Canada: CPT Reflection from Grassy Lake

Christian Peacemaker Team member Allan Reeve-Smith reflects on his visit to the First Nations reserve by Grassy Lake in Ontario - where many members of the community were badly affected by mercury poisoning from an industrial spill.

The road from Kenora to Grassy Narrows twists and turns. Like the story of this First Nations reserve, it has precarious highs and rock bottom lows. The path across the rise and fall of pre-Cambrian shield through the boreal Whiskey Jack forest was walked long before the European settlers built roads. It was road building that prompted the relocation of the Grassy Narrows band. Their village, on Grassy Lake, was located where commercial interests indicated a roadway trumped indigenous claims.

The lure that attracted them to the pre-fabricated, side-by-side, 612 square foot houses was the offer of electricity, plumbing, and most of all, a school. An alternative to the Residential school was what sealed the deal.

They hadn't been there long before people started getting sick. It took years of protest before the Ontario and Federal governments acknowledged the problem. A trip to Minamata Japan in 1974 where industrial mercury poisoning had crippled villagers was what convinced the Grassy Narrows people they were suffering the same effects.

The villagers in Japan told them to not expect government or industry to cooperate. It was only when the people of Minamata filed lawsuits, brought in the media, and conducted civil disobedience that they began to get results.

One of the questions I bring with me is "How do these people manage to sustain their efforts in the face of disappointments, betrayals, delays, and governments breaking their own rules and agreements?

At the Grassy Narrows annual Pow Wow Saturday afternoon I think I've got my answer. We watch dancers dressed head to toe in full regalia with layers of brightly coloured fabrics, feathers, headdresses, and moccasins. It's 32 Celsius, but these dancers are putting it out. All afternoon men and women dancers take turns and drummers from the different bands give them the song and beat. The dancers with grey hair especially impress me.

The children dance with their parents and grandparents. Some have obviously put hours into learning the dances and the creation of their own unique regalia.

It is more than pride in culture that I am soaking up. Pride is too much a surface thing. The dancers seem to draw from a deep resilience living in sinew and bones, given life in each generation's heartbeat as they learn what their ancestors know. The smiles and laughter and jokes come from that same deep place of knowing.

A stiff west wind coming across sparkling lake waters makes the heat just bearable. As the dancing wraps up, the announcer invites us to stay for the feast. Tables are brought out and trays of food fill them. Young people are invited to come and serve plates to the elders and visitors. A plate arrives for me and I'm truly honoured and humbled not to stand in line like the dancers who've been putting it out all afternoon.

It reminds me of a church dinner except for one thing. No money changes hands. And a box is put out for scraps to be taken into the woods for our furry friends. Sharing is what the day is about. It is a sacred part of who these people are. Something that the commercial interests that have twisted and turned their way of life just don't get-- because it can't be bought.

So I'm sharing it with you.

Read more about the work of Christian Peacemaker Teams here: http://cpt.org/