na. Mii gaa-izhi-mooshkine’aabateseg, gaawiin wiin agwaabate, gii-michi-baashkinese. Gii-minaatewan ono gaagigebagoon na. Mii ‘iwe gii-andawi’owaad. Ogii-andawi’owag. Mii ‘iwe gaa-gii-onji-anda-bimaadiziwineyaang. Gaa-gii-gagwaadagiziyaang mii ‘imaa geniinawind e-gii-wiiji’iweyaang.

225

Naamiwan’s Drum

“When they knew they were finishing up the sweat lodge, they’d start singing. They all sang. There were workers, apprentices. They [the apprentices] were present outside. When they [the old men] starting singing, they’d stand up and dismantle their sweat lodge while they were dancing. And the apprentices would take the covers off. As they [the old men] rose, the structure and the covering lifted up and began to come apart. That’s what they did, the ones doing the sweat lodge in the Midewiwin.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:4–5)

Zhigwa ayapii, gaa-ani-ishkwaa, gaa-ni-gikendamowaad, e-wii-ani-ishkwaa madoodoowaad, mii gaa-ni-izhinigamowaad. Gakina gii-nigamowag. Gii-ayaawag anokiinaaganag, oshkaabewisag. Mii ‘imaa gii-ayaawag agwajaya’ii. Apii gaa-maajii-nigamowaad, mii gaa-izhi-bazigwiiwaad e-gii-ombakiishkamowaad ‘iwe ayi’ii, omadoodiswaaniwaa’ e-gii-niimiwaad. Zhigwa igiwe oshkaabewisag mii gaa-ni-izhi-bakojibidoowaad ini opakwaanan. Mii biniskwe gii-ani-ayaag i’i. Mii gaa-izhichigewaad osha i’ gaa-gii-midewiwaad gaa-gii-madoodoowaad.

In this sweat lodge description there are many objects doing things: plants give aromatic medicine, songs reverberate, and drumsticks and stones, the ritual relatives of the leaders of the ceremony, collaborate. After translating this detailed story, Roger Roulette explained that “it seems to be the old men who can do this, who have these songs, this power and the medicines that they used with the rocks” (Matthews 2003d:6). Primary agency clearly lies with the old men and their association with spirit-helpers. After the sweat lodge, Omishoosh and his friends were wrapped in blankets and brought up the hill to a larger lodge he called the aniibiishigiwaam (lodge with boughs). In the second stage of the healing process, their Midé initiation, the drum took on a more significant role. Bruno Latour talks about the moment when objects become visible and argues that part of anthropological practice is to devise specific tricks or artificial situations which “make them talk, that is, to offer descriptions of themselves, to produce scripts of what they are making others – humans and non-­ humans – do” (2005:79). No tricks are necessary here. In this ceremony the objects are acting in full view. Gell’s agent/patient nexus seems broadly relevant, for indeed Omishoosh and his friends were patients in the medical as well as the metaphorical mode. As Omishoosh began to describe this experience, he said that Naamiwan and his water drum were working together with Naamiwan’s spirit-helpers, his “wiikaana” e-gii-dazhimaad epenimod ina, his ritual relatives upon whom he depended: “That’s when we began to be Mide. We circled the lodge. We carried pelts. They called them pouches with a string [animate]. I was bearing the hide with its head, of an animal that flies.

226

Mii ‘imaa gaa-gii-maajii-midewiyaang. Ngii-bimaazhagaamemin, ngii-giiwitaashkaamin ‘o madogaan. Ingii-dakonaanaanig aya’aawishiwayaanag. Daabishkoo gashkibidaaganag ogii-inaawaa’. Nashke niin, ingii-ayaawaa gashkibidaagan. Ngii-gigitigwaaneshin, bezhig aya’aawish gaa-bimised.

Repatriating Agency

“Everyone carried these hides [inanimate], even a raven hide, a duck hide, a weasel hide, a mink hide, all animals. Gopher hides with their heads. We would then cross over from one side of the circle to the other while we were circling. Then those who were sitting down would all stand up, all those that were inside. That’s what they did.

Gakina awiya’ ogii-dakonaan onoweniwa’ aya’aawisha’ abooshke gaagaagiwayaanan, zhiishiibiwayaanan, zhingosiwayaanan, zhaangwesiwayaanan, gakina aya’aawish. Gakajojiishiwayaana’ giigigitigwaaneshinoo’. Mii dash gaa-izhi-maajii-aazhagaameyaang ‘owe gii-daadibigaameyaang ‘iwe. Mii gaa-izhi-bazigwiiwaad igi gakina, igi ‘imaa minik biindig gaa-gii-ayaawaad. Mii gaa-izhichigewaad o’.

“I was told to [makes a motion to touch] someone like this. You see, I was carrying the pouch. Then the person would fall over. I had killed him/her. Another person would do that to yet another person and again the person would fall over. That’s what they all did. This is what was said. ‘When someone experienced this, they were seeking life.’ They banished the sickness away. The sickness must be eradicated. However, life would remain. Life caused him/her to arise some time later. That’s what they used to say. That is the Midewiwin. I am certain about this.” (CGO 1994 Sept Recipe:5–6).ll

Bezhig gayeniin awiya ingii-igoo, ‘owe ji-doodawag ‘iwe na. Na, mii ‘iwe gaa-gii-dakonamaan ‘iwe gashkibidaagan. ‘Owe doodawag ‘iwe, mii gaa-izhi-gawised. Mii ‘iwe nisag. Mii miina godag gaa-doodawaad bezhig, mii miina gaa-izhi-gawisenid. Mii gakina ‘iwe gaa-gii-doodamowaad ‘iwe. Mii ‘iwe, mii ‘iwe a’ayi’ii, gii-ikidowag, awiya gaa-doodawind ‘iwe anda-bimaadiziwined, oga-wiiweba’aan ‘i bimaadizi-, a’ayi’ii, aakoziwin. Ji-webinigaadeg i’ aakoziwin. Bimaadiziwin idash i’imaa. Gii-bazigwii dash a’ naage na. Mii ‘iwe gii-ombinigod iwe bimaadiziwin. Mii gaa-ikidowaad. Mii ‘iwe, mii ‘iwe Midewiwin.

The frank recounting of the role of named hide pouches in bringing about the ritual death of illness is a clear attribution of agency. As the hide pouches touched them, the patients fell in a dead faint and the sickness was “banished, weba’aan”; they “eradicated it, webinigaadeg.” Omishoosh would consider it naive to attribute this entirely to the pouches, although they are grammatically animate and active in the ceremony. Both the pouches and the drum are wiikaana’, necessary and valuable “ritual relatives” in a ceremonial setting, but secondary agents, “willed to use” (Gell 1998:23) in an event orchestrated by a few very powerful people and their other-than-human helpers who have “life” to give. Each of the objects in the ceremony has a different role; agencies and abilities are orchestrated to produce a general beneficial effect. The drum’s role and relative agency are connected to its way of being present as sound and to its loud, 227

Naamiwan’s Drum

reverberating voice. Hallowell’s observation is relevant here. The only reliable, perceptible manifestation of “the presence of souls of any category, and then under certain conditions only, is the auditory one” (Hallowell 1988 (1955):180). As I understand it, a drum’s soul is present as sound and the drum is, in a way, the size of its sound – a very big thing. The only thing larger would be wind and the only thing louder would be Thunder. We were told that there are stone cairns more than thirty-two kilometres apart which mark the edges of the sound of the Poplar Hill dream drum, so it is certain that people are aware of the normal range of a drum’s soul (SS 1992:9). The people who watched and listened the night of the murders (see the previous chapter) would have understood that the soul of Naamiwan’s drum, like that of a person, travels separately from its external physical form and its mobility would be enhanced by the intervention of Naamiwan’s helpers. In any case St John credited it with travelling the several hundred kilometres to Deer Lake where it was able to “entrap” its victim (gii-naazikaazowan) (Roulette August 2004). “The water drum [animate] that I speak of, he took the person [enemy] into himself [the water drum] after which he/she was entrapped. When they [the victims] had come into it [the drum], that person was unable to free themselves from it [animate – water drum], not even a bit. Eventually, that person was killed.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:14)

Iniwe omitigwakikwan gaa-dibaajimag, ogii-biindiganaan imaa e-gii-biijigaazonid wedi giinaazikaazowan. Mii imaa gaa-izhi-biindigenid, mii gaawn ‘aw bangii ogii-gashkitoosiin ji-zaaga’ang ‘awedi. Mii imaa gaa-ni-izhi-nichigaazonid.

This is distributed agency, the “will to use,” lodged in the roaming soul of the drum. St John’s attribution of agency is partly based on cultural assumptions about drums, partly on the evidence of the moment, and partly on the reputation of Naamiwan and his drum. Both would be subject to critical empirical assessment (Hallowell 1934:393). Neither a medicine man nor his drum would be credited with powers they had not repeatedly demonstrated. And conversely, one would be a fool to claim such powers if one did not have them. Pretending to have the power to use a drum or make a drum, even as a toy, without specific licence from the appropriate spirit puts a person in mortal danger. It is, even now, cited as the cause of illness and misfortune.4 Omishoosh warned us about the severity of the sanction against pretence. “If someone just did something of their own volition, he/she wouldn’t be able to do anything with it. Absolutely nothing. Eventually, he/she would become sick.”

Giishpin awiya michi-inendang gegoon izhichiged, gaawn gegoo oga-inaabajitoosiin. Aabiinj igo gaawn gegoo, abooshke biinish da-ani-onji-aakozi.

This sickness is brought on by one’s own actions, baataa’idizowin, one of the consequences of committing a moral wrong, onjinewin.

228

Repatriating Agency

“Many have come to appear like this [unfortunate or ill] when they’ve brought wrong on themselves when they’ve tried something like this. When they don’t have the authority.” (Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008:16)

Niibiwa awiya gii-bi-izhinaagozi, gii-bi-e-onjine’idizod wii-dinoowikaan e-gii-wii-gagwe-izhichiged. Egaa-dash wiin e-gii-izhi-miinaasiwind.

In this Roger Roulette entirely agreed: If somebody does something on their own whim without authority, it will catch up to you. If you do not have this gift and you go ahead and profess that you have this gift and can perform at ceremonies, then you will have what they call onjinewin – a past wrong catches up to you. It catches up to you, and you must pay the price for being false, an impostor, a charlatan. There’s a high price for that. There’s a certain point you go beyond. It’s called baataa’idizowin, which means, there’s no surviving. It’s death. (Roulette February 2002)

Volition, izhichiged, may be a conditional attribute of an entity, but attributions of agency emerge out of shifting relationships and are being tested and revised constantly. Omishoosh’s warning, directed at those who had taken his grandfather’s drum, underlines the Ojibwe understanding that primary agency, the capacity to confidently make things happen, is something possessed by a very few and perhaps not all the time. Naamiwan is retroactively credited with considerable agency. He lived ninety-three years, had five adult children, cured many people (and may have killed many others), and was moderately cavalier about alluding to his spirit connections; taken together, this constitutes proof of significant primary agency. And it would be a mistake to think that his agency was diminished by his death. As I have explained in chapter 5, death does not necessarily mean that a person ceases to act in the world. One can tell by the way those who remember Naamiwan say his name. Their affection for him is revealed in the way they linger over the long vowels, but it is the fact that they never use the preterite suffix -ban, meaning “the late,” which is most telling. He is always referred to in the present tense in recognition of the possibility that, given the nature of his gifts, he can return at any time to act in the present. When I die, I will be Midewigimaawikweban, the late Maureen, but because of the agency attributed to Naamiwan in life and the agency presumed in death, it is as if Naamiwan was with us and is acting among us yet (Matthews and Roulette 2003:273). (This is the case with Omishoosh as well. Occasionally people from the south refer to him as “the late old man, akiwenziban’,” but I have never heard or recorded someone saying anything but Omishoosh in Pauingassi.) After the death of Naamiwan’s son Angus, his water drum was retired from active practice and placed at the foot of a poplar tree on an island north of Pauingassi where it might have remained for all time. Graceful decay was one of the many possible outcomes for the drum, one which would have seemed entirely suitable to Naamiwan. But that is not what happened. Naamiwan’s mitigwakik

229

Naamiwan’s Drum

appears to have some of the same deathless attributes of his master and plenty of latent agencies. Things have happened which have conspired to keep the memory of Naamiwan and the drum in the minds of many people. Over the course of these events, the drum has initiated relationships with a new generation in Pauingassi and made itself known to staff at the University of Winnipeg, Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge members, journalists, and the general public. From a Pauingassi point of view, the drum has earned new respect, which they would see as a natural consequence of his relationship with Naamiwan. Nelson Owen, Naamiwan’s greatgreat-grandson, went to considerable effort to educate himself about the drum and became uncharacteristically aggressive about demanding his return. Nelson seemed comfortable in this role of bringing memories and agencies forward into the present. “Thus the past,” writes Ingold, “is continually active in the present, pressing against the future. In this pressure lies the work of memory imagined … as the guiding hand of a consciousness that, as it goes along, also remembers the way” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:11). The “guiding hand” of memory energizes the Pauingassi agencies which run through the narrative of events; like an underground river, they emerge from time to time, flowing and active, causing some of the abrupt shifts in register which we have seen in the narrative. From the point of view of Pauingassi personhood, the drum still has numerous viable ongoing relationships and a growing number of possible outcomes (Strathern 1999:16). The events of the past few years have made the drum a focus of community solidarity and pride, an enviable degree of agency for a retiree. I suppose the drum’s exile from Pauingassi might be construed as evidence of inconstancy on the part of the community, but Omishoosh thought the artefacts were being respectfully pampered at the Anthropology Museum and was excited about their future role in teaching young people about Pauingassi history (cf. Tapsell 2003:244). So when the drum made his move, in 1970 – when someone was inspired to retrieve him from the bush and give him to Dr Jack Steinbring – he initiated, among other things, a revitalized connection with Naamiwan’s extended family and the community he never really left.

Artefact Number E5 211 In the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum, Naamiwan’s drum took on a second persona and formed a new set of relationships. It became artefact E5 211. The original data sheet for the Pauingassi Collection identifies E5 211 as formerly belonging to “Namuwin” and gives the name of the seller as Nahpaykun, an old woman whose identity, if this spelling is correct, is a complete mystery in Pauingassi. The drum’s name change signalled a dramatic shift in relative agencies (Latour 2005:51, 52). As E5 211, the drum’s dominant image/relationship became that of an artefact, wholly owned by the University of Winnipeg. Like other person/objects caught in relationships framed by ownership claims – claims made by persons (or institutions) in respect of things – E5 211 had no effective personhood; it became a thing “abstracted from all other social contexts in order to exist … in one alone” (Strathern 1999:10).

230

Repatriating Agency

For E5 211, the change in circumstances began on a cold winter day in 1970 when Dr Steinbring and an assistant, Norman Robertson, flew into Pauingassi. They had a small amount of cash from a government grant, and they went around the community asking about objects that might benefit from the protection of a museum. Dr Steinbring clearly remembered purchasing the water drum: There were at least two water drums … the old one was turned over to us by the widow of the man who used it.5 You see the talk was going around that these guys are up here and they’re going to take stuff and put it in a protected place and they’ll even maybe give you some money for it. So this word had reached her. I’d say she was in her eighties or so, rather frail, and she came out of her cabin, she wasn’t even wearing a coat and it must have been twenty below. She goes out. She said that she had this drum and she wanted us to have this drum. And it was maybe fifty yards from the cabin out into the bush, and we brushed it off. It had a canvas over it and we might even have kept the canvas. I’m not sure but anyway we took the drum and that was that. It had green around the outer edge of it and it had a green dot in the centre. I don’t know what we paid for it if anything but with the understanding that it would be protected. That was a family drum and it was extremely important to that lineage and there were some arguments about the people that turned it over I think, that was what I heard. I did not talk to those people directly. In a case like that where you’re dealing with a family and the thing still has a functional role in the community or could have, then I think repatriation to that family is a legitimate act. (JS interview March 2002:1–2, my emphasis)

Dr Steinbring is speaking casually here, perhaps reflecting the mode in which Ojibwe speakers conventionally downplay the significance of what they are talking about, but Naamiwan’s drum rapidly becomes “a thing,” one among many things that make up the “stuff” that he and his assistant brought back from Pauingassi. Even while Dr Steinbring is emphasizing that the drum was extremely important to the “lineage,” the names of the individuals involved, their family relationships, and the personhood and agency attributed to the drum are melting away. Ritual brethren lose meaningful personhood and meaningful human companions lose touch with one another in university documents, letters, and policies which refer to the artefacts in this passive way. One could say that the move had its positive side. The drum was the beneficiary of the reciprocal obligations which flow from museum ownership, principally security and the duty of care. The drum was packed in cotton wool, treated for an infestation of harmful wood-eating insects, and stored, safe and dry, on ­custom-made shelves. It was Omishoosh who observed that the museum seemed like an appropriately respectful home for retired ceremonial objects. And there existed the possibility that the drum would become part of the university community, forging new relationships with students and faculty via teaching and research connections. Dr Steinbring might have become the drum’s partner and collaborator in teaching. But these academic relationships had to be initiated by the university and they simply did not happen. Instead, the drum settled down on its shelf

231

Naamiwan’s Drum

as Ojibwe evidence materially instantiating a cultural taxonomic system: classified “Northern Ojibwa,” subcategory “sacred,” it was stored with similar “sacred artefacts” in a part of the museum where access was “restricted.” When anthropologists and archaeologists talk about the “materiality” of things, the implication is that the physical properties of the artefacts are the source of their agency (Bolton 2003; Shelton 2003; Herle 2003; Miller 2005). To an expert who has seen many drums, Naamiwan’s drum is clearly a type; its form speaks to a connoisseur of drums, and in a sense the drum calls out to be grouped comparatively with objects that share the same material qualities, with other water drums. The drum’s remarkable size becomes evident in this mode; it seems very old, and the meticulous mend in the side speaks of years of loving care. Ruth Phillips argues that visual and stylistic analysis and techniques of connoisseurship “can open mute objects to the possibility of meaning, even in the absence of documents. For more historically remote objects, for which there are no continuously remembered traditions of interpretation, comparative art historical methods of stylistic and iconographic analysis can reveal semiotic references or significatory intents in abstract motifs that have been regarded as merely decorative” (Phillips 2005:95). In an ideal situation, this sensitivity to artefactual nuances can produce research results which have a collaborative feel, where the artefact and the researcher contribute jointly to what is known. Unfortunately, the development of this happy collaboration is not inevitable. From an agency perspective, the relationship between a researcher and a “mute” object is partially if not decidedly coercive. The object’s “recalcitrance” (Latour 2000:116) is temporarily disabled. On its shelf, in this place, Naamiwan’s drum could not help being cast into unavoidable taxonomic relationships with other artefacts in the museum. The scholarly classificatory process which derived from his ownership by a museum framed the drum’s possibilities and narrowed his options. He was once again more thing than person, with little evident agency beyond the expression of its overt materiality. Artefacts which inspire visions of their “biography, entanglement and agency” to the point that anthropologists can confidently speculate about “active notions of influence, movement and mutability” are lucky with their research interlocutors (Gosden and Knowles 2001:21, cited in Phillips 2005:101). As it happened, E5 211’s academic role was minimal; he languished, unused, as taxonomic evidence of “Northern Ojibway culture” in the ethnographic collection, “sacred” and “restricted.” While one might consider this a conventional and possibly even complimentary classification, from a Pauingassi point of view it is a radical shift in conceptual status. Omishoosh’s confusion when he was asked about sacredness at the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum (described in chapter 2) illustrates my point (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:65; CGO 1995 Nov 16 lunch:3). His casual manner led the museum manager to assume that he thought the artefacts were dead. But he clearly articulated his underlying respect for the drums when he heard that the drums were gone. He said that drums were “gaa-gii-manidookaaniwaad, they were thought of or treated as god-like” (CGO 1999 Oct 18:10), a careful statement implying that sacredness, like agency, is a contingent and relational rather than a categorical state of being (Ingold 2000:97). Sacredness is maximal, and the drum

232

Repatriating Agency

is most god-like, when its wiikaanag are nearby, and that is something very hard to ascertain. Dr Steinbring acquired over 240 artefacts like this drum, about one-third of them wiikaanag, ritual relatives of Naamiwan and his extended family. At the time, Dr Steinbring was of the opinion that these artefacts were not considered personal property by the Ojibwe. In 1994 he wrote, “There is no tradition or concept of private ownership in Northern Ojibwa culture so things that come to be in anyone’s hands, following an event of this kind [the death of a “shaman”] become effectively the property of the person who has [them]. This applied to almost any material object … there was no persevering concept of ownership” (Steinbring 1994:14; see also Leacock et al. 1978:255). His views on the Ojibwe concept of ownership are forcefully contradicted by Hallowell, who argued that “communistic property rights are not typical of primitive societies and that plenty of evidence for individual ownership exists” (1988 (1955):241). In this Roger Roulette emphatically agrees with Hallowell, pointing out that one of the main Anishinaabe ceremonies is the Waabano, a Give-away Dance, “which wouldn’t mean much if we had no concept of ownership!” (Roulette, pers. comm. 2002): I often hear people saying that to possess something is not an aboriginal idea. You’re darn right it is! And that’s the same with any kind of tool or implement that somebody owns … Now if it has a religious connotation, it’s more so that you can’t touch those things ’cause somebody else owns them. (Matthews 2002b:9)

Nevertheless, for many years Dr Steinbring’s idea of communal Ojibwe ownership pervaded attitudes at the university and within the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge. The museum manager, in justifying the repatriation, wrote: “These things belong to a people. They are not ‘owned’ by one person or an institution.”6 In a newspaper article, a spokesman, speaking on behalf of Three Fires, was quoted as saying: “These are sacred items and … The bottom line is that these items do not belong to any one person” (Martin 2001). These ideas of communal possession opened the door to a cultural property (ownership) claim made by politically astute people about “mute” things, a coercive relationship characterized by the radical asymmetry of power and agency which is a feature of all ownership claims. When Gell speaks of agency as a “prescribed framework of thinking about causation,” this fits the Ojibwe conception of the ritual world rather well. Medicine men and their biddable guardian spirits saved people’s lives, gave them life, or took it away, using drums which had the sort of secondary agency which artefacts “acquire once they become enmeshed in a texture of social relationships” (1998:17). The move from Pauingassi into the care of Dr Steinbring might have been a transit from one kind of collaborative, multifaceted set of relations to another, centred on the drum’s role as material assistant to a respected teacher. It had the potential to step up in influence, embedded in a university museum in which privileged objects “condense, code and conserve knowledge of all kinds” (Strathern 2004b:7), and provide an example of what Paul Tapsell calls the “agency of elders” who wisely consigned artefacts to museums, anticipating their future role in reconnecting young people with the ancestral past (Tapsell 2003:244).

233

Naamiwan’s Drum

Unfortunately, the restrictions placed on the artefacts because of their sacred classification isolated them, and although they were well cared for, no effort was made to develop relationships between the artefacts and the wider university through research or teaching, nor with the community of Pauingassi following Omishoosh’s visit. Thus in the museum, as the social network of Naamiwan’s drum withered and classificatory meanings were imposed on the drum, its personhood diminished and its apparent agency atrophied. E5 211’s potential professional and educational relationships within the university never developed. The key event in terms of agency was the classification of the drum as “sacred,” which isolated it from contact and ultimately privileged one outcome, repatriation, over all others.

Ni-mishoomis, Grandfather Water Drum When Eddie Benton Banai introduced Naamiwan’s drum to the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge members at the spring ceremonies in 1998, he gave the old drum the honorific title of “Grandfather Water Drum” in recognition of its age and remarkable size (Nelson 2002b). The other water drum, which belonged to Sagashki Strang, was given the name “Little Boy Water Drum.” Naming a water drum may be unique to Three Fires. As I understand it, most water drums do not have individual names (Roulette February 2002). In her testimony in 1996 before the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Edna Manitowabi, a Three Fires member from Ontario, explained that they refer to water drums as “‘The Little Boy’ because in Anishnabe [sic] teaching it is associated with the child of prophecy who will call the people back to the wisdom of their grandfathers” (Manitowabi 1996:fn. 52). Unlike the university, where the drum’s tenure was characterized by isolation, the Three Fires community quickly integrated him into a welcoming social environment. The drum was honoured, celebrated, sat with, and cried over. Charlie Nelson talked about fostering him, like an orphaned child, and hoped that he would be allowed to take care of the drum forever. He clearly thought of the drum as something animate. He said of the drums when he first saw them that they “weren’t dressed, eh. Weren’t prepared to do any work!” (CN 2002 March:1). He talked about the drums as refugees, as “a spirit released,” and said that finding them “left along the trail” was like a “prophecy unfolding” (CN 2002:3). He said Naamiwan’s drum had “found some way of being released from captivity” and that he didn’t “want to put him back in captivity” (CN 2002:8). There is a bona fide sense of Ojibwe community; the women of the group were in tears when they gave the drum back. The members of Three Fires formed substantial and deeply emotional relationships with Grandfather Water Drum as a lost relative, as a symbol of historical spiritual beliefs, and as a hopeful sign of the revitalization of Ojibwe faith. Their awareness that these relationships must be continually re-enacted in the present to be preserved for the future is one of the most compelling aspects of their practice (Wagner 1981(1975):50–1). When Eddie Benton Banai was speaking to me about the drums, the drumstick, and the scrolls he had in his keeping – admittedly a much more politicized context

234

Repatriating Agency

and in English – he simply used the terms “articles” that he “had,” “had seen,” and “would take care of.” He attributed action and agency to “spirits.” When I asked how he got the articles, he said that “the spirit directed them to me to take care of” (EBB 2002:11, 8), and he refused to name the person who brought them to the ceremonies, no doubt in part because the international transfer was illegal.7 It is fair to assume that the unknown parties who initially removed the drum and the unknown parties who brought it to Bad River for the spring ceremonies in 1998 did so in the belief that the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge was the culturally appropriate keeper for a culturally significant Ojibwe artefact. As Strathern points out, becoming a signifier of culture can result in an object’s importance ­increasing – at least relative to other artefacts: “one artefact could be enough to point to the [Ojibwe] whole.” Citing Riles (2000), she continues: It is a figure seen twice. People understand that an object can both be a specific item and contain the world within itself: it condenses or miniaturizes a wider context … Paraphernalia used in … ritual performances are an obvious example. (Strathern 2004b:7)

The consequence of this metonymy can be an expanding role for the artefact, and indeed this was clearly the case with Grandfather Water Drum during his visit with the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge. While Grandfather Water Drum had growing influence and an expanding relational base, Eddie Benton Banai’s use of the term “article” to refer to the drum in our 2002 conversation was framed by his possession of the drum at the time. As Strathern points out, ownership makes powerless things out of person/objects (1999:6). Benton Banai speaks of these “articles” having been “directed” to him, “taken care of” by him, and “respected,” but the underlying reality of the situation was that they were controlled by their new owner. He offered to “take those six articles” that belong to Pauingassi back to the community if his conditions were met. “The day that Pauingassi does the traditional ceremonial things that are required and if they convince me that they [the “six articles”] will never again fall into white hands, I’ll see to it that they get returned” (EBB 2002:11). As he also declared, “Pauingassi has completely turned white Christian and they don’t want … the articles” (EBB 2002:33). Partible personhood implies that a person/object has multiple, varied relationships, many of which are entirely unknown to others. So from a relational perspective, ownership is both a fact and an illusion; it may temporarily consume and constrain a person/object and rigidly define a relationship. But as we have seen when Eddie Benton Banai subsequently talked to someone from Pauingassi, such relationships can alter abruptly. Benton Banai experienced a radical shift in his feelings about the drums and their rightful ownership when he met Nelson Owen. As Strathern would predict, when claims are activated and action becomes necessary, agency becomes evident: Acting requires choosing between alternatives, these are basically choices between relations – and thus invariably invoke prior relations. Here one arrives at a local

235

Naamiwan’s Drum

understanding of agency. Agency is evinced in the ability of persons to (actively) orient themselves or to align themselves with particular relationships, however foregone a conclusion that decision may seem to be. (Strathern 1999:14–15)

From this perspective, the drum’s return to the Owen family came about because Three Fires members were confronted by the scope of the drum’s “composite” personhood. The alteration in the relationship caused them to form a desire to reconcile the “nature of [their] obligations” as they now perceived them. “The claims which bear in on the actors as immediate reasons for their actions are based on the fact of their relationships with one another” (Strathern 1999:15). Naamiwan’s drum in the Three Fires community brought with it a powerful undercurrent of Pauingassi relationships. “Thus an object may make present powers or forces that affect a person’s life” (Strathern 1999:15), as Eddie Benton Banai discovered. The way Eddie Benton Banai spoke to me about drums and scrolls as “articles” stands in sharp contrast to the way he spoke of the drums in Ojibwe in the transformative conversation with Nelson Owen. Nelson Owen used grammatical structures virtually identical to those of Omishoosh, flipping back and forth, sometimes in the same paragraph, between animate and inanimate grammatical constructions. For example, Nelson said at one point: “Many talk about these [inanimate] implements and how important they are.”

Niibiwa awiya odazhindaanan onoweniwan a’abajitaaganan e-gichi-inendaagwakin.

The “implements” are grammatically inanimate. Two sentences later, Nelson uses an animate reference: “That’s what I thought when I saw those [animate] implements from Pauingassi, of the Anishinaabeg of long ago.” (EBB/NO 2002:2)

Mii niin enendamaan e-gii-onji-waabamagwaa Baawingaashiing onji aabajitaaganag mewinzha anishinaabeg i’i.’

Early in the conversation, Nelson used the familiar animate metaphorical reference to the location of the drum as the place where “he sits.” Eddie used it soon thereafter when he offered to return the drums, saying: “he would take a seat again.”

‘da-awi-onabi miinawaa.

He repeated the offer minutes later. “I took them [animate] carefully and I also spoke to them [animate] carefully. I respectfully [animate] offered tobacco and food. I told them [animate] to rest. ‘We’ll take care of you guys [drums] attentively.’

236

Weweni igo ngii-odaapinaag, weweni gaye ngii-gaganoonaag. Weweni asemaan miinawaa weweni wiisiniwin ngii-bagidinaan. “Anwebin ngii-inaag, weweni giga-ganawenimigoom.”

Repatriating Agency

“After a time, if some Anishinaabe from where you came from speaks to me or if he [drum] speaks to me. If that happens, I, I will take it with me. That’s what I told the drums [animate]. This is what I tell all of you, what I’m telling you. This is what I’m telling all the Anishinaabeg from whence you came. I’ll bring them [animate]. I’ll bring them [animate] back.” (EBB/NO 2002:3)

Baanimaa ngoding a’ayaw anishinaabeg iwidi gaa-bi-onji-bazigwiiyan gemaa gaye gii-gaganoonid da-giiwe. Giishpin i’iw izhiwebak, niin, niin mii-gaa-izhi-maajiinag. Mii gaa-izhi-wiindamawagwaa ingi dewe’iganag. Mii dash giin(awaa akina) gegiin ezhi-wiindamoowinaan. Mii gakina anishinaabeg ambe ba-onji-bazigwiiyan mii-go akina ezhi-wiindamawagwaa. Nga-biinaag. Nga-bi-azhegiiwewinaag.

Throughout, the agreement is animate and the attribution of agency is overt. Chris Gosden and Chantal Knowles warn against too freely attributing agency, ­saying that agency is a relational process (Gosden and Knowles 2001:23). This caution is properly engaged when the attribution of animacy is too convenient. To say that the “spirits” directed the drums to Wisconsin attributes to divine entities the responsibility for their transit across the border in contravention of the Canadian Cultural Property Export Act. This is understandably something that a human actor might not want to claim. Similarly, the drums’ expressed desire to return to Canada was preceded by Eddie Benton Banai’s discovery that Pauingassi people still claimed the drums and that, if Nelson Owen was any indication, they were competent, intelligent people who were really rather upset. There was the matter of the looming Auditor General’s Report, scheduled to be released a few weeks later, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police criminal investigation, which had just begun. All these factors may have concentrated minds. They also generated a certain amount of self-serving talk about the agency of spirits and artefacts. This is by no means the only instance in this repatriation saga where claims of rather lit­ eral animacy on behalf of ceremonial objects have been advanced as a convenient ­explanation.8 As artefacts trickled back into the museum and nearby lab, both before and after the auditor general’s forensic audit, the university was content to explain this as the artefacts “walking back” (McKinley 2007). A more cynical explanation might have provoked someone to check the security camera recordings. The opportunistic use of agency as an explanation of events is understandable and invites a critical examination of animacy claims as Gosden and Knowles (2001) suggest. But instances where animacy supplies a convenient answer in no way undermine the broader utility of the social agency of objects as a means of understanding their role in events, nor should these instances be allowed to devalue Pauingassi understandings, which are deeply held and embedded in their language. These claims of agency might be better understood as rhetorical expressions of competing traditional practice within indigenous communities. In a newspaper report of the ceremony at which Three Fires gave the drums back to Nelson and Elaine Owen, Terrance Nelson wrote that the drums had been

237

Naamiwan’s Drum

granted their wish to “go home.” Quoting Eddie Benton Banai, he writes: “‘It was the most peaceful ride, they [the drums] were happy to be going home,’ said Benton Banai, the grand Chief and founder of the modern version of the ancient Three Fires society … a deeply spiritual man, Benton Banai says the spirits of the waterdrums asked to go home. He had to comply despite being forced to enter into a swirl of controversy” (Nelson 2002b). Looking from a Pauingassi/Latourian point of view, one might say that the regrettable “swirl of controversy” is an eruption of the agency of a firmly “recalcitrant” object (Latour 2000:116); that Naamiwan’s drum, unwillingly appropriated, was now reasserting its Pauingassi family and community connections. One might even go so far as to say that the drum was the instigator, the agent of his own homecoming.

