Reflections on the Solidarity of Nations Feast - Jessie Housty
By the time I returned to Bella Bella from the Guardian Watchmen conference, a boat had been secured to take a group of Heiltsuk elders, chiefs, singers and youth to join our northern brothers and sisters at the Solidarity of Nations feast in Kitamaat. The boat was leaving in an hour and I needed to bring my regalia….
When the boat returned from Hakai to Bella Bella after the conclusion of the Guardian Watchmen conference, I was anticipating a quiet weekend to sort through my notes and digest all the wonderful maelstrom of the previous few days. I should know better than to expect the routine; in truth, I didn’t make it past the top of the wharf before the next adventure began. As I had departed for Hakai earlier in the week, I’d paused with regret over the fact that I had no way of traveling north to attend the fast-approaching Solidarity of Nations feast in Kitamaat. To my great fortune, as I absented myself to Hakai for the conference, the stirrings I’d felt in my heart were clearly at work in the hearts of others in the Heiltsuk Nation.
By the time I returned to Bella Bella, a boat had been secured to take a group of Heiltsuk elders, chiefs, singers and youth to join our northern brothers and sisters at the feast. I was not asked if I wanted to join the group; I was told that the boat was leaving in an hour, and I needed to bring my regalia. If I hesitated for a second, it was only to catch my breath before I ran home to swap my spray-swept clothes for something clean – something I could dance in.
As I stood at the wharf awaiting our departure, the momentum was already beginning to build. A few folks – old friends and new friends who had been at the conference in Hakai – were caught in the spontaneous crush of people migrating north, shifting their itineraries to join their Heiltsuk travelers. The conversations and connections begun over the week in Hakai carried on without pause as we boarded the Clowhom Spirit and pulled away from the dock. The six hours’ trip was punctuated with bursts of drumbeats and snatches of song, the rustle of regalia being shifted in our bags, the palpable sense of positive energy – of simple belief that we were heading toward an important moment.
Our boat pulled into Kitamaat with our chiefs on the bow, our singers on the roof, our women of rank and exuberant youth flanking our elders in full, resplendent regalia. We sang our way into safe harbour, exchanging traditional greetings with the Haisla people who had gathered to welcome us. And as we stepped onto the wharf and met face to face, old friendships were rekindled, and new ones were begun. We greeted one another in that moment in the very manner in which we stood at the feast: as supporters, as allies, and as family.
The strength of the gathering was incredible. No better effort might have been made to foster an unbreakable solidarity amongst the nations and their allies; reinforced by the potent speeches, the power of the cultural sharing, the all-important act of feasting together, we were united by that sense of solidarity, by our pride, and by the shared mantle of authority and responsibility which everyone in that room assumed in standing together publicly. While our chiefs and elders renewed long-lost connections from their fishing days, while we bartered with northern friends for traditional goods like seaweed and eulachon grease, while we watched with awe and respect as our neighbours performed the dances, ceremonies and orations that marked their strength and deep roots in this landscape – we were rebuilding something that has long been lost.
The Solidarity of Nations feast served many ends. In one sense, it was a simple gathering, First Nations and their allies standing strong together against a common threat. But it also represented something intangible - something remarkable. I stood in the Kitamaat hall with a strong sense that we are reaching back to our roots as indigenous people, reaching back to our traditional power, roles, authority and responsibility. The gathering raised awareness, but it also served as a public announcement. We are here. We have power. We have a voice. And we are standing together, undivided. We can no longer be considered apart from our lands and waters; in our models of traditional stewardship, the coast and its guardians are one and the same. Only by returning to that practice, in which our authority is derived from the land itself, can we take up our role as stewards again. What you saw in Kitamaat was a resounding declaration: we will protect the landscape on which our stories and histories are written, for our ancestors, for ourselves, and for generations to come. The echoes of that declaration will reverberate.
I thank our gracious Haisla and Gitga'at hosts for the care they took in all that was done that day. The honour they showed to all of us who were guests in their territory reflects back on their good names and the strength of their people.
