Storytellers carry tradition, responsibility

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Tansi, ahnee and hello. This is the storyteller time. These long cold moons of winter were the times when the storytellers would gather their people around those old tribal fires. This was the time the legends came alive again. Tables of Wesakechak, Nanabush, Glooscap and Raven. Across the length and breadth of North America the stories were told.

Sitting here in the early morning darkness of my room, it's easy to reflect on those times. The candle behind me and the pale blue light of the computer give an other-worldly quality to everything. The smell of sweetgrass and the peace of early morning add to the atmosphere.

The storyteller moons. In those old tribal days stories were only told in winter.

It was believed that the spirits would be sleeping through those long frosted months. So

if a story was told about one of them, they would be asleep and miss it and not become offended.

The other side of that thinking is less obvious. The elders knew that storytelling in the summer months would be futile. In the depths of winter there wasn't a whole lot people could do. The temperature kept them inside for long periods of time. So they had more time to reflect on the teachings in those stories. More so than in summer when there was plenty to do to distract the mind.

So these winter months became the time of the storyteller. They call me a storyteller these days. They have for a few years now. I've told my stories in newspaper, on radio and TV, from conference podiums and on couches in friendship centres. Now,

as I prepare to put the finishing touches on my first novel, I'm telling them in books.

I thought about that recently. I was asked to speak to a group of students who

are putting out a newspaper here in Calgary. It's a Native newspaper much like this one except not as directed. At this point it's a hodgepodge. From one issue to the next there's little consistency and the practiced eye can discern the tremendous amount of work that needs to be done.

The practiced eye. That's the crux of it really. The practiced eye. Those of us who grew up in a media career can spot the glaring errors in their story-telling. But for the every-day members of the community who tend to see a newspaper as a newspaper, those errors aren't obvious.

That's what makes it essential for storytellers to learn their craft well. Because the people we offer those stories to are depending on us to be good storytellers. Whether we're writing the news, making films or giving speeches, storytellers everywhere need to adhere to the tradition of storytelling.

That means honesty. In media terms it's called objectivity but it's really just honesty written another way. Good stories are honest. Because of that inherent honesty, they offer the listener or reader the freedom to choose. Choose to believe or disbelieve.

They also empower people. Good stories well told empower people with the ability to find the balance with them. Their own decision, their own conclusion and their own identity. They become empowered with the ability to think and decide for themselves. Self-government in action.

Whether you tell your stories in books, newspapers, radio, TV, film or living rooms, the tradition is still the same and needs to be honored. Because the bottom line

is this - the stories belong to the people.

Once you offer that story to the public, once it leaves your desk and hits the streets and communities, it belongs to the people. It's no longer yours. It's the same with a collection of stories like a newspaper. It belongs to the community once it goes out the door.

That's why the elements of good storytelling needs to be followed. The people who hear our stories are depending on us to be good storytellers. When we publish a newspaper, especially an aboriginal newspaper, we're offering them a blanket of trust.

A paper blanket filled with stories they trust. Trust because of the tradition of newspapers and trust because of the tradition of storytelling.

I offerd that insight to those students. Whether it's followed up on or not is dependent on whether they can remove their egos from the process. There's no room for ego in storytelling, you see. Because there's no room for ego in honesty or any process that's meant to empower people.

The storytelling tradition is a rich and vibrant one. It's responsible for the passing on of ancient knowledge. Knowledge that's sustained and defined aboriginal people for hundreds of generations and will continue to do so if it's honored and followed. As storytellers we carry ancient embers. Embers from those old tribal fires that burned on winter nights. Fires that were stoked by the spirit of a people. The people of the dream. The people of the story. Whether we tell them in media or in living rooms, the tradition and responsibility are the same.