Manitoba Museum Number L2.003-B A focus on agency provides a warning that “the story” is never over, so this last section on the current life of the Naamiwan’s water drum is just the freshest news; it is by no means the final chapter. Naamiwan’s water drum is now in the Manitoba Museum because Nelson Owen, great-great-grandson of Naamiwan, has heard many terrifying stories about this now famous artefact. He considers Naamiwan’s water drum dangerous in the same way that his grandfather Omishoosh did. He thinks it probably returned from Three Fires because his grandfather and great-grandfather, as mobile and active djibayaag, or “spirits of the dead,” brought it about. From this perspective, with this venerable wiikaan relationship intact, the drum continues to act in the world. Thus the drum is dangerous the way a hair-trigger gun is dangerous, because of the nature of the object. Like Gell’s example of secondary agency, Pol Pot’s land mines, it seems to be continually re-invested with “the power to will its use” (1998:20). The method of showing respect to dangerous drums varies, but a mitigwakik would be acknowledged as he was carried into a room.9 Except in unusual circumstances, mitigwakikwag are retired on the death of their owners. But even retired drums retain latent capabilities. Knowing what Naamiwan’s drum had done, most people wouldn’t think of touching it. It took Nelson Owen several years to give it water as Omishoosh had suggested. Recently I watched David Owen, who is in his nineties, walking around the museum looking at the Pauingassi artefacts with Nelson. For the most part he kept his hands behind his back, and when he wanted a closer look, he bent slightly at the waist towards the artefact which interested him. The only exception was a rattle which he recognized and knew well. He picked this rattle up and happily demonstrated its use, tapping it down Nelson’s spine. It is hard to know how to be safe in the presence of something like the drum, but without doubt, the stories of the drum are sufficient to ensure its respectful treatment by the people of Pauingassi for as long as the memory lasts. The people in Pauingassi were stunned by the idea that someone would take that particular

238

Repatriating Agency

drum. Once they knew it was gone, they tended to act as if the drum would take care of itself. This was entirely in keeping with their understanding of the potential agency of the drum and its ritual relatives. The inertia of Pauingassi people was confusing to outsiders, journalists in particular, who were expecting righteous indignation. For the most part, Pauingassi people just waited and watched. Omishoosh dictated his letter to the university and when he received no reply, did nothing more. When asked, he would speak in Ojibwe about his concerns but, beyond the letter, didn’t press his claim. He was considered the authority in the community, so no one else was likely to express an opinion; until his passing, when his grandson Nelson Owen took up the issue, there was no big controversy in the community and little discussion elsewhere. Among the people in Pauingassi who were involved, Omishoosh was the most forthright in describing the transfer of the drum to Three Fires as a theft (CGO 1999 Oct 18:18). Of course, Pauingassi is by no means homogeneous, and there are those in the community who know nothing and couldn’t care less about the drum. There are those who would sell it if they could get their hands on it, and there are accusations in the community that this has happened recently to another Pauingassi drum stored for eternity on the island north of town. Those concerned about the fate of the artefacts are at a disadvantage because they are often older and don’t speak English. Their capacity to act politically, their agency in this respect, is minimal, and in the tough world of contemporary indigenous politics, they are disadvantaged. They have almost no access to the media, a subsidiary form of agency for some disadvantaged people, which is where this drama eventually played out. The story was covered by both the indigenous press and mainstream media, locally and nationally in newspapers and on radio and TV, but they knew little about it because it was not in their language. With the exception of my documentary for CBC Radio, they had few opportunities to be heard and little agency, political or otherwise, to exercise in the resolution of this matter. If Pauingassi agency is like a river which runs underground from time to time, the agency of new “traditional” movements like Three Fires is more like a flood. While I was editing a documentary on Memegwesiwag at the CBC, a group of about ten children between the ages of eight and eleven from Pauingassi came to the station. Their new teacher, a kindly woman who did not speak Ojibwe, had brought them to Winnipeg to teach them their “traditions.” They were perched on the sofa outside my studio like shy parakeets, dressed in the flamboyant satin, spangles, and bells that make up the regalia of the modern Powwow circuit, mute because of their inability to speak English and the stunning weirdness of it all. This is part of the reason why Naamiwan’s drum is in the Manitoba Museum. There is no suitable and safe place for the drum in Pauingassi now. Nelson Owen was very unhappy keeping it in his house, and the fact that Omishoosh saw the museum environment as appropriate proved to be decisive. Nelson eventually became comfortable with the drum and was able to take care of it as his grandfather directed. The family are hopeful that the artefacts will soon become the teachers Omishoosh wanted them to be.

239

10.1  Nelson Owen looking after Naamiwan’s drum at the Manitoba Museum, 2007.

10.2  Joshua Owen, Nelson and Elaine’s son, has taken up his father’s role, negotiating repatriation and hosting visits to the collection. Joshua Owen at the Penn Museum in Philadelphia, March 2012.

Naamiwan’s Drum

For now the drums are in a special “Keeping Place,” a room in the Manitoba Museum that houses native-owned objects that need a safe place. This room is an initiative of the curator of ethnology at the time, Dr Katherine Pettipas, who documented the stripping of religious artefacts from the First Nations of the Canadian Plains (Pettipas 1994). Pettipas developed a remarkable relationship with native people in Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and Ontario and, as with the drums and Adam Owen’s medicine box, made the Manitoba Museum into an institution which flexibly and sensitively serves the needs of indigenous communities.10 James Clifford hoped that this kind of thing would be one of the consequences of thinking of museums as “contact zones,” that they would become a “depository and lending library” holding collections “in trust for specific communities” (1997:212), and of thinking of museum work as “contact work”: By thinking of their mission as contact work – decentered and traversed by cultural and political negotiations that are out of any imagined community’s control – museums may begin to grapple with the real difficulties of dialogue, alliance, inequality and translation. (Clifford 1997:213)

Pettipas retired in the summer of 2011, still waiting for the University of Winnipeg to regularize the status of the drum. The university, in spite of pledging to take legal advice, never actively pursued the remaining twenty-one missing artefacts (Singleton 2002:22; Perreaux 2002; Rabson 2002; Sanders 2002). But now, eighteen years since the repatriation and fourteen years since the Owens got the drum back, a move has finally been made to formally transfer ownership of the entire remaining collection to the family. Initially it was Nelson and Elaine Owen who asked to become guardians for the collection on behalf of the community. Their son Joshua has since stepped up, taking his father’s place in negotiations with the university, asserting his role as guardian of the collection. The heads of more than twenty-five families in Pauingassi have signed letters of support for this repatriation, each one speaking on behalf of the objects immediately associated with their families. The Chief and Council have provided enthusiastic support as well. The repatriation papers were filed with the University of Winnipeg in September of 2013, and no answer has been received as of October 2016.

Conclusion The choice of a theoretical approach is often based on its explanatory power relative to the ethnographic evidence at hand. Insofar as an anthropological theory is a metaphorical device which illuminates certain relationships by providing apt comparative images, it ought to be judged by its capacity to promote useful anthropological analysis. I chose Alfred Gell’s theory of agency, modestly adapted to address the world of artefacts and Ojibwe philosophical and moral views, in part because it helped to explain the role of key objects in an ethnographically complex and distressingly problematic repatriation. In this chapter, the names of the drum have provided the structure for testing Gell’s theory of objects and

242

Repatriating Agency

agencies: “Dewe’igan” introduced Ojibwe drums and their multiple agencies; “Mitigwakik” looked at the agencies which derive from historic Pauingassi ceremonial relationships and contemporary trans-generational agencies; “E5 211,” the dwindling agencies of isolated museum artefacts dominated by taxonomic ordering and ownership claims; “Grandfather Water Drum,” the contrast between the multiplicity of relationships and expanding agencies formed in the revitalized ceremonial community of Three Fires and the problematic of ownership; and “L2.003-B” is a contemporary portrait of continued overlapping agencies, a reassertion of Pauingassi connections and Pauingassi agency. As I have said, an analysis of agencies does not produce a neat temporal arc. Instead, Pauingassi relationships and agencies coexist; neither prior to the Anthropology Museum nor post Three Fires, but throughout: then, now, and in the future. Michael Jackson quotes William Carlos Williams’s famous poetic dictum – “No ideas but in things” – to make the point that a comprehensive description of the experience of being-in-the-world should precede anthropological theorizing (­Jackson 1996:42). Being mindful of the social role of things and emphasizing lived experience did not, Jackson argued, citing Alfred Gell, mean abandoning “logical perspicacity, methodological rigour or rational inquiry,” but it did mean that to achieve “verisimilitude,” one must place “primary experience and secondary elaboration on the same footing,” because both are “integral to how people manage the exigencies of life” (1996:42). Thus an Ojibwe experience carefully ­rendered – even if it includes metamorphic medicine men and murderous drums, talking stones and memegwesiwag – is as important as the theoretical approach one takes to make it comparatively “intelligible, reasonable and realized as a sensible truth” (Jackson 1989:106). In this analysis, the choice of Gell’s theoretical approach met the specific ethnographic needs of diverse contemporary Ojibwe experience. It needed to be what Latour calls “symmetric anthropology” (Latour 1993 (1991):105 but cf. Latour 2005: 76n89), challenging the colonial and imperial legacy of anthropology by dispersing “authorial authority” (Jackson 1996:3). In this regard, Gell’s theory of agency reveals its practical and phenomenological roots. Executed in the spirit of methodological atheism and political philistinism, Gell’s approach treats “the ‘facts’ of natural science, like the notion of objective reality itself … as ‘phenomena’ of human experience, to be placed on a par with ‘beliefs’” (Jackson 1996:12). This theoretically generated, “practical relativism” sets aside “questions concerning the rational, ontological, or objective status of ideas and beliefs in order to fully describe and do justice to the ways in which people actually live, experience, and use them” (Jackson 1996:10; cf. Brightman 1995). In this repatriation case study, practical relativism meant looking at Gell’s work on agency with a dual anthropological/Ojibwe theoretical lens to achieve a mode in which, as Jackson says, citing Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “no one cultural standpoint is central” (Jackson 1996:9). Practical relativism also means telling the story of the repatriation from four cultural perspectives, each radically different in its own way: overlapping, conflicting, and confusing, and then attempting to transcend the inconsistency and moral imperatives of the narrative by means of a careful theoretical analysis.

243

Naamiwan’s Drum

Gell says that anthropology “is, to put it bluntly, considered good at providing close-grained analyses of apparently irrational behaviour, performances, utterances, etc.” He says that anthropologists do this “by locating or contextualizing behaviour, not so much in ‘culture’ (which is an abstraction) as in the dynamics of social interaction, which may indeed be conditioned by ‘culture’ but which is better seen as a real process, or dialectic, unfolding in time” (Gell 1998:10).11 Gell says that his phenomenological stance came from constantly reading Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception (1962) (cited by Jackson above) while he was doing his fieldwork among the Umeda in Papua New Guinea (Gell 1996a:126). A phenomenological approach, writes Michael Jackson, “refuses to invoke cultural privilege as a foundation for evaluating worldviews or examining the complex, enigmatic character of the human condition” (Jackson 1996:1). He calls for an approach which accords “equal weight to all modalities of human experience, however they are named and deconstructing the ideological trappings they take on as they are theorized” (Jackson 1996:2). The phenomenological approach at the heart of Gell’s theory of agency has proven especially useful for this repatriation case study because anthropology is implicated, both in the political deployment of culture as a human right and in the role of museum artefacts and anthropological work in creating and authenticating popular and politicized ideas about culture. In this chapter I have tested Alfred Gell’s anthropological theory of agency against the triangulated narrative of the contested repatriation, and it remains compelling because of “its power to destabilize and unsettle received ways of seeing the world, replenishing our sense of life’s variety and possibility, and encouraging debate on the role of the intellectual in the world of practical affairs” (Jackson 1996:4). Gell’s work still generates anthropological debate as his theory is deployed by anthropologists, historians, medievalists, and others.12 The publication of Art and Agency in 1998 undoubtedly destabilized the anthropology of art. In the repatriation context, it challenges the neatly biographical analysis of artefacts and the moral tales of rights-based claims which predominate in repatriation scholarship (Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009). The principal virtue of an agency approach to repatriation is that following the central thesis of Gell’s argument and closely observing the attribution of agency to objects allows a comparison of museums, religious revival groups, and Pauingassi Ojibwe perspectives without losing focus on the artefacts, falling back on judgmental moralizing, or getting caught up in the heady combination of museum meanings, rights claims, and subaltern politics. Gell’s theory has a practical openness, enabling local explanations and welcoming players to the field who are not normally accorded “social agency. ” Gell intended this. “Social agency,” he wrote, “is not defined in terms of ‘basic’ biological attributes (such as inanimate thing vs. incarnate person) but is relational – it does not matter, in ascribing ‘social agent’ status, what a thing (or a person) ‘is’ in itself; what matters is where it stands in a network of social relations” (Gell 1998:123). Repatriation involves not one network of social relations but several, whose intersection, whether in Gell’s nexus or in the “contact zone” of the museum, is chaotic and, as Clifford predicts, characterized by “coercion, radical inequality and intractable conflict” (Clifford 1997:192; cf. Clifford 1991). The danger of practising

244

Repatriating Agency

anthropology in this “unsystematic, disorienting reality” is that it is easy to fall into the “fallacy of misplaced concreteness,” allowing theory to be a “consoling illusion … passing itself off as a privileged glimpse of the hidden workings of the world” (Jackson 1996:5). A focus on the attribution of agencies in repatriation events, instead of identifying a simple diagnostic, reveals a multiplicity of convoluted coexisting and conflicting relationships and allows for the usefully ironic conclusion that “ideas can be meaningful and have useful consequences even if they are epistemologically unwarranted” (Jackson 1996:13). Gell tackled this ambiguity directly, alluding to the philosophical debate about what constitutes intentions and how belief incorporates unintended consequences: For an anthropologist, the problem of “agency” is not a matter of prescribing the most rational or defensible notion of agency, in that the anthropologist’s task is to describe forms of thought which could not stand up to much philosophical scrutiny but which are none the less, socially and cognitively practicable … The idea of agency is a culturally prescribed framework for thinking about causation, when what happens is (in some vague sense) supposed to have been intended in advance by some person-agent or thing-agent. Whenever an event is believed to happen because of an “intention” lodged in the person or thing which initiates the causal sequence, that is an instance of agency. (Gell 1998:16–17)

This view of intention lodged in persons or things is specifically challenged by Tim Ingold, who argues that the social world works in quite the opposite way; that we, persons and objects, do not initiate causal sequences which make the world but that the world is making us. “[H]umans do not through their creative interventions, transform the world from without, but rather – belonging within it – play their part in the world’s creative transformation of itself,” he writes (Ingold and Hallam 2007:53). He directly challenges Gell on the grounds that “creative agency resides neither in persons nor in things, nor even in persons and things. Indeed it is not, as Gell (1998:6) would have it, an internal property that resides at all, or that either persons or things possess, whence it causes ‘effects’ in their vicinity” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:52). Although a selective reading of Art and Agency can produce a view that Gell categorically attributes agency to things, there are many places where this agency is described with the “emergent” vocabulary of the Merleau-Ponty devotee which Gell certainly was (e.g., 1998:10, and there are anthropologists who read it in this way; cf. Herle 2003, Bolton 2003). In the passage quoted above, Gell is at pains to point out that agency is attributed not categorical, that objects are believed to have agency by someone operating within a culturally prescribed framework for thinking about causation. If that is how people think, as it is among my Ojibwe colleagues, this is the ethnographic data with which anthropologists must work. Conversely, Ingold’s alternative explanation has a direct Ojibwe appeal. Dust or snow devils, caused by small whirlwinds, are the means by which medicine men who specialize in long-distance travel move about. Ingold uses this metaphor to explain his alternative interpretation of agency. “Perhaps instead of claiming that entities possess an agency that causes them to act, we should acknowledge that

245

Naamiwan’s Drum

agency ‘possesses’ the entities that – like eddies of dust raised up by the wind … are caught up in it. This agency could be none other than the generative flux of the world itself in its continual concrescence, from which persons and things emerge and take the forms they do for the duration of their existence” (Ingold and Hallam 2007:52). Ingold, Jackson, and Gell have all been influenced by the phenomenological philosophy of Merleau-Ponty (1962). Gell’s project, attempting to explain the apparent effects of art objects – a cross-cultural and widely acknowledged phenomenon related to habitual metaphorical attributions of animacy (and acknowledged by art historians cf. Elkins 1996, 2002; Mitchell 2005) – and Ingold’s project, to situate these and other human creative actions and improvisational reactions in an emergent world, are evidence that they have both taken phenomenology seriously. Since Gell’s death, Ingold has redirected our attention to the creative possibilities of animism (2006) and reminded us of perils of materiality (2007), but his intention is to bring clarity and openness to a description of the human experience of being-in-the-world. In 1996, some years after Gell’s death, Michael Jackson edited a book of new phenomenological anthropology. He included Gell’s essay “Reflections on a Cut Finger: Taboo in the Umeda Conception of the Self” (Gell 1996a), a closely observed and deliberately phenomenological analysis of Umeda food/hunting/ sexual taboos that Gell wrote after he inadvertently offended his hosts by sucking a bleeding finger. Jackson takes the view, in his introduction to these essays, that the approaches typified by Gell and Ingold both fit within the phenomenological tent. Their apparent opposition has a parallel in real everyday experience; we live with our partibility, as it were, and with the conflicting perceptions this entails. Jackson says that human experience vacillates between a sense of ourselves as subjects and as objects; in effect making us feel sometimes that we are world-makers, sometimes that we are merely made by the world. A phenomenological approach avoids fetishizing the words with which we name these different moments or modes of experience, refusing to make any one “cut” into the continuum of consciousness foundational to a theory of knowledge. Accordingly one does not have to prove the existence or non-existence of agency in order to acknowledge the force and consequences of the idea. (Jackson 1989:21)

Naamiwan’s name, Fair Wind, refers to the ease of travelling by canoe with the wind at your back and the consequent sense of a felicitous being-in-the-world and of being made by the world. But Ojibwe people are not just downwind drifters; their metaphorical world is framed by the power of paddles against water, a form of human agency which has enabled them to travel thousands of miles and enlarge their world by doing so. Scholars who find Gell’s theory useful are dealing with subjects who, like the Ojibwe, think of themselves in some modes as world-­ makers and in others as vulnerable to the powers that make the world. Kirsten Hastrup says that in these circumstances agency is “closely tied to a vision of plot, to the anticipation of a story, a line of future development. It is a profound matter of responding; response being made within a moral horizon and within a social

246

Repatriating Agency

context that we interpret and project forward as we go along” (Hastrup 2007:199). An anthropological theory of agency provides this narrative form to anthropological writing; it provides a way of responding to what we discover ethnographically. Because the Ojibwe, as Hallowell noted, have a personalized concept of causation which incorporates objects as other-than-human persons capable of acting in the world, a theoretical awareness of agency is appropriate, and because both museum and repatriation rhetorics frame artefacts as meaningful entities embodying history and knowledge, the choice is doubly appropriate.

On the other hand, maybe this was the drum’s fate all along; maybe fame and notoriety are his destiny. If the drum’s agency is derived from his relationship to Naamiwan and if Naamiwan stirs from the land of the dead from time to time, sudden lurches in register and meaning are astonishing but not surprising (Ingold 2000:15). Naamiwan’s agency derives from his connections with the spirit world, with his wiikaanag, Thunderbirds among them; the absolute nature of their agency is summed up in the Ojibwe phrase “bemaaji’iwemagak, those who bring life into something.” In Ojibwe chains of causality, Thunderbirds are considered to have virtually unconditional agency. “They have almost absolute rule,” Roger Roulette told me. “They can take your life, too. I don’t know of any other spiritual entity that is capable of doing that.” After a pause he added, “If a person chooses not to understand, that’s too bad for them, because we do” (Matthews 1995a:5). Twenty-one artefacts from the Pauingassi Collection are still missing.

247

This page intentionally left blank

Appendix A: Timeline

1970–1 Winter Dr Jack Steinbring and Norman Williamson make three trips to Pauingassi, Little Grand Rapids, and Poplar Hill. They purchase 240 artefacts in Pauingassi as part of a Northern Ojibwa Collection. The artefacts (appx. 400 in total) are stored in the Anthropology Museum of the University of Winnipeg, where Dr Steinbring is a professor of anthropology. Steinbring’s field notes indicate that an old woman fetched Naamiwan’s drum from the bush and sold it to him. There is an area north of town where retired objects were to be left in peace. Young people had been going to this island and selling things to outfitters, so she was acting to save the drum. 1995 Nov

Omishoosh comes to Winnipeg, visits the museum, and makes a speech about his desire to see the collection used for the education of Anishinaabe youth and others.

1997–8

Forty-one objects are secretly taken from the Pauingassi Collection, a total of eighty-nine artefacts in all from the Northern Ojibwa Collection of the University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum. Neither the Museum Board of Directors nor university officials are informed. Six objects, including Naamiwan’s drum, are presented at the Three Fires spring ceremonies in Bad River, Wisconsin, on May 8, 1998 and taken into safekeeping by Eddie Benton Banai.

1999 Sept 29

After an application to conduct research on the collection, Dr Jennifer Brown is informed that the drum and several other artefacts are no longer in the possession of the university but have been repatriated to the “Traditional spiritual community.” A list of indigenous people said to have been consulted is provided, but many on the list have never

Appendix A: Timeline

heard of the collection, nor were they consulted before its repatriation. The Three Fires Society is identified as the group to whom the artefacts have been given. 1999 Nov

Omishoosh learns of the disappearance of the Pauingassi artefacts.

1999 Nov 24

The Pauingassi Chief and Council and the CEO of the Southeast Tribal Council write to the president of the university about the repatriation.

1999 Dec 2

The president of the University of Winnipeg writes to the Southeast Tribal Council, providing a list of the remaining artefacts (forty-one missing), and suggests that the problem lies in a misunderstanding between the people of Pauingassi and Three Fires.

2000 Feb 20

Omishoosh writes to the university asking that they attempt to retrieve the artefacts. In an interview he calls the repatriation a theft, gimoode.

2001 Nov 2

The auditor general of Manitoba initiates investigation into disappearance of the University of Winnipeg artefacts. RCMP initiate investigation, but no charges are ever laid.

2001 Dec 30

Omishoosh passes away.

2002 April 28

CBC radio airs “Naamiwan’s Water Drum” – a thirty-minute documentary on the national program The Sunday Edition.

2002 May 8

Nelson Owen meets and talks with Eddie Benton Banai.

2002 May 21

Naamiwan’s drum is returned to Nelson and Elaine Owen at a ceremony attended by Eddie Benton Banai, among others.

2002 June

The auditor general of Manitoba reports on findings. Although some artefacts had mysteriously returned to the University of Winnipeg, thirty-three objects from the Pauingassi Collection were still missing, as well as fifty-eight objects from the Northern Ojibwa Collection, for a total of eighty-nine artefacts missing. Another eleven Pauingassi artefacts subsequently “walked back” to the museum and were found in drawers and on shelves near the anthropology lab.

2007

The Pauingassi Collection moves to the Manitoba Museum at the request of the Owen family.

2008

The university writes a belated reply to Omishoosh’s letter, addressed to Nelson Owen.

250

Appendix A: Timeline

2011

With Chief and Band Council support, Nelson and Elaine Owen formally initiate a repatriation process so that they can become “guardians” of the Pauingassi Collection on behalf of the community.

2012 Aug 30

The Pauingassi Collection is placed on display for the first time ever in support of the Pimachiowin Aki UNESCO World Heritage Site bid.

2013 Sept 6

The repatriation submission is completed, including letters from representatives of every family in Pauingassi and a supportive Band Council Resolution. The repatriation request is formally presented to the University of Winnipeg.

2016

The Owens are still waiting for the university to authorize the transfer of the collection to them on behalf of the community. Twenty-one Pauingassi Collection artefacts are still missing.

251

This page intentionally left blank

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

aabajichigan(an), ceremonial tool/implement (inanimate) or aabajitaawin(an), ceremonial tool/implement (inanimate). The first term is used broadly in the Ojibwe world and the second term is used more often among northern Ojibwe groups and is also shared with the Cree (Roulette, September 2008), although both terms are listed in Bloomfield’s Cree lexicon (David Pentland, pers. comm. August 2009). Whether Omishoosh speaks of aabajitaawin(an), tools collectively, or wawezhi’on(an), regalia, they are grammatically inanimate. Even when he speaks fondly or with admiration, referring to them as odaminowaya’iin, things to play with, and as mayagaabishinan, the visual exotic wonders, they are grammatically inanimate. ajijaag(wag), soul (animate) (also ajichaag) odajijaakiwi’aa, one was given a soul odajijaakiwi’aan, he/she gave him/her a soul anang(oog), stars, animate. The Maltese cross represents a very particular star, the forever star, Gaagige Anang, which is not a particular star in the sky but a dream star, a spirit-­ entity that visits in dreams. Animikii(g), thunderers (animate) Animikiikaa’, there are many Thunderers (inanimate), with the suffix -kaa, is a verb of abundance, as in nibiikaa, plenty of water, and all such verbs are inanimate – see the example of mitig, trees, mitigokaa (David Pentland, pers. comm. October 2008).

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

Anishinaabeg odizichigewiniwaan, Anishinaabeg cultural practices mayagaabishinang gete-anishinaabeg, the visual wonders of the ancient Anishinaabeg gete-anishinaabe, ancient Anishinaabe apishtaagan(ag), breastplate (n animate, literally padded breast protector). In some areas this word is said apitaagan(an), an inanimate noun, but in Pauingassi they usually use the animate form. Apishtaagan is the proper name for Omishoosh’s embroidered breast panel (gorget), which is a part of Midewiwin regalia. It is also sometimes referred to euphemistically as aagwii’igon(an), a shield, or agobizon(an), an apron/bib. The euphemisms are both inanimate. In the text Omishoosh uses a combination of an inanimate verb, agoodeg, something hangs down, suspended, and then a noun locative ogikaakiganimaang, on one’s chest, to refer to the apishtaagan (Roulette September 2008). Bawdwaywidun is how Eddie Benton Banai’s Ojibwe name is spelled on the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge website. The contemporary conventional spelling using the double vowel system devised by Charles Fiero and used by John Nichols of the University of Minnesota and others would be Biidwewidam, one who is heard coming, or with initial change implying a name or title, Baadwewidam, he who is heard coming, and the conventional assumption would be that this is a reference to a Thunderbird. This is quite a common Ojibwe name both in this form and as Biidwewidang. The suffix change from “Biidwewidam” to “Biidwewidang” changes the word from the indicative mode to the subjunctive mode, thereby changing the meaning to “the one who is heard coming” (Roulette 2007). Omishoosh uses the word biidwewidang conversationally during his lecture at the university as follows: Awegwen ingii-noondawaa indoodaanaaming e-biidwewidang (I heard the sound of someone coming behind me) (CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture:17). Binesiwag, Thunderbirds, sometimes written Binesiiwag (Ningewance 2006:130–1) is a euphemism for Animakii(g), Thunderers. Bineshiishikaan, lit. the image of a bird, is a euphemism for an image of a Thunderbird; no one would think it was any other bird. Bineshiinzhike(wag) is a Thunderbird sculpture. binesi gaa-noondaagozid is Thunderbird making a sound. Omishoosh said that the images were

254

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

gaa-gii-manidookaaniwaad, they were thought of or treated as god-like or spirit-like (CGO 1999 Oct 18:10). The root word here – manidookaan – is the word for a man-made image of a spirit helper or aadizookaan, like the binesiikaan, the wooden Thunderbird, at the door of Naamiwan’s Waabano pavilion. The morpheme -kaan implies an inferior copy, made to approximate the real thing, and is used in contemporary everyday Ojibwe for ogimaakaan, chief (once again the morpheme -kaan implies an inferior copy), literally like a wealthy boss/leader, as compared to ogimaa, a truly wealthy person, a boss, a manager, or a person having many resources to heal others, a very gifted medicine person. Bimaadiziwin, to have life, is a nominalized verb, thus inanimate. Naamiwan used his tambourine to give life to others: i’i mbimaadiziwin ji-azhegiiwemaganinig, get Omishoosh’s “life to come back.” Ogii-aabaji’aan gwiingwa’aagewiwin, shaking the rattle against his chest, he produced a “state of being a wolverine.” He uses the phrase [ni]mbimaadiziwin azhegiiwemaganinig, my life which returns to someone. In this elaborately understated construction, the augmentative form of the verb reverses the gender of bimaadiziwin, recreating it as an animate actor. azhegiiwe, vai., to go back. The addition of the element -magan- to this verb makes the return of “a life” a plausible but guarded metaphorical explanation in this instance. Bimaaji’aan, from the verb to heal, -bimaaji’iwed, literally “to provide life” to someone, indicating a form of supernatural power if it is used in a healing ceremony. There is another word for supernatural power, but Omishoosh would be very unlikely to use it because madoshkwe, sorcery or “bad medicine” (stemming from herbal/plant-based medicine), is extremely rare and has negative connotations. Also after Midewiwin ceremony, weba’an, to clear, wipe off, sweep off (euphemism for eradicating illness/disease), sickness was “banished,” webinigaadeg, when something is eradicated, done with. Also in this context, gaa-izhi-wanishkaawaaj, they rose again after falling down in a faint in Midé initiation. Bemaadiziwaad, those who have life, with initial change, Ogii-onji-bimaaji’aan, to be saved from death, and the all-encompassing idea awe ge-ganawendang gibimaadiziwin, that they maintain your life, bemaaji’iwemagak, that which brings life into something, with initial change. INHERITANCE: aanike-miinidiwin. The power to give life comes from deities and is not specifically related to inheriting or using a particular set of tools. “It’s having

255

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

the power that’s important,” Roger told me, adding, “many people presently have this ability but they don’t necessarily use it or act on it because of the ramifications. The source of power varies from one practitioner to another, given their respective authority, and one would only suppose the source of power to be the same if the practitioner ‘inherits’ the helper or the helper inherits his mentor’s tools” (Roulette March 2007). Bima’adoowaan miikana, when I follow a path Biinitwaawin/bekitwaawin, lead a clean life Biinitwaawin/bekitwaawin, moral cleanliness Biinitwaa/bekitwaa-, has a clean life, moral lifestyle Boodaade is the name given to the dream dance ceremony in Pauingassi. Boodaade is a transitive inanimate verb that refers to blowing through bones, or through a bone whistle which makes a sound like the cry of an eagle (Roulette August 2008). CERTAINTY: The Ojibwe are “very precise about their uncertainty” (Ningewance, pers. comm. 1998; cf. Ningewance 2006:10). The Ojibwe language is especially accurate in distinguishing levels of certainty and potentiality. A combination of qualifying words and verb prefixes and suffixes can precisely locate the degree of certainty which the speaker wants to express. This involves a combination of compelling evidence, changes in vocal tone or inflection (e.g., gaagiikwemo, a vocal tone used in lecturing), and gestures like tapping an index finger (Roulette May 2009). See also (Matthews and Roulette 2003:289). DECLENSIONS OF CERTAINTY are sometimes specified using a dubitative suffix -dog. One of the most frequently used forms of dubitative is a composite of maajaa, he/she leaves, and the singular dubitative suffix -dog, hence maajaadog, he/she is probably leaving, or the plural dubitative suffix dogwenag or dogenag, hence maajaadogwenag, they are probably leaving. Other ways of indicating uncertainty of various levels include the following: Niwaabamaa, I see him/her. Niwaabamaadog, I probably see him/her. Niwaabandaan, I see it. Niwaabandaanaadog, I probably see it. Waabamaa, he/she is seen. Waabamaadog, he/she is probably seen. There are numerous adverbs or particles which do much the same thing. Here are examples: Niwaabamaa, I see him/her (active voice). Niwaabamaa iidog, I probably see him/her. Niwaabamaa iinzan, I, apparently, see him/her. Niwaabamaa aaniish, I see him/her, as you know (it is common knowledge).

