The Rodney Dangerfields of Canada

Page 12

We Metis are born with some pretty cumbersome saddlebags already attached. From birth, we are loaded down. History, traditions, politics, regional differences, impossibly entangled bloodlines. We Metis are the "Rodney Dangerfields" of the Canadian Constitution.

A case in point: Metis Senator John B. Boucher is descending in a plush elevator of a very regal downtown Toronto hotel. Senator Boucher, a Saskatchewan native, is en route to a celebration in his honor.

On September 24, 1998, the life-forces of then-South African President Nelson Mandela and Boucher combined to produce an international symbol and a rallying point that will live forever. John Boucher wrapped a Metis sash around the waist of Nelson Mandela and, in so doing, sparked a burst of international media attention and illuminated, instantly, the plight of the Metis Nation of Canada as well as that of any and all of the countless, downtrodden Aboriginal peoples the world over. Metis leaders from across Canada were assembled to pay homage to Boucher and to formally recognize this symbol for the ages.

Back inside the plush elevator, festooned in his Metis-cultural finery - sash, Metis and Canadian flag pins, beaded leatherwork, national medals - Boucher is wrenched from his reverie by two culturally illiterate, bloated, boozy, pale, Canadian males.

"Hey, old-timer," cackled one. "What are you supposed to be? A matador or something? Where's your urban sombrero?"

And as they elbowed each other in the ribs and howled their derision in his direction, the senator silently reflected on his beloved grandmother who, in the face of all obstacles or odds, would always stand up for what she was and who she was. And because he and his grandmother had always been so close, you might say that his "training" began right from the cradle.

Sure, he'd encountered a lot of negative attitudes and out-and-out racism during his more-than-40-years of involvement in Metis history and politics. Sure, he'd been ostracized, judged, summed-up and dismissed even by members of his own family and community.

But his grandmother, Mariya Boucher, had seen and weathered it all. From the Red River Resistance in 1870 to the Battle of Batoche and the North West Resistance of 1885 . . . she was thre. She had been part of tat Metis "la parent" or core-group kinship network that set out, as whole family units or extended family units, from the Red River Settlement to the South Saskatchewan River District. With her own eyes, she had witnessed the Dominion's Redcoats steal the sacred "Bell of Batoche" from the Catholic church of the Metis. And when the Battle of Batoche was over and lost, it was his grandmother who was selected to request an audience with General Middleton. Yes, after the Battle of Batoche, during Middleton's victory parade through Batoche, his grandmother had to go and ask Middleton to guarantee the safety of the Metis women and children. Strangely enough, she had been selected for this task because she looked "white" and that outward condition might just appeal to the "pigment of his imagination."

Yes, it is indeed strange the extent to which pigment colors the imagination of the overarching Canadian national majority. As the Metis leader invited to meet and greet Nelson Mandela - Boucher had managed to wrap a Metis sash around and bestow a Metis name upon Mandela (Diamant or Diamond). And yet he had not been invited to the state dinner that evening. Why? Was it because of the Metis sash incident? Was it the federal government's way of getting back at Boucher and the Metis Nation for upstaging Mandela's "Order of Canada" presentation.

The entire event had been billed as "The Canadian Tribute to Human Rights" and yet Boucher had not been invited to the state dinner and the Metis Nation of Canada still has not been able to achieve equality, dignity and rights in the country we helped explore, develop and forge.

Suddenly the elevator doors opened onto the foyer of this elegat bastion of the present-day establishment. And with their matador jab still ringing in his ears, Boucher turned to these latter-day taints and offered, in parting, his best Rodney Dangerfield-impression.

"I just can't get no respect . . . and that's no bull!"