±«Óătv the author: Margaret Robinson is the director of the Indigenous Studies program at ±«Óătv. 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 â mine are Miâkmaq and Scottish. Gardening in my yard, I notice that root systems grow together. Our cultural roots also do this, I think.
In her essay, â,â Indigenous poet and activist Paula Gunn Allen details how âthe American dreamâ of freedom and equality is derived from Indigenous political systems, particularly the âWhite Roots of Peace, also called the Great Law of the Iroquois,â which codified womenâs âdecision-making and economic power.â Gunn Allen argues that democracy and feminism have their source in Indigenous life, along with North Americanâs 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 Miâkmaw hospitality, which is embedded in the land from which it springs. Maritime hospitality is legendary, especially to Maritimers ourselves. Itâs an industry, for sure, but itâs 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 â thousands of passengers trapped in planes for hours, in need of food, shelter and support â I sighed my relief. They were on Canadaâs East Coast, home of hospitality.
âTheyâll be fine,â I assured my friends. âGanderâs got âem,â And they did. With a population under 10,000, Gander hosted passengers and airline crew members totaling 6,600. Halifax took in 40 flights carrying 8,800 passengers. I was proud of Atlantic Canada that day, and as I learn more about my Miâkmaw 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 Miâkmaw tradition. French Franciscan Missionary, Father Chrestien Le Clercq, arrived in Miâkmaw territory in GaspĂ© 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:
âHospitality is in such great esteem among our Gaspesians [the Miâkmaq 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 yearsâ (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, Miâkmaq 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 wasnât home, guests helped themselves. I heard an echo of this in my childhood growing up in the 1970s in Eskikewakik â Nova Scotiaâs Eastern Shore â when settler and Miâkmaw 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 âShipwrecked English sailors, rescued by a Mikmaw family, murdered and mutilated their hosts (including a mother and her two children).â Faragher reports that sailors were hoping to collect a scalp bounty, unaware that 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? Itâs 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 , âThere is important cultural value placed on hospitality, taking care of visitors, providing for their need, and sharing meal with them.â Tulk wasnât kidding. A copy of features a letter to the editor from John Herney of Eskasoni, then living in Calgary, inviting readers to visit him. âif anyone comes down to Stampede, or is coming out our wayâ he writes, âI have not forgotten Micmac hospitality or my language, and they are welcome here at any time.â
I spoke with Cathy Martin, director of Indigenous community engagement at ±«Óătv, and asked her about hospitality. She recalled a discussion with Helen Martin of Membertou, co-founder and first president of Nova Scotia Native Women's Association:
âI remember asking her, âif you could tell the young people anything, what would it be?â And she said, âI just want everyone to know that the basis of our governance is the concept of sharing. Thatâs the most important thing.ââ
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 Miâkmaw word:
âThis is Miâkmaw territory, and many of you might have heard the word pjila'si to mean âwelcome.â Thatâs what itâs used for, but the literal translation of the concept equates to âIâll do my best.â Thatâs a much more nuanced and meaningful interaction. In this moment, a person-to-person contract is being agreed upon.â
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 weâll be seeing one another again and again.
Iâm a newbie to Miâkmaq, but I notice that our word for goodbye is borrowed from French, while the more common farewell, âNe'multes,â means âsee you later.â