256

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

Niwaabamaa gosha, I actually see him/her. Niwaabamaa goda, I definitely see him/her. Niwaabamaa gondasha, of course, I see him/her. Nimisaabamaa, I, personally, see him/her with my own eyes. Waabamigaazo, he/she is seen by others (passive voice). These particles indicate levels of certainty. Ojibwe were often characterized as stoic in the past because their expressions, gestures, and mannerisms were not as indicative as those of Westerners. Their expression would often be the same with a serious matter as with something trivial. Their certainty, as well as their emotional reaction, was in the words, not in their inflection. This applied particularly when outsiders were around. In the old days, they didn’t want to “tip their hat” to potential enemies present when they spoke (Roulette 2007). Also maagizhaa’, maybe but probably. LUCK: I have been told that Ojibwe speakers have no conception of the kind of plain dumb luck which I personally believe to be behind much of what happens in a day. The words in Ojibwe which are translated into English as “luck” have to do with either power or fate, never simple serendipity, e.g.: Debizi is sometimes translated as “lucky” (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:210), but Roulette says that it just means that one is fortunate to have enough to live and has no connotation of cause. It is simply left open. Inenimigoowiziwin is the divine influence which operates in conjunction with one’s past actions or by inheritance. Bakinaage means that a person wins by using their skills or by being clever, whereas mamige/mimige implies that divine intervention allowed them to win. Masagozi is a way of saying one is jinxed by whom-we-don’t-know (Roulette July 2008). Dewe’igan(ag), an animate noun, used for all drums and especially for the dream dance drum. Omishoosh used mitigwakik(wag), an animate noun, for water drums. But on several occasions he switched in mid-paragraph, while still clearly referring to water drums, and used madwe’igan(an), an inanimate noun, which means anything to strike or beat upon. This noun is related to madwe’an, vti, the inanimate verb he/she strikes or beats upon some thing or madwe’ige, vti, the inanimate verb he/she resounds by banging or beating upon some thing (Pentland, pers. comm. August 2009). From Madwe’ or madwe’w (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:171). akik(wag), *akik(oog), kettle. Margaret, in response to this talk of drums, referred to the water drum by the euphemistic everyday example of respectful talk. Kettle is grammatically animate (and obviously related etymologically to

257

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

mitigwakik, lit. wooden pail. Madwe’akokwe, which is rare, is a fourth, and very special, way to talk about a drum using a derivative of the animate verb. Using madwe’okokwe signals to others that one is either a current ceremonial participant or has participated in ceremonies. It is derived from the verb madwe’o, to beat on something animate. The fragment -akokw in madwe’akokwe is associated with something drum-like or kettle-like (Roulette October 2007). dewe’iganaak(oog), noun animate, drumsticks dewe’iganaatig(oon), noun inanimate, drumsticks. Nichols and Nyholm (1995:171) also mention another type of small drumstick for a hand drum called baaga’okokwaan(an), which is another inanimate noun. But the word Omishoosh used for drumstick is a euphemism, obagamaagan(an), na, the “real” name for the Ojibwe ball-headed war club. DISCREET SPEECH: waawiimaajimowin, ni, discreet speech or respectful talk, is the spoken correlative of personal humility in other kinds of interpersonal interaction. waawiimaajimowag, obfuscate/to disguise meaning Naanaawajimowin, ni, tell half truths, prevaricate In Jacob’s story of the empty water barrel, there are many examples of euphemistic expression. awiyan, anyone, is an example of discreet talk. Awegwen, who(m)ever, is another common reference, or awegwen ngikenimaa, who(m)ever, that I wouldn’t know. It is rude to say a person’s name to their face. One would use a reference which expresses family connection if possible. I am much more likely to be called nishiime, nad, my little sister/my younger sibling, than by name. Fear of causing offence means that no sensible Ojibwe person would speak the word binesi without checking out the window for ominous clouds. Jacob’s granddaughter is properly vague about the identity of the giver of rain. She says gaa-gii-gikendanziwaan, “that which I didn’t know about,” referring to but not specifying binesi. Jacob, the expert in these matters, is able to be more explicit about binesiwag, and Waagishagonesi, the thunderbird Jacob meets, has the power to insist on the use of his name, a highly unusual demand. doodem, totem, properly [nin]doodem(ag), my totem, is an Ojibwe word introduced to the European world by John Long, an English trader who wrote an account of his adventures among the Anishinaabe between 1768 and 1788. He was adopted into a clan and had a beaver ceremonially tattooed on his chest. He explained that totems were “a favorite spirit, which he [the Chippewa] believes watches over him. This totem, they conceive, assumes the shape of some beast or other, and therefore they never kill, hunt, or eat the animal whose form they think this totem bears” (Long 1922 (1791):110). It seems that Long was conflating totems as clan signifiers and 258

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

aadizookaanag, dream spirits. Later scholars, as Ray Fogelson (1987) has observed, “misappropriated and universalized the term” to denote names for descent groups and elementary forms of religion (e.g., Durkheim 1995 (1912):85). In a lecture in 1901, E.B. Tylor scolded Long for bringing “totem” into English. He blamed Long for giving it the everyday meaning which it still has today, that of an animal whose figure signifies clan membership and from which people believe they are descended, often accompanied by a taboo against eating that particular animal (Tylor 1958 (1901)). Roger Roulette’s father was a medicine man who made a traditional Anishinaabe totem pole. It is about two metres long, has seven clan symbols representing the family genealogy, and is called a doodemaatig. The Anishinaabe also make gikinawaatig, family story sticks. They are a bit longer than one metre and remind story tellers about the adventures of various family members and the spirit guardians who help them. Such images can only be carved by a person who has licence from the spirit-entities portrayed. These gikinawaatig are not usually shown to anyone but immediate family members, and are certainly not meant to publicly advertise status. Gaa-dibendjiged, “Owner of all,” is a literal translation, but this is the usual name of the overarching source of power in the world. Lesser spirit-entities and dream visitors act as intermediaries between this power and medicine men. The connection between power and ownership, the social control implied by power, is an important aspect of Ojibwe causal understandings. dibendan is the basic (imperative form) to own, control, or be the master of something; dibenim is to own, etc., someone (Matthews and Roulette 2003:287). In a ceremonial context, to be owned, dibenjigaazo, means to own or somehow possess rights to practise as an initiated member of a ceremonial group (Baraga 1992 (1878):187 and Nichols and Nyholm 1995:45). ganawaabandamowaaj or ganawaabandamowaad, the museum staff (lit. the watchers) ganawenjigewaad, keepers of ceremonial artefacts ganawendaagwakin gete-izhichigewinan, the owned/kept ancient properties” – the artefacts ganawenimaawaa’, old men known as “keepers” gashki’ewiziwin, knowledge/power miinigoowiziwag gashki’ewiziwin, to be bestowed power, indicates the source. The word fragment -goowizi, like -manidoo, implies that the action is happening in the context of divine intervention. -goowizi turns up frequently in our recordings and is often used to refer to objects or persons which act with power. On one occasion Omishoosh speaks of the possibility of being blessed by Naamiwan’s water drum, ji-wiiji’igoowiziwaad “those who may get divine assistance.” 259

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

gashkidaasebizon(ag), leg garters as aesthetic adornment or to symbolize a role or function. The garters in the Pauingassi Collection that were worn by Omishoosh indicate that the person wearing them is undertaking a ceremonial function normally reserved for a bear clan member. Also referred to euphemistically as bells: zhinawishin[oog], these beings or animate objects which jingle. agwapidoowaad, participle, those (animate) that tied those things on, or bundled them up Giga-goshkwi’ig! That person will surprise you! gijipizon(an), inanimate noun, the normal term for the beautifully embroidered bandolier, is also the word for “belt.” But Omishoosh refers to the bandolier euphemistically by calling it by the grammatically animate name of the most important decorations on the bandolier, oshkanzh(iig), dew-claws (also the word for fingernails), or even more specifically odikwaganzh(iig), caribou dew-claws. Even the gaanda’igwaason(ag), the thimbles on the bandolier, are animate (CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM:5). gikinoo’amaadewigamigong, the university, school, teaching lodge/building wegonen ‘iwe gaa-[a]ni-gikinoo’amaagowaad, that which is being taught, subject matter Gaa-gizhewaadizid and Gibaabaanaan, the names of Naamiwan’s two Boodaade, dream dance, drums. ginebig(oog), snakes gichi-ginebig(oog), great snakes, serpents. Also: mishibizhi(g)i or mishibizhiw(ag), underwater panther -goowizi, morpheme indicating interaction with divine power. For example: Miinigoowizij, divine gift bestowed, divine intervention in one’s destiny In the discussion about volition, -goowizi is used within a verb to convey the idea that I was being used by a divine power and was not in fact capable of initiating any actions outside this carefully managed destiny as follows: gii-inenimigoowizi ji-noojitood o’owe, gifted by divine power with sufficient standing to do something at the crucial moment. To underline this implication about the actual source of power, they would use a metaphorical construction, saying that mii a’awe aabajichigan, he/she (animate) is the tool (inanimate), a collaborator but not at all in charge.

260

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

Goshkoseni aki, the earth trembles/awakes. This is also a metaphoric allusion; the se suffix in goshkose implies an involuntary action. The verb Goskozi, vai, to wake, implies an animate subject, but aki, the earth, is inanimate. Its grammatical improbability would make this phrase stand out as metaphoric to a speaker. gwiingwa’age(g), na, wolverine. Naamiwan used the tambourine to get Omishoosh’s i’i mbimaadiziwin ji-azhegiiwemaganinig, life to come back. Shaking the tambourine against his chest, he produced ogii-aabaji’aan gwiingwa’agewiwin, a state of being a wolverine. Inendam, vti, lit. “to think of something in a certain way.” In reference to the Bineshiishikaan, inenimaawaad has a double meaning here, both to represent an aadizookaan and to instantiate a connection between the aadizookaan and the people. This is broader than its literal meaning. Inwaadaanaawaa’, or inwaade, vti, thought about a certain way or designated as something. jaagizo, some animate being burns, an animate verb, is used in its reduplicated preterite form, jajaagizopan, as an acknowledgment that he/she burned for a long time and was completely consumed by the fire. madoshkwe, sorcery or bad medicine, is extremely rarely heard. Also madoshkwe, the herbs for hunting medicine/bad medicine Odayaawigon, a sort of mind control of one person over another -magan, augmentative preterite dubitative, effectively reverses the gender of nouns by allowing agreement in a verb normally requiring an animate subject. It can be used to indicate that an inanimate entity performs an act only an animate entity would be expected to perform. It is often used humorously or ironically. -magan in izhaamaganogobanenan adds the thought that this inanimate thing “can act as the verb implies”; in one case, that inanimate objects made their way to the museum of their own volition. Naanaagadawendamowin aaniish ayaamagan! Careful deliberation exists! One of the more inscrutable statements by Omishoosh, this is another interesting use of the augmentative form -magan. Here an “idea,” the concept of deliberation, which is plainly not a material entity, is said to exist. First of all, nounification in Ojibwe is a simple matter of adding the suffix -win to an intransitive verb, but nouns of this sort are almost always inanimate. So “to deliberate carefully” becomes “careful deliberation,” an inanimate noun. The fragment -magan allows the animate verb to operate as it ought to in spite of the inanimate subject, so he is implying that an idea can exist as an animate entity and have a social effect to make a very important theoretical, philosophical point.

261

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

Ayaamagan: The additional implication of the augmentative form in the verb to be, ayaa, is that deliberation is ubiquitous. Other examples of this metaphorical use of -magan include izhaamagan, that thing is going somewhere, and bimosemagan, that thing is walking, like a robot perhaps. Minikwemagan, that thing is drinking, is a way of describing the operation of a siphon or a straw. Turned around slightly, minikwe(win), drink (alcohol), making this a gerund, when augmented, minikwewin ayaamagan, means that alcohol is an irresistible force, a comment on society that Omishoosh makes more than once in these tapes. Azhe’osemaganoon is a very precise Ojibwe way to say “things walked back,” which is what the museum manager said when missing artefacts at the museum began to turn up mysteriously. Azhe’ose is to walk back. Azhegiiwe, he/she comes back (returns), which becomes azhegiiwemagan(oon), it comes back (returns) Manidoo(g): Although manidoo rarely appears on its own in these transcripts, it is frequently embedded in verbs that imply divine sanction, licence, or activity, as it is here in omanidookewiniwaa’, ceremonial activity; manidoog, the plural form, is perhaps the most famous name for spirit-helpers, although in contemporary Ojibwe, a singular manidoo is frequently a reference to the Christian God, and gichi-manidoo is definitely a Christian reference. Manidoobaa (Manitoba) means literally “where the spirits exist.” Some people translated it as “where the spirit lives,” but this is an implication, not a literal translation. mitig, tree wiigwaasaatig(oog), birch and a group of particular trees wadikwan(an), a tree branch, is inanimate (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:274, 149), and mitig(oog) is animate, but when one starts to talk about the idea, mitigokaa, there are many trees, the form used is an inanimate intransitive verb. Mitigokaa is one of many Ojibwe “verbs of abundance” which call for inanimate agreement. The same is true of the verb moonzokaa’, there are many moose, and interestingly animikiikaa, there are many thunderers (David Pentland, pers. comm. October 2008). The other way of referring to a forest is to use the particle/locative noopimiing, in forest or in woods, or

262

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

noopimakamig(oon), an inanimate noun, the land on which the woods exist (forest). wiigwaas(ag), a birch tree, is animate wiigwaas(an), birch bark, is inanimate, as is anything made out of birch bark, from canoe to basket wiigwaasapakwaan(ag), the panels used to make a roof, is the only exception (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:145). I was told when I was making a show on Thunderbirds that this was because a birch-bark roof wards off Thunderbird attacks. “They’ll never strike on a birch tree,” Percy Berens told me (Berens in Matthews 1995a:14). Midewigimaa, Hallowell’s nickname in Pauingassi, is a compound word; mide is the contraction of Midewiwin, and -wigimaa includes the substitution of the o sound with the connecting wi- to form wigimaa, which connects the remaining sounds of ogimaa, chief – so it means “Midewiwin chief.” The name refers to Hallowell’s abiding interest in the performances of the Midewiwin or Grand Medicine Society, the most famous Ojibwe ceremonial. When I asked why Hallowell was given this name, Adam Owen (AO 1992) said that Hallowell was given the equipment to conduct the ceremony and that as far as they knew he could do so and must have taught others. These Midewiwin artefacts are now in the National Museum of the American Indian. Midewigimaawikweg, the nickname I share with Jennifer Brown, is a further compounded word; another w- joins ikwe, woman, and the final g makes the plural form. When visiting by myself, I am called Midewigimaawikwe, Midewiwin Chief (Hallowell) Woman. Hallowell had another nickname further up the river in Poplar Hill, Aadizookewinini, which means “legend man” (Brown in Hallowell 1992:xvii). mii-iwe: In Ojibwe, even the declaration of authority, mii-iwe, which precedes confident explanations and ends every song, is affected by grammatical animacy. Mii-owe and mii-iwe refer to an inanimate subject. Mii-awe refers to an animate subject, either a person or other-than-human person involved in an event. Roger explained this as follows: “In relating an event, development, or idea, mii-owe indicates that this is what’s happening, this is what is developing, this is the idea, etc. Mii-iwe is equivalent to mii-owe except that mii-iwe confirms the story teller’s authority and certainty about the subject. Mii-iwe gaa-doodang, ‘This is what he had done,’ means not only hearing about but witnessing events or having some first-hand knowledge of them. Also, miiiwe can close a thought, song, story, or agreement with an assertion of truth as in ‘That’s it!’” (Roulette June 2006). nanaandagiizhigwaadamaan, afflictions/bad health and misfortune Omishoosh had two ways of talking about illness/misfortune. One was to speak of the broader category of illness and misfortune envisaged by those who warned against offending or making mistakes. Quoting his Uncle Angus, Omishoosh used the very complex word, nanaandagiizhigwaadamaan, which covered both ailments and problems combining health and misfortune.

263

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

aanimiseyan is the word he uses for misfortune/hardships/difficulties. For plain old sickness, the types of illnesses which normally befall people, he used words related to aakozi, vai, to be sick, aakozishki, sickly, aakozishkiyaang, when we are sickly, odaakozii, one who was sick, da-ani-onji-aakozi’, to become sick from, and gichi-aakozid, gravely sick, gichi-daakozi, he/she is gravely sick maanamanji’o, to feel sick, from Nichols and Nyholm. Omishoosh mentions wiiyawing e-gaa-andawi’aaj, treating the whole body with mashkikiike, preparing a particular medicine, and speaks of a particular nanaandawi’iwej, healing practice. And then there is the simple wish, mino-ayaa, get well (Roulette April 2008). Omishoosh also talks about maajaamaganinig, the afflicted (note the use of -magan, which has the effect of amplifying the affliction). gii-naazikaazowan, lit. to be retrieved; in this instance it means to be entrapped as a victim. Nibikiiwin, the practice of healing with small hollow bone sucking tube Okanens(ag), the sucking tube itself Ogichidaa(g), warrior Ogichidaawiwin, a warrior sanctioned to do certain things, specifically blessed by Thunder Ogichidaakwe(g), warrior women gaa-gii-ogichidaakwewiwaaj ikwewag, grand warrior women Ogizhaadige(g), sentinel or guard; also zhimaaganish, guard. They saw to it that egaa-awiya ji-gagiibaadizid, no one misbehaved, dogs and most children were kept away, and there was no disruption of the ceremony. There was a very interesting bundle of tinklers in the collection, bashanzhe’igan(an) (U of W Collection E5 8), a rattle which would have been used by the guards to train dogs to stay away. Onjinewin, a moral wrong. It means, roughly, “What goes around comes around.” It is the condition in which one finds oneself when one has offended some powerful being, human or non-human, and is, or should be, anticipating the consequences. Several terms deal specifically with the repercussions of onjinewin. Baataa’idizowin is when the insult or deed rebounds directly on the perpetrator, obaataa’aan is when it is visited on a loved one, a child for instance, and baataa’aa is when it comes back to a member of the extended family or community. 264

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

Baataa-, the Ojibwe root, “implies that the deed has been done and the consequences are inevitable. This sanction, rather than forces exerted by public institutions such as courts, generally governed Ojibwe behaviour. This is exemplified in the word manoo which means ‘let it be.’ Why nag or punish someone who will inevitably suffer in the end?” (footnote 1 in Matthews and Roulette 2003:346). In calling for careful deliberation, naanaagadawendamowin, Omishoosh is invoking these rules about moral conduct. He makes it clear that there are serious consequences to committing onjinewin. Omishoosh uses onjinewin as a foil for interrogating certain moral ideas. In my experience, monolingual speakers distinguish between the ideal and the real and, like old people everywhere, bemoan the degradation of practice. They seem to me to be realists when it comes to judging others, but their views are rooted in the ideal. They are also aware that, in the course of their long lives, they have all made compromises and done things which may have endangered themselves and others. Omishoosh blamed himself for the suicide of one of his teenage sons, a blow which led him to accept Christianity (Matthews 2002a). Oshkaabewis(ag), male ceremonial apprentice Oshkaabewisikwe(g), female ceremonial apprentices weba’aan, sickness was “banished.” webinigaadeg, they “eradicated it.” Wiikaan(ag), noun (animate), ritual brothers, either artefacts or people, ritual brother­ hood. Wiikaan(ag), ceremonial brother(s), is the third-person form, giikaan is the ­second-person form, niikaan is the first-person form. This word also appears in Warren (2009 (1885):43), who speaks of “We-kauns,” or initiating priests in the “Me-da-we society.” Roger frequently translated wiikaan and its various morphemes as “ritual brethren,” which implies that the people concerned are ceremonial initiates. Wiikaan(ag) can also mean an object as ritual partner (animate object like a drum or a rattle). Wiikaaniwan is the capacity to be a ritual brother – a ritual relationship formed in ceremony either between people, between ceremonial objects, or between a gifted person and their tools. Wiijiiwaaganiwan is how you would refer to a companion object which is a ritual partner of a gifted person. [O]wiijiiwaaganiwanan, someone’s ritual partner Owiikaaniwi-izhichigewiniwaa’, ritual activity or ceremony Wiikaani(wag), ritual relative waawiimaajimowin, discreet speech, the spoken correlative of personal humility in other kinds of interpersonal interaction. See note about Discreet Speech. 265

Appendix B: Ojibwe Language Notes

zagataagan (Polyporus betulinus): This is commonly called “punk” and when dry provides a means of storing and transporting the embers of a fire. Hallowell’s footnote continues as follows: “Tinder secured from the excrescences of the birch. It is inevitably placed on top of the tobacco in ceremonial smoking. The pipe can be lighted by the skabewis (servant) [oshkaabewis] and passed to the smoker. The tinder will ignite the tobacco & so the skabewis does not have to puff on it first” (Hallowell 1936:8). zaagi’idiwin, “real” love of a steady and abiding sort, is admired, but noodendiwin, infatuation, is never a good thing.

266

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Roger Roulette August 2009 Southern Ojibwe terms, where they differ, have been noted with an {*} na – noun animate ni – noun inanimate vai – verb intransitive animate vta – verb transitive animate vti – verb transitive inanimate vii – verb intransitive inanimate pc – particle loc – locative prep. – preposition Ojibwe Term

Definition

Aabajichigan(an), ni *aabajitaawin(an), ni Aadizookaan(ag), na

Tool, implement

Aagim(ag), na Aagwiigon(an), ni

Snowshoes Shield

Aakozi, vai Aakozishki, vai Aakoziwin, ni Aanimise, vai Abi, vai

Is sick Is sickly, chronically sick Illness, disease Have difficulty, hardships Is sitting, is at home

Legend, figure in legend

Comments

Euphemism for past ancestors Euphemism for ceremonial bib

Refers to animate objects as well

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Adaawe, vai Adikwaganzh(iig) Agobizon(an), ni Ajijaag (also Ajichaag), na Akik(wag), na *Akik(oog) Anami’aa, vai Anami’aawin, ni Anang(oog), na Aniibiishigiwaam(an), ni

To barter, to buy Caribou dew-claws Bib Soul Pail, kettle

Animikii(g), na

Comments

Prays, Christian Christianity Star Arbour to conduct ceremonies Thunderer

Anishinaabe(g), na

Self-identification of people who speak Ojibwe

Anishinaabemo, vai Anishinaabewichige, vai

Speaks Ojibwe, Saulteaux Performing or conducting activities in an Ojibwe manner Practises/follows the Anishinaabe way of life Ojibwe culture, way of life Apron, lining for cushion under breastplate It exists To be possessed by something, be overwhelmed by something Walks back Goes back, returns Drumstick Bring harm to others by one’s own actions, also guilt by association

Anishinaabewitwaa, vai Anishinaabewitwaawin, ni Apitaagan(ag), na *Apishtaagan(ag) Ayaamagan, ayaamagad, vii Ayaawigon, vti

Azhe’ose, vai Azhegiiwe, vai Baagaakokwaan(an), ni Baataa’aa, vta

Baataa’idizowin, ni Bagamaagan(an), ni Bagesaan(ag), na Bakinaage, vai

Concept of being endangered by another’s actions War club, drumstick Plum To win (by skill)

268

Usually circular but not always Ojibwe belief; spiritual entities existing primarily in thunderclouds Also known as Ojibwe, Saulteaux, Algonquin, Chippewa, and others

Gorget (French/ anthropology)

Used for Midewiwin Associated with Ojibwe belief where your actions may affect others, onjine, particularly those close to you

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Bashanzhe’igan(an), ni Bawaagan(ag), na

Whip A dream entity, dream guardian Have a clean lifestyle

Bekitwaa, vai *Biinitwaa Bekitwaawin, vai *Biinitwaawin Bikogaan(an), ni Bima’adoo, vai Bimaadizi, vai Bimaadiziwin, ni Bimaaji’iwe, vai Bimaaji’iwemagan, vti Bimosemagan, vti Binemizh(iin), ni

Bineshiishikaan(ag), na *Bineshiikaan(ag) Binesi(wag), na *Binesii(wag) Boodaade, vti Debizi, vai Debwendam, vta Dewe’igan(ag), na Dewe’iganaak(oog), na Dewe’iganaat(oon), ni Dibendaagozi, vai Dibendan, vti Dibenim, vta Dibenimaa, vta Dibenjige, vai Doodem, vta Doodemaatig(oog), na Doodemaatig(oon), ni Gaa-dibenjiged, na *Debenjiged Gaagige Anang, na

Comments

Clean lifestyle Domed lodge To travel a path, road One is alive, lives life Life Gives life to others It gives life It walks Labrador tea plants (Ledum groenlandicum or Ledum palustre var. latifolium) Image of bird, carving or imitation Thunderbird Dream dance ceremony Has enough, fortunate Thinks it’s true Ceremonial drum Drumstick Drumstick Belong to, be a member Own it, have it Own him/her To be owned by another Owns things, possesses things Totem, clan system of Ojibwe Totem pole Clan genealogy stick The owner of all things, creator Forever star or everlasting star

269

May refer to respectable morality May refer to respectable morality

Also refers quality of life and characteristics Figurative – It travels along

Euphemism for Thunderer Refers to blowing small hollow bones/whistles Figurative – One is fortunate

Figurative – Owner/master of things which exist

Reference to overarching power in the world Resembling a Maltese cross, its image is used on ceremonial drums and regalia

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Comments

Gaagigebag(oon), ni

Labrador tea plants (Ledum groenlandicum or Ledum palustre var. latifolium) Thimble

Used for aromatherapy in sweat lodge

Gaanda’igwaason(ag), na Gagiikwemo, vai

Gashkidaasebizon(ag), na Gete-anishinaabe(g), na Gete-izhichigewin, ni Gibaabaanaan, nad

A vocal tone used in lecturing Watch it, watch something Something being kept Power, empowerment, a right Ceremonial animal hide pouches (usually have a string closing) Leg garters, leggings Ancient Anishinaabe Ancient practice Our father

Gichi-ginebig(oog), na Gichi-manidoo(g), na Giijanishinaabe(g), na Giikaan(ag), nad Gijipizon(an), ni

Serpent, large snake Great Spirit Fellow Anishinaabe Your ritual brother, kin Belt, sash

Gikinawaatig(oon), ni

Teaching stick, memory stick Any teaching facility, school or university

Ganawaabandan, vti Ganawendaagwan, vti Gashki’ewiziwin, ni Gashkibidaagan(ag), na

Gikinoo’amaadiiwi gamig(oon), ni *Gikinoo’amaadewi gamig(oon) Gimoodi, vai Ginebig(oog), na Gizhewaadizi, vai Gosaabanjigan(an), ni *Jiisakaan(an) Goshkose, vai Goshkozi, vai Inaakonige(wag), vai

Steals Snake Is kind/loving/gracious Shake tent (northern Ojibwe/Cree) Awaken suddenly Is awake To make decisions, agreements and laws with a pipe

270

Sometimes used on regalia outfits Gaagiikwemo; reduplicated

May also be made of cloth or other materials

Other name of Fair Wind’s dream dance ceremonial drum Reference to Christian God Worn with ceremonial regalia Traditionally a teaching lodge

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Gwiingwa’aage(g), na *Gwiingwa’age Inenim, vta

Wolverine

Inenimigoowizi, vai

Comments

Think of someone a certain way Be influenced by divine intervention

Inwaade, vti Izhaamagan, vti *izhaamagad Jaagizo, vai Jiisakii, vai Jiisakiiwin(an), ni

It is designated, used for It goes there

Maanoo, pc Madogaan(an), ni

Let it be Lodge usually circular in shape Harvest herbs/medicine may be for bad intentions, sorcery To bang on kettle, pail

Madoshkwe, vai Madwe’akokwe, vai Madwe’igan(an), ni Maji-manidoo, na Manidookaan(ag), na Manidookaazh, vta Manidooke, vai Masagozi, vai Mashkiigobag(oon), ni

Mayagaabishi, vta Mazinichigan(an), ni Memegwesi(wag), na *memegweshi(wag)

Influence may be a compulsion, guidance, or circumstance

Burns Performs shake tent Shake tent

Something used to bang with Devil, Satan, Christian reference Image of god, false god Treat as sacred Interact with spirits, gods To jinx, cause misfortune or illness Labrador tea plants (Ledum groenlandicum or Ledum palustre var. latifolium) See a visual wonder, be astonished by what is seen Image, drawing Small cliff-dwelling people, lit. “among us (reduplicated) beings”

271

Pacifist idea

Traditionally only for ceremonial drum Euphemism for drumstick Literal – Bad/Evil Spirit Figurative – dote on someone Also perform a ceremony Sometimes reference to women’s teachings

Ojibwe belief of small otherthan-human beings known for their expertise with stones and medicine

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Midewi(wag), vai Midewigamig(oon), ni Midewigimaa(g), na Midewikwe(g), na Midewiwan, vti

Midewiwin practitioner Midewiwin Lodge Mide leader Female Mide practitioner Something having a quality of the Midewiwin Grand Medicine Society

Midewiwin, ni

Miigis(ag), na Miikana, ni Miin(an), ni Miinigoowizi, vai Mimige, vai *Mamige Minikwemagan, vti Minikwewin, ni Mino-ayaa, vai Mino-ayaawin, ni Mishibizhii(g), na *mishibizhiw Miskomin(ag), na Mitig(oog), na Mitigokaa, vii Mitigwakik(wag), na Naabawaagan(ag), na Naanaagadawendam, vta Naazikigaazo, vai Nibikiiwin, ni Nigamo(wag), vai *Nagamo(wag) Nanaandagiizhigwaadan Nanaandawi’iwe, vai Niikaan(ag), nad Niimi(wag), vai

Comments

Shell Path, road Blueberries Be bestowed a divine gift To win by another’s (a spirit-helper’s) assistance It drinks, usually fig. usage Alcohol, any drink Is well, is doing well, is living well Well-being, health Underwater panther Raspberry Tree Plenty of trees Water drum Playing sticks Is contemplating To be retrieved The practice of healing with small hollow bone sucking tube Is singing, sings Diagnose, ascertain the cause of misfortune or bad health To heal others, to practise Anishinaabe healing My ritual brother Is dancing, dances

272

Ceremony involving teaching knowledge of medicine and Ojibwe spirituality

Beings resembling felines existing in bodies of water

Ceremonial wooden drums containing water

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Noodendiwin, ni Noopamakamig, pc

Infatuation Out in the woods, in the wilderness In the woods, bush Pauingassi, Manitoba

Noopimiing, pc Obaawingaashiing, loc. Odaakozii(g), na odaminowaya’ii, prep. Ode’imin(an), ni Ogichidaa(g), na

Comments

Ogimaa(g), na

Patient, a sick person Toy, plaything Strawberry Warrior, ceremonial warrior Warrior woman, ceremonial warrior woman Warrior practice, ceremonial warrior practice Wealthy person, leader

Ogimaakaan(ag), na

Chief, false wealth

Ogizhaadige(g), na

Guard, sentinel, esp. for village or building Sucking tube for healing A grandfather Consequence(s) of a moral infraction

Ogichidaakwe(g), na Ogichidaawiwin, ni

Okanens(ag), na Omishoomisimaa(g), na Onjinewin, ni Ookwemin(an), ni Oshkaabewis(ag), na Oshkaabewisikwe(g), na Oshkanzh(iig), na Waabanang, na Waabanoowin, ni *Waabanoowiwin Waaginogaan(an), ni Waawiimbaajimo, vai Wadikwan(an), ni Wawezhi’on(an), ni

June berry Ceremonial apprentice Ceremonial female apprentice Nail, claw Eastern Star, Morning Star Waabano ceremony Circular lodges Obfuscates Tree branch Regalia, dress clothes

273

Also referred to as Baawingaashiing

Early reference to persons who hired others as workers Reference to early tribe representatives with red coats and medals provided by governments Other reference: guard for ceremonies Ojibwe belief like Karma esp. to do with things with animate designation Voc. Oshkaabe

Ceremony practising healing and spirituality

Appendix C: Anishinaabemowin Glossary

Ojibwe Term

Definition

Comments

Wemitigoozhi(wag), na

White man

Wiigwaas(ag), na Wiigwaasaatig(oog), na Wiigwaasapakwaan(ag), na

Birch bark Birch tree Birch roof, birch lodge covering Receiving divine assistance Friend, companion Something part of an ensemble, a group A ritual brother, kin

Sometimes reference to French person in southern Manitoba

Wiiji’igoowizi, vai Wiijiiwaagan(ag), nad Wiijiiwaaganiwan(oon), vti Wiikaan(ag), na Wiikaaniwan(oon), vii Wiikoshkaa, vai Zagaswe’, vta Zaagi’idiwin, ni Zaagi’iwewin, ni Zagataagan, na

Zhaabandowaan(an), ni Zhiishiigwan(ag), na Zhimaaganish(ag), na

Qualifying as a ritual brother, kin Be compelled, be drawn to To offer a smoke Love/cherish one another Love/cherish Commonly called “punk.” A means of storing and transporting embers of a fire (Polyporus betulinus) Elongated pointed triangular lodge with doors on both ends Ceremonial rattles Guard, soldier, policeman

274

Figurative – involving objects used in a ceremony Including objects used in a ceremony

Notes

1. Introduction 1 Eighty-nine artefacts were missing from the Anthropology Museum at the University of Winnipeg at the time of the Manitoba auditor general’s investigation in spring 2002, fiftyeight of which were from the Northern Ojibwe collections, including thirty-three artefacts from the Pauingassi Collection (Singleton 2002:3, Martin 2002). 2 The overarching category “Ojibwe” is a kind of convenient fiction which will have to do temporarily until I have time to expose its deficiencies. It conventionally refers to all Ojibwespeaking peoples who call themselves Anishinaabe. They are one of the largest groups of Algonquian-speaking peoples in North America. Algonquian speakers include the Cree, Ainu, Odaawaa, and many other groups which now live in northern Canada and once inhabited much of the eastern seaboard as far south as the Carolinas. In the literature, these people are often referred to as the Ojibwa and their language is written “Ojibwe.” I follow Roger Roulette and Pat Ningewance in choosing to spell both “Ojibwe” on the grounds that, if “Ojibwe” is the right way to spell the name of the language, it must be the right way to spell the name of the people. Roulette and Ningewance use standard double-vowel Roman orthography developed by Charles Fiero. See Nichols and Nyholm (1995:xxiii–xxvii).   Hallowell refers to the people of Pauingassi as Northern Ojibwa or Saulteaux, a name which dates back to the French traders who encountered these people’s ancestors in the area near what is now Sault Ste Marie, Ontario (see Peers 1994:xv–xviii). Ojibwe/Ojibwa peoples are described in various volumes of the Smithsonian Handbook of North American Indians, underscoring their cultural variability (Steinbring, in Helm 1981:244, 254; also Trigger 1978; DeMallie 2001). 3 Manidookaan is a general term for sculptures resembling either people or animals. They are not so much representational images of a particular person or animal as references to spiritbeings. The word means “like a spirit” and is a euphemism that can safely be used in the presence of animate objects without causing offence (Roulette 2004). 4 Hallowell was called Midewigimaa, “Midewiwin chief.” The name refers to Hallowell’s abiding interest in the performances of the Midewiwin or Grand Medicine Society. When I

Notes to pages 7–31

asked why Hallowell was given this name, Adam Owen (AO 1992) said that Hallowell was given the equipment to conduct the ceremony and that, as far as they knew, he could do so and must have taught others. When visiting by myself, I am called Midewigimaawikwe, Midewiwin Chief Woman. Hallowell had another nickname further up the river in Poplar Hill – Aadizookewinini, which means “story man” (Brown in Hallowell 1992:xvii). 5 While it is unconventional to name water drums, Naamiwan’s two dream drums had names. They were called Gaa-gizhewaadizid, “the gracious one,” and Gibaabaanaan, “our father” (Matthews and Roulette 2003). 6 Southeast Tribal Council Community, Pauingassi website, http://www.serdc.mb.ca/ communities/pauingassi. 7 Angus died on November 3, 1957. Miskwa’o, Angus’s wife, died on May 11 1955. Henry Neufeld, pers. comm. November 3, 2012. 8 Naamiwan had two dream drums over the years. The first, made in 1915, was sold to his nephews in Poplar Hill in the early 1920s, after which his son Wanachence built a second one, the same size but less elaborately decorated, which remained in the community. It was owned and played by Omishoosh until it burnt in a house fire in 1973. 9 The American Indian Religious Freedom Act wasn’t enacted until 1978, but restrictions had been actively flouted by AIM members at Sun-Dances and Midewiwin ceremonies starting in the late 1960s (Banks and Erdoes 2004; Fine-Dare 2002). 10 Fogelson says of “epitomizing events” that they are a type of historical “nonevent” (1989:143). Although by “nonevent” he sometimes means a fictive counter-narrative, in this instance I take his second meaning, that nonevents are real events unobserved by or incomprehensible to a non-Anishinaabe person and are explained away as myth in conventionalized relationships with museums. 11 Memegwesi, literally translated, means “amongst us being” (reduplicated) (Roulette 2009). 12 At the request of his family, I have left references to Nelson in the present tense as they were when he read the manuscript before his untimely death. 2. Omishoosh: A Visit to the Museum 1 Margaret and I had flown to Pauingassi, and when we found Omishoosh well and willing to travel, Jennifer Brown hastily organized the visit and talk. She had been planning to bring Omishoosh to town for some time. Dr Brown trained as an anthropologist in Chicago and had studied with students of Hallowell (Ray Fogelson and George Stocking) so it was she who realized that the Pauingassi Collection at the University of Winnipeg contained the ceremonial regalia associated with Naamiwan, Omishoosh’s grandfather and Hallowell’s informant. When Omishoosh expressed enthusiasm for a visit to the museum, Margaret and I brought him out with us on the helicopter. The University of Winnipeg paid for his flights and hotel room, and Margaret accompanied him throughout the visit. He went back with a family member two days later. 2 The relatively simple cape belonging to his first wife is typical of the capes worn by the female ceremonial apprentices, the oshkaabewisikweg. The cape’s ID number is E5 123. For family details see Omishoosh’s obituary (Matthews 2002a:12). 3 The embroidered panel belonged to Omishoosh. It is about thirty centimetres high and twenty centimetres wide, banded with silk ribbon. Boodaade is the name given to the dream dance ceremony in Pauingassi and refers to blowing a bone whistle which makes a sound like the cry of an eagle (Roulette August 2008).

