About the author: Margaret Robinson is the director of the Indigenous Studies program at Dalhousie. She's an associate professor in the Department of Sociology and Social Anthropology with a cross-appointment in the Department of English.
National Indigenous History Month has me thinking about roots 鈥� mine are Mi鈥檏maq and Scottish. Gardening in my yard, I notice that root systems grow together. Our cultural roots also do this, I think.
In her essay, 鈥�,鈥� Indigenous poet and activist Paula Gunn Allen details how 鈥渢he American dream鈥� of freedom and equality is derived from Indigenous political systems, particularly the 鈥淲hite Roots of Peace, also called the Great Law of the Iroquois,鈥� which codified women鈥檚 鈥渄ecision-making and economic power.鈥� Gunn Allen argues that democracy and feminism have their source in Indigenous life, along with North American鈥檚 wealth, values, food and much of its medicine.
I think Allen has a good point. And I propose that our much-beloved Maritime tradition of hospitality is rooted in Mi鈥檏maw hospitality, which is embedded in the land from which it springs. Maritime hospitality is legendary, especially to Maritimers ourselves. It鈥檚 an industry, for sure, but it鈥檚 not just a marketing campaign.
Hospitality is vital in times of trouble. On September 11, 2001, I entered a student lounge at the University of Toronto to find friends huddled around the television. In New York, car alarms blared and people ran screaming as the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre collapsed into an enormous grey dust cloud. As events unfolded, stories emerged of flights being re-routed and passengers stranded at airports outside of Halifax and in Gander, Newfoundland. Even as the reporters revealed the scope of the problem 鈥� thousands of passengers trapped in planes for hours, in need of food, shelter and support 鈥� I sighed my relief. They were on Canada鈥檚 East Coast, home of hospitality.
鈥淭hey鈥檒l be fine,鈥� I assured my friends. 鈥淕ander鈥檚 got 鈥榚m,鈥� And they did. With a population under 10,000, Gander hosted passengers and airline crew members totaling 6,600. Halifax took in 40聽flights carrying 8,800聽passengers.聽I was proud of Atlantic Canada that day, and as I learn more about my Mi鈥檏maw culture, I ponder the role our own habits played in creating that culture of welcome and generosity.
Gestures of friendship and generosity
The roots of hospitality grow deep in Mi鈥檏maw tradition. French Franciscan Missionary, Father Chrestien Le Clercq, arrived in Mi鈥檏maw territory in Gasp茅 in 1673. In addition to observing our written language (birchbark for the win!), our hospitality and a translation of his work paints a picture familiar to many:
鈥淗ospitality is in such great esteem among our Gaspesians [the Mi鈥檏maq in what is currently Quebec] that they make almost no distinction between the home-born and the stranger. They give lodging equally to the French and to the Indians who come from a distance, and to both they distribute generously whatever they have obtained in hunting and in the fishery, giving themselves little concern if the strangers remain among them weeks, months and even entire years鈥� (p. 245).
I suspect this nurturing instinct may be the reason I once let an acquaintance sleep in the office of our one-bedroom apartment for a month while my partner and I camped in the living room.
Traditionally, Mi鈥檏maq who travelled might stop at any wenji'guom [house] to which they felt drawn, share in whatever food and drink was to be had. If the family wasn鈥檛 home, guests helped themselves. I heard an echo of this in my childhood growing up in the 1970s in Eskikewakik 鈥� Nova Scotia鈥檚 Eastern Shore 鈥� when settler and Mi鈥檏maw friends dropped by unexpectedly, and entered unlocked homes to deliver extra blueberries or lobsters.
Of course, an open-door policy comes with risk. In his , Settler historian John Mack Faragher recounts how 鈥淪hipwrecked English sailors, rescued by a Mikmaw聽family, murdered and mutilated their hosts (including a mother and her two children).鈥� Faragher reports that sailors were hoping to collect a聽scalp bounty,聽unaware that聽Governor Peregrine Thomas Hopson had cancelled the bounty.
A tradition of hospitality makes sense in a culture by the sea. Have you been in the ocean? It鈥檚 freaking cold! Humans can develop hypothermia in less than 15 minutes. So it makes sense for survival to pull together and be helpful. I keep my office well-stocked with tea for people needing shelter from the cold waters of academia.
Sharing culture and comfort
As Janice Esther Tulk reports in her , 鈥淭here is important cultural value placed on hospitality, taking care of visitors, providing for their need, and sharing meal with them.鈥� Tulk wasn鈥檛 kidding. A copy of features a letter to the editor from John Herney of Eskasoni, then living in Calgary, inviting readers to visit him. 鈥渋f anyone comes down to Stampede, or is coming out our way鈥� he writes, 鈥淚 have not forgotten Micmac hospitality or my language, and they are welcome here at any time.鈥�
I spoke with Cathy Martin, director of Indigenous community engagement at Dalhousie, and asked her about hospitality. She recalled a discussion with Helen Martin of Membertou, co-founder and first president of Nova Scotia聽Native Women's Association:
鈥淚 remember asking her, 鈥榠f you could tell the young people anything, what would it be?鈥� And she said, 鈥業 just want everyone to know that the basis of our governance is the concept of sharing. That鈥檚 the most important thing.鈥欌��
As a university community I think sharing knowledge is a key piece of how we do hospitality, so it makes sense to see signs that read Bienvenue/Pjila'si/Welcome in the library. In a , Rebecca Thomas speaks about the Mi鈥檏maw word:
鈥淭his is Mi鈥檏maw territory, and many of you might have heard the word pjila'si to mean 鈥榳elcome.鈥� That鈥檚 what it鈥檚 used for, but the literal translation of the concept equates to 鈥業鈥檒l do my best.鈥� That鈥檚 a much more nuanced and meaningful interaction. In this moment, a person-to-person contract is being agreed upon.鈥�
As I garden between teleconferences and prepare to teach online in the fall, I think of how important sharing and hospitality is in a community where we鈥檒l be seeing one another again and again.
I鈥檓 a newbie to Mi鈥檏maq, but I notice that our word for goodbye is borrowed from French, while the more common farewell, 鈥淣e'multes,鈥� means 鈥榮ee you later.鈥