THE URBANE INDIAN - Impression of Native people reinforced

I am sure everybody felt the same way I did when I first heard the news. Two children on the Yellowquill First Nations in Saskatchewan frozen to death, clad only in t-shirts and diapers.
The reason - a drunken father it appears. A drunken Native father to be specific. Once the shock of the news wore off, another equally unappetizing thought occurred to me. Once more, the dominant culture's impression of Native people has been reinforced. Native people equal alcohol equal tragedy. Definitely an unhappy equation.
Some would call it the algebra of marginalization. Canadians may not consciously think thoughts like that. Or maybe they do. But I know they are there, not far below the surface. Like a grave.
The facts are still coming out about that community; evidentally they had been struggling with substance abuse for a number of years - these were just the latest casualties. Some might call what happened there a war between what was, and what should be.
Astronomers often talk about still being able to see shock waves from the Big Bang, an event that created the universe fifteen million years ago.
Some might consider misfortunes like Yellowquill shock waves from a different kind of Big Bang, five hundred and sixteen years ago.
Other Native people have frozen to death in the cold prairie winter. Neil Stonechild comes to mind. He was taken to an abandoned field outside of Saskatoon, relieved of his coat and shoes, and told to walk back to the city by the police. He never made it.
There were no drunken fathers involved, just non-Native cops. Many, especially First Nation people, have come to think this is a regular occurrence - that there is a constabulary shuttle service of sorts existing in all major centres and Natives should beware. Now, unfortunately, many Canadians will also think the Yellowquill tragedy happens all the time in Native communities.
It's the power of prejudice, of media reinforcement, of painting with broad brushes. This brush was populated with well over a million bristles, according to the last census.
A thousand years ago, I left my reserve to attend college in Toronto. I was young and unknowing in the ways of the outside world. But I was armed with cowboy boots, a metro-pass, and an eagerness to see what the country of Canada outside my sleepy little community had to say.
I must point out here that, to my knowledge, there is no case of anybody freezing to death in Curve Lake in recorded history, drunk, sober or narcoleptic.
So, during my first year, I found myself sharing a house with several people. One of my new roommates, who became my closest friend for many years, came from a town near Sudbury, a place of exotica called Falconbridge. After I had moved in, he informed his family up north about me, and that I was Native.
I still remember him telling me that his older sister had cautioned him about me, because "you know how Indians like to drink!" If memory serves me correctly, he got blasted just as frequently as I did, if not more.
At the time I was puzzled by her concerns about my presumed vices, but I just chalked it up to weird things white people say. When, several months later, I was introduced to her, I casually brought up her sight-unseen assessment of me. Flustered, she immediately tried to justify her original statement by adding "well, up where we are, Indians do tend to have a drinking problem."
Since then, I've been up to Sudbury quite a few times, and have done some field research in a few bars, especially those patronized by local miners, and would you believe it, there were few dark skinned faces to be seen.
I don't hold a grudge. If anything, I am somewhat grateful for what she said. When I lecture about Native identity, I frequently mention her when I talk about the stereotypes.
It's generated much interesting discussion. I must buy her a drink. True, that was way back in the early '80's, and I'm sure a few naive optimists believe that things have changed since then. God bless them. It makes me want to ask them "what colour is the sky in your world." Or maybe, more accurately, "what colour is skin in your world?"
In geological times, a quarter of