276

Notes to pages 31–52

4 Algonquian peoples, including the Ojibwe, speak closely related languages and occupy most of Canada from Labrador to the foot of the Rockies, large parts of the central United States, and the east coast as far south as the Carolinas. 5 The other cross symbol, a plain +, indicates waabanang, the eastern star or the morning star (Roulette 2007). The everlasting star design, gaagige anang, is a marker of dream dance drums, and Fred Benjamin, a Minnesota elder, told me about the history of the dream dance after seeing this design on the centre of Naamiwan’s big drum: “That’s what you call a peace drum … when you see it painted like that − sometimes it has a big star in the middle − that’s a sacred drum” (Matthews 1993:19). 6 Woodland caribou have two dew-claws on the back of each fetlock. Omishoosh described how the old people used to boil the dew-claws to soften them and then carve their edges. When finished, the dew-claws have a pinked rim and a small bunch of bird feathers inside. They have a small hole at the top by which they can be hung from a strap. 7 See also bikwaakwado-bagamaagan(an)- (ball-headed war club) in Nichols and Nyholm (1995:158). 8 The overt implication is that their presence in the museum is an intentional act of the artefacts (Roulette 2008). 9 Eddie Benton Banai’s Ojibwe name is used here conversationally by Omishoosh – biidwewidang (the sound of someone approaching) – or it might be said baadwewidang with initial change “ii” to “aa,” which changes the meaning slightly to imply a title (Roulette 2008/2009). 3. Animacy: Linguistic Considerations 1 Hallowell posed this question to Alex Keeper, Kiiwiich, a medicine man at Little Grand Rapids (Hallowell 2010:44). 2 For a discussion of Hallowell’s academic and personal influences, see Stocking (2004). For his relationship to Boas, p. 203. 3 While gender in everyday English parlance has come to be equated with a male-female distinction conventionally made in English, the term “gender” in a linguistic environment is about any distinction which speakers make. In Ojibwe, the dichotomy is around the attribution of “life,” and speakers must always choose. 4 Metaphorical animacy has a very long European literary history. The first known use of the attribution of animacy for literary effect was in the Aeneid: “Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangent, / solve metus; feret haec aliquam tibi fama salutem”; “There are tears of things and mortal things touch the mind with splendid sound effects” (translation by Philip Hardie, Corpus Christie Professor of Latin at the University of Oxford on In Our Time, BBC 4, April 2005). Hardie says this phrase, “lacrimae rerum,” “tears of things,” has been the subject of endless linguistic debate: “Is it an objective genitive and therefore ‘the tears shed for things’ or is it a possessive genitive in which case it would be read as ‘the tears that inhere in things’?” Katie Wales, a Leeds University linguist who specializes in animacy, argues that a reading implying that things shed tears is justified (pers. comm. April 23, 2005). 5 In French, animé and inanimé, from the Latin anima – life, soul. 6 Stan, Roger Roulette, and I later collaborated on a documentary which used rigorous linguistic proofs – including a test for grammatical agreement – to debunk the idea that Mother Earth is a Cree or Ojibwe concept (Matthews 2003c). Stan and I also made a beautiful documentary about Cree ideas about horses (Matthews 2002c).

277

Notes to pages 54–70

7 Stones are animate in Ojibwe dialects, including those spoken on the Berens River, in southern Manitoba, southwestern Ontario, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, and with Odaawaa speakers, but in some Algonquian languages south and east of the Great Lakes they are not. Some linguists use this fact and a supposition that the eastern languages and dialects reflect a more ancient situation, to argue that, in proto-Algonquian, stones were likely inanimate. They use the existence of animate stones among the Northern Ojibwa to postulate the impact of Cree ideas on nearby Ojibwe speakers over hundreds of years (Dr David Pentland, pers. comm. October 2008), but the broad distribution of old myths involving self-motivated rolling rocks argues against this perspective. 8 Père Le Jeune was a missionary to the Montagnais and Algonquians in the mid-seventeenth century. 9 See also the dictionary of Rev. G.A. Belcourt (1853). 10 This view is still held by some contemporary linguists, notably Chris Wolfart, who compares animacy in German and Cree and concludes that “only a list can account for the gender of Cree nouns” (Wolfart 1996:398 in Kilarski 2007:338). 11 Kohl refers to drawings on a birch-bark Midewiwin scroll (Kohl 1985 (1860):215) that shows a branched figure illustrating the peril of being tempted by “the Great Strawberry,” which lures souls from the path to the land of the dead, causing them to be lost forever. Ruth Landes was told that there are four fruits which tempt souls: strawberry (inanimate), June cherry (ookwemin(an)) (inanimate), blueberry (miin(an)) (inanimate), and plum (bagesaan(ag)) (animate) (Landes 1968:194). 12 The mythical figure Flint, Biiwaanag, killed his mother in his haste to be born and was shattered into pieces by his brother, Misábos [Misaabooz], the Great Hare, who vowed to make him small and harmless. Thus stones may also be aadizookaan(ag), legendary figures (Hallowell 2010:544). Flint is animate, as are copper, gold, silver, shale, mica, and slate, but not iron (Ningewance 2006:150). 13 On this trip, Jennifer Brown and I travelled together and recorded original interviews for the Fair Wind documentary (Matthews 1993). 14 I made an hour-long documentary about these charming little cliff-dwellers (Matthews 2007). 15 Percy Earl Berens passed away at the age of ninety-nine on Monday, December 5, 2011. He was born November 11, 1912 in Berens River, Manitoba. 16 In Pauingassi/Manitoba Ojibwe, blueberries and cranberries are inanimate as they are in Cree, but saskatoons are animate. Rosebushes, oginii-waabigwan(iin), which have actual thorns, are inanimate. Darnell and Vanek’s suggestions are viewed with some scepticism, in part because the Cree, faced with the problem of what to call a tomato, resorted to okiniy(ak), the animate word for rose hip. This is presumably because tomatoes share a similar skin texture, shape, and colour to rose hips, but there is no possible connection with thorns (David Pentland, pers. comm. Oct 2008). The Ojibwe adopted the same strategy. Tomato and rose hip are both ogin(iig) (Nichols and Nyholm 1995). 17 Goddard’s critique of Hallowell seems unnecessarily harsh. Goddard sets up a straw man, speaking of lists of animate nouns when Hallowell was careful with context and made no lists. Hallowell is saying that power permeated the Ojibwe world from the point of view of causality, not linguistics. Even Goddard, if he would bend slightly, would probably agree that the power to act in the world is one of the characteristics of a great many unpredictable animates. 18 Also baaga’okokwaan(an), inanimate noun – a small drumstick for a hand drum (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:171)

278

Notes to pages 75–93

19 Notes of meeting October 13, 1999:2. Also memo dated September 23, 1999 entitled: “Re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations” (discussed in chapter 4):12. 20 While smudging is not unheard of in Pauingassi, sweet-grass is relatively new to northern Manitoba. It was not used by people in Pauingassi prior to Omishoosh’s death and is never mentioned on any of my tapes. In southern Manitoba it started to come into use in the 1970s. Most people still use ground cedar, bear berry, and sage to smudge, and, of course, there is no historical ceremonial tradition with respect to objects in museums (Roulette February 2009). First Nations communities in other parts of northern Canada may have quite different ceremonial expectations. 21 This was a training session for health professionals in the winter of 1986 or 1987, organized by a local doctor and led by four Three Fires members, two of whom were later involved in the repatriation. 4. Dewe’igan: Repatriation 1 This has finally happened and provides evidence of how things have changed. In collaboration with the current curator of the Anthropology Museum, Val McKinley, and with the complete support of the president of the university, Dr Lloyd Axworthy, and his assistant, Jennifer Rattray, the photographs were taken in the summer of 2011, and a book combining the information about the collection with the genealogy of Pauingassi is planned (October 2016). 2 The original letter dated September 29, 1999 is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds 1945–2010. Repository: University of Manitoba Archives & Special Collections, Elizabeth Dafoe Library. MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8.   Most of the people listed in this letter neither knew that the university had a museum nor that a repatriation had taken place. There is no such person as Mr Whiteway of Pauingassi (Brown quoted in Matthews 1993). 3 The original memo dated September 23, 1999 entitled “Re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations” is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 4 The original attachment to the memo of September 23, 1999 entitled “Comments on Course Proposal by Maureen Matthews,” dated Wednesday September 15, 1999 is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 5 Ibid. 6 The auditor general identifies this person as an employee of the university external to the Department of Anthropology with a connection to Three Fires (Singleton 2002:11). 7 Email message dated October 2, 2001. Original in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.9 8 Attachment (September 15) to memo of September 23, 1999. 9 Here a concept, deliberation, is said to exist to make a metaphorical point. The fragment -magan allows the animate verb to operate as it ought to in spite of the inanimate subject. The additional implication of the augmentative form used here, ayaamagan (incl. ayaa – to be), is that deliberation is or ought to be ubiquitous (Roulette October 2008). 10 Omishoosh used similar diplomatic statements often. Once when we had rescued him from a concert of tuneless evangelical missionaries, he observed, “nakwe’amaagepan, one should harmonize,” gently making his point about the music.

279

Notes to pages 96–115

11 Letter to Joe Malcolm, executive director of the Southeast Tribal Council, December 2, 1999 from Constance Rooke, president and vice chancellor of the University of Winnipeg. The original is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 12 Letter to Constance Rooke, president of the University of Winnipeg, February 20, 2000. Original is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 13 The family finally received a formal apology from the president of the university and the head of the Anthropology Department in early 2008. The family had to provide a copy of the letter to the university because it had apparently been lost (Elaine Owen, pers. comm.). 14 These two words for taking something away are very specific. Maajiidoowaad is to remove something from a particular place. Odaapinamowaad is to take something from someone or some place. 15 Jennifer Brown, 2002. In a proposed obituary for the Globe and Mail, she writes that government records indicate his date of birth as January 1, 1909, which would mean he died just before his ninety-third birthday. Her scepticism about this date is probably warranted, as January 1 is the default date if the actual date is unknown. Omishoosh told us in the summer of 1992 that he was seventy-six. By his math, he could have been eighty-five or eighty-six at his death in December 2001. I am indebted to Jennifer Brown for her historical research, of which this is an excellent example. 5. Personhood: Wiikaan and Artefact 1 Hallowell (1936:30–1) asserts that the last Midewiwin ceremonies to take place on the Upper Berens River were held in the 1920s under a head man whom he identifies as Tetαbaiyábin (daylight all around the sky) (Dedobaayaabin) and his son Otci-tcák (crane) (Ojijaak). He also mentions Sagáski (hiding by bending down) (Zagashkii), from Poplar Hill, a nephew of Naamiwan, whose water drum was in the Pauingassi Collection. Hallowell seems to have been unaware of Naamiwan’s Midewiwin practice. The ceremony Omishoosh describes was conducted before Hallowell visited. Pauingassi practitioners may have folded some aspects of the Midewiwin into Waabano ceremonies. Farther south among Ojibwe communities exposed to the Sioux and Assiniboine, Midewiwin ceremonies were incorporated into the Sun Dance (Roulette 2002). 2 These stones, including the wrinkly one called Mikinaak, were buried when a school was built on the site of the old Waabano pavilion. These stones have occasionally been unearthed but were always carefully reburied. Recently several of the stones, including a flat wrinkly stone, were dug up by a construction crew. These stones were removed from the community and there is strong feeling about this. It is considered a grave error. 3 Pers. comm. February 14, 2005. 4 Ingold is very critical of Guthrie’s (1993) argument that animism is the heart of all religions – that in an unpredictable world, it would be safer to suppose the rock is a bear than to suppose the bear is a rock. 5 “Bimisewag, they (animate – Thunderbirds) are making a peaceful passage across the sky.” 6 The verb to wake, goskozi, normally has an animate subject; the se suffix in goshkose implies an involuntary action and aki, earth, is inanimate. Its grammatical improbability makes this phrase stand out as metaphoric to a speaker. 7 The inanimate form gigishkan, which means “to bear some thing,” definitely refers to clothing (Nichols and Nyholm 1995:54).

280

Notes to pages 115–46

8 I recorded a detailed version of this story by Stan Cuthand (Matthews 1995a). Versions of this story also appear in Brightman (2007 (1989):87–8), who cites Bloomfield (1993 (1930):229–36) and Skinner (1916:353–61), and in Hallowell (1960:32–3). 9 Interview with Mrs Eva Francis from Long Plain, 1994. She told us that she had become used to the appearance of Roger’s father’s image on the red-hot wood stove chimney while he lived but found it startling that he continued to appear after his death. 10 Whitehead Moose and Stanley Quill, Pikangikum, March 1994 (Matthews and Roulette 2003:273; cf. Hallowell 1940). 11 This is a fungus which grows on birch stumps and is commonly called “punk.” It provides a means of storing and transporting the embers of a fire. Hallowell’s footnote continues: “Tinder secured from the excrescences of the birch. It is inevitably placed on top of the tobacco in ceremonial smoking. The pipe can be lighted by the skabewis (servant) [oshkaabewis] and passed to the smoker. The tinder will ignite the tobacco & so the skabewis does not have to puff on it first” (Hallowell 1936:8). 12 Steinbring interview 1996. 13 Ibid. 14 Memo dated September 23, 1999 entitled “Re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations” in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds 1945–2010. Repository: University of Manitoba Archives & Special Collections, Elizabeth Dafoe Library. MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 15 Of the original forty-one objects reported “reclaimed” in 1999, eleven were returned to the collection before the auditor general’s audit, and four more (drumsticks), which appeared in an empty drawer, were described as having “walked back” (McKinley 2007). There is a very precise Ojibwe way to say this using the augmentative morpheme -magan. Azhe’ose is to walk back. They (inanimate) walked back would be ‘azhe’osemaganoon’. Alternatively, he/she is returning, azhegiiwe, becomes azhegiiwemagan(oon), it comes back (returns) (Roulette October 2008) 16 Memo “Re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations,” September 23, 1999. 17 Ibid. 6. Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge: OJibwe Advocacy and Revitalization 1 The name is spelled Bawdwaywidun on the Three Fires website. With the conventional double-vowel orthography used by Roulette, it would be spelled Biidwewidam – “one who is heard coming” or, with initial change, Baadwewidam – “he who was heard coming,” and the conventional assumption would be that this is a reference to a Thunderbird. 2 Here and especially at the time of the mistaken repatriation, Benton Banai refers to the Three Fires Midewiwin Society or simply the Three Fires Society interchangeably with the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge. In most cases, he appears to be referring to the same entity. The Three Fires website makes a distinction between the Midewiwin Lodge as a contemporary movement and the sacred Midewiwin Society, its historical predecessor. 3 As of 2014 Charlie Nelson was no longer a member of Three Fires Midewiwin. He and most of the Manitoba members of Three Fires had formed their own ceremonial group several years before under Nelson’s leadership (Nelson pers. comm. May 2014). 4 I was on contract with the CBC Radio national current affairs program The Sunday Edition, preparing the documentary “Fair Wind’s Water Drum,” which aired April 28, 2002. 5 This is a misunderstanding. There were only forty-one artefacts missing from the Pauingassi Collection.

281

Notes to pages 146–80

6 This drum is a mystery because the second drum from the Pauingassi collection, E5 214, once owned by Sagashki Strang, is carved out of a tree trunk, not made from a barrel, and is the one returned to the Owen Family on June 21, 2002. As far as I know, there never was a drum made out of a pickle barrel in the Pauingassi Collection. The only barrel-stave drum that I have seen on the Berens River is one at Little Grand Rapids belonging to Louise Levesque, the sister of Jacob Owen. 7 These Midewiwin scrolls (published in Steinbring 1982) are by far the most valuable items involved in the repatriation, and they are still missing (September 2014). 8 We were told by Three Fires representatives in a meeting hastily organized by the University of Winnipeg in December 1999 that the drum was being used and that it was being kept in Manitoba by a member of Three Fires. Neither of these claims appears to have been true, but at the time, I was under the impression that the drums had been used in ceremonies. 9 Jennifer Brown November 2001. CDN funds. Once again I am indebted to Dr Brown, who pursued this research. She sent images and descriptions of nine of the missing artefacts, including Naamiwan’s water drum and the two scrolls from Jackhead, to Donald Ellis, an expert on Native North American Art. He provided a conditional estimate of their value. The estimate for the drum was in excess of one thousand dollars CDN, the scrolls from one to five thousand dollars each, and the total for the nine specified items he’d been asked about was somewhere between thirteen and twenty-five thousand dollars CDN. The one-hundred-thousand-dollar estimate is an approximation based on the relative value of the rest of the missing artefacts. 7. Repatriation: Cultural Rights and the Construction of Meaning 1 The reference to Christian fundamentalists had to do with some related artefacts from Poplar Hill now in the Red Lake Cultural Centre, not with the Pauingassi Collection at the University of Winnipeg. 2 Jacob Owen’s sister Louise Levesque stored a dream dance drum, last used by her husband in Little Grand Rapids perhaps 30 years ago. She kept it in her home wrapped in a beautiful quilt. The Berens family have carefully kept family memorabilia, including Jacob Berens’s 150-year-old red wool chief’s coat and medals. 3 This letter from Dr Persis Clarkson, head of the Department of Anthropology, to Dr Jennifer S.H. Brown, is dated September 29, 1999. The original is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds 1945–2010. Repository: University of Manitoba Archives & Special Collections, Elizabeth Dafoe Library. MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. 4 See discussion in Alfred Gell (1998:62–5) on the Rokeby Venus, slashed by Mary Richardson. 5 Notes from meeting at the University of Winnipeg, October 13, 1999. The original is in the Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds, MSS 336 A.11–17, 3 fd.8. The accusation was that Omishoosh caused his own illness because he neglected the artefacts. “If the water drum doesn’t [get to] do its work, someone will pay for it … Charlie George Owen is suffering because he let go of the drum.” 6 The complete policy now states that the museum will consider repatriation if the recipient has a “demonstrable claim of a historical relationship to the item in question” and, when dealing with traditional ceremonial materials, if documentation is provided which shows that the items requested are “required by ceremonial leaders for the ongoing practice of traditional religions” (Manitoba Museum 2009). 7 See the Brown correspondence of September 15, 1999, quoted in chapter 4.

282

Notes to pages 184–212

8. Nelson Owen: Mitigwakik Homecoming 1 Dr Jennifer Brown had been identified in a newspaper story as defending Pauingassi interests and arguing on behalf of Omishoosh. Nelson and Elaine got in touch with her. I had met them through her once before this meeting but did not know them well. 2 Here Benton-Banai uses the animate tense frequently, almost exaggerating the idea that the drums are alive (Roulette 2007). 3 They included Eddie Benton-Banai, Terry Nelson, Charlie Nelson, Justice Murray Sinclair, Catherine Morriseau-Sinclair, Thelma Morriseau, Stan La Riviere, and a number of others. 4 There was a very good article in the National Post (Perreaux 2001) and outstanding coverage in The Drum by Len Kruizenga (2001, 2002a and b). The Sunday Edition documentary, April 28, 2002, was followed by two brief news stories on the local CBC Radio station, April 29, 2002. 5 Hallowell/Pauingassi collections reside in the Hallowell Collection, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology; the Hallowell Collection, National Museum of the American Indian; the Butikoffer Collection, Red Lake Cultural Centre; and the Pauingassi Collection, still owned by the University of Winnipeg at the Manitoba Museum (May 2016). 6 The Pimachiowin Aki World Heritage Site bid includes the tribal lands of five First Nations including Pauingassi, as well as two provincial parks in Manitoba and Ontario, a total of more than three million hectares altogether. The decision on the bid was referred by UNESCO in June 2016. 9. Agency and Artefacts: New Theoretical Approaches 1 We recorded three versions of this story. Angus brought Naamiwan back to life. He and Naamiwan worked together with the drum to kill their attackers, said to be two men and a woman from Deer Lake, Ontario. 2 Morphy has rightly observed that Gell’s examples – from Bernini sculptures to Velasquez and Reynolds paintings to Trobriand canoe prows (Gell 1998:181–6) – reveal more about what he had in mind than his theoretical definition (Morphy 2009:8). Gell justifies his examples, saying that it was for convenience only that he chose prototypical objects from the pre-theoretical categories “Western” art and “indigenous” or “ethnographic” art. But Morphy believes that Gell implicitly relied on the very qualities he dismisses, beauty and meaning, to select objects for study, and that, despite his denials, “his analysis centres on what are generally considered to be aesthetic and semantic attributes of objects” (Morphy 2009:8). 3 Robert Layton is very critical of Gell’s use of abduction and goes back to Peirce (1955) to argue that Gell’s theory does not adequately account for “the ways in which art objects extend their maker’s or user’s agency” (Layton 2003:447). 4 Numerous books and articles have been written on whether or not culture as a concept contributes to or confounds this project (Kluckhorn and Kelly 1945; Kroeber and Parsons 1958; Goodenough 1989; Hastrup 1990; Brightman 1995, 2006), but as Strathern reminds us, in the title of an article, “The nice thing about culture is that everyone has it” (1995). 5 It is not that Ojibwe people of Naamiwan’s generation didn’t have an aesthetic sensibility or couldn’t discuss the aesthetic merits of objects. They had a large vocabulary related to excellence in design and workmanship and names for many colours, including red, pink, yellow, blue, green, purple, lilac, black, white, and grey. They even have words to express

283

Notes to pages 215–27

subtle shifts in the hue and intensity of colour and the vocabulary to describe and judge the aesthetic merits of landscape and the physical environment … but no category “art” and no category “artist” (Roulette April 2005). 6 The placing of birds at the tops of very tall poles, evident in a photo of Pauingassi taken in 1928 (figure 1.7), is associated with communicating with the dead. For a comparative look at this practice throughout the American Plains, see Hall (1997:102–8). 7 Inenimaawaad has a double meaning here, both “to represent” and “to instantiate a connection.” This is broader than its literal meaning, which is just “to think of something in a certain way” (Roulette October 2008). 8 Roger told me that he had guessed, based on the regalia that Omishoosh wore in the photo of the oshkaabewisag, that he was a zhimaaganish, a role which implies honorary bear clan status. Omishoosh agreed that this was true. He told Roger that the bear fur cuffs he wore on his legs, since lost in the repatriation, signified this temporary clan shift (Roulette 2000). 9 There are several words in Ojibwe which are loosely translated as “luck,” but only debizi, “to be fortunate to have enough to be alive,” has no connotation of cause. It is simply left open. Bakinaage means that a person wins by their skills or by being clever, whereas mamige implies that something like divine intervention allowed them to win. Masagozi is a way of saying one is jinxed by whom-we-don’t-know. Inenimigoowiziwin means that divine influence is operating in conjunction with one’s past actions or by inheritance (Roulette July 2008). 10 Louis Bird, a Cree historian, explained the procedure for reinstating good relations with the spirit of the caribou among Muskego hunters. He said that one had to run an animal down, on foot, over a period of days. Caribou, when they startle, tend to run in an arc, so, if you are clever, you can guess their trajectory and run to where you will intersect their path. Each time they startle, you must run hard to catch up, and by chasing an animal in this way for about three days, you will exhaust it and it will give itself to you. Then you must kill it and burn it completely, eating nothing. In this way harmonious relations with the spirit of the caribou can be reinstated. If you don’t succeed, you will never have good hunting. All expert Muskego hunters a certain age will have run down a caribou early in their career to initiate a propitious relationship with the caribou spirit (Louis Bird, pers. comm. 1996). I have been told that the same ideas apply in Pauingassi. Hallowell talks about this with respect to bears in his thesis on Bear Ceremonialism (1926), making the point that there are many ways to repair relations with a clan spirit or aadizookaanag, including eat-all feasts and ceremonies. 10. Repatriating Agency: An Agency Analysis of Repatriation 1 Although in Ojibwe drums have no gender, I find myself using “he” for the drum, mainly because, in the Pauingassi of Naamiwan, no woman would touch or play a drum like this. 2 The drum was used by Naamiwan’s eldest son Angus as well, but was retired when Angus died. It is unusual for drums to be passed down. Most are the personal possession of one individual, and are retired on that person’s death or when they give up practice. The passing of the drum indicates that the second person has received similar spirit authority to conduct ceremonies (Roulette 2005). 3 Hallowell believed that the Midewiwin had ceased by the time he travelled to Pauingassi and that it had been replaced by the Waabano, but Omishoosh describes both the sweat lodge and the initiation ceremony as having been performed by those who were the bosses of the Waabano. This event predates Hallowell’s arrival because Omishoosh was quite young

284

Notes to pages 228–44

when it happened. The objects Omishoosh lists match Hallowell’s Midewiwin paraphernalia collection at the National Museum of the American Indian. 4 A friend was told that her son’s illness (muscular dystrophy) was the result of a high school project, making a drum when the students didn’t have the proper authority from spiritentities (MS, pers. comm. 1998; cf. Hallowell 1940). 5 This transcript provides more detail about the seller, but her identity is still a mystery. Naamiwan’s wife died in the 1940s and Miskwa’o, Angus’s wife, in the 1950s. 6 Memo “Re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations,” September 23, 1999 7 In contravention of the Cultural Property Export and Import Act as articles over fifty years old, made by an aboriginal person with a fair market value of more than three thousand dollars (cf. Singleton 2002:15, 16; Bellringer 2009; UNESCO 1970). 8 This is no way undermines a broad acceptance among speakers of the idea of the animacy of ceremonial objects. It is perfectly understandable in a situation where confrontation might be inappropriate. 9 In some parts of the province, people stand up as the drum arrives. In others, people would just remark on the arrival by saying something like gii-biindige, “he has entered” (Roulette August 2004). 10 Pettipas retired in the summer of 2011, and I was hired that November to replace her, a fantastic opportunity for which I thank her and the museum every day. 11 “Since almost all behaviour is, from somebody’s point of view, ‘apparently irrational[,]’ anthropology has, possibly, a secure future” (Gell 1998:10). 12 “Art and Agency: Ten Years On,” conference at Cambridge University, November 15, 2008.

285

This page intentionally left blank

References

Alberta First Nations Sacred Ceremonial Objects Repatriation Act. R.S.A. 2000, c. F-14. al Attar, Mohsen, Nichole Alywin, and Rosemary J. Coombe. 2009. “Indigenous Cultural Heritage Rights in International Human Rights Law.” In Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Law, Policy and Reform, ed. Catherine Bell and Val Napoleon, 311–42. Law and Society Series. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Alpers, Svetlana. 1991. “The Museum as a Way of Seeing.” In Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display, ed. Ivan Karp and Karen Lavine. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. American Indian Movement (AIM). 1972. Twenty Point Position Paper. October. Accessed July 16, 2008 at http://www.aimovement.org/archives/index.html. American Indian Movement (AIM). 1984. Resolution on Plastic Medicine Men. May 11. Accessed July 15, 2008 at http://nzdl.sadl.uleth.ca/cgi-bin/library?e=d-00000-00---off-0ipc--00-0-0-10-0---0---0prompt-10---4-------0-1l--11-en-50---20-about---00-0-1-00-0-0-11-1-0utfZz-800&cl=CL1.10&d=HASH013ba335899fbb31b80b0cf2&x=1. Ames, Michael. 1988. “Proposals for Improving Relations between Museums and the Indigenous Peoples of Canada.” Museum Anthropology 12 (3): 15–19. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mua .1988.12.3.15. Ames, Michael. 1992. Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museums. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Angel, Michael. 2002. Preserving the Sacred: Historical Perspectives on the Ojibwa Midewiwin. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Appadurai, Arjun, ed. 1986. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511819582. Augé, Marc. 1995. Non-places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, trans. John Howe, 122. Verso. Banks, Dennis, with Richard Erdoes. 2004. Ojibwa Warrior: Dennis Banks and the Rise of the American Indian Movement. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Banks, Marcus. 1996. Ethnicity: Anthropological Constructions. London: Routledge. http://dx.doi .org/10.4324/9780203417935.

References

Baraga, Bishop Frederick. 1992 (1878). A Dictionary of the Otchipwe Language, ed. John Nichols. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. Baraga, Bishop Frederick. 1850. A Theoretical and Practical Grammar of the Otchipwe Language. Detroit: Jebez Fox (Reprint, Ann Arbour, MI: University Microfilms). Barkan, Elazar. 2000. The Guilt of Nations: Restitution and Negotiating Historical Injustices. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Barkan, Elazar, and Ronald Bush. 2002. Claiming the Stones/Naming the Bones: Cultural Property and the Negotiation of National and Ethnic Identity. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute. Barringer, Tim. 2006. “Sonic Spectacles of Empire: The Audio-Visual Nexus, Delhi-London, 1911– 12.” In Sensible Objects: Material Culture, the Senses, Colonialism, Museums, ed. E. Edwards et al. London: Berg. Bell, Catherine, and Val Napoleon, eds. 2008. First Nations Cultural Heritage and the Law: Case Studies, Voices and Perspectives. Law and Society Series, ed. W. Wesley Pue. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Bell, Catherine, and Robert K. Paterson, eds. 2009. Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Law, Policy and Reform. Law and Society Series, ed. W. Wesley Pue. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Bell, Catherine, Graham Statt, Michael Solowan, Allyson Jeffs, and Emily Snyder. 2008. “First Nations Cultural Heritage: A Selected Survey of Issues and Initiatives.” In First Nations Cultural Heritage and the Law: Case Studies, Voices and Perspectives. Law and Society Series, ed. W. Wesley Pue, 367–414. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Belcourt, Fr. 1853. Dictionary. Manuscript at the St Boniface Catholic Church Archives. Bellecourt, Clyde. 1993. Online interview. Accessed July 13, 2008 at http://petergormanarchive .com/CLYDE_BELLECOURT.html. Bellringer, Carol. 2009. Follow-up of Previously Issued Recommendations, Report of the Office of the Auditor General of Manitoba, March 2009. Accessed August 17, 2009 at http://www.oag .mb.ca/reports.php. Benton Banai, E. 2002. Three Fires Ojibwe Cultural/Education Society Inc. Mission Statement. March 21. Pamphlet. Bird-David, Nurit. 1999. “‘Animism’ Revisited: Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology [Comments].” Current Anthropology 40 (S1): S67–91. http://dx.doi.org /10.1086/200061. Black-Rogers (as Black), Mary B. 1969. “A Note on Gender in Eliciting Ojibwa Semantic Structures.” Anthropological Linguistics 11 (6): 177–86. Black-Rogers (as Black), Mary B. 1971. “The Round Lake Ojibwa, 1968-70.” In The Round Lake Ojibwa: The People, the Land, the Resources, ed. Joan Watts. Toronto: Ontario Department of Lands and Forests. Black-Rogers (as Black), Mary B. 1973. “Ojibwa Questioning Etiquette and Use of Ambiguity.” Studia Linguistica 23:13–29. Black-Rogers (as Black), Mary B. 1977a. “Ojibwa Power Belief System.” in The Anthropology of Power, ed. Raymond Fogelson and Richard Adams, 141–51. New York: Academic Press. Black-Rogers (as Black), Mary B. 1977b. “Ojibwa Taxonomy and Percept Ambiguity.” Ethos (Berkeley, Calif.) 5 (1): 90–118. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/eth.1977.5.1.02a00070. Black-Rogers, Mary B. 1982. “Algonquian Gender Revisited: Animate Nouns and Ojibwa ‘Power”– an Impasse?” Papers in Linguistics (Edmonton) 15 (1): 59–76. http://dx.doi .org/10.1080/08351818209370560.

288

References

Black-Rogers, Mary B. 1986a. “Varieties of ‘Starving’: Semantics and Survival in the Subarctic Fur Trade 1750–1850.” Ethnohistory (Columbus, Ohio) 33 (4): 353–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/482039. Black-Rogers, Mary B. 1986b. “Ojibwa Power Interactions: Creating Contexts for ‘Respectful Talk.’” In Proceedings of Conference on Native North American Interaction Patterns, ed. Regna Darnell. Ottawa: National Museums. Blanchard, J., S. Ludwig, A. Wajda, H. Dean, K. Anderson, O. Kendall, and N. Depew. 1996. “Incidence and Prevalence of Diabetes in Manitoba, 1986–1991.” Diabetes Care 19 (8): 807–11. http://dx.doi.org/10.2337/diacare.19.8.807. Blessing, Fred K. 1977. The Ojibway Indians Observed. Occasional Publications in Minnesota Anthropology, 1. Minneapolis. Bloomfield, Leonard. 1933. Language. New York: Henry Holt and Co. Bloomfield, Leonard. 1993 (1930). Sacred Stories of the Sweet Grass Cree. National Museum of Canada, Bulletin 60 (Anthropological Series 11). Saskatoon: Fifth House. Boas, Franz. 1887. “Museums of Ethnology and Their Classification.” Quoted in George Stocking 1974. A Franz Boas Reader: The Shaping of American Anthropology, 1883–1911. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Boas, F.U., and R.P. Rohner. 1969. Ethnography of Boas: Letters and Diaries of Franz Boas Written on the Northwest Coast from 1886–1931. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bolton, Lissant. 2001. “What Makes Singo Different: North Vanuatu Textiles and the Theory of Captivation” in Beyond Aesthetics: Art and the Technologies of Enchantment, ed. Chris Pinney and Nicholas Thomas. Oxford: Berg. Bolton, Lissant. 2003. “The Object in View: Aborigines, Melanesians and Museums.” In Museums and Source Communities A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, 42–54. London: Routledge. Bolz, P. 1993. “Repatriation of Native American Cultural Objects – Confrontation or Cooperation?” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 118 (1): 69–77. Boulanger, Tom. 1971. An Indian Remembers: My Life as a Trapper in Northern Manitoba. Winnipeg: Peguis Publishing. Bray, Tamara L., and Thomas W. Killion, eds. 1994. Reckoning with the Dead: The Larsen Bay Repatriation and the Smithsonian Institution. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Brightman, Robert. 1988. “The Windigo in the Material World.” Ethnohistory (Columbus, Ohio) 35 (4): 337–79. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/482140. Brightman, Robert. 1989. Acahtisoohkiwina and Acimowina: Traditional Narratives of the Rock Cree Indians. Ottawa: Canadian Ethnology Service, Mercury Series 0136–1854. Brightman, Robert. 1990. “Primitivism in Missinippi Cree Historical Consciousness.” MAN, New Series 25 (1): 108–28. Brightman, Robert. 1995. “Forget Culture: Replacement, Transcendence, Relexification.” Cultural Anthropology 10 (4): 509–46. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/can.1995.10.4.02a00030. Brightman, Robert. 2002 (1973). Grateful Prey: Rock Cree Human/Animal Relationships. Berkeley: University of California Press. Brightman, Robert. 2006. “Culture and Culture Theory in Native North America.” In New Perspectives in Native North America: Cultures, Histories and Representations, ed. Sergei A. Kan and Pauline Turner Strong, 351–94. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Brody, Hugh. 1981. Maps and Dreams. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre. Brody, Hugh. 2000. The Other Side of Eden: Hunters, Farmers and the Shaping of the World. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre.

