Allison Fisher Speech at Wabano Centre Grand Opening
May 9, 2013
Ottawa, ON
Aanii. She:kon. Tansi. Tunngasugit. Bonsoir.
Tonight is about a grand story. For, as you know, we are our stories. Our stories define
us. Our stories remind us of our place; inspire us; give us a sense of safety; and a vision
to move forward.
I would like to share a story with you today about fortitude, generosity, courage and
ultimately about community building.
At five years of age I remember much discussion in the kitchen of our home in a
northern Ontario reservation with two of my aunts and my mother. Animated it was.
Mom had declared that change was coming. She had a plan and was prepared to do
the work.
There were lots of protests. You know, usual “female drama.” But in the end I saw my
mom Rosemary pack up our old blue Chevrolet early one morning with my two aunts,
Grace and Angeline, in their usual curlers and one sad looking young cousin Doris in
the backseat—hijacked into this I presumed, but a risk taker nonetheless. Mom kissed
us all goodbye and told us she was going to Saskatchewan to get our songs and
dances back. I never forgot that image of the blue Chevrolet leaving me in the yard that
day in 1959.
Why Saskatchewan? Well, some reservations had managed to retain customs, still
sang their songs and danced their dances. Of course this sort of activity was forbidden.
Many tribes had gone underground and hid their ceremonies and songs. We were
stripped of our social power and cultural authority by colonization over the decades.
On arrival in Saskatchewan, my mother’s request to that community was simple: “Come
home with me and bring alive our songs and dances again.”
In 1961, four old men made the journey from Saskatchewan across the country to ignite
the imagination of our nation once more.
So one short year after Aboriginal people in this country received the right to vote, the
first-ever public cultural gathering took place in my home community of Wikwemikong,
Ontario. Now that was a plan. When my mother says she has a plan, you have to take
the woman seriously.
In that summer of 1961, we embraced the songs and dances of those noble old men. I
imagine, through the eyes of my mother, the determination of many to reveal the pride
and beauty of a people‘s heritage—freely, unrestrained, visibly, in the presence of all
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others. It shifted a community, secured a future, and fundamentally changed our
community story.
So why this story? First it is a story of my lived experience from which the courage to
take risks was so eloquently demonstrated. And second, it is a community story. It is a
community story where community leadership changed the course of our personal
stories in Wikwemikong. It was the willingness to accept our responsibility; to extend
ourselves in the face of the risks and consequences. This was indeed brave for our
mothers and fathers, aunties and uncles and grandmothers and grandfathers. And my
dad, who was one of those risk takers, is here tonight. Hi Dad.
So how does our community story fit here? First, it took the genius of design and the
architects to build this living space. Thank you, Douglas Cardinal for this design; Bret
Cardinal, Mark Conley and Rick Howard for the fortitude, skill and staying power to
build. You provided us with that blue Chevrolet, trusting in the power of the vehicle to
propel us to new possibility through space, movement, and a shift in landscape, which
mediates us between there and here.
Imagine a group of engineers drawing straws on who would get to sit in the back seat of
that blue Chevrolet—it was a toss-up between Bill Needham, Ryan Leonard of
Goodkey, Weedmark and Associates, Chantal Wegner of EXP, and Grazyna Materna of
John G. Cooke and Associates. Thank you for tightly holding on to the rational and
structural truths of this project. In the end, we voted on Auntie Grazyna because we
knew she would ask for directions if lost. Even Carlie let her share the front seat on
occasion.
Remember the unwilling Cousin Doris in the backseat? Sometimes it’s the ones who
take a chance on you—who stretch the faith—who have the skills that impact you in
unexpected ways. Ken Villiers, our project manager, was such a man. No back seat
driver, but his belief in us was startling. Ken was intelligent, sincere, patient and skillful
in manoeuvring our vision through the myriad of obstacles. Thank you, Ken, for
appreciating our value and the truth and rightness of this project. I know my driving
drove you crazy.
There were many individuals along this journey who provided direction and advice,
accommodation, road maps, gas, food. Thank you to an outstanding and supportive
board of directors, Glen Hingston, André, Greg and Jon, Montfort Hospital, a staff team
willing to bear two years of change. City of Ottawa, thanks for pulling the car out of the
mud. There were moments along the way that we needed more than just a push.
Madeleine Meilleur, Bob Chiarelli, and Mauril Belanger, merci beaucoup and miigwetch.
We were exceedingly nervous when we embarked on this journey, just like my mother
probably was in 1959. What happens once you get to a community and ask for help?
This motley crew of women piling out of the vehicle could be ignored. The community
could say this is not their concern, that our cause has no value and we belong in
someone else’s jurisdiction.
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But you didn’t.
As those four old Cree men helped us reclaim our culture in Wikwemikong, so many
generous donors have made this journey with us in this community. It takes foresight to
know that space isn’t just bricks and mortar—it is beauty. It revolves around optimism. It
is a trust in the power of space to humanize us, to protect and enrich us.
It takes a tremendous amount of goodwill for individuals to take that chance, but also
wisdom in knowing that you must put up a building that expresses the best of the
society in which you live. Thank you for being so generous in supporting Wabano’s
dream.
In closing, in the presence of all others, I am no longer that child on the reservation. But
what I experienced back in 1961 has translated here today. This circle that we have
created—this space—has become a living expression of culture which speaks to the
character of our urban community.
To create an iconic structure with such a human dimension, our choice must be to use
this structure to reach our destination. To know that our lives in this complex city
environment will always be about new beginnings, but now they will be a Wabano
beginning—that “strong urban tribe” one of our Elders so eloquently spoke to. A place
that secures a future, that transforms us each day; built on our strengths, but also
interdependent on other members of this great community.
We need you and, as relations, know I will call upon you again—for Carlie and I have a
propensity for travel in fast cars. As this building has become a visible beacon, a rallying
point for our people, it has also forged powerful and lasting relationships with all of you.
I would like to thank my family and friends for being here tonight and travelling in their
own Chevrolets and always reminding me that we must own our ground.
Miigwetch, thank you and merci beaucoup for celebrating with us.
I do hope you will come for the ride.
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