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| Detail, Blackfoot shirt 1893.67.3, Pitt Rivers Museum |
In the
summer of 2012, I attended a traditional Blackfoot ceremony in Alberta, Canada.
These days, with museums developing relationships with Indigenous communities,
curators are sometimes invited to ceremonies as part of the process of
relationship-building and to educate us about their cultures. I have had the
privilege of working with Blackfoot people and attending ceremonies with them
since 2001.
There are
protocols for attending Blackfoot ceremonies. Women wear moccasins and long
skirts and shawls, and I have a special set of clothing that I keep for these
occasions. It is not permitted to photograph or take notes during ceremonies:
you are expected to learn by observing and thinking about what you see, and
taking it into your heart. Since traditional knowledge is passed on
experientially and by various forms of initiation, it is also not appropriate
to describe ceremonies online, especially for an outsider such as myself.
Sometimes, though, there are things that I notice during ceremonies that have
more to do with the bigger picture of what is happening, rather than what is
going on in the ceremony, and these observations can be a way of learning. They
can, especially, be a way of learning why it is that a museum curator like
myself comes to be sitting in a ceremony, feeling clumsy and bewildered, hoping
desperately not to make embarrassing mistakes. There’s a reason you’re here.
June 2012,
somewhere in Blackfoot Territory, Alberta, Canada: Two enormous tipis have been
pinned together to hold everyone for the ceremony, and they are now billowing
and creaking in a prairie windstorm. It is a bit like being on a sailboat in a
high wind. There is a fire in the other tipi near the elders and those who are
running the ceremony; I can smell the smudge and hear the fire crackling, but
am tucked in a corner and can’t see them. The grass sticks to my moccasins, the
food is incredibly generous, and whoever put the berries in the frybread is a
genius.
There is
such a good feeling here, it’s relatives and friends gathering to be blessed
and to support those holding the ceremony, and those of us ‘from away’ are
welcomed warmly by friends. At one point there’s a pause in the proceedings
while people are invited to have their faces painted, which is a way of
blessing people, asking for protection and assistance. We all line up and as I
am waiting my turn, I notice two little girls in front of me who look like they
are about 4 and 7 years old. They go up to the ceremonial people who are
painting us, completely confident. They tell their Blackfoot names to the woman
who is praying for them, they know the prayer, they turn around at the right
time, give the blessings back to the woman who is praying for them, and go
skipping off together after it’s done, braids bouncing behind them.
These
beautiful, confident girls have no idea of the weight of history and politics
behind this. It’s normal to them. Where we are, what we are doing, what they
have just done, is precisely what missionaries and government tried to destroy.
I am humbled and very moved: what incredibly strong people, to have survived
everything they have been through and to raise such children. It’s a reminder
about why we are learning to work together across cultures. Every time I wonder
why I am doing this work, I will remember those little girls.