289

References

Brown, Alison K., Laura L. Peers, and Blood Indian Tribe. 2006. Pictures Bring Us Messages: Sinaakssiiksi aohtsimaahpihkookiyaawa: Photographs and Histories from the Kainai Nation. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Brown, Jennifer S.H. Correspondence. Jennifer S.H. Brown Fonds 1945–2010. Repository: University of Manitoba Archives and Special Collections, Elizabeth Dafoe Library. MSS 336 A. 10-111. The letters are from the A.11-17 accession. The 1999 correspondence is in box 3 fd.8. The 2000 correspondence is in box 3 fd.9. 1. Memo: September 29, 1999 from Dr Persis Clarkson, head of the Department of Anthropology, to Dr Jennifer S.H. Brown. 2. Handwritten note: September 29, 1999, attached to Memo above, titled “Policy on Sensative [sic] /Sacred Material.” 3. Memo: September 23, 1999 to P. Clarkson, P. Dawson, G. Fulford, G. Granstberg, and C. Meiklejohn, re: Anthropology Museum Repatriations. 4. Memo: September 15, 1999, re: Independent reading course. 5. Letter: November 24, 1999, from Joe Malcolm, Executive Director, Southeast Tribal Council, to Dr Constance Rooke, President of the University of Winnipeg. 6. Letter: December 2, 1999, from Dr Constance Rooke, President of the University of Winnipeg, to Joe Malcolm, Executive Director, Southeast Tribal Council. 7. Letter: February 20, 2000, from Charlie George (Omishoosh) Owen to Dr Constance Rooke, President of the University of Winnipeg. Brown, Jennifer S.H. 1980. Strangers in Blood: Fur Trade Families in Indian Country. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Brown, Jennifer S.H. 1989. “A Place in Your Mind for Them All: Chief William Berens.” In Being and Becoming Indian: Biographical Studies of North American Frontiers, ed. James A. Clifton, 204–25. Chicago: Dorsey Press. Brown, Jennifer S.H. 2002. Draft proposed obituary of Charlie George Owen for the Globe and Mail. January. Brown, Jennifer S.H. 2006. “Fields of Dreams: Revisiting A.I. Hallowell and the Berens River Ojibwa.” In Native American Histories, Cultures, and Representations, ed. Sergei Kan and Pauline Turner Strong. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Brown, Jennifer S.H., and Susan Elaine Gray, eds. 2009. Memories, Myths and Dreams of an Ojibwe Leader: William Berens As Told to A. Irving Hallowell. Rupert’s Land Record Society Series 10, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Brown, Jennifer S.H., and Maureen Matthews. 1993. “Fair Wind: Medicine and Consolation on the Berens River.” Journal of the Canadian Historical Association 4 (1): 55–74. http://dx.doi .org/10.7202/031056ar. Brown, Jennifer S.H., with Elizabeth Vibert, eds. 2004. Reading beyond Words: Contexts for Native History. 2nd revised ed. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press. Brown, Michael F. 2003. Who Owns Native Culture? Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Canadian Press (CP). 2007. “Bullies Blamed for Boy’s Drowning.” Toronto Star, August 13. Accessed December 14, 2008 at http://www.thestar.com/News/Canada/article/245722. Clavir, Miriam. 2002. Preserving What Is Valued: Museums, Conservation and First Nations. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Clements, Rebecca. 1991. “Misconceptions of Culture: Native Peoples and Cultural Property under Canadian Law.” University of Toronto Faculty of Law Review 49 (Winter): 1–26. Clifford, James. 1988. The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

290

References

Clifford, James. 1997. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Clifford, James. 1991. “Four Northwest Coast Museums.” in Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display, ed. Karp and Lavine, 212–54. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Clifford, James. 2004. “Looking Several Ways: Anthropology and Native Heritage in Alaska.” Current Anthropology 45 (1): 5–30. http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/379634. Clifford, James, and George Marcus, eds. 1986. Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cole, Douglas. 1985. Captured Heritage. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Comaroff, John, and Jean Comaroff. 1992. Ethnography and the Historical Imagination. Studies in the Ethnographic Imagination, ed. John Comaroff, Pierre Bourdieu, and Maurice Bloch. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Conaty, Gerald T., and Robert R. Janes. 1997. “Issues of Repatriation: A Canadian View.” Native American Studies 11 (2): 31–7. Coote, Jeremy. 1992. “Marvels of Everyday Vision: The Anthropology of Aesthetics and the Cattle-Keeping Nilotes,” in Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics, ed. Jeremy Coote and Anthony Shelton, 245–73. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cowan, Jane K., Marie-Bénédicte Dembour, and Richard Wilson. 2001. Culture and Rights: Anthropological Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org /10.1017/CBO9780511804687. Crane, Susan. 2000. Museums and Memory: Cultural Sitings. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Dahlstrom, Amy. 1995. “Motivation vs. Predictability in Algonquian Gender.” In Papers of the 26th Algonquian Conference, ed. David Pentland, 52–66. Winnipeg: University of Winnipeg. Damasio, Antonio. 2003. Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain. London: Vintage Press. Dant, Tim. 2005. Materiality and Society. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Darnell, Regna, and Anthony L. Vanek. 1976. “The Animate-Inanimate Distinction in Cree.” In Language Use in Canada, ed. Regna Darnell, 159–80. Edmonton: Linguistic Research. Dean, Bartholemew, and Jerome M. Levi, eds. 2003. At the Risk of Being Heard: Identity, Indigenous Rights, and Postcolonial States. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Deloria, Vine, Jr. 1969. Custer Died for Your Sins. New York: Avon. Demallie, Raymond J., ed. 2001. Plains. The Handbook of American Indians. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Dening, Greg. 1996. Performances. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Densmore, Frances. 1910. Chippewa Music. Washington, DC: Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 45. Densmore, Frances. 1913. Chippewa Music II. Washington, DC: Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 53. Doxtator, Deborah. 1985. “The Idea of the Indian and the Development of Iroquoian Museums.” Museum Quarterly (Summer): 20–6. Dunning, R.W. 1959. Social and Economic Change among the Northern Ojibwa. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Edwards, Elizabeth, Chris Gosden, and Ruth Phillips. 2006. Sensible Objects: Colonialism, Museums and Material Culture. Oxford: Berg. Elkins, James. 1996. The Object Stares Back: On the Nature of Seeing. London: Harcourt. Elkins, James. 2001. Pictures and Tears: A History of People Who Have Cried in Front of Paintings. London: Routledge.

291

References

Elkins, James. 2002. Stories of Art. London: Routledge. Elkins, James. 2005. Master Narratives and Their Discontents. New York: Routledge. Erlmann, Veit, ed. 2004. Hearing Cultures: Essays on Sound, Listening and Modernity. Oxford: Berg. Ernst, Wolfgang. 2000. “Archi(ve)textures of Museology.” In Museums and Memory: Cultural Sitings, ed. Susan A. Crane. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Fabian, Johannes. 2002 (1983). Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object. New York: Columbia University Press. Feest, Christian. 1995. “‘Repatriation’: A European View on the Question of Restitution of Native American Artifacts.” Native American Studies (Lawrence, KS) 9 (2): 33–42. Feld, Stephen. 1990. Sound and Sentiment: Birds, Weeping, Poetics, and Song in Kaluli Expression. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Fenton, William N. 1989. “The Return of Eleven Wampum Belts to the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy on Grand River, Canada.” Ethnohistory (Columbus, OH) 36 (4): 392–410. http:// dx.doi.org/10.2307/482654. Ferguson, T.J. 1983. “The Impact of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act: A Case Study of Zuni Pueblo.” Haliksa’i (University of New Mexico Contributions in Anthropology) 2:1–15. Ferguson, T.J., and Wilfred Eriacho. 1990. “Ahayu:da, Zuni War Gods: Repatriation and Cooperation.” Native Peoples 4 (1): 6–12. Ferguson, T.J., and Barton Martza. 1990. “The Repatriation of Ahayu:da: An Interview with the Zuni Tribal Council.” Museum Anthropology 14 (2): 7–14. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mua .1990.14.2.7. Fforde, Cressida, Jane Hubert, and Paul Turnbull. 2001. The Dead and Their Possessions: Repatriation in Principle, Policy and Practice. New York: Routledge. Fienup-Riordan, Ann. 2003 (1998). “Yup’ik Elders in Museums: Fieldwork Turned on Its Head.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, 28–41. London: Routledge. Findlen, Paula. 2000. “The Modern Muses: Renaissance Collecting and the Cult of Remembrance.” In Museums and Memory: Cultural Sitings, ed. Susan A. Crane, 161–78. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Fine-Dare, Kathleen S. 2002. Grave Injustice: The American Indian Repatriation Movement and NAGPRA. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Fletcher, Kenneth R. 2008. “James Luna.” Smithsonian Magazine 39 (1): 40. http://www .smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/james-luna-30545878/ Fogelson, Raymond. 1985. “Night Thoughts on Native American Social History.” In The Impact of Indian History on the Teaching of United States History. Occasional Papers in Curriculum 3. Washington: D’Arcy McNickle Center for the History of the American Indian. Fogelson, Raymond. 1987. “History of the Study of North American Indian Religions.” In Encyclopedia of Religion, 2nd ed., ed. Lindsay Jones. Detroit: Macmillan and Free Press. Fogelson, Raymond. 1989. “The Ethnohistory of Events and Nonevents.” Ethnohistory 36 (2): 133–47. Forge, Anthony. 1970. “Learning to See in New Guinea.” In Socialization: The Approach from Social Anthropology. ASA Monograph 8, ed. P. Mayer. Fraser, N. 1997. Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the “Postsocialist” Condition. London: Routledge. Frazer, J.G. 1922. The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. Reading: Cox and Wyman. Gathercole, Peter. 1981. “The Repatriation of Ethnographic Objects.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 46 (2).

292

References

Geertz, Clifford. 2000 (1973). The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Perseus Books. Gell, Alfred. 1996a. “Reflections on a Cut Finger.” In Things As They Are: New Directions in Phenomenological Anthropology, ed. Michael Jackson. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Gell, Alfred. 1996b. “Aesthetics Is a Cross-Cultural Category.” In Key Debates in Anthropology, ed. Tim Ingold. London: Routledge. Gell, Alfred. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Gell, Alfred. 1999a (1992). “The Technology of Enchantment and the Enchantment of Technology,” in Alfred Gell, The Art of Anthropology: Essays and Diagrams, ed. Eric Hirsch, 159–86. Oxford: Berg (first published in 1992 in Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics, ed. Jeremy Coote and Anthony Shelton [Oxford: Oxford University Press], 40–63.) Gell, Alfred. 1999b (1996). “Vogel’s Net: Traps as Artworks and Artworks as Traps,” in Alfred Gell, The Art of Anthropology: Essays and Diagrams, ed. Eric Hirsch, 187–214. Oxford: Berg (first published in 1996 in Journal of Material Culture 1 (1): 15–38). Gell, Alfred. 1999c. “Strathernograms, or, the Semiotics of Mixed Metaphors,” in Alfred Gell, The Art of Anthropology: Essays and Diagrams, ed. Eric Hirsch, 29–75. Oxford: Berg. Goddard, Ives. 2002. “Grammatical Gender in Algonquian.” In Papers of the 23rd Algonquian Conference, ed. H. Christopher Wolfart, 195–231. Winnipeg: University of Winnipeg. Goodenough, Ward. 1989. “Culture: Concept and Phenomenon.” In The Relevance of Culture, ed. Morris Freilich, 93–7. New York: Bergin and Garvey. Gosden, Chris, and Chantal Knowles. 2001. Collecting Colonialism: Material Culture and Colonial Change. Oxford: Berg. Gosden, Chris, and Yvonne Marshall. 1999. “The Cultural Biography of Objects.” World Archaeology 31 (2): 169–78. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00438243.1999.9980439. Gow, Peter. 1996. “Aesthetics Is a Cross Cultural Category.” In Key Debates in Anthropology, ed. Tim Ingold, 271–5. London: Routledge. Graef, Chris. 2008, July 8. “Dr. Richard St. Germaine, ‘Our Elders Warned Us.’” In News from Indian Country, ed. Paul Demain. Accessed July 13, 2008 at http://indiancountrynews.net. Gray, Susan Elaine. 2007. I Will Fear No Evil: Ojibwa Missionary Encounters along the Berens River, 1845–1940. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Greenberg, Joseph H. 1954. “Concerning Influences from Linguistic to Non-Linguistic Data.” In Language and Culture, Comparative Studies in Cultures and Civilizations, ed. Harry Hoijer. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Greenfield, Jeanette. 1995 (1989). The Return of Cultural Treasures. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gulliford, Andrew. 2000. Sacred Objects and Sacred Places: Preserving Tribal Traditions. Denver: University Press of Colorado. Guthrie, Stewart E. 1993. Faces in the Clouds: A New Theory of Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gutierrez, Ramon A. 1991. When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away: Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500–1846. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hall, Robert L. 1997. An Archaeology of the Soul. Chicago: University of Illinois. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1934. “Some Empirical Aspects of Northern Saulteaux Religion.” American Anthropologist ns 36 (3): 389–404. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/aa.1934.36.3.02a00060. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1936. “The Passing of the Midewiwin in the Lake Winnipeg Region.” American Anthropologist ns 38 (1): 32–51. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/aa.1936.38.1.02a00040.

293

References

Hallowell, A. Irving. 1940. “The Spirits of the Dead in Saulteaux Life and Thought.” Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 70 (1): 29–51. http://dx.doi .org/10.2307/2844199. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1941. “The Social Function of Anxiety in a Primitive Society.” American Sociological Review 6 (6): 869. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2085768. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1942. The Role of Conjuring in Saulteaux Society. Publications of the Philadelphia Anthropological Society 2. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Anthropological Society. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1960. “Ojibwa Ontology, Behaviour and World View.” In Culture in History: Essays in Honour of Paul Radin, ed. S. Diamond. New York: Columbia University Press. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1963. “Ojibwa World View and Disease.” In Man’s Image in Medicine and Anthropology, Monograph IV, ed. Iago Galdston, 258–315. New York: International Universities Press, Inc. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1976. Contributions to Anthropology: Selected Papers of A. Irving Hallowell. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1988 (1955). Culture and Experience. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press/Waveland Press. Hallowell, A. Irving. 1992. The Ojibwa of the Berens River, Manitoba: Ethnography into History, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown. Case Studies in Cultural Anthropology, ed. George and Louise Spindler. New York: Harcourt Brace College Publishers. Hallowell, A. Irving. 2009a. Memories, Myths and Dreams of an Ojibwe Leader: William Berens, As Told to A. Irving Hallowell, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown and Susan Elaine Gray. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Hallowell, A. Irving. 2009b. “Thunder Bird.” In Memories, Myths and Dreams of an Ojibwe Leader: William Berens, as told to A. Irving Hallowell, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown and Susan Elaine Gray. Montreal, Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Hallowell, A. Irving. 2010. Contributions to Ojibwe Studies: Essays, 1934–1972, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown and Susan Elaine Gray. Critical Studies in the History of Anthropology, ed. Regna Darnell and Stephen O. Murray. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Handler, Richard. 1985. “On Having a Culture: Nationalism and the Preservation of Quebec’s Patrimoine.” In Objects and Others: Essays on Museums and Material Culture, ed. George W. Stocking, Jr, 192–217. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Handler, Richard. 1992. “On the Valuing of Museum Objects.” Museum Anthropology 16 (1): 21–8. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mua.1992.16.1.21. Hanna, Margaret. 1999. “A Time to Choose.” Plains Anthropologist 44: 43–52. Harms, Patricia. 2010. “The Political Economy of the Modern Fur Trade.” Conference paper for the Rupert’s Land Studies Colloquium. Harrison, Julia D., and Bruce Trigger. 1988. “‘The Spirit Sings’ and the Future of Anthropology.” Anthropology Today 4 (6): 6–10. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/3032945. Harvey, Graham. 2006. “Animals, Animists, and Academics.” Zygora 41(1). http://dx.doi .org/10.1111/j.1467-9744.2006.00723.x. Hastrup, Kirsten. 1990. “The Ethnographic Present: A Reinvention.” Cultural Anthropology 5 (1): 45–61. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/can.1990.5.1.02a00030. Hastrup, Kirsten. 2007. “Performing the World: Agency, Anticipation and Creativity.” In Creativity and Cultural Improvisation, ed. Tim Ingold and Elizabeth Hallam, 193–206. Oxford: Berg. Helm, June, ed. 1981. Subarctic: The Handbook of North American Indians, Volume 6, ed. William C. Sturtevant. 17 vols. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.

294

References

Henare, Amira, Martin Holbraad, and Sari Wastell, eds. 2007. Thinking Through Things: Theorizing Artefacts Ethnographically. London: Routledge. Herle, Anita. 2003. “Objects, Agency and Museums: Continuing Dialogues between the Torres Strait and Cambridge.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, 194–207. London: Routledge. Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terrence Ranger. 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hoffman, Walter James. 2005 (1891). The Midewiwin, Grand Medicine Society of the Ojibway. Honolulu: University Press of the Pacific. Holdsworth, W.S. 1926. History of English Law, vol. 9. Hooper-Greenhill, Eilean. 1992. “Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge.” In Heritage: Care, Preservation, Management, ed. Andrew Wheatcroft. London: Routledge. Hoskins, Janet. 1998. Biographical Objects: How Things Tell the Stories of People’s Lives. New York: Routledge. Hubert, Jane. 1988. “The Disposition of the Dead.” World Archaeological Bulletin (2). Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2004). The Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples 1996. http://www.ainc-inac.gc.ca/ch/rcap/sg/sgn15_e.html. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. Population Census Data/Pauingassi First Nation. Accessed May 30, 2009 at http://pse5-esd5.ainc-inac.gc.ca/FNP/Main/Search/FNPopulation. aspx?BAND_NUMBER=327&lang=eng. Ingold, Tim. 1986. Evolution and Social Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ingold, Tim. 1996. “Aesthetics as a Cross-Cultural Category.” In Key Debates in Anthropology, ed. Tim Ingold. London: Routledge. Ingold, Tim. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. London: Routledge. http://dx.doi.org/10.4324/9780203466025. Ingold, Tim. 2006. “Rethinking the Animate, Re-animating Thought.” Ethnos 71 (1): 9–20. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1080/00141840600603111. Ingold, Tim. 2007. “Materials against Materiality.” Archaeological Dialogues 14 (1): 1–16. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1017/S1380203807002127. Ingold, Tim, and Elizabeth Hallam, eds. 2007. Creativity and Cultural Improvisation. ASA Monographs 44. Oxford: Berg. Jacknis, Ira. 1985. “Franz Boas and Exhibits: On the Limitations of the Museum Method of Anthropology.” In Objects and Others: Essays on Museums and Material Culture, ed. George Stocking. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Jacknis, Ira. 2000. “Repatriation as Social Drama: The Kwakiutl Indians of British Columbia, 1922-1980.” In Repatriation Reader, ed. Devon A. Mihesuah, 266–81. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Jackson, Michael. 1989. Paths toward a Clearing: Radical Empiricism and Ethnographic Enquiry. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Jackson, Michael, ed. 1996. Things As They Are: New Directions in Phenomenological Anthropology. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Jackson, Michael. 1998. Minima Ethnographica: Intersubjectivity and the Anthropological Project. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. James, William. 1978. Pragmatism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jones, William. 1919. Ojibwa Texts, Volumes One and Two, ed. Trueman Michelson. Publications of the American Ethnological Society, ed. Franz Boas. New York: Arbor Press.

295

References

Karp, Ivan, and Karen Lavine, eds. 1991. Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Keesing, Roger M. 1994. “Colonial and Counter-Colonial Discourse in Melanesia.” Critique of Anthropology 4 (1): 41–58. Kilarski, Marcin. 2007. “Algonquian and Indo-European Gender in a Historiographic Perspective.” Historiographica Linguistica 34 (2/3): 333–49. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. 1991. “Objects of Ethnography.” In Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display, ed. Ivan Karp and Karen Lavine. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. 1995. “Theorizing Heritage.” Ethnomusicology 39 (3): 367–80. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/924627. Kluckhorn, Clyde, and William Kelly. 1945. “The Concept of Culture.” In The Science of Man in the World Crisis, ed. Ralph Linton, 78–105. New York: Columbia University Press. Kohl, Johann Georg. 1985 (1860). Kitchi-Gami: Life among the Lake Superior Ojibway. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. Kopytoff, Igor. 1986. “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process.” In The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511819582.004. Kroeber, Alfred, and Talcott Parsons. 1958. “The Concepts of Culture and of Social System.” American Sociological Review 23 (3): 582–3. Kruizenga, Len. 2001. “Pauingassi Artefacts Spirited into U.S. by Three Fires Society: Community Demands Immediate Return of Sacred Items.” The Drum 4 (1). Kruizenga, Len. 2002a. “Provincial Auditor Investigates Artefacts’ Transfer: Probe to Review Policies for Repatriation of Artefacts.” The Drum, March 6, via web: http://www .firstperspective.ca/drum5.html. Kruizenga, Len. 2002b. “Provincial Auditor Confirms Allegations: Dozens of Artefacts Missing from the U of W Museums.” The Drum 5 (7). Kuxhaus, David. 2002. “First Nation Regains Six Sacred Artefacts.” Winnipeg Free Press, Saturday, June 22. Lakoff, George. 1987. Women, Fire and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.7208/chicago /9780226471013.001.0001. Landes, Ruth. 1937. Ojibwa Sociology. New York: Columbia University Press. Landes, Ruth. 1938. The Ojibwa Woman. New York: Columbia University Press. Landes, Ruth. 1968. Ojibwa Religion and the Midewiwin. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Lassiter, Luke Eric. 2005. The Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226467016.001.0001. Latour, Bruno. 1993 (1991). We Have Never Been Modern. Harlow: Longman. Latour, Bruno. 2000. “When Things Strike Back: A Possible Contribution of “Science Studies” to the Social Sciences.” British Journal of Sociology 51 (1): 107–23. http://dx.doi .org/10.1080/000713100358453. Latour, Bruno. 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor Network Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Layton, Robert. 1991. The Anthropology of Art. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Layton, Robert. 2003. “Art and Agency: A Reassessment.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 9 (3): 447–64. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-9655.00158.

296

References

Leacock, Eleanor, Virginia Abernethy, Amita Bardhan, Catherine H. Berndt, Judith K. Brown, Beverly N. Chiñas, Ronald Cohen, Jules De Leeuwe, Regula Egli-Frey, Claire Farrer, et al. 1978. “Women’s Status in Egalitarian Society: Implications for Social Evolution.” Current Anthropology 19 (2): 247–75. http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/202074. Le Jeune, Father. 1664. Jesuit Relations. Vols. 6. and. 12. Lipton, Peter. 1991. Inference to the Best Explanation: Philosophical Issues in Science. London: Routledge. Long, John. 1922 (1791). John Long’s Voyages and travels in the years 1768–1788, ed. Milo Milton Quaife. Lakeside Classics. Chicago: Lakeside Press, R.R. Donnelley and Sons Company. Luna, James. 2009. Website. Accessed on June 3, 2009 at http://www.jamesluna.com/. Lytwyn, Victor. 1986. The Fur Trade of the Little North: Indians, Pedlars and Englishmen East of Lake Winnipeg, 1760–1821, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown. Rupert’s Land Research Centre Publications. Winnipeg: Rupert’s Land Research Centre. Lytwyn, Victor. 2002. Muskekowuck Athiniwick: Original People of the Great Swampy Land. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. MacDonald, G., and S. Alsford. 1995. “Canadian Museums and the Representation of Culture in a Multicultural Nation.” Cultural Dynamics 7 (1): 15–31. Mack, John. 2003. The Museum of the Mind: Art and Memory in World Cultures. London: British Museum Press. Malaher, Gerald. 1984. The North I Love. Winnipeg: Hyperion Press. Manitoba Museum. 2009. Repatriation Policy 6.11 and Repatriation Proceedure: Aboriginal Artefacts 6.11.2. Manitowabi, Edna. 1996 (2004). Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Volume 1: Looking Forward Looking Back, Part 3: “Building the Foundation of a Renewed Relationship”; Chapter 15: “Rekindling the Fire,” footnote 52. Department of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. Accessed in 2008 at http://www.ainc-inac.gc.ca/ch/rcap/sg/sgn15_e.html. Marcus, George E. 1995. “Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-Sited Ethnography.” Annual Review of Anthropology 24 (1): 95–117. http://dx.doi.org/10.1146 /annurev.an.24.100195.000523. Martin, Nick. 2001. “Judge Guides Sacred Native Objects Home: Sinclair Says Items Now Held in U.S. Likely to Be Returned to First Nation.” Winnipeg Free Press, October 17:A10. Martin, Nick. 2002. “UW Singleton.” Winnipeg Free Press, January 3. Accessed via internet connection http://165.78.31.84 - CBC Radio access service. Matthews, Maureen. 1991. “Isinamowin: The White Man’s Indian.” Ideas, November. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 1993. “Fair Wind’s Drum.” Ideas, May. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 1994. “Naamiwan Odeweiganan.” Anishinaabe Wingwan, CBQ Radio Thunder Bay and Northwestern Ontario, June. Matthews, Maureen. 1995a. “Thunderbirds.” Ideas, May. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 1995b. “Binesiwag.” Anishinaabe Wingwan, November. CBQ Radio, Thunder Bay and Northwestern Ontario. Matthews, Maureen. 2002a. “Charlie George Owen, Obituary.” South East Times, February/ March:12. Matthews, Maureen. 2002b. “Fair Wind’s Water Drum.” The Sunday Edition, April 28, CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2002c. “Sailing Horses.” With Stan Cuthand. Ideas, June. CBC Radio One.

297

References

Matthews, Maureen. 2003a. “Who’s Talking” and “Breaking the Rules.” With Neal McLeod. Sounds like Canada, January. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2003b. “Token Elders.” With Louis Bird. Sounds like Canada, March. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2003c. “Mother Earth.” With Stan Cuthand and Roger Roulette. Ideas, June. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2003d. “Healing Words.” With Roger Roulette. Sounds like Canada, June. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2007. “Memegwesiwag.” With Margaret Simmons. Ideas, December. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen. 2009. “Wihtigo: Cree Ideas about Cannibals.” With Louis Bird. Ideas, November. CBC Radio One. Matthews, Maureen, and Roger Roulette. 2003. “Fair Wind’s Dream: Naamiwan Obawaajigewin.” In Reading beyond Words: Contexts for Native History, ed. Jennifer S.H. Brown and Elizabeth Vibert. 2nd ed., 263–92. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press. Matthews, Maureen, and Roger Roulette. 2010a. “Mapping the Ojibwe Universe, Giishkaanadong.” Ojibwe cosmology discussion paper prepared for Pimachiowin Aki UNESCO World Heritage Site bid. Matthews, Maureen, and Roger Roulette. 2010b. “Aaajitaawinan izhiitwaawining: Material Culture of the Pimachiowin Aki Region.” Discussion paper for the Pimachiowin Aki UNESCO World Heritage Site bid. October. Matthews, Maureen, Roger Roulette, and Rand Valentine. 2010. “Anishinaabemowin: The Language of Pimachiowin Aki.” Discussion paper for the Pimachiowin Aki UNESCO World Heritage Site proposal. April. Mauss, Marcel. 1990 (1950). The Gift. Trans. W.D. Halls. London: Routledge. McKinley, Valerie. 2007. “Object Information.” University of Winnipeg Anthropology Museum, 13 pages. July. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1962 (1945). Phenomenology of Perception. London: Routledge. Merrill, William L., with Edmund J. Ladd, T.J. Ferguson, Elizabeth Cruwys, Alan S. Downer, Christian F. Feest, Charlotte J. Frisbie, Joyce Herold, Schuyler Jones, and Robert Layton. 1993. “The Return of the Ahayu:da: Lessons for Repatriation from the Zuni Pueblo and the Smithsonian Institution.” Current Anthropology 34 (5): 523–67. http://dx.doi.org /10.1086/204205. Meyer, John M., ed. 2002. American Indians and U.S. Politics. Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group. Mihesuah, Devon A. 1996. “American Indians, Anthropologists, Pothunters, and Repatriation: Ethical, Religious, and Political Differences.” American Indian Quarterly 20 (2): 229–37. http:// dx.doi.org/10.2307/1185702. Mihesuah, Devon A, ed. 2000. Repatriation Reader: Who Owns American Indian Remains? Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Miller, Christopher L., and George R. Hamell. 1986. “A New Perspective on Indian-White Contact: Cultural Symbols and Colonial Trade.” Journal of American History 73 (2): 311–28. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/1908224. Miller, Daniel. 1997 (1994). “Artefacts and the Meaning of Things.” In Routledge Companion Encyclopedia of Anthropology, ed. Tim Ingold. London: Routledge.

298

References

Miller, Daniel, ed. 2005. Materiality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. http://dx.doi.org /10.1215/9780822386711. Mitchell, W.J.T. 1996. “What Do Pictures Really Want?” October 77: 71–82. http://dx.doi.org /10.2307/778960. Mitchell, W.J.T. 2005. What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mooney, James. 1965 (1896). The Ghost-Dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak of 1890. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Moore, Sally Falk. 1987. “Explaining the Present: Theoretical Dilemmas in Processual Ethnography.” American Ethnologist 14 (4): 727–36. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/ae.1987.14.4.02a00080. Morphy, Howard. 1985. “Material Culture.” In Social Science Encyclopedia, ed. Adam Kuper and Jessica Kuper. London: Routledge. Morphy, Howard. 1991. Ancestral Connections: Art and an Aboriginal System of Knowledge. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Morphy, Howard. 1992. “From Dull to Brilliant: The Aesthetics of Spiritual Power among the Yolngu.” In Anthropology, Art and Aesthetics, ed. Jeremy Coote and Anthony Shelton, 181–208. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Morphy, Howard. 2009. “Art as a Mode of Action: Some Problems with Gell’s Art and Agency.” Journal of Material Culture 14(5): 5–27. Morris, K. 1994. “Consultation: An Ongoing Process. An Interview with George Horse Capture.” News and Notes of the American Indian Ritual Object Repatriation Foundation 1 (2): 1–3. Nafziger, James A.R. 2008. Review of International Law, Museums and the Return of Cultural Objects by Ana Filipa Vrdoljak. American Journal of International Law 102 (2): 408–14. http://dx.doi .org/10.2307/30034568. NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act). 1990. 25th United States Congress, s. 3001. Nelson, Terrance. 2002a. “Open Letter to the Premier of Manitoba: Re: Singleton Report,” January 8. Nelson, Terrance. June 2002b “Our Grandfathers Are NOT Artifacts.” Grassroots News. Nesper, Larry. 2002. The Walleye War: The Struggle for Ojibwe Spearfishing and Treaty Rights. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Nichols, John D., and Earl Nyholm. 1995. A Concise Dictionary of Minnesota Ojibwe. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota. Nicks, Trudy. 2003. “Museums and Contact Work.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader,.ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown. London: Routledge. Niiniluoto, Ilkka. 1999. “Defending Abduction.” In Philosophy of Science. Vol. 66. Supplement: Proceedings of the 1998 Biennial Meetings of the Philosophy of Science Association. Part I: Contributed Papers (September 1999), S436–451. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ningewance, Patricia. 1993. Survival Ojibwe. Winnipeg: Mazinaate Press. Ningewance, Patricia. 2006. Pocket Ojibwe: A Phrasebook for Nearly All Occasions. Winnipeg: Mazinaate Press. O’Brien, David. 2005. “Babies Who Smell Like Gas.” Winnipeg Free Press, August 24, A:1–2. Parkin, David. 1999. “Mementoes as Transitional Objects in Human Displacement.” Journal of Material Culture 4 (3): 303–20. Peers, Laura L. 1994. The Ojibwa of Western Canada: 1780 to 1870. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.

299

References

Peers, Laura L. 2003. “Strands Which Refuse to Be Braided: Hair Samples from Beatrice Blackwood’s Ojibwe Collection at the Pitt Rivers.” Museum Journal of Material Culture. Peers, Laura L. 2005. “Repatriation and Its Possibilities.” Conference paper, Hilary Term, 2005. Peers, Laura L. 2009. “On the Treatment of Dead Enemies: Indigenous Human Remains in Britain in the Early Twenty-First Century.” Chap. 3 in Social Bodies, ed. Helen Lambert and Maryon MacDonald. Oxford: Bergbahn. Peers, Laura L., and Alison K. Brown, eds. 2003. Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader. London: Routledge. Peirce, C.S. 1955. “Logic as Semiotic: The Theory of Signs.” In The Philosophy of Peirce: Selected Writings, ed. J. Buchler, 98–119. London: Kegan Paul. Perreaux, Les. 2001. “Native Leaders Want Artefacts Given to U.S. Group Returned: Questions Raised about Exporting Cultural Works.” National Post, September 28. Perreaux, Les. 2002. “University of Winnipeg Slammed over Lost Artefacts.” National Post, June 26, A:16. Pettipas, Katherine. 1994. Severing the Ties That Bind: Government Repression of Indigenous Ceremonies on the Prairies. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Phillips, Ruth B. 2003. “Community Collaboration in Exhibitions: Toward a New Dialogic Paradigm,” in Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown. London: Routledge. Phillips, Ruth B. 2005. “Re-placing Objects: Historical Practices for the Second Museum Age.” Canadian Historical Review 86 (1): 83–110. http://dx.doi.org/10.3138/CHR/86.1.83. Phillips, Ruth B., and Janet Catherine Berlo. 1995. “Our (Museum) World Turned Upside Down: Re-presenting Native American Arts.” Art Bulletin 77 (1): 6–24. Phillips, Ruth B., and Mark Salber Phillips. 2005. “Double Take: Contesting Time, Place, and Nation in the First People’s Hall of the Canadian Museum of Civilization.” American Anthropologist ns 107 (4): 694–704. Phillips, Ruth B., and Christopher B. Steiner. 1999. Unpacking Culture: Art and Commodity in Colonial and Post Colonial Worlds. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pratt, Mary Louise. 1992. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. London: Routledge. http://dx.doi.org/10.4324/9780203163672. Preston, Douglas. 1989. “Skeletons in Our Museum’s Closets.” Harper’s Magazine, February: 66. Price, Sally. 1989. Primitive Art in Civilized Places. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rabson, Mia. 2002. “Anthropology Head Lashes Out at Audit: Says Evidence of Missing Items Flawed.” Winnipeg Free Press, August 16, online at http://www.winnipegfreepress.com /subscriber/local/v-search/story/517330p-639912c. Rabson, Mia. 2005. “Who Will Help the Kids?” Winnipeg Free Press, August 21:1, 8. Radin, Paul. 1914. Some Aspects of Puberty Fasting among the Ojibwa. Anthropological Series, Museum Bulletin No. 2, 1–10. Geological Survey of Canada, Department of Mines. Rapport, Nigel. 1998. “The Potential of Human Rights in a Post-Colonial World.” Social Anthropology 6 (3): 381–8. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1469-8676.1998.tb00368.x. Riding In, James. 2000. “Repatriation: A Pawnee’s Perspective.” In Repatriation Reader: Who Owns American Indian Remains? ed. Devon A. Mihesuah. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Riles, Annelise. 2000. The Network Inside Out. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Rival, Laura M. 2002. Trekking through History: The Huaorani of Amazonian Ecuador. New York: Columbia University Press.

