Traditional First Nation parenting skills support family and community well-being
Improve aboriginal health through oral history
May 2, 2010 - Nicholas Keung IMMIGRATION/DIVERSITY REPORTER
For years, the Ojibway man suppressed his childhood memories of love, care and indulgence because of the abuse and abandonment he experienced at the McIntosh and Fort Frances Indian schools.
“I remember the first rabbit I snared and skinned. Everybody just feasted on it. I was raised by the whole community,” Meshake, now 62, recalls of his early years.
“But after the residential school, I was angry and depressed. I tried to block out all my memories by drinking,” he said, pausing a moment. “I was afraid to trust again.” Meshake later spent years being homeless in Toronto and often contemplated suicide.
Kim Anderson, a research associate with St. Michael’s Hospital’s Centre for Research on Inner City Health, said the residential school era not only disrupted the community’s ability to build healthy relationships; it also robbed a generation of the opportunity to learn traditional parenting skills to raise their own healthy families, and ultimately contributed to the social ills faced by the community today.
“The residential school is the biggest and ugliest elephant in the middle of the room in terms of the disruptions,” said the oral historian.
“Parenting skills were not passed on because there was no role modeling in these schools. We learn parenting by being parented. To top it all off, there was sexual and physical abuse. It added another dimension.”
That is why Anderson has teamed up with colleague and family physician Dr. Janet Smylie -- both are Metis -- to establish the Indigenous Knowledge Network for Infant, Child and Family Health to uncover the lost traditions and develop culturally relevant health promotion strategies through aboriginal oral history.
“So far, European knowledge hasn’t been making a big difference for aboriginal people. If you look at Northwestern Ontario, 30-plus of the communities over the last 15 years have seen a 20-fold expansion over access to western biomedicines -- but their health outcomes are actually getting worse,” said Smylie.
“Nobody is going to get better from a knowledge system that is very different from their own unless there is some kind of bridging. You have to work with people in a language and conceptual framework that fits for them,” said Smylie. “Like any style of advertising and negotiation, you have to meet people where they are.”
The five-year project involves 10 community partners in Ontario and Saskatchewan, where frontline health workers collect information from elders about lost skills and rituals in traditional parenting, pregnancy, labour and birth, prenatal and postnatal care. They will then incorporate the knowledge in community health programming and practices.
Meshake was brought up by his grandparents and uncles, who taught him how to fish, hunt and live. All was good up until he was removed from the “res” (reserve).
He recalled his grandmothers would only wave a willow stick in front of his nose if he misbehaved, or use the threat of “Missabi” or Big Foot if he told a lie to teach him a lesson in honesty – a contrast to the stick beatings and strict discipline at the residential school.
When he left the residential school, Meshake never had a steady job or stable relationship and was rarely sober until he had an awakening in 1991.
“A friend of mine died. I went and buried him. I put the sand on his coffin and said to him, I’m burying my past with you,” said Meshake, who has a graphic design diploma from Sheridan College and is now a published author and graphic artist.
“The residential school has disrupted the whole patterns of the rite of passage. This has to do with healing, sealing things,” he said. “And I’ve told myself I would never pass on my negative experience to my (now 15-year-old) son.”
Pauline Shirt, a Cree great-grandmother in Toronto, is more fortunate growing up at the Saddle Lake Reserve in Alberta. She too attended a residential school but remained close to her parents and nine siblings.
“I was raised on my father’s farm to take care of Mother Earth and the animals. I learned about all the teachings of the spiritual world,” said Shirt, 66, who helps raise her three great-grandchildren in Toronto.
“We believe in the seven stages of life where we each have our roles to play in the community. But unfortunately, a lot of people became disconnected and were robbed of those teachings.”
As an elder, Shirt teaches traditional knowledge to others in the community. She also founded the First Nations School of Toronto in 1977, which was then called Wandering Spirit Survival School.
“We have to start with our youth,” said Shirt. “We will need to help each other to help ourselves.”
The project is funded by the Canadian Institutes of Health Research and Ontario Federation of Indian Friendship Centres.
ABORIGINAL CEREMONIES, PRACTICES AND PROTOCOLS FROM PREGNANCY TO PARENTING
- Traditional families planned for births in May and June so new babies wouldn't have to cope with the bitter winter.
- Pregnancy was considered a sacred time to honour the spirit that was coming, as well as the pregnant mother. A big celebration was held since the mother was contributing to the life of the community.
- During pregnancy, personal discipline was considered crucial because everything the woman thinks or feels would go into the baby. Pregnant women were prohibited from fighting with the husband for fear of having an angry baby, or looking at scary animals for fear of having a deformed child.
- A pregnant woman's husband had to restrict hunting or abstain altogether because his partner was carrying life and therefore he could not take life away.
- Care for newborns began with the treatment of the placenta and umbilical cord. A placenta was not something to be disposed of because it held life force. In some cases it was put in a paper bag and burned because "it carries life." Other times, it was placed by a tree to make sure the baby would grow up to be a good wood cutter; if in the grass, a good gardener; if by water, a life of fishing.
- Naming fostered a connection between elders and infants, those who were closest to the doorways of the spirit world. Within this life, the provision of spirit names by an elder to an infant created bonds along the continuum of life.
- In order for the spirit to become secure inside the new baby, a mother needed to stay at home for six weeks and could only whisper around the baby. If they spoke to them directly, the babies would end up talking back.
- As children moved from infancy to toddler, ceremonies were held to mark the transition towards one's eventual status as a working community member. Boys had to walk where they might find game, while girls were to go where there was firewood.
Research by aboriginal oral historian Kim Anderson