300

References

Rosaldo, Michelle Z. 1980. Knowledge and Passion: Ilongot Notions of Self and Social Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511621833. Rosoff, Nancy B. 2003. “Integrating Native Views into Museum Procedures: Hope and Practice at the National Museum of the American Indian.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown. London: Routledge. Roulette, Roger. See headnote to Transcripts and Translations, below. Samson, Colin. 2001. “Rights as the Reward for Simulated Cultural Sameness: The Innu of the Canadian Colonial Context.” In Culture and Rights: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Jane Cowan, Marie-Benedicte Dembour, and Richard Wilson, 226–48. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511804687.013. Sanders, Carol. 2002. “Professor’s Demotion Slammed: Anthropology Head Replaced over Audit.” Winnipeg Free Press, August 23. Schoolcraft, Henry R. 1852. “An Essay on the Grammatical Structure of the Algonquin Language.” In Historical and Statistical Information, Respecting the History, Condition and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United States 2, ed. Henry R. Schoolcraft, 351–442. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo. Shelton, Anthony. 2003. “Curating African Worlds.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, 181–93. London: Routledge. Simpson, Moira. 2001. (1996). Making Representations: Museums in the Post-Colonial Era. 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Singleton, Jon. 2002. Report on the Investigation of Missing Artifacts at the Anthropology Museum of the University of Winnipeg. Winnipeg: Office of the Auditor General of Manitoba. Released June 4. Skinner, Alanson B. 1916. “Plains Cree Tales.” Journal of American Folklore 29 (113): 341–67. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/534678. Sofaer, Joanna, ed. 2007. Material Identities: New Interventions in Art History. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Southeast Tribal Council Community. Website for Pauingassi. Accessed February 28, 2014. http://www.serdc.mb.ca/communities/pauingassi. Stanley, Nick. 1998. Being Ourselves for You: The Global Display of Cultures. London: Middlesex University Press. Steinbring, Jack. 1982. “Saulteaux of Lake Winnipeg.” In Subarctic: Handbook of North American Indians, Volume 6, ed. June Helm, 244–55. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Steinbring, Jack. 1994. “Northern Ojibwa Ethnographic Slide Collection.” Unpublished typescript. Winnipeg: University of Winnipeg, Anthropology Museum Collection. Steiner, Christopher Burghard. 1994. African Art in Transit. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stocking, George W., Jr., ed. 1985. Objects and Others: Essays on Museums and Material Culture. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Stocking, George W., Jr., ed. 1988. Bones, Bodies and Behavior: Essays on Biological Anthropology. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Stocking, George W., Jr. 2004. “A.I. Hallowell’s Boasian Evolutionism: Human Ir/rationality in Cross-Cultural, Evolutionary, and Personal Context.” In Significant Others: Interpersonal and Professional Commitments in Anthropology, ed. Richard Handler, 196–260. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

301

References

Strathern, Marilyn. 1988. The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with Society in Melanesia. Studies in Melanesian Anthropology 6. Berkeley: University of California Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/california/9780520064232.001.0001. Strathern, Marilyn. 1995. “The Nice Thing about Culture Is That Everyone Has It.” In Shifting Contexts: Transformations in Anthropological Knowledge, 153–76. ASA Decennial Conference Series: The Uses of Knowledge: Global and Local Relations, ed. Marilyn Strathern. London: Routledge. http://dx.doi.org/10.4324/9780203450901_chapter_8. Strathern, Marilyn. 1999. “Losing (Out on) Intellectual Resources.” In Fabrications: The Techniques of Ownership, ed. Martha Mundy and Alain Pottage. London: London School of Economics Modern Law Review. Strathern, Marilyn. 2002. “Divided Origins and the Arithmetic of Ownership.” Conference paper for Futures of Property and Personhood, 1–32. Critical Theory Insititute, University of California at Irvine. Strathern, Marilyn. 2004a. Partial Connections. Updated ed. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Strathern, Marilyn. 2004b. “The Whole Person and Its Artifacts.” Annual Review of Anthropology 33 (1): 1–19. http://dx.doi.org/10.1146/annurev.anthro.33.070203.143928. Straus, Anne Terry, and Robert Brightman. 1982. “The Implacable Raspberry.” Papers in Linguistics 15 (2): 97–137. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08351818209370564. Stringer, M.D. 1999. “Rethinking Animism: Thoughts from the Infancy of Our Discipline.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 5 (4): 541. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2661147. Swaggerty, William. 1981. “Indian Trade of the Trans-Mississippi West in 1870.” In The Handbook of North American Indians, Volume 4. Washington: Smithsonian Institute. Tapsell, Paul. 2003. “Afterword: Beyond the Frame.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, ed. Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, 242–51. London: Routledge. Task Force Report on Museums and First Peoples. 1992. Turning the Page: Forging New Partnerships between Museums and First Peoples. Report jointly sponsored by the Assembly of First Nations and the Canadian Museums Association, Ottawa. Taylor, W.E.J. 1976. Foreword to T.J. Brasser, Bo’jou Neejee! Profiles of Canadian Indian Art. Ottawa: National Museum of Man. Thomas, Nicholas. 1991. Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Culture and Colonialism in the Pacific. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thomas, Nicholas. 1998. Foreword to Gell, Art and Agency. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thomas, Nicholas. 2001. Introduction to Beyond Aesthetics: Art and the Technologies of Enchantment, ed. Chris Pinney and Nicholas Thomas. Oxford: Berg. Thompkins, Jane. 1990. “At the Buffalo Bill Museum – June 1988.” South Atlantic Quarterly 89 (3): 525–45. Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge. Website. Accessed February 28, 2014 at http://www.three-fires .net/tfn/index.htm Tooker, Elizabeth. 1998. “A Note on the Return of Eleven Wampum Belts to the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy on Grand River, Canada.” Ethnohistory 45 (2): 219–36. http://dx.doi .org/10.2307/483059. Townsend-Gault, Charlotte. 1997. “Art, Argument and Anger on the Northwest Coast.” In Contesting Art: Art, Politics and Identity in the Modern World, ed. Jeremy McClancy. Oxford: Berg. Trigger, Bruce, ed. 1978. Northeast: The Handbook of American Indians, Volume 15, ed. William C. Sturtevant. 17 vols. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.

302

References

Trope, Jack F., and Walter R. Echo-Hawk. 2000. “The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act: Background and Legislative History.” In Repatriation Reader: Who Owns American Indian Remains? ed. Devon A. Mihesuah. Lincoln University of Nebraska Press. Tylor, E.B. 1958 (1901). Primitive Culture. Abridged ed. New York: Harper. Tylor, E.B. 1892. “On the Limits of Savage Religion.” Journal of the Anthropological Institute 20. Tythacott, Louise, and Kostas Arvanitis, eds. 2014. Museums and Restitution: New Practices, New Approaches. Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate. UNESCO. 1970. Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export, and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property. Adopted at its Sixteenth Session in Paris on November 14, 1970. Van Kirk, Sylvia. 1980. Many Tender Ties: Women in Fur-Trade Society, 1670–1870. Winnipeg: Watson and Dwyer. Vennum, Thomas, Jr. 1982. The Ojibwa Dance Drum: Its History and Construction. Smithsonian Folklife Studies 2. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Vennum, Thomas, Jr. 1988. Wild Rice and the Ojibway People. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. Vennum, Thomas, Jr. 2008. Just Too Much of an Indian: Bill Baker, Stalwart in a Fading Culture. LaPointe, WI: Just Too Much of an Indian Press. Verdery, Katherine. 1999. The Political Lives of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist Change. New York: Columbia University Press. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1996. “Images of Nature and Society in Amazonian Ethnology.” Annual Review of Anthropology 25 (1): 179–200. http://dx.doi.org/10.1146/annurev.anthro .25.1.179. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1998. “Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 4 (3): 469–88. Wagner, Roy. 1981 (1975). The Invention of Culture: Revised and Expanded Edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wallace, Anthony F.C. 1969. The Death and Rebirth of the Seneca. New York: Vintage Books. Warren, William W. 2009 (1885). History of the Ojibway People, ed. Theresa Schenck. 2nd ed. Minneapolis: Minnesota Historical Society. Weiner, Annette B. 1985. “Inalienable Wealth.” American Ethnologist 12 (2): 210–27. Weiner, Annette B. 1992. Inalienable Possessions: The Paradox of Keeping-While-Giving. Berkeley: University of California Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/california/9780520076037.001.0001. White, Bruce M. 1982. “‘Give Us a Little Milk’: The Social and Cultural Meanings of Gift Giving in the Lake Superior Fur Trade.” Minnesota History 48 (2): 60–71. White, Richard. 1991. The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires and Republics in the Great Lakes Region 1650–1815. Cambridge Studies in North American Indian History, ed. Frederick Hoxie and Neal Salisbury. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017 /CBO9780511584671. Wolfart, H. Christopher. 1996. “Sketch of Cree, an Algonquian Language.” In Languages: Handbook of American Indians, Volume 17, ed. Ives Goddard, 390–439. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Wollheim, Richard. 1968. Art and Its Objects: An Introduction to Aesthetics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yates, Frances Amelia. 1992 (1966). The Art of Memory. London: Pimlico.

303

References

Transcripts and Translations Ojibwe Transcripts by Roger Roulette © 1992–2008 To simplify referencing in the text, I have used the initials of the interviewee, the year and date if relevant, and the page.   References to Roger Roulette are to conversations, taped interviews, or editing suggestions, dated where possible. I simply could not have done this work without Roger’s enthusiastic assistance. Omishoosh/Charlie George Owen (CGO) CGO 1994 Sept Recipe tape: pp. 24. CGO 1995 Nov 16 AM in the museum: pp. 67. CGO 1995 Nov 16 lunch: pp. 7. CGO 1995 Nov 16 lecture: pp. 33. CGO 1995 Nov 17 AM at the hotel: pp. 27. CGO 1996 Feb 13 Life Story: pp. 52. CGO 1999 Oct 18 interview at Grace Hospital: pp. 31. CGO 2001 Feb with Curt Petrovich: pp. 22. CGO 2001 Apr 21 CGO 2002 funeral: pp. 6. Adam Owen (AO) 1992: pp. 28. AO 1994. David Owen (DO) 2006 July 19: pp. 28. DO 2007 July 30: pp. 40. Jacob Owen (JO) 1994: pp. 5. JO 1992: pp. 42. Maryanne Keeper (MK) 1992. Kenneth Owen (KO) 2006: pp. 2. Boushey Pascal (BP) 2001 Dec 30: pp. 4. St John Owen (StJO) 1994: pp. 8. Sagashki Strang (SS) 1992: pp. 22. Eddie Benton Banai and Nelson Owen (EBB/NO) 2002 May 8: pp. 18. Thunderbirds Ojibwe transcript 2008: pp. 32. Fairwind 2002 Ojibwe transcript: pp. 36. English Transcripts by MM 1992–2009 Charlie Nelson (CN) 2002 March. Nelson Owen (NO) 2002 May 13. NO 2007 Jan 4 Adam Owen’s Medicine box: 13 pp.

304

References

Nelson and Elaine Owen (NO/EO) 2005 June 25. Paul Demain (PD) 2002 March 17. Eddie Benton Banai (EBB) 2002 March 18. Roger Roulette (RR) 1995 thunderbirds. Roger Roulette and Jennifer Brown (RR/JB) 2002 March about artefacts. Gordon Berens (GB) 1992: pp. 22. Percy Berens (PB) 1994 Sept 12: pp. 22. PB 2003: pp. 28. PB 2007: pp. 16. Louis Bird (LB) 2001 Iyas stories. Jack Steinbring (JS) 1996 clips: pp. 6. JS 2002 interview March 3. Stan Cuthand (SC) Memegwesiwag 2003: pp. 18. Zuni repatriation, 159–60

305

This page intentionally left blank

Index

Note: Page numbers with (i) refer to photographs. EBB refers to Eddie Benton Banai; U of W refers to University of Winnipeg. A’aasi: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) aadizookaanag. See dream spirits (aadizookaanag) Aadizookewinini (Hallowell), 263, 275 – 6n4 abduction and meaning, 208 – 9, 283n3 Aboriginal People’s Television Network (APTN), 191 – 2 aesthetics. See art afflictions. See illnesses and bad health agency, Gell’s theory. See Gell, Alfred, agency of objects agency, Ojibwe. See Ojibwe, agency of objects AIAD (American Indians Against Desecration), 143 – 4 AIM (American Indian Movement): about, 139 – 40; co-founders, 12, 140 – 3; in Manitoba, 13; political activism, 142 – 3, 155, 170; revitalization movement, 14 – 15 ajichaag. See soul (ajichaag) al Attar, Mohsen, 179 Algonquian languages: animacy, 51 – 5, 64, 278n7; gender as concept, 277n3; overlap of gender categories, 55 – 6; scholarship on gender, 54 – 6; semantic analysis and gender, 64, 66 – 7, 68; speakers, 275n2; terminology, 275n2, 277n4 (ch. 2). See also Cree; Ojibwe, language Alpers, Svetlana, 23 American Indian Movement. See AIM (American Indian Movement) American Indian Religious Freedom Act (1978), 159, 276n9

American Indians Against Desecration (AIAD), 143 – 4 Ames, Michael, 153, 160, 163 Anang (Maryanne Keeper), 11, 37, 38(i) animacy: about, 20 – 2, 49 – 56, 78 – 9, 277n4 (ch. 3); ambivalence about, 51; animate/ inanimate gender, 20 – 1, 51; artefacts, 67 – 72; certainty/uncertainty, 72, 256 – 7; critique of, 66; everyday Western use, 20, 49; gender as concept, 277n3; Hallowell’s cultural relativism, 51 – 2, 66; history of concept, 54 – 6; humour and irony, 21, 69, 71, 73, 77; indicator of potential agency, 78; internally coherent intellectual systems, 53; metaphorical animacy, 20 – 1; and museums, 74 – 8; objects as mnemonic devices, 74 – 5, 156, 166 – 7; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 68 – 9, 75 – 6; oppositional pairs, 68; overlap of gender categories, 55 – 6; personhood, 21 – 2; plausibility of, 52 – 4; presumption to agency, 20 – 1; sacred category, 72, 75 – 8, 234; scholarship on, 21, 53 – 6, 64 – 7; semantic functions, 49, 56 – 7, 66 – 9; stones, as example, 56 – 64; “time will tell,” 72; unexpected animates, 49, 66. See also discreet speech; personhood animal-hide ceremonial pouches, 43, 69, 72, 129, 226 – 7 Animinigiizhigong: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i); dance cape, 32(i), plate 7A

Index returned before audit, 281n15; report by, 194 – 6, 237, 250; statistics on missing items, 195, 196, 250, 275n1; Three Fires’ call to stop audit, 183 – 4; timeline of events, 195 – 6, 250. See also University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts authenticity: about, 22; cultural performance of tradition, 75 – 8, 108, 132 – 3, 279n20; Luna’s Artifact Piece, 153 – 5; museums as custodians of, 79; and national culture, 170; repatriation and assertion of authenticity, 22, 175 – 6; revitalization movements, example, 170, 171(i), 172 Axworthy, Lloyd, 279n1 Aylwin, Nichole, 179

animism: conventional understanding, 53; new animists, 108 – 11, 246; Ojibwe poetics of dwelling, 109 – 10 Anishinaabe and Anishinaabemowin, terminology, 275n2, xn1. See also Ojibwe anthropology: abduction and meaning, 208 – 9, 283n3; collaborative anthropology, 24 – 5; culture as concept, 167 – 70, 210; ethnomusicology, 27; new animists, 108 – 11, 246; other-than-human persons, 106; ownership concepts, 136; personhood debates, 106; phenomenological approach, 211, 243 – 4, 246; zones of tradition, 172. See also artefacts; culture; ethnography; museums; repatriation Anthropology Museum, U of W. See University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection Appadurai, Arjun, 16, 22, 220 apron/bib. See gorget (breast panel) APTN (Aboriginal People’s Television Network), 191 – 2 art: aesthetics and politics, 210 – 11; aesthetics as Western construct, 17, 203 – 6, 208, 210 – 11; artefact vs art, 17 – 18, 209, 212; cultural property, 19 – 20; definitions of, 205 – 6; indigenous aesthetic systems, 204; methodological philistinism, 204; Ojibwe perspective, 283 – 4n5; processes vs objects, 205; semiotic value, 18. See also cultural property; Gell, Alfred, agency of objects Art and Agency (Gell). See Gell, Alfred, agency of objects artefacts: about, 17 – 20; artefact vs art, 17 – 18, 209, 212; classification systems, 18, 78 – 9, 87, 134 – 6; cultural access to difference, 156 – 7, 210; cultural property, 19 – 20; definitions and terminology, 17 – 19; ethnographic objects, 19 – 20; impact of new environments, 77; material culture, 19 – 20; mnemonic devices, 74 – 5, 78, 156, 166 – 7; museum ownership, 131; non-optional obligations, 21, 108, 136, 167 – 8, 178, 181, 210, 222; and personhood, 21 – 2; power relations, 18 – 19, 20, 135; primary and secondary agency, 207, 211 – 12, 220, 224; and scientific gaze, 18; signifiers of culture, 18 – 19, 235; situated practice, 19; and source communities, 18 – 19, 160; values and metonymy of objects, 74 – 5. See also animacy; cultural property; Gell, Alfred, agency of objects; museums Artifact Piece (Luna), 153 – 5 “The Art Nexus” (Gell), 206 Asemaa (apprentice), 37, 38(i) auditor general, forensic audit: audit (2001-2), 183 – 4, 194 – 5, 250, 275n1; identity of persons responsible for removal, 279n6; items

Baadwewidam (EBB), 254, 281n1. See also Benton Banai, Eddie Bad River, Wisconsin, Grand Medicine Lodge: ceremonial use of Pauingassi items (1998), 88, 144, 234 – 5, 249. See also Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin Banai, Eddie Benton. See Benton Banai, Eddie bandolier (E5 101): belt (gijipizon(an)), 32, 70, 260; dew-claws, 32 – 3, 70 – 1, 260, 277n6 (ch. 2); discreet speech on, 73 – 4; grammatical animacy, 32 – 3, 70 – 1, 73, 260; language notes, 260; made by Miskwa’o (1926), 31 – 2, plate 8; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 31 – 3, 76; sale by Omishoosh, 33; thimbles, 32 – 3, 33(i), 70 – 1, 260; worn by Omishoosh, 32(i), 37, 38(i) Banks, Dennis, 12, 140, 142 – 3 Baraga, Frederick, 21, 54, 66 Bawdwaywidun (EBB), 254. See also Benton Banai, Eddie Bearhair, James (Niizhiishaan Owen): warriors, 37, 39(i) beliefs and tradition. See tradition and belief Bell, Catherine, 161 – 2 Bellecourt, Clyde, 12, 140 – 3, 150 bells (garters). See garters belt (gijipizon(an)), 32, 70, 260. See also bandolier (E5 101) bemaadiziwaad (those who have life), 211, 255 Benjamin, Fred, 277n5 (ch. 2) Benton Banai, Eddie: about, 12, 140 – 5; AIM co-founder, 12, 140 – 2; education and Midewiwin credentials, 13, 140, 141; grammatical animacy and drums, 236 – 7; indigenous-controlled education, 12, 140, 143, 151 – 2; interview by author (2002), 145 – 52, 234 – 6; interview by N. Owen (2002), 184 – 90, 235 – 7; names, 140, 141, 254, 277n9, 281n1; negative view of Canadian leaders, 151, 190 – 1, 235; negative view of whites, 144, 146 – 8,

308

 bimaadiziwin. See good life (bimaadiziwin) bineshiishikaan (bird sculpture). See bird sculpture (bineshiishikaan); sculptures of people or animals (manidookaan) “Binesiwag” (“Thunderbirds”) (CBQ Radio), 25, 26, 114 biography, cultural, 22, 26, 134. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211), cultural biography birch-bark roofs and Thunderbirds, 263 birch-bark scrolls. See scrolls, birch-bark Bird, Carl, 87, 279n2 Bird, Louis, 166, 284n10 Bird-David, Nurit, 109 bird sculpture (bineshiishikaan): agency of, 212, 213(i), 214(i), 214 – 16, 220; on high poles, 11(i), 284n6; language notes, 254 – 5; Thunderbird relations, 212, 214 – 16; at Waabano pavilion, 4, 5(i), 212, 213(i), 214 – 16. See also sculptures of people or animals (manidookaan) Black-Rogers, Mary: agency variations, 211 – 12; animacy, 21, 65, 69, 71, 72 – 3, 216 – 17; distributed personhood, 216 – 17; percept ambiguity, 23, 72, 209; respectful talk, 119 Blacksmith, David, 87, 279n2 Bloomfield, Leonard, 21, 55 Boas, Franz, repatriation, 157 – 8 Bolton, Lissant, 173 – 4, 179, 209 – 10 bone sucking tubes, 16, 76, 196, 264 Boodaade ceremonies: about, 13, 256; bone whistle (eagle’s cry), 256, 276n3; discreet speech on, 72 – 4; feathers as sign of helpers, 121, 123(i); give-away dance, 44; gorget, 31; grammatical animacy, 70; healing purposes, 42 – 5; language notes, 256; Omishoosh’s healing from tooth abscess, 45 – 6, 117 – 18; Omishoosh’s public lecture on, 41 – 5; round lodges (Boodaadewigamig), 31, 81(i). See also Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gibaabaanaan) (destroyed by fire in 1973); Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211); Waabano pavilion and ceremonies breast panel. See gorget (breast panel) Brightman, Robert, 21, 64 – 6, 72 – 3, 109, 217 Brody, Hugh, 109 Brown, Jennifer S.H.: anthropologist, 6 – 7, 276n1; connection to Hallowell, 6 – 7; on indigenous control of waterways, 9 – 10; name (Midewigimaawikweg), 7, 263; at Omishoosh’s museum visit, 28, 276n1; on U of W’s acceptance of Three Fires claim, 178; U of W’s notice to, on missing items, 249 – 50; works, 6 – 7 Butikoffer Collection, Red Lake Cultural Centre. See Red Lake Cultural Centre, Ontario

155, 167, 169, 173, 181 – 2, 235; personhood of objects, 155; political and cultural activism, 142 – 3, 167, 169; revitalization and Christian parallels, 173; Three Fires role, 12 – 13, 151; tradition concepts, 174 – 5. See also Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin Benton Banai, Eddie, Pauingassi items: CBC documentary on, 183 – 4; cultural conformity conditions for return of items, 148, 174 – 5, 235, 237; denial of role in theft, 190; identity of persons responsible for removal, 148, 185 – 6, 190, 235; interview by author (2002), 145 – 52, 156, 236; interview by N. Owen (2002), 184 – 90, 235 – 7; as keeper of items, 144, 148, 152, 167, 189, 235 – 6; motives claimed for holding items, 146 – 7, 174 – 5, 177 – 8, 181 – 2, 189, 235; negative view of Christian influences, 151, 155, 169, 173, 235; negative view of Pauingassi’s maintenance of traditional culture, 175, 177; Omishoosh’s knowledge of transfer, 149 – 50; personhood of, 155; retirement of drums, 150 – 1, 156; return of four missing items to Owens (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 250, 283n4 (ch. 8); scholarship on repatriation, 160 – 3; traditional mentors allegedly consulted on the removal (1999), 148. See also Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin, Pauingassi items; University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts Berens, Gordon (William’s son): memegwesiwag experiences, 61 – 2; on Naamiwan, 124, 202 Berens, Jacob (William’s father): family memorabilia, 282n2 (ch. 7); on memory, 166 Berens, Nancy (William’s wife, Margaret Simmons’s grandmother): host to Hallowell, 120; on tobacco offerings, 119 Berens, Percy (William’s son): birth and death of, 278n15; memegwesiwag experiences, 60 – 2, 165; on Thunderbirds and birch bark, 263; Yellowlegs’s stone, 59 – 61 Berens, William: biography of, 7; Christian belief, 165; dreams, 62 – 3; drum as memorabilia, 282n2 (ch. 7); family, 59 – 60; Hallowell’s informant, 6, 6(i), 53, 56, 64, 120; memegwesiwag experiences, 62 – 3; on memory, 166; Moose clan, 6; stones and animacy, 50(i), 56 – 60, 119; Yellowlegs’s stone, 59 – 61 Berens River. See Upper Berens River Berlo, Janet Catherine, 153 berries and animacy, 64 – 5, 278n11, 278n16 bib/apron. See gorget (breast panel) Big Dream Drum (Peace Drum) ceremonies, 13. See also Boodaade ceremonies Biidwewidam (EBB), 140, 141, 254, 281n1. See also Benton Banai, Eddie

309

 certainty/uncertainty: language notes, 256 – 7 CGO. See Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen) Christianity: EBB’s negative views, 151, 155, 169, 173, 235; local objections to Ojibwe broadcasts, 26; Mennonites, 11, 76, 100; missionaries, 9 – 10, 11 – 12, 164 – 5; museum staff assumptions about Omishoosh, 76, 111; Naamiwan’s practices, 11, 12, 164 – 5; Ojibwe references (manidoo), 262; Omishoosh on prevalence, 46; Omishoosh’s practices, 42, 76, 77, 265; revitalization movements, 169, 173; syncretic belief, 164 – 5, 172 Clifford, James: cultural interpreters, 23; culture as concept, 210; indigenous control, 154 – 5, 180; museum conservationism, 154 – 5; museum “contact work,” 163, 242; museums as contact zones, 131 – 2, 134, 244; on power imbalances, 26 colonialism: art and aesthetic colonialism, 204 – 5; artefacts and power relations, 18, 20; and contact zones, 131 – 2; culture as rhetorical object, 169 – 70; repatriation and changed meanings, 180 – 2; repatriation and healing, 161; return of the gaze in Artifact Piece, 154; revitalization and subalternity, 173. See also museums as contact zones Comaroff, John and Jean, 4, 15, 167 – 8, 172, 176, 202 Conaty, Gerald T., 107, 174 contact zones. See museums as contact zones Coombe, Rosemary J., 179 Cowichan repatriation, 157 – 8 CPEIA. See Cultural Property Export and Import Act (CPEIA) Crane, Susan, 75, 154 Cree: grammatical animacy, 52 – 3, 64, 278n7; history in Pauingassi area, 8 – 9; hunting medicine, 284n10; memegwesiwag, 20 – 1; oral tradition and memory, 166; shaking tent ceremonies, 109; television station, 23 cross, Maltese. See everlasting star (gaagige anang) cross symbol (waabanang), 277n5 (ch. 2) culture: about, 167 – 70; carried by persons, 108, 167 – 8; categories of, 134 – 5; and distributed personhood, 106; diversity in, 15; essentializing of, 108; as fictional invention, 19, 168 – 9, 210; Hegel’s zeitgeist, 15; human rights and repatriation, 107 – 8, 168 – 70; metaphors for, 15, 181 – 2; non-optional obligations, 136, 167 – 8, 181, 210, 222; political role, 170, 175, 210; potentialities vs categories, 109 – 10; relational obligations, 108, 167 – 8; as rhetorical object, 22; scholarship on, 283n4; visibility in contrast, 169. See also cultural property; Ojibwe; tradition and belief

Canadian Museums Association: repatriation policies, 160 – 2. See also repatriation cannibalism, 201 – 2 capes, women’s dance: animal-hide origins, 30, plate 5B; Animinigiizhigong’s cape, 32(i), 37, 38(i), plate 7A; ceremonial apprentices, 38(i), plate 7A; Eva’s cape (E5 123), 28, 30, 276n2, plate 4A; Koowin’s cape, 28, 30, plate 4B; Miskwa’o’s cape, 30, plate 5A; museum classification, 41, 135; sale by Omishoosh’s wife (Janet), 76; warrior women, 30, 39(i), plate 5A “careful deliberation,” Omishoosh on, 92, 137 – 8, 261, 265 caribou dew-claws, 32 – 3, 70 – 1, 260, 277n6 (ch. 2). See also bandolier (E5 101) carvings. See sculptures of people or animals (manidookaan) CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation): Omishoosh’s interview for planned story (2000), 97 – 100; radio vs print, 26. See also Matthews, Maureen, works (CBC and CBQ Radio) ceremonies: discreet speech on, 72 – 4, 78; distributed power/personhood, 130; everyday healing vs gift of life, 22, 118 – 19, 225; feathers as sign of helpers, 121, 123(i); grammatical animacy of objects, 49, 68 – 72; initiation ceremonies, 129 – 30, 226 – 7; language notes, 255; memegwesiwag as helpers, 63; metamorphosis and power, 117 – 18; Naamiwan’s wolverine persona, 45 – 6, 117 – 18, 261; ownership concept, 137; shaking tent, 63, 109, 216. See also Boodaade ceremonies; medicine men; Midewiwin ceremonies ceremonial apprentices: dance capes, 28, 38(i), 276n2, plate 7A; feathers as sign of helpers, 121, 123(i); language notes, 265; Omishoosh’s public lecture on, 46; regalia and pavilion, 37, 38(i) ceremonial regalia: about, 28; ceremonial apprentices, 37, 38(i); grammatical animacy, 68 – 71; keepers of, 34; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 70 – 1, 76; Powwow circuit, 239; women’s regalia, 28, 30. See also bandolier (E5 101); capes, women’s dance; garters; gorget (breast panel) ceremonial tools: animal-hide pouches, 43, 69, 72, 129, 226 – 7; grammatical animacy, 68 – 71; inheritance of, 255 – 6; language notes, 253; protocol and danger, 47; retirement of, 90; ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 111, 128 – 30, 133, 165 – 6, 199(i), 224 – 30, 265. See also ceremonial regalia; drums (dewe’igan); drums, water (mitigwakik); drumsticks; medicine bags and boxes; rattles

310

 dream drums, Naamiwan’s. See Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gibaabaanaan) (destroyed by fire in 1973) dream drums, Naamiwan’s drum in Poplar Hill. See Poplar Hill dream drum (Gaagizhewaadizid) (Naamiwan’s drum owned by nephews; now in Red Lake Cultural Centre) dreams: distributed power, 105; memegwesiwag in dreams, 62 – 3; source of knowledge, 109, 121, 124, 125; spiritual licence to make drums, 224; taboo on discussions of, 124; Three Fires members’ dreams, 145 dream spirits (aadizookaanag): about, 112, 114, 259; borders of interactive world, 112, 121; discreet speech on, 119, 259; help for good life, 114 – 15; human reciprocity, 137 – 8; intermediary for source of all power, 119, 211, 259; language notes, 259; legends as explanations of, 115 – 16; metamorphosis, 115 – 17; Omishoosh’s words for, 119; “our grandfathers,” 119; personhood, 114, 130; power hierarchy, 116 – 17; power to kill, 114; primary and secondary agency, 211 – 12, 220, 224; ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 128 – 30, 211, 224 – 9, 265; terminology, 119; wearing of spirit, 114 – 15. See also spiritentities drums (dewe’igan): about, 222 – 4, 243; discreet speech on, 72 – 4, 78; Gell’s agency of objects, 211 – 12, 220; language notes, 257 – 8; names and name changes, 7, 69, 221 – 2, 230, 242 – 3; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 69; retirement of, 90 – 2, 95, 150 – 1, 156, 249 drums, water (mitigwakik): about, 222 – 4; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 228 – 9, 238 – 9; discreet speech on, 224; distributed personhood, 130; dressings for, 222, 234; giving water to, 238; grammatical animacy, 4, 69, 222, 224, 236 – 7; initiation ceremony, 129 – 30, 226 – 7; metaphorical animacy, 4; Midewiwin ceremonies, 222; names and name changes, 221 – 2, 224, 230, 234, 242 – 3, 276n5; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 69 – 70; retirement of, 90 – 2, 95, 150 – 1, 229 – 30, 238, 239, 284n2; show of respect for, 238; women not to play, 284n1 drums, dream (Pauingassi). See Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gibaabaanaan) (destroyed by fire in 1973) drums, dream (Poplar Hill). See Poplar Hill dream drum (Gaa-gizhewaadizid) (Naamiwan’s drum owned by nephews; now in Red Lake Cultural Centre) drums, water drum (Pauingassi). See Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211)

cultural biography, 22, 26, 134. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211), cultural biography cultural property: about, 19 – 20, 168; critique of, 168; and cultural identity, 179; human remains, 143 – 4; ownership concepts, 138, 168, 173 – 4, 233; power relations, 19 – 20; property rights concepts, 107; repatriation claims, 19 – 20, 157, 168 – 9, 173 – 4, 179 – 80; sacredness, 79, 161 – 2, 234; source communities, 174; thinglike mode, 107, 131, 168; UNESCO convention, 19 – 20, 161. See also artefacts; human remains; legal issues; ownership concepts; repatriation Cultural Property Export and Import Act (CPEIA): possible contravention of, 196, 235, 237, 285n7 cultural revitalization. See revitalization movements Custer Died for Your Sins (Deloria), 159 Cuthand, Stanley, 52, 277n6 (ch. 3), 281n8 Dahlstrom, Amy, 65 – 6 dance capes. See capes, women’s dance Danto, Arthur, 205 Darnell, Regna, 21, 64, 66, 278n16 death: agency after, 102, 116, 133, 229, 238; appearance after, 117, 281n9; metamorphosis after, 116 – 17; socially active ghosts, 178 – 9 Deer Lake, Ontario: Naamiwan and Angus’s dark powers in, 198, 223 – 4, 228, 283n1 Deloria, Vine, 159 Dening, Greg, 197 dew-claws, caribou, 32 – 3, 70 – 1, 260, 277n6 (ch. 2). See also bandolier (E5 101) dewe’igan. See drums (dewe’igan) Dick, Chief, 175 – 6 Dickie, George, 206 discreet speech: about, 72 – 4, 78, 258; ceremonial objects, 73 – 4; cultural rules for animacy, 20, 72 – 3; grammatical animacy, 71, 78; humour, 77, 105; language notes, 258; Omishoosh’s use of, 72 – 3, 76, 78; provisional belief, 23; and spirit-entities, 73, 105, 212, 220; understatement of power, 72 – 3, 78 distributed personhood. See personhood, distributed distributed power. See power, distributed dividual personhood. See personhood, dividual or partible divine power, language notes, 260 documentaries, radio, 24 – 7. See also Matthews, Maureen, works (CBC and CBQ Radio) Donahue, James, 140 – 1 doodem (totem), language notes, 258 – 9 Doxtator, Deborah, 79

311

 Fabian, Johannes, 14 Fair Wind, Naamiwan’s name, 246. See also Naamiwan “Fair Wind’s Drum” (CBC Radio), 25, 26 “Fair Wind’s Water Drum” (CBC Radio), 3 – 4, 23 – 4, 25, 183, 185, 190 fate or luck, 85, 216, 257, 284n9 feathers as sign of helpers, 121, 123(i) Feest, Christian, 158, 180 Feld, Stephen, 27 Fienup-Riordan, Ann, 163 Fiero, Charles, 275n2 Fishing Lake: giant serpents, 112 – 13; island, 114; mist and spirit world, 112, 113; terrain, 9(i)-10(i), 9 – 10, 82. See also Pauingassi Flint and the Great Hare myth, 278n12 Fogelson, Raymond: connection with Hallowell, 6, 276n1; on dream spirits, 259; epitomizing events and objects, 4, 16, 22, 157, 221, 276n10 forever star. See everlasting star (gaagige anang) Fraser, Nancy, 167 fruit and animacy, 278n11

drums, water drum (Poplar Hill). See Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214) drumsticks: agency of, 203; curved drumsticks, 36, 77, 196; discreet speech on, 73 – 4; grammatical animacy, 35 – 6, 70; language notes, 258; missing items that “walked back,” 134, 196, 203, 237, 250, 281n15; museum classification, 134 – 5, 136; Naamiwan at Waabano pavilion, 4, 5(i), 199(i); Omishoosh’s museum visit, 35 – 6, 70, 136; sweat lodges, 225 – 6; types of, 36, 136, 278n18 drumsticks, ball-headed (E5 59): description, 35 – 6, plate 7B; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 35 – 6, 70 drumsticks, Naamiwan’s (E5 169 and E5 172): description, 35 – 6, 223, plate 3B; EBB’s possession and return to Owens (2002), 146, 151, 152, 192 – 4, 196, 234 – 5; grammatical animacy, 69; missing items, 196; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 35 – 6, 69 Duck, John, 58(i), 59, 103 Duck, Maggie, 218, 218(i) Dumas, William, 87, 279n2 dwarves, semi-human. See memegwesiwag (semihuman dwarves)

Gaa-dibendjiged. See source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged) Gaa-gizhewaadizid. See Poplar Hill dream drum (Gaa-gizhewaadizid) (Naamiwan’s drum owned by nephews; now in Red Lake Cultural Centre) gambling sticks, 69 garters: discreet speech on, 73 – 4; grammatical animacy, 69; language notes, 260; missing items, 196; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 34, 69 Geertz, Clifford, 16, 19, 26, 68 Gell, Alfred, agency of objects: about, 17, 203 – 8, 220; abduction and meaning, 208 – 9, 283n3; aesthetics as Western construct, 17, 203 – 6, 208, 210 – 11; agency and socialrelational matrix, 17, 203 – 11, 220, 244 – 5; ambiguity and unintended consequences, 245; artefacts and agency, 208 – 11; critique of, 208 – 10, 244 – 5, 283nn2 – 3; definitions of art, 205 – 6; distributed personhood, 106 – 7, 207, 215 – 20; exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18; “indexes” (objects), 206 – 8, 212, 218; intentionality, 204, 245; Mauss’s influence, 106, 206 – 7; methodological philistinism, 204, 206, 208, 210, 243; and Ojibwe perspective, 17, 204, 220, 243; person/agent and thing/agent, 106, 207; phenomenological approach, 243 – 4, 246; power variations, 211 – 12, 220, 221; primary and secondary agency, 207 – 8, 211 – 12, 220, 224; Strathern’s influence, 106, 207; volt sorcery, 214 – 16, 217 – 18 Gell, Alfred, works: Art and Agency, 17, 203 – 4, 206, 208, 244 – 5; “The Art Nexus,” 206; “Reflections on a Cut Finger,” 246

eastern star (waabanang), 277n5 (ch. 2) EBB. See Benton Banai, Eddie education on Ojibwe culture, Pauingassi. See Pauingassi, revitalization of Ojibwe culture Elkins, James, 15 Ellis, Donald, 282n9 (ch. 6) epitomizing events and objects: about, 221; contested repatriation as event, 16, 22, 157; as historical “nonevent,” 276n10; invisibility/ visibility of personhood, 22, 181; Naamiwan’s drum as object, 4, 16, 221 Ernst, Wolfgang, 75 Es. See Owen, Jacob (Es) essence, inner. See soul (ajichaag) ethnography: collaborative anthropology, 24 – 5; cultural property, 19 – 20; ethnomusicology, 27; material culture, 19 – 20; objects, terminology, 18 – 19; objects becoming ethnographic, 131; salvage ethnography, 75, 131, 134, 139, 231; situated practice, 19; thick description, 16, 19, 68. See also anthropology; artefacts; Hallowell, A. Irving Eva (Omishoosh’s first wife): dance cape (E5 123), 28, 30, 276n2, plate 4A everlasting star (gaagige anang): on dream dance drum, 31(i), 277n5 (ch. 2); on drumsticks, war club (E5 59), 35, 70, plate 7B; forever star (cross), 31 – 2, 70, 253; grammatical animacy, 31 – 2; language notes, 253 exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18

312

 healing ceremonies. See ceremonies Hegel, Georg, 15 herbs. See plants Historyland protest, 143 – 4 Hooper-Greenhill, Eilean, 135 Hoskins, Janet, 22 human remains: Boas and repatriation, 157 – 8; cultural property, 19 – 20, 143; invisibility/ visibility of personhood, 21 – 2, 181; NAGPRA legal issues, 159; political activism in US, 143 – 4; repatriation and changed meanings, 180 – 1; scholarship on, 23, 153, 159 – 60; statistics on, 139; terminology, 158 – 9. See also cultural property human rights: and cultural performance, 108, 132 – 3; and cultural rights, 19 – 20; and repatriation, 107 – 8, 168 – 70. See also repatriation humour, 69, 71, 73, 77, 105 hunting: hunting medicine, 217 – 18, 284n10; memegwesiwag gifts, 62; new animism, 109 – 10

Gell, Simeran, 203 gender in languages, 20 – 1, 54 – 6, 74, 277n3. See also animacy Gibaabaanaan. See Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gibaabaanaan) (destroyed by fire in 1973) Gichii Omoosonii (Chiip): warriors, 37, 39(i) Gisayenaan: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Give-away Dance, 44, 233 glossary, Ojibwe, 267 – 74 Goddard, Ives, 21, 54, 66 – 8, 278n17 good life (bimaadiziwin): about, 35, 255; help from intermediaries, 35, 115; language notes, 255; life as process vs condition, 115; moral responsibilities, 137 – 8; search for, 85 gorget (breast panel): ceremonies, 31 – 2, 70; description of, 31 – 2, 276n3, plate 6; grammatical animacy, 31, 70; language notes, 254; made by Miskwa’o, 31, 70; museum classification, 135 Gosden, Chris, 22, 164, 237 grammatical animacy. See animacy Grandfather Water Drum (Three Fires name for Naamiwan’s water drum) (E5 211), 88, 234 – 8, 242 – 3, 249. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211) Grand Medicine Society. See Midewiwin ceremonies graves. See human remains Gray, Susan, 164 Greenberg, Joseph, 21, 55 – 6, 64, 67 Gutierrez, Ramon A., 173

illnesses and bad health: attacks as cause of, 225 – 7; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 228 – 9, 285n4; everyday healing vs gift of life, 219 – 20; language notes, 263 – 4; Omishoosh’s childhood tooth abscess, 45 – 6, 117 – 18; Omishoosh’s public lecture on healing, 42 – 3; technical vs existential questions, 217 – 18. See also ceremonies; medicine bags and boxes; medicine men indexes, art objects as, 206 – 8, 218. See also Gell, Alfred, agency of objects indigenous revitalization. See revitalization movements Indo-European languages, 55 – 6, 277n3 infatuation and love medicine, 216 – 18 Ingold, Tim: agency and continual flux, 220, 230, 245 – 6; on animism, 53, 280n4; auditory perception of soul, 216; Hallowell’s influence on, 109 – 10; intentionality, 245; life as process vs condition, 115; on new animism, 109 – 10, 246; Ojibwe poetics of dwelling, 79, 109 – 10, 204; phenomenological approach, 246; revitalization and social improvisation, 172 – 3; social interaction with objects, 22; social living and making of self, 211 inheritance, language notes, 255 – 6 inner essence. See soul (ajichaag) intellectual property, 19 – 20. See also cultural property irony, use by Omishoosh, 69, 71, 73, 77 “Isinamowin” (CBC Radio), 23

hair and exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18, 218(i) Hallam, Elizabeth, 172 – 3 Hallowell, A. Irving: about, 5, 6(i), 13 – 14, 49, 51; animacy, example of stones, 51, 56 – 64; archives, 7, 23; Berens as informant, 53, 56, 64, 120; collected articles, 6 – 7; cultural relativism, 51 – 2, 66; field studies in Pauingassi, 5, 13 – 14, 49, 199(i); influence of, 14, 51, 109 – 10; metamorphosis and power, 115 – 18; Midewiwin ceremonies, 165, 275 – 6n4, 280n1; moral responsibilities, 137 – 8; Naamiwan on Christianity, 164 – 5; names (Midewigimaa), 263, 275 – 6n4; “Ojibwa Ontology, Behaviour and World View,” 51 – 4, 109, 114; Ojibwe terminology, 275n2; other-than-human persons, 106; ownership concepts, 233; phenomenologial approach, 109; potentialities vs categories, 109 – 10; source of all power, 119; Thunderbirds, 114; unified cognitive outlook, 53, 56, 62 – 3, 109. See also Pauingassi, ethnography and scholarship Hammil, Jan, 143 – 4 Handler, Richard, 20, 170, 179 Hastrup, Kirsten, 246 – 7

Jackhead: map, 8(i); Ojibwe language teaching, 53. See also scrolls, birch-bark Jack Head Island, 60 – 1

313

 indigenous legal principles, 161 – 2; restrictions on ceremonies in US, 276n9; scholarship on, 23; thing-like personhood of objects, 138 legends. See stories, legends, and myths Le Jeune, Père, 54, 278n8 Levesque, Louise (Jacob Owen’s sister), 282n2 (ch. 7), 282n6 (ch. 6) life, good. See good life (bimaadiziwin) life force. See source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged) life-giving (bimaaji’aan), 255 Little Boy Water Drum. See Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214) Little Grand Rapids: airstrip, 28, 100; animacy of stones, 59; barrel-stave drum, 282n6 (ch. 6); dream dance drum, 282n2; giant serpents, 112; map, 8(i); salvage ethnography (1970), 249; stones and animacy, 59, 103, 277n1; story of Jacob and Thunderbird, 125 – 6; Waabano lodge, 58(i) Little Red School House, Minneapolis, 12, 140, 143, 152 lodge in Pauingassi. See Waabano pavilion and ceremonies lodges, sweat. See sweat lodges lodge with boughs (aniibiishigiwaam) (predecessor to Waabano pavilion), 43, 129 – 30, 226 – 8 Long, John, 258 – 9 long-distance murder, 198, 202 – 3, 228, 283n1. See also medicine men loon-skin bag, 76 love medicine, 216 – 18 Lubicon Cree controversy, 160 luck or fate, 85, 216, 257, 284n9 Luna, James, 153 – 5

Jackson, Michael: beliefs as variable, 177; intersubjectivity, 14; phenomenological approach, 14, 211, 220, 243 – 4, 246; privileging of viewpoints, 49; social separation of medicine men, 202; superstition vs science, 202 – 3 James, William, 177 Janes, Robert R., 107, 174 Jeffs, Allyson, 161 – 2 Jiibay: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Kaapech (Alex Owen’s second wife): warrior women, 37, 39(i) Kainai repatriation, 162 Keeper, Alex (Kiiwiich), 103, 104(i), 277n1 Keeper, Maryanne (Anang), 11, 37, 38(i) keepers of regalia, 34. See also ceremonial regalia Keesing, Roger M., 22, 154, 169, 173 kettle or pail, wooden (mitig): euphemism for Naamiwan’s water drum, 35, 69, 224, 257 – 8. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211) Kiiwiich (Alex Keeper), 103, 104(i), 277n1 Kilarski, Marcin, 54 – 6, 74 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara, 131 knowledge/power, language notes, 259 Knowles, Chantal, 22, 164, 237 Koowin (Naamiwan’s wife): dance cape, 28, 30, plate 4B; death (1940s), 285n5; social relations with Thunderbirds, 120 – 1; at Waabano pavilion, 5(i), 199(i) Kopytoff, Igor, 16, 22, 220 Kwagiulth repatriation, 154 – 5 Kwakwaka’wakw repatriation, 175 – 6 Labrador tea plants, 42 – 3, 225 – 6 Lac Courte Oreilles, Wisconsin, 13, 143 – 4, 145 Lac Seul, Ontario, 9 Lakoff, George, animacy, 65 – 6 Landes, Ruth, 278n11 language notes, Ojibwe, 253 – 66. See also Ojibwe, language languages, gender in, 54 – 6, 74, 277n3. See also animacy La Ronge, Saskatchewan, 23 Latour, Bruno: agency, 203, 221; personhood of things, 4, 157, 211; recalcitrant objects, 15; symmetric anthropology, 243; translation and cultural relationships, 53; visibility of objects, 226 Layton, Robert, 208, 283n3 Leacock, Eleanor, 136 legal issues: culture concepts, 169; export permits for Canadian cultural property, 196, 235, 237, 285n7; NAGPRA and human remains, 107, 144, 159 – 60; repatriation and

Maanaadis (Naamiwan’s daughter): warrior women, 37, 39(i) Mack, John, 74 Mados: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Malaher, Gerald, 10 – 11, 11(i) Malcolm, Joe, 96 Maltese cross, 70. See also everlasting star (gaagige anang) manidookaan. See sculptures of people or animals (manidookaan) Manitoba (Manidoobaa), term, 112, 262 Manitoba Museum: classification systems, 77; curators, 57 – 8, 242, 285n10; medicine bags and boxes, 197, 242; medicine stones, 57 – 8, 197; move of Pauingassi Collection to, 192, 196 – 7, 239, 250, 283n5 (ch. 8); Naamiwan’s drum (artefact L2.003-B), 196 – 7, 238 – 43, 240(i); Naamiwan’s drum danger, 47, 238 – 9;

314

 223 – 4, 228 – 9; A. Roulette as, 24, 111, 202, 259; socially active ghosts, 21; social separation of, 202; sorcery, 214 – 18, 261; stones and animacy, 21, 57(i), 57 – 9, 197. See also Naamiwan, medicine man memegwesiwag (semi-human dwarves): about, 20 – 1, 60 – 4, 276n11; agency of, 63 – 4; description, 60 – 1; grammatical animacy, 63 – 4; medicine source, 62, 219; stone experts, 20 – 1, 60 – 1, 63; Yellowlegs’s stone, 60 – 1 “Memegwesiwag” (CBC Radio), 25, 239 men: warriors and warrior women, 37, 39(i), 46, 121, 264. See also medicine men Mennonites, 11, 76, 100 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 109, 243 – 6 metamorphosis: and healing, 219 – 20; and power, 22 – 3, 117 – 18, 209; and provisional belief, 23, 209 metaphorical animacy. See animacy Midewigimaa (Hallowell), 275 – 6n4 Midewigimaawikwe (Matthews), 275 – 6n4 Midewiwin ceremonies: about, 13; ceremonial apprentices, 38(i), 46; dance capes, 28, 38(i), 276n2, plate 4A; discreet speech on, 72 – 4, 78; distributed power, 130; euphemism for (Giikaaniwaan), 128 – 9; Hallowell on ending of, 280n1, 284 – 5n3; initiation ceremonies, 129 – 30, 226 – 8; in lodge with boughs, 43, 129 – 30, 226 –  7; Omishoosh’s abscessed tooth ceremony, 45 – 6, 117 – 18; Omishoosh’s interview (1994), 105, 111, 117 – 19, 129 – 30, 225 – 7; Omishoosh’s public lecture on, 42 – 8; ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 111, 128 – 30, 165 – 6, 224 – 9, 265; sweat lodges, 225 – 6, 284 – 5n3; and Waabano, 11, 280n1, 284 – 5n3; warriors and warrior women, 37, 39(i), 46, 264; water drums, 129, 222. See also ceremonial regalia; ceremonial tools; medicine men Midewiwin ceremonies, US: legal restrictions, 276n9; locations, 13. See also Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin millenarian movements. See revitalization movements Miller, Daniel, 19, 77, 78 – 9 misfortune, language notes, 263 – 4. See also illnesses and bad health Miskwa’o (Angus’s wife). See Owen, Miskwa’o (Red Bird) (Angus’s wife; Omishoosh’s adoptive mother) missing artefacts from Pauingassi Collection. See University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts missionaries: Algonquian language studies, 54, 66, 278n8; Pauingassi area, 9 – 10, 11 – 12. See also Christianity

Owen family as guardians, 196 – 7, 239, 240(i), 241(i), 242, 251; relations with indigenous communities, 242; repatriation policy, 180, 282n6 (ch. 7); storage, 196 – 7, 242. See also museums Manitowabi, Edna, 234 Mankihtikwaan (Naamiwan’s mother), 9 Marcus, George, 23, 25, 26 Martin, Nick, 146 material culture, terminology, 19. See also artefacts Matthews, Maureen: advocacy for Pauingassi, 25 – 7; anthropologist, 5 – 7, 23 – 7; awards, 24, 183; course proposal on Pauingassi artefacts, 86 – 8; Cree community, 23; curator, 285n10; journalist, 3 – 7, 23 – 7, 99 – 100, 183; name (Midewigimaawikwe), 7, 263 Matthews, Maureen, Pauingassi case study: about, 3 – 4; anthropological approach, 14, 23 – 7; collaborative practice, 24 – 5; field methods, 14, 23 – 4, 27; Hallowell’s influence, 13 – 14; journalistic approach, 23 – 7; Naamiwan’s drum as epitomizing object, 4, 23 – 4, 221; Ojibwe terminology, 14 – 15, 275n2; participant observer, 14; radio documentary on controversy, 3 – 4, 23 – 4, 25, 183, 185, 190; scholarship on case studies, 23; theoretical approach, 4, 16, 181 – 2, 242 – 4 Matthews, Maureen, works (CBC and CBQ Radio): “Binesiwag” (“Thunderbirds”), 25, 26, 114; “Fair Wind’s Drum,” 25, 26; “Fair Wind’s Water Drum,” 3 – 4, 23 – 4, 25, 183, 185, 190; “Isinamowin,” 23; “Memegwesiwag,” 25, 239; “Mother Earth,” 25, 277n6 (ch. 3); “Naamiwan Odewe’iganan” (“Fair Wind’s Drum”), 25, 26; “Naamiwan’s Water Drum,” 250; “Sailing Horses,” 277n6 (ch. 3); “Thunderbirds,” 25, 26, 86, 114 Mauss, Marcel, 106, 206 – 7 McCormick, Chris, 161 – 2 McKinley, Val, 279n1 medicine bags and boxes: everyday healing vs gift of life, 118 – 19; grammatical animacy, 72; medicine box, 197, 242; missing items, 196; powders becoming human forms, 219 – 20; stones, 21, 57(i), 57 – 8, 197; U of W collection, 76 medicine men: about, 219 – 20; ceremonies and healing by, 85; dark powers, 198, 201 – 3, 211, 223 – 4, 228, 283n1; everyday healing vs gift of life, 22, 118 – 19, 219 – 20; intermediary for source of all power, 105, 115, 211, 219 – 20, 259; long-distance travel, 228, 245; metamorphosis and power, 117 – 18, 219 – 20; power variations, 211 – 12, 220; primary and secondary agency, 211 – 12, 220, 224; reputations, 5, 9 – 10, 118, 202,

315

 practices, 163, 180 – 1, 242; scholarship on, 22, 153; subaltern views, 153 – 4 myths. See stories, legends, and myths

mist and spirit world, 112 – 13 mitig. See pail or kettle, wooden (mitig) mitigwakik (water drum). See drums, water (mitigwakik) Moonzogimaa: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) morality: cannibalism, 201 – 2; “careful deliberation,” 92, 137 – 8, 261, 265; language notes, 264 – 5; long-distance murder, 198, 202 –  3, 228, 283n1; murder, 198; Naamiwan’s dark powers, 201 – 3, 283n1; Pauingassi repatriation, 179; reciprocal relations with other-thanhuman persons, 137 – 8; social context and moral response, 246 – 7. See also theft (gimoodi) moral wrong (onjinewin): about, 93, 264 – 5; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 212, 228 – 9, 285n4; language notes, 264 – 5; moral wrong, 137; theft as, 137. See also theft (gimoodi) morning star (waabanang), 277n5 (ch. 2) Morphy, Howard, 17, 208, 283n2 “Mother Earth” (CBC Radio), 25, 277n6 (ch. 3) museum at Red Lake. See Red Lake Cultural Centre, Ontario Museum of Anthropology, University of British Columbia, 175 – 6 Museum of Anthropology, U of W. See University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection museums: art vs artefact, 17 – 18; classification systems, 18, 40 – 1, 76 – 9, 87, 134 – 6, 232 – 4; conservationism, 154 – 5; cultural access to difference, 156 – 7; as custodians of authenticity, 79; identity designations, 135; institutional ownership, 131; knowledge in objects, 74; metaphors for, 15, 181 – 2; negative views of, 153 – 4, 167; personhood of museums, 179; power to order thinking, 135; preservation goals, 75, 242; scholarship on, 153, 159 – 63; smudging of artefacts, 75; zeitgeists, 15. See also artefacts; human remains; Manitoba Museum; repatriation; University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection museums and repatriation: indigenouscontrolled museums, 154 – 5; limits on museal discourse, 154; negative views of, 153 – 4, 167; recommended practices, 180 – 1; scholarship on, 153, 159 – 63; sites of contested repatriation, 75. See also repatriation museums as contact zones: about, 131 – 2, 178 – 9; classification systems, 18, 78 – 9, 87, 134 – 6, 232 – 4; colonial history, 139, 153 – 4; “contact work,” 163, 242; cultural biography, 134, 221 – 2; Pauingassi repatriation, 178 – 81; personhood of objects, 132 – 5, 137 – 8, 178, 232; power relations, 18, 20, 132, 134 – 5, 180, 244 – 5; Pratt’s definition, 132, 178; recommended

Naamiwan: about, 4 – 7, 5(i), 213(i); agency after death, 229, 238; birth, 8 – 9; Christian syncretism, 164 – 5; control of waterways, 9 – 10; cultural biography, 221, 242 – 3; Fair Wind, as name, 246; family, 9, 24; as Hallowell’s informant, 276n1; with Koowin (1933), 199(i); Moose clan, 6; primary agency, 229. See also Koowin (Naamiwan’s wife) Naamiwan, medicine man: about, 4, 5(i), 213(i), 247; agency and spiritual power, 247; dark powers, 201 – 3, 211, 223 – 4, 228 – 9, 283n1; everlasting star design, 32; healing powers, 5, 99, 118 – 19, 211; long-distance murder, 198, 228 – 9, 283n1; memegwesiwag as helpers, 63; metamorphosis and power, 117 – 18; Midewiwin ceremonies, 280n1; reputation, 5, 9 – 10, 118, 202, 223 – 4, 228 – 9; Thunderbird relations, 120 – 1, 124, 212, 213(i), 214 – 16, 247; at Waabano pavilion, 4, 5(i), 212, 213(i), 214 – 16; wolverine persona, 45 – 6, 117 – 18, 261 Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gaa-gizhewaadizid). See Poplar Hill dream drum (Gaagizhewaadizid) (Naamiwan’s drum owned by nephews; now in Red Lake Cultural Centre) Naamiwan’s dream drum (Gibaabaanaan) (destroyed by fire in 1973): built by Wanachence, 69, 276n8; grammatical animacy, 69 – 70; loss in fire (1973), 12, 46, 70, 188, 276n8; name for (Gibaabaanaan), 69, 260, 276n5; N. Owen’s knowledge of, 188; Omishoosh as drum keeper, 12, 276n8 Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211): age (1815), 223, 224, 232; agency of, 203, 224, 229 – 30, 238; Angus’s use of, 229 – 30, 284n2; artefact E5 211 (U of W), 34 – 5, 223, 230 – 4, 242 – 3, plate 3A; artefact L2.003-B (Manitoba Museum), 196 – 7, 238 – 43, 240(i); crack and repair, 34 – 5, 223, 232; danger to users acting without spiritual authority, 47, 228 – 9; dark powers, 198, 201 – 3, 223 – 4, 228, 283n1; description, 5(i), 199(i), 213(i), 223, 224, 240(i), plate 3A; EBB’s return to Owens (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8; gift of life, 225; grammatical animacy, 69 – 71, 224, 236 – 7; Grandfather Water Drum (Three Fires name), 88, 234 – 8, 242 – 3, 249; monetary value, 151, 282n9 (ch. 6), 285n7; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 34 – 5, 69 – 70; primary and secondary agency, 211, 220, 224; retirement of, 12, 90 – 2, 95, 229 – 30, 249, 284n2; ritual brotherhood, 203, 224 – 30; sacred/secular classification, 34, 40 – 1, 76 – 7, 79, 232, 234; sale to Steinbring, 75, 87,

316

 Ojibwe, agency of objects: about, 211 – 20; bad medicine, 216 – 18; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 212, 228 – 9, 285n4; distributed power, 105, 215 – 16, 220; exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18; and Gell’s theory, 17, 204, 220, 243; illnesses, 217; love medicine, 216; luck or fate, 216 – 18, 257, 284n9; metamorphosis, 212, 219 – 20; metaphorical animacy, 20 – 1; power variations, 211 – 12, 220, 221; primary and secondary agency, 211 – 12, 220, 224; relationships between artefacts, 237; volt sorcery, 214 – 16, 217 – 18. See also Gell, Alfred, agency of objects Ojibwe, language: art, 212, 283n5 – 6; CBC documentaries in, 25, 26, 114; distributed power and ambiguity, 105; first Ojibwe dictionary, 54; French missionaries on, 54, 66, 278n8; glossary, 267 – 74; high Ojibwe, 101 – 2; humour, 69, 71, 73, 77, 105; language notes, 253 – 66; provisional belief (certainty/ uncertainty), 72, 110, 177, 209, 256 – 7; religious conversion processes, 165; rhetorical structure, 96; speakers, 12, 277n4 (ch. 2); syllabics, 12, 27, 96 – 7; understated confrontation, 185; use in Pauingassi, 12, 27, 239, 277n4 (ch. 2). See also Algonquian languages; discreet speech; Roulette, Roger; Simmons, Margaret Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen): agency after death, 229, 238; author’s relationship, 6, 23 – 4; Christian practices, 42, 76, 77, 265; cultural biography, 221; danger of Naamiwan’s drum, 47, 93, 228 – 9, 238 – 9; date of birth (estimated), 280n15; death and funeral (2001-2), 24, 100 – 2, 250; denial of sale of artefacts by, 33, 76; diplomatic approach, 279n10; discreet speech on, 72 – 4, 76, 78; family, 6, 24, 30; health problems, 89, 97 – 100; high Ojibwe language, 101 – 2; honorary bear clan, 284n8; humour and irony, 69, 71, 73, 77; legacy after death, 101 – 2; parented by Angus and Miskwa’o, 30, 30(i); photos of, 29(i), 32(i)-33(i), plate 1; school board member, 6; school named for, 170, 172, 1701(i); traditional education, 85; values (humility, compassion, mutual support), 86. See also Eva (Omishoosh’s first wife); Owen, Angus (Aankus) (Naamiwan’s son; Omishoosh’s adoptive father); Owen, Janet (Omishoosh’s second wife); Owen, Miskwa’o (Red Bird) (Angus’s wife; Omishoosh’s adoptive mother) Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), ceremonies: abscessed tooth event, 45 – 6, 117 – 18; on Angus’s healing powers, 219 – 20; bird sculpture and Thunderbird relations, 214 – 16; ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i); danger of

231, 249, 285n5; storage at museums, 40, 94 – 5, 231; at Waabano pavilion, 4, 5(i), 199(i), 213(i) Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211), cultural biography: about, 221 – 2, 242 – 3; artefact E5 211 (U of W), 230 – 4, 242 – 3, plate 3A; artefact L2.003-B (Manitoba Museum), 196 – 7, 238 – 43, 240(i); as epitomizing object, 4, 16, 221; Grandfather Water Drum, 88, 234 – 8, 242 – 3, 249; metonymy, 235; name changes, 221 – 2, 230, 234, 242 – 3; ownership concepts, 233, 235; person-like vs thing-like mode, 222, 232 “Naamiwan Odewe’iganan” (“Fair Wind’s Drum”) (CBQ Radio), 25, 26 NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act) (US), 107, 144, 159 – 60 nail clippings and exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18 Napoleon, Val, 161 National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC: Pauingassi artefacts, 80, 139, 212, 214(i), 263, 284 – 5n3 Nelson, Charlie, Manitoba: drum keeper, 144 – 5; independent ceremonial group, 281n3; interview (2002), 144 – 5, 155, 183 – 4, 234; named by U of W as alleged consultant on removal (1999), 87, 279n2; on ownership, 183 – 4; on Pauingassi water drums, 144 – 5, 155, 183, 234; Three Fires western doorkeeper, 144 – 5, 183, 281n3 Nelson, Terrance, 184, 194, 237 – 8 Neufeld, Henry, 100 Ningewance, Patricia: on animacy, 52 – 3; Ojibwe spelling, 275n2; on uncertainty in Ojibwe language, 72, 256 Northern Ojibwa, terminology, 275n2. See also Ojibwe objects, ethnographic: terminology, 18 – 19. See also artefacts Odaab: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Ojibwe: aesthetic sensibility, 283 – 4n5; cannibalism, 201 – 2; control of waterways, 9 – 10; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 212, 228 – 9, 285n4; diversity of, 15; ethnography, 13 – 14; history, 5, 139, 163 – 6; memory and oral tradition, 166; metamorphosis and power, 22 – 3, 117 – 18, 209, 219 – 20; metaphors for, 15, 181 – 2; ownership concepts, 136 – 7, 233; potentialities vs categories, 109 – 10; provisional belief, 110, 177, 209; ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 111, 128 – 30, 165 – 6, 224 – 9, 265; scholarship on, 14; terminology, 14 – 15, 275n2; unified spatiotemporal frame of reference, 62 – 3; visual vs auditory perception, 216, 227 – 8. See also ceremonies; Hallowell, A. Irving

317

 (Midewigimaa), 263; medicine box, 197, 242; medicine man, 57(i), 57 – 8; Naamiwan and bell-tower, 11 Owen, Ahkaakochiis (Shawtail) (father of Charlie Moose Owen): warriors, 37, 39(i) Owen, Alice (Giichiimookoman) (wife of Moses Owen): warrior women, 37, 39(i) Owen, Angus (Aankus) (Naamiwan’s son; Omishoosh’s adoptive father): adoptive father of Omishoosh, 84; dark powers, 283n1; death (1957), 229, 276n7; drumstick made by (E5 59), 35, plate 7B; family, 30; foreknowledge of death, 84; medicine man, 82 – 5, 118 – 19, 219 – 20, 283n1; medicines, 219 – 20; memegwesiwag as helpers, 63; with Miskwa’o, 30(i); and Naamiwan’s water drum, 229 – 30, 284n2; retirement of tools, 90; at Waabano pavilion, 5(i), 199(i); warriors, 37, 39(i). See also Owen, Miskwa’o (Red Bird) (Angus’s wife; Omishoosh’s adoptive mother) Owen, Charlie George. See Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen) Owen, Charlie Moose (Zaagijiwe): ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Owen, Charlie Peter (Omishoosh’s son by Eva): father of Nelson, 24, 57, 184 Owen, David (Ochiip; Omishoosh’s cousin): danger of Naamiwan’s drum, 238 – 9; health, 27; memegwesiwag experiences, 63; Omishoosh’s funeral, 101 Owen, Elaine (Nelson’s wife): EBB’s return of four items to (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 250; family, 24; guardians of the collection, 242, 251; informant role, 24; interview with EBB (2002), 184 – 5. See also Owen, Joshua (Nelson and Elaine’s son); Owen, Nelson (Omishoosh’s grandson) Owen, Gezhiiyash, Joseph, and Omishoosh: Naamiwan’s nephews in Poplar Hill, 81(i) Owen, Jacob (Es): ceremonial apprentice, 38(i), 123(i); memegwesiwag as helpers, 63; metamorphosis of wife, 116; in Pauingassi (1996), 122(i); and Thunderbirds, 120 – 1, 123(i), 124 – 8, 215 – 16; tobacco offerings, 120 – 1 Owen, Janet (Omishoosh’s second wife): Omishoosh’s funeral, 100 – 1; opening of Omishoosh School, 171(i); sale of items by, 39 – 40, 76 Owen, Joshua (Nelson and Elaine’s son): family, 24; guardians of the collection, 241(i), 242, 251; transfer of Naamiwan’s drum to Manitoba Museum, 197. See also Owen, Elaine (Nelson’s wife); Owen, Nelson (Omishoosh’s grandson) Owen, Maa’aanjoosh (Lilian) (wife of James Owen): warrior women, 37, 39(i)

Naamiwan’s drum, 47; discreet speech on, 72 – 4, 78; initiation ceremony, 129 – 30, 226 – 8; in lodge with boughs, 43, 129 – 30, 226 – 8; memegwesiwag as helpers, 63; Naamiwan’s wolverine persona, 45 – 6, 117 – 19, 261; public lecture on, 42 – 8; sweat lodge, 42 – 3, 225, 284 –  5n3; at Waabano pavilion, 5(i), 199(i), 213(i) Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), museum visit (1995): about, 28, 68, 276n1; animacy and ceremonial artefacts, 68 – 72, 75; discreet speech, 72 – 4, 76, 78; grammatical animacy, 68 – 72; lack of performance as traditional urban elder, 41, 75 – 8, 133, 232 – 3, 279n20; public lecture in Ojibwe, 41 – 8; on ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 165 – 6; sacred/secular classification, 34, 40 – 1, 76 – 9, 134 – 6, 232, 234; on sale of artefacts by his wife (Janet), 39 – 40, 76; staff assumptions about Omishoosh, 75 – 7; on storage of items, 40, 94 – 5, 166, 231; viewing of items, 28 – 41; on what to do with ceremonial items, 36. See also bandolier (E5 101); drumsticks, Naamiwan’s (E5 169 and E5 172) Omishoosh (Charlie George Owen), repatriation: on Angus’s healing powers, 82 – 5; on ceremonial use of items today, 82 – 4; denial of approval of transfer to Three Fires, 149 – 50; on disappearance of artefacts, 89 – 92; on drum in Wisconsin (2002), 100; interviews (1996, 1999, 2000, 2001), 82 – 6, 89 – 95, 97 – 9, 100; letter to Rooke asking for return (2000), 96 – 7, 100, 239, 250; on motives for removal, 92 – 5; on removal as theft, 98 – 9; request for return of artefacts, 94; on revitalization movements, 94; on safe storage at museum, 40, 94 – 5, 231 Omishoosh Memorial School, 170, 171(i), 172 Omooday: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) onjinewin. See moral wrong (onjinewin) other-than-human persons: about, 106, 108 – 11; auditory perception of, 216, 227 – 8; causation, 247; Christian syncretic belief, 164; distributed personhood, 106 – 7; and Gell’s agency of objects, 204; grammatical animacy, 56, 63 – 4; Hallowell on, 56; human reciprocal relations with, 137 – 8; metamorphosis, 22 – 3, 219 – 20; new animist anthropology, 108 – 11, 246; power hierarchy, 116 – 17; powers of otherthan-human persons: and grammatical animacy, 65; social relations with, 120. See also Thunderbirds Owen family: guardians of collection, 196 – 7, 239, 240(i), 241(i), 242, 251; Naamiwan’s family, 9, 24 Owen, Adam (grandfather of Nelson Owen): family, 57; on Hallowell’s name

318

 Parkin, David, 15 partible personhood. See personhood, dividual or partible Pascal, Boushey, 38(i), 101, 130 Pascal, Kiichiis (Alex), Tekis (Margaret), and Wisaakejaak (William): warriors and warrior women, 37, 39(i) Paterson, Robert, 161 Pauingassi: about, 8 – 12; demographics, 10; economy, 12; English language use, 97, 178; First Nation status, 170; healing reputation, 8 – 9, 11; history, 5, 8 – 11, 11(i), 163 – 4; map and location, 8(i), 9; media coverage, 147, 239; missionaries, 9 – 10, 11 – 12; Ojibwe language use, 12, 27, 239, 277n4 (ch. 2); Omishoosh’s funeral, 100 – 2; political activism, 239; revitalization movements, 188 – 9; schools, 10, 12, 27, 100 – 1, 170, 171(i), 172, 280n2; social and health problems, 12, 27, 147 – 8, 170; terrain, 9(i)-10(i), 9 – 10; transportation, 10, 28, 82, 100. See also Christianity; Fishing Lake; Ojibwe Pauingassi, ethnography and scholarship: early history, 13 – 16; salvage ethnography (1970), 75, 131, 134, 231, 249. See also Brown, Jennifer S.H.; Hallowell, A. Irving; Matthews, Maureen; Steinbring, Jack Pauingassi, museum artefacts. See Manitoba Museum; National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC; Red Lake Cultural Centre, Ontario; University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection Pauingassi, repatriation: about, 197; EBB’s criticism of, 169, 174 – 5, 177; invisibility/ visibility of personhood, 157; lack of awareness of museums, 156; lack of indignation about theft, 238 – 9; Owens as guardians of collection, 196 – 7, 239, 240(i), 241(i), 242, 251; personhood of things, 178 – 81, 197; scholarship on, 160 – 3; shared Ojibwe meanings, 155 – 6; statistics on missing items, 96, 134, 195, 196, 242, 247, 250, 281n15; timeline, 249 – 51. See also Matthews, Maureen, Pauingassi case study; University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts Pauingassi, revitalization of Ojibwe culture: author’s advocacy, 25 – 7; book on local artefacts and genealogy, 80, 100, 279n1; influence of pan-Indian revitalization, 170, 171(i), 172; Ojibwe documentaries, 26; Omishoosh on need for education, 46 – 7; Omishoosh’s request for photos for education, 48, 80, 82, 86; Omishoosh’s views on objects as teachers, 41, 130, 193, 230

Owen, Miskwa’o (Red Bird) (Angus’s wife; Omishoosh’s adoptive mother): with Angus, 30(i); dance cape, 30, plate 5A; death, 276n7, 285n5; family, 30; Omishoosh’s bandolier, 31 – 3, 32(i)-33(i), plate 8; Omishoosh’s gorget, 31, 276n3, plate 6; Omishoosh’s healing ceremony, 45; skill in handwork, 31 – 3; warrior women leader, 30, 37, 39(i). See also Owen, Angus (Aankus) (Naamiwan’s son; Omishoosh’s adoptive father) Owen, Moses (Miskwaadezi Oshkiishik): Omishoosh’s funeral, 101; warriors, 37, 39(i) Owen, Nelson (Omishoosh’s grandson): community support by, 27, 184, 197; cultural biography, 221; danger of Naamiwan’s drum, 47, 238 – 9; death, 24, 27; EBB interview (2002), 184 – 91, 235 – 7, 250; EBB’s return of four items to (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 250; family, 24, 57 – 8; grammatical structures, 236; guardians of the collection, 240(i), 242, 251; informant role, 24, 27; letter from U of W (2008), 250; medicine stones, 57(i), 57 – 8; with Naamiwan’s drum (2007), 240(i); on “traditional” people and threats to Pauingassi, 188 – 9; understated confrontation, 185. See also Owen, Elaine (Nelson’s wife); Owen, Joshua (Nelson and Elaine’s son) Owen, Niizhiishaan (James Bearhair): warriors, 37, 39(i) Owen, Ochiip (David): warriors, 37, 39(i) Owen, St John (Jacob’s brother): interview (1994), 198, 200(i), 201 – 3; on Naamiwan’s dark powers, 198, 201 – 3, 223 – 4, 228, 283n1 Owen, Waanachense (Alex) (Omishoosh’s father): warriors, 37, 39(i) Owen, Wechanimaash (James) (son of Naamiwan): warriors, 37, 39(i) ownership concepts: about, 136, 233; communal ownership, 20, 136 – 7, 233; division between persons and things, 107; Give-away Dance, 233; Hallowell’s views, 233; non-optional obligations, 21, 136, 210; Ojibwe perspective, 90, 136 – 7, 183 – 4, 233; Omishoosh on, 90; partible personhood, 131, 235; power relations, 20; rationale for Three Fires’ claim, 136, 233; repatriation, 107, 130 – 2, 157, 161; ritual brotherhood, 133; source of all power, 137; Steinbring’s views, 136, 233; thing-like mode, 21 – 2, 131, 135 – 6; U of W documents in response to author’s request to photo artefacts (1999), 88. See also cultural property pail or kettle, wooden (mitig): euphemism for Naamiwan’s water drum, 35, 69, 224, 257 – 8. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211)

319

 plants: and animacy, 54, 64 – 5, 278n11, 278n16; Labrador tea plants, 42 – 3, 225 – 6; with medicine stones, 57, 197 Poplar Hill, Ontario: dance lodge (1933), 81(i); Hallowell’s name (Aadizookewinini), 263, 275 – 6n4; map, 8(i); Steinbring’s salvage ethnography, 249 Poplar Hill dream drum (Gaa-gizhewaadizid) (Naamiwan’s drum owned by nephews; now in Red Lake Cultural Centre): cairns to mark edges of sound, 228; description, 31(i), 80, 81(i), 228, 276n8; everlasting star, 31 – 2, 277n5 (ch. 2); name for (Gaa-gizhewaadizid), 69, 260, 276n5; nephews, 81(i), 276n8 Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214): carved from tree trunk, 282n6 (ch. 6); claims of presence at Bad River (1986), 144; cultural biography, 234; description, 223, plate 2A; EBB’s return to Owens (2002), 191 – 4, 282n9 (ch. 6); Little Boy Water Drum (E5 214), 234, plate 2A; media coverage of return to Owens, 194, 237 – 8, 283n4 (ch. 8); name change, 234; in Pauingassi Collection, 280n1; Strang’s ownership, 144, 191, 280n1, 282n6 (ch. 6) pouches, ceremonial, 43, 69, 72, 129, 226 – 7 power, distributed: about, 105, 119; discreet speech on, 105; flux in distributed agency, 220; and humour, 105; and objects, 119, 130; Omishoosh’s terms for power, 118 – 19; ritual brotherhood, 128 – 30, 224 – 9; and source of all power, 105, 259. See also other-than-human persons; source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged); spirit-entities power, life. See source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged) power and animacy: “compelled by divine power,” 71 – 2; critique of, 66; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 228 – 9, 285n4; distributed power, 105, 259; “gifted with understanding,” 71 – 2; grammatical animacy, 71; long-term assessment of power, 65; memegwesiwag’s powers, 63 – 4; potential danger, 65, 72; stones, 57 – 8 power relations in society: about, 18 – 20; artefacts, 18 – 20; authenticity and culture, 170, 171(i), 172; contact zones, 20, 131 – 2, 134 – 5; counter-hegemonic representations, 26; cultural property, 19 – 20; museum classification, 134 – 5; radio vs print, 26; repatriation to Pauingassi, 178; revitalization movement, 15 powers of other-than-human persons. See otherthan-human persons Pratt, Mary Louise, 20, 131 – 3, 178 property, cultural. See cultural property

Peace Drum (Big Dream Drum) ceremonies, 13. See also Boodaade ceremonies Peers, Laura L., 180 personhood: cultural biography, 22, 26; invisibility/visibility of, 21 – 2, 106, 181; of museums, 179; of objects, 21 – 2, 130; and repatriation terminology, 107; ritual brotherhood, 130, 165 – 6, 224 – 30. See also Gell, Alfred, agency of objects personhood, distributed: about, 106 – 7; bird sculpture and Thunderbird relations, 215 – 18; classificatory ambivalence, 110; defined, 106; exuviae sorcery, 218; Gell’s agency of objects, 207; invisibility/visibility of, 106; metamorphosis, 116; and objects, 106, 130; other-than-human persons, 106; person-like and thing-like modes, 106 – 7 personhood, dividual or partible: classificatory ambivalence, 110, 181; human remains example, 181; human rights claims, 107, 168; inner essence, 110; invisibility/visibility of personhood, 131, 157, 235; metamorphosis, 116; names and name changes, 221 – 2, 230, 242 – 3; other-than-human persons, 106 – 7; ownership claims, 131 – 2; partible person/ objects, 16, 21, 107, 157; person-like and thing-like modes, 106 – 7, 131 – 2, 168, 181; repatriation, 157 personhood, person-like and thing-like modes: about, 21 – 2, 106, 181; agency and personlike mode, 21; artefacts as cultural property, 168; “as if” status, 59; cultural biography, 22, 222; “dividuals,” 17, 21, 106; human remains and repatriation, 181; human rights, 107; invisibility/visibility of, 21 – 2; metamorphosis, 116; museum contact zones, 131 – 5; nonoptional obligations, 21, 108, 136, 181, 210; Ojibwe perspective, 166 – 7; other-thanhuman persons, 106; ownership and modes, 21 – 2, 131 – 2; partible personhood, 16, 107; Pauingassi repatriation, 178 – 81; person-like mode, 21, 106, 132, 167 – 8, 181, 222; possible destinies, 133; potentialities vs categories, 109 – 10; repatriation claims, 178; soul as only constant, 110; thing-like mode, 21, 106, 131 – 5, 178, 222, 232 Pettipas, Katherine, 57 – 8, 242 phenomenological theory, 108 – 11, 243 – 6 Phillips, Ruth B., 153, 156, 160 – 1, 163, 175 – 6, 232 Pimachiowin Aki proposal, UNESCO World Heritage Site, 27, 197, 251, 283n6 Pine Ridge protest, 143 pipes (sucking tubes), 16, 76, 196, 264 pipes, tobacco, 120 – 1, 126

320

 terminology, 107, 158 – 9, 160; thing-like mode, 131 – 5, 138, 178; traditional as assertion of authenticity, 175 – 6; visual repatriation, 163. See also cultural property; human remains; museums and repatriation; museums as contact zones; revitalization movements respectful speech. See discreet speech restitution, terminology, 107, 158 – 9, 160. See also repatriation revitalization movements: about, 14 – 15, 172 – 3, 181 – 2; and Christianity, 169, 173; comparison of US and Canada, 170; cultural conformity, 148, 174 – 5, 188 – 9, 235, 237; cultural performance of tradition, 75 – 8, 108, 132 – 3, 170, 279n20; improvisations on tradition, 172 – 3; objects and cultural renewal, 15; Omishoosh’s views on, 94; “on the trail” metaphor, 145, 155, 234; in Pauingassi, 188 – 9; power relations, 15, 170, 171(i), 172, 178; repatriation’s role, 154, 181 – 2; social support, 14 – 15; sweat lodges, 150, 225; symbols of, 170; tradition and improvisation, 172 – 3. See also AIM (American Indian Movement); repatriation; Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Canada; Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin Riding, James, 153 rights, cultural, 19 – 20. See also human rights Riles, Annelise, 235 ritual brotherhood (wiikaan), 111, 128 – 30, 133, 165 – 6, 199(i), 224 – 30, 265. See also ceremonies Rival, Laura M., 109 Robertson, Norman, 231 rock dwarves. See memegwesiwag (semi-human dwarves) rocks. See stones Rogers, John, 13, 141 romance and love medicine, 216 – 18 Rooke, Constance: letters on Pauingassi repatriation, 96 – 7, 100, 239, 250 Rosaldo, Michelle, 26 Rosoff, Nancy, 161 Roulette, Alfred (Roger’s father): appearance after death, 117, 281n9; dark powers, 202; medicine man, 24, 111, 202, 259; metamorphosis and power, 117; story sticks, 259; water drum, 24 Roulette, Dorine (Roger’s mother), 102, 116 Roulette, Roger: CBC documentaries, 24 – 5; family, 24 – 5; family drum, 99; interview with St John Owen, 198, 201 – 3; medicine stones, 21; translator, 24 – 5, 275n2 Roulette, Roger, views on: bird sculpture, 216; danger if acting without spiritual authority, 228 – 9; grammatical animacy, 53,

racial stereotypes, documentary on, 23 radio documentaries, 24 – 7. See also Matthews, Maureen, works (CBC and CBQ Radio) rattles: goose-bone rattles in drums, 69; grammatical animacy, 72; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 36 – 7; tin can rattles, drumshaped, 37, 37(i), 38(i), 199(i), 222; tinklers used by ceremonial guards (E5 8), 37, 135 – 6, 196, 264; at Waabano pavilion, 4, 5(i), 199(i), 213(i) rattles, tambourine (E5 811, E5 812, and E5 225): distributed personhood, 130; grammatical animacy, 69; green rattle (E5 811), 36, 44(i), 117 – 18, 152, plate 2B; Midewiwin ceremonies, 36, 44 – 5, 117 – 18; Omishoosh’s museum visit, 36 – 7; Omishoosh’s public lecture on, 44 – 6; red rattle (E5 812), 36, 44(i), 45 – 6, 117 – 18, plate 2C; ritual brotherhood, 130; unpainted rattle (E5 225), 36, 44(i) Rattray, Jennifer, 279n1 RCMP criminal investigation, 183, 237 reciprocity principle, 137 – 8 Red Bird. See Owen, Miskwa’o (Red Bird) (Angus’s wife; Omishoosh’s adoptive mother) Red Lake Cultural Centre, Ontario: Butikoffer Collection, 31(i), 283n5 (ch. 8); Naamiwan’s dream drum (owned by nephews), 31(i), 80, 81(i), 228, 276n8 “Reflections on a Cut Finger” (Gell), 246 regalia. See ceremonial regalia religious revitalization. See revitalization movements repatriation: about, 22 – 3, 157, 180 – 2; benefits of, 161, 179 – 80; cultural biography, 22, 26, 221 – 2, 242 – 3; and cultural performance of tradition, 75 – 8, 108, 132 – 3, 175 – 6; cultural property, 19 – 20, 138; culture as rhetorical object, 169; epitomizing events and objects, 16, 22, 157, 221; and Gell’s theory of agency, 244 – 5; history of, 107, 143 – 4; indigenous control, 154 – 5, 180; indigenous legal principles, 161 – 2; invisibility/visibility of personhood, 22, 157, 181; museum policies, 75, 180, 282n6 (ch. 7); non-optional obligations, 178; ownership concepts, 107, 130 – 2, 157, 161; and personhood of artefacts, 107, 131 – 2; political activism by AIM, 142 – 3, 155, 170; power relations, 132, 178; practical relativism, 243; property law conventions, 138; recognition and renewed relations, 179 – 80; recommended practices, 180 – 1; revitalization assumptions, 154, 172 – 4, 181 – 2; ritual brotherhood, 165 – 6; sacredness of objects, 79, 161 – 2; scholarship on, 23, 153, 159 – 63, 179; shared Ojibwe meanings, 155 – 6; source communities, 160;

321

 smudging, 75, 77, 279nn20 – 1 snakes and serpents, large, 112 – 13, 260 snowshoes, 69 Snyder, Emily, 161 – 2 Solowan, Michael, 161 – 2 songs. See singing and drumming sorcery, volt, 216 – 18 soul (ajichaag): about, 110; agency after death, 102, 116; auditory perception of, 216, 227 – 8; hide coverings on drums, 69, 224; language notes, 253; metamorphosis, 116 – 18; potentialities vs categories, 109 – 10 source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged): discreet speech on, 105; distributed power, 105, 119, 259; intermediaries for, 105, 259; language notes, 259; ownership concept, 137 Southeast Tribal Council, Winnipeg: EBB’s return of four items to Owens (2002), 192; letters to/from U of W about removal (1999), 96, 250 Speyer collection, repatriation, 158 spirit-entities: borders of interactive world, 112, 121; discreet speech on, 138, 212; distributed power, 105, 119, 130, 220, 259; gift of life to humans, 212, 219 – 20; human reciprocal relations with, 137 – 8; language notes, 262; ownership concept, 137; and source of all power (Gaa-dibendjiged), 259; spiritual authority to make representations, 212; terminology for, 119; tobacco and offerings to, 119 – 21, 126 – 8. See also dream spirits (aadizookaanag); Thunderbirds Spirit Sings controversy, 159 – 60 Stanley, Nick, 160 stars: eastern or morning star (waabanang), 277n5 (ch. 2); grammatical animacy, 70; language notes, 253. See also everlasting star (gaagige anang) Statt, Graham, 161 – 2 Steinbring, Jack: acquisition of artefacts, 75, 87 – 8, 231; interview (2002), 231; on Mennonites, 76; Omishoosh’s denial of sale to, 76; ownership concepts, 136, 233; sale of Naamiwan’s drum to, 75, 87, 231, 249, 285n5; salvage ethnography trip (1970), 75, 131, 134, 231, 249; statistics on items collected, 233, 249 Steiner, Christopher B., 156 Stevens, Frederick G., 9 – 10, 12 Stocking, George, 6, 276n1 stones: about, 20 – 1, 278n7; Algonquian languages, 278n7; art vs artefact example, 209; ceremonial function, 59, 103, 129 – 30, 225 – 6; contemporary incidents, 280n2; descriptions, 57, 59, 63; distributed power, 105; grammatical animacy, 51, 63 – 4, 72; “grandfather” stones,

73; Naamiwan’s dark powers, 198, 202 – 3; ownership concepts, 233; Thunderbirds, 212, 247; traditional as term, 174; use of other people’s religious objects, 99 Roulette, Roger, and Omishoosh: first meeting, 111; friendship, 24 – 5; interview (1994), 111, 117 – 19, 225 – 7; interviews (1999, 2000), 89 – 95, 97 – 100; letter to U of W, 96 – 7, 100, 239; at museum visit, 28; Omishoosh’s funeral, 100 – 2; photos of artefacts, 86; sweat lodge, 225 “Sailing Horses” (CBC Radio), 277n6 (ch. 3) St Croix, Wisconsin, Three Fires, 13, 141 St Germaine, Richard, 142 – 3 Samson, Colin, 22, 108, 132 Saskatoon Free School, 152 Saulteaux, terminology, 275n2. See also Ojibwe schools, Pauingassi, 10, 12, 27, 170, 171(i), 172, 280n2 scrolls, birch-bark: auditor general’s report on, 195 – 6; CPEIA and export permits, 196, 235; delivery to Three Fires (1998), 195; EBB’s possession of, 146, 234 – 5, 236, 282n7 (ch. 6); items still missing, 282n7 (ch. 6); monetary value, 151, 282n7 (ch. 6), 282n9 (ch. 6), 285n7; Omishoosh on powers of, 91 sculptures of people or animals (manidookaan): about, 275n3; bad medicine, 216; discreet speech, 275n3; family story sticks, 259; Gell’s agency of objects, 220; language notes, 255; protection of group, 216; spiritual authority to make, 47, 212; volt sorcery, 216 – 18; as warning sign, 216. See also bird sculpture (bineshiishikaan) serpents and snakes, 112 – 13, 260 shaking tent ceremonies, 63, 109, 216 shells (mígis), 56, 76 Shenawakaoshkank (Naamiwan’s father), 9 shield, breast. See gorget (breast panel) Simmons, Margaret: CBC documentaries, 24 – 5; family, 6 – 7, 119; at interview with Jacob Owen, 124 – 5; at Omishoosh’s museum visit, 28; school board consultant, 6, 24; translator, 6, 24 – 5 Sinclair, Murray, 87, 279n2 singing and drumming: auditory perception of soul, 216, 227 – 8; bird sculpture connections, 215 – 16; ceremonial practices, 83; declaration of authority in songs, 263; initiation ceremony, 129, 226 – 8; memegwesiwag singing, 60, 61 – 2; sweat lodges, 225 – 6; women not to sing or drum, 46, 284n1 Sioux, ceremonies, 172, 280n1 skeletal materials. See human remains smoking. See tobacco

322

 N. Owen (2002), 184 – 92; identity of persons responsible, 88, 148, 185 – 6, 190, 195 – 6, 235, 279n6; moral conduct rules, 137 – 8; Omishoosh on theft, 98 – 9, 111, 137 – 8, 179, 239, 250; Omishoosh’s denial of approval, 149 – 50; ritual brotherhood, 111, 130, 265. See also moral wrong (onjinewin) theoretical approaches. See Matthews, Maureen, Pauingassi case study thimbles, 32 – 3, 33(i), 70 – 1, 260. See also bandolier (E5 101) Thomas, Nicholas, 17, 164, 206 Thomas, William, 112 Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Canada: comparison with US, 151; drum keepers, 151; EBB’s return of items to Owens, 191 – 4, 237 – 8; EBB’s views on involvement with missing items, 148; history in Canada, 13, 15, 151; media coverage of EBB’s return of items to Owens, 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 283n4 (ch. 8); media coverage of request to stop auditor general’s audit, 183 – 4; members at interview of N. Owens and EBB (2002), 185, 191, 192; C. Nelson’s membership, 144 – 5, 183 – 4, 281n3; smudging events, 75 – 6, 279nn20 – 1 Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin: about, 12 – 13; certification of leaders, 13; comparison with Canada, 151; definition of “traditional culture,” 174 – 5; drum retirement, 150 – 1, 156; EBB’s role, 12 – 13, 140; legal restrictions on, 276n9; Midewiwin rites, 13; C. Nelson’s membership, 144 – 5; pan-Indian elements, 170; revitalization movement, 14 – 15, 170, 174 – 5; St Croix lodge, 13, 141; subalternity and resistance, 173; syncretic beliefs, 172 – 3; timeline, 249 – 51; traditional culture and improvisation, 172 – 5; traditional culture as primary claim, 177 – 8; views on museum objects, 134. See also Benton Banai, Eddie; revitalization movements Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge, Wisconsin, Pauingassi items: ceremonies, claim of (1986), 144 – 5; ceremonies and arrival (1998), 88, 234 –  5, 249; drumsticks, 146, 234 – 5; EBB’s interview by author, 145 – 52, 236; EBB’s interview by N. Owen, 184 – 90, 235 – 7; EBB’s return of four items to Owens (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 250; export permits for Canadian cultural property, 196, 235; legality/illegality of export of Canadian cultural property, 235, 237, 285n7; museum manager on arrival of objects, 88; Naamiwan’s drum (Grandfather Water Drum) (E5 211), 88, 234 – 5, 242 – 3, 249; personhood of drums, 235 – 6; Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214), 234, 242 – 3,

50(i), 56 – 7, 103, 119; Hallowell’s views, 56 – 64; legendary figures, 58 – 61, 278n12; medicine stones, 21, 57(i), 57 – 8, 105, 197; and memegwesiwag, 20 – 1, 62 – 3; mobility, for good or ill, 57 – 9; offerings to, 57; opening of, 58, 60, 62 – 3; personhood, 58 – 9; power to act, for good or ill, 57; semantic animacy, 51, 63 – 4; socially active, 58 – 9, 103, 105; Yellowlegs’s stone, 59 – 61 stories, legends, and myths: borders of interactive world, 121; creation myth, 115 – 16; declaration of authority in (mii-iwe), 263; explanations of dream spirits, 115; Flint and the Great Hare, 278n12; memory and oral tradition, 166; metamorphosis, 115 – 16; stones and legendary figures, 58 – 61, 278n12; Thunderbirds, 115 – 16; Yellowlegs’s stone, 59 – 61 Strang, Sagashki (Zagashkii) (Naamiwan’s nephew), Poplar Hill: drum keeper for Poplar Hill drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214), 144, 191, 223, 234, plate 2A. See also Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214) Strathern, Marilyn: critiques of method of scrutiny, 67; cultural fundamentalism, 210; culture as sum of relationships, 167, 283n4; distributed personhood, 106 – 7, 207, 220; human rights and culture, 107 – 8; images, 222; invisibility/visibility of personhood, 21 – 2; metonymy of objects, 74 – 5; non-optional relationships, 136, 181, 210, 222; possible destinies, 133. See also personhood, personlike and thing-like modes Straus, Anne Terry, 21, 64 – 5, 72 – 3 sucking tubes, 16, 76, 196, 264 Sun-Dances, restrictions on, 276n9 Sutton, William and James, 158 sweat lodges: hot stones, 42 – 3, 225 – 6; Labrador tea plants, 42 – 3, 225 – 6; Midewiwin, 226, 284 – 5n3; move to lodge with boughs, 43, 226; Omishoosh’s experience, 42 – 3, 225 – 6, 284 – 5n3; women not included, 46 sweat lodges, US, 150, 225 sweet-grass, 75, 279n20 taboos: danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 197, 228 – 9, 285n4; on discussions of dreams, 124; on revealing secrets about Thunderbirds, 124. See also discreet speech tambourines. See rattles, tambourine (E5 811, E5 812, and E5 225) Tapsell, Paul, 165, 233 theft (gimoodi): danger if acting without spiritual authority, 47, 93, 228 – 9; EBB interview by

323

 University of Winnipeg: changes in policies, 96, 196; Omishoosh’s letter to Rooke asking for return (2000), 96 – 7, 100, 239, 250; relations with Pauingassi and Three Fires, 178; Rooke’s letters to/from Southeast Tribal Council (1999), 96, 250; timeline, 249 – 51 University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection: author’s request to photo artefacts, replies to (1999), 80, 86 – 8, 279n2; collection location and data, 28, 77, 135 – 6, 230; formal transfer of ownership to Owens, 242; grammatical animacy, 71; list of traditional mentors allegedly consulted on the removal (1999), 87, 148, 174, 195, 249 – 50, 279n2; move to Manitoba Museum, 196 – 7; museum as contact zone, 131 – 5; museum manager’s assumptions about Omishoosh, 75 – 7; Omishoosh’s public lecture on, 42 – 8, 76 – 7; Omishoosh’s request for photos of, 48, 80, 82, 86; ownership and museum protocols, 130 – 1, 230; part of Northern Ojibwa collection, 195, 249 – 51; Pauingassi elders’ awareness of, 156; photos of, 279n1, plates 2 – 8; repatriation policies (1999), 87 – 8; repatriation request by Pauingassi (2013), 251; sacred/secular classification, 34, 40 – 1, 76 – 7, 87, 134 – 6, 232, 234; as salvage ethnography, 75, 76, 131, 134, 231; statistics on items, 75, 76, 134, 195, 196, 250, 281n15; statistics on items collected by Steinbring, 233, 249; storage security as obligation, 131 University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts: community and author’s lack of knowledge of removal, 88, 178; EBB interview by author (2002), 145 – 52, 236; EBB interview by N. Owen (2002), 184 – 90, 235 – 7; EBB’s return of items to Owens, 194; export permits for Canadian cultural property, 196, 235, 237, 285n7; identity of persons responsible, 88, 148, 185 – 6, 190, 195 – 6, 235, 279n6; items that “walked back,” 134, 196, 203, 237, 250, 281n15; list of traditional mentors allegedly consulted before removal (1999), 87, 148, 174, 195, 249 – 50, 279n2; media coverage of controversy, 160, 162, 183 – 4; media coverage of return to Owens (2002), 191 – 4, 237 – 8, 283n4 (ch. 8); missing items (1999), 96; missing items (2002), 134, 275n1; missing items (2016), 136, 195, 196, 247, 282n7 (ch. 6); monetary value, 151, 282n7 (ch. 6), 282n9 (ch. 6), 285n7; Omishoosh’s denial of approval of transfer, 149 – 50; Owens family as guardians of collection, 196 – 7, 239, 240(i), 241(i), 242, 251; RCMP criminal investigation, 183, 237; sacred/secular classifications of

plate 2A; scrolls, 146, 234 – 5; timeline, 249 – 51. See also Benton Banai, Eddie, Pauingassi items; scrolls, birch-bark; University of Winnipeg, Pauingassi Collection, missing artefacts Thunderbirds: about, 112 – 13; absolute power of, 113, 118 – 19, 212, 247; auditory perception of, 216, 227 – 8; ceremonies, 128 – 30, 214 – 15; description, 113; discreet speech on, 212; distributed power, 130; documentary on, 25, 26, 86, 114; essential personhood, 116; feathers `as sign of helpers, 121, 123(i); Gell’s agency of objects, 220; gift of life, 118 – 19, 225; island that floats, 114; Jacob’s speaking to, 124 – 8; legend of Thunderbird woman, 115 – 16; metamorphosis, 115 – 16, 120; Naamiwan’s relations with, 120 – 1, 124, 212, 213(i), 214 – 16; nests of, 113, 115; primary agency, 211, 247; serpent rivalry, 112 – 13; speaking to, 120 – 1, 124 – 8; spiritual authority to make representations, 212; taboos, 124; thunderstorms, 113 – 14; tobacco offerings, 119 – 21, 126 – 8. See also bird sculpture (bineshiishikaan) “Thunderbirds” (CBQ Radio), 25, 26, 86, 114 timeline, 249 – 51 tinkler rattles (E5 8), 37, 135 – 6, 196, 264 tobacco: borders of interactive world, 121; ceremonial smoking, 266, 281n11; offerings to memegwesiwag, 62; offerings to Thunderbirds, 119 – 21, 126 – 8; pipes, 120 – 1, 126; respect for ceremonial objects, 77, 187, 236 totem, language notes, 258 – 9 Townsend-Gault, Charlotte, 75 tradition and belief: as assertion of authenticity, 22, 175 – 6; beliefs as concept, 177, 202; cultural conformity, 175; museum’s role, 79; Ojibwe provisional belief, 110, 177, 209; power relations in repatriation, 178; stability of tradition, 174; syncretic beliefs, 172 – 3; terminology, 174, 177; tradition and social improvisation, 172 – 4; truth claims, 176 – 7; variability of beliefs, 20. See also repatriation; revitalization movements trees, 68, 105, 262 – 3 tubes, sucking, 16, 76, 196, 264 Turning the Page (AFN and Canadian Museums Association), 160 Tylor, E.B., 51, 259 uncertainty/certainty: language notes, 256 – 7 UNESCO Convention on Cultural Property, 19 – 20, 161 UNESCO World Heritage Site, Pimachiowin Aki proposal, 27, 197, 251, 283n6 University of British Columbia, Museum of Anthropology, 175 – 6

324

 Warren, William, 13, 129 warriors and warrior women, 37, 39(i), 46, 121, 264 water drums. See drums, water (mitigwakik) water drum, Naamiwan’s. See Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211) water drum, Strang’s. See Poplar Hill water drum (Little Boy Water Drum) (E5 214) weather and Thunderbirds, 113 – 14 Weiner, Annette B., 136 Wewaanj: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) whistles, bone, 44, 276n3 Whiteway, Mr, 87, 279n2 wiikaan. See ritual brotherhood (wiikaan) Williamson, Norman, 249 Winnipeg, documentary on stereotypes, 23 Wolfart, Chris, 278n10 Wollheim, Richard, 205 wolverine: language notes and glossary, 261, 271; Naamiwan’s persona in ceremony, 45 – 6, 117 – 18, 261 women: exuviae sorcery, 216 – 18, 218(i); not in sweat lodges, 46; not to sing or play drums, 46, 284n1; warriors and warrior women, 30, 37, 39(i), 46, 121, 264. See also capes, women’s dance wooden pail or kettle (mitig): euphemism for Naamiwan’s water drum, 35, 69, 224, 257 – 8. See also Naamiwan’s water drum (E5 211) woodland caribou. See caribou dew-claws Wounded Knee protest, 13, 143

missing items, 79, 134 – 6; scholarship on repatriation debates, 160 – 3; statistics, 96, 134, 195, 196, 242, 247, 249, 250, 281n15; timeline, 249 – 51. See also auditor general, forensic audit; Pauingassi, repatriation; scrolls, birch-bark; tinkler rattles (E5 8) U of W. See University of Winnipeg Upper Berens River: ethnography, 165; giant serpents, 112; “grandfather” stones, 50(i), 119; history, 5, 8, 164; Jacob’s speaking to Thunderbird, 125 – 6; map and location, 5, 8, 8(i). See also Pauingassi Vanek, Anthony, 21, 64, 278n16 Verdery, Katherine, 181 vision quests, 46 Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo, 109 “Vogel’s Net” (Gell), 205 volt sorcery, 214 – 18 waabanang (morning star), 277n5 (ch. 2) Waabano pavilion and ceremonies: bird sculpture, 212, 213(i), 214 – 16; history, 10 – 11, 11(i); initiation ceremony, 129 – 30, 226 – 8; lodge with boughs as predecessor, 129; and Midewiwin rites, 11, 129 – 30, 280n1, 284 – 5n3; Naamiwan at (1933), 5(i), 199(i), 213(i); stones and animacy, 280n2. See also bird sculpture (bineshiishikaan) Waagidiniigan: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Waagishagoneshi (Thunderbird), 124 – 8, 130, 215 – 16 Waawaak (Gichi Omoosonii’s second wife): warrior women, 37, 39(i) Waawezhi’o: ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Wagner, Roy, 19, 168 – 9, 210 Wanachence (Naamiwan’s son; Omishoosh’s father), 69, 276n8

Yellowlegs’s stone, 59 – 61 Yup’ik visual repatriation, 163 Zaagijiwe (Owen, Charlie Moose): ceremonial apprentice, 37, 38(i) Zuni repatriation, 159 – 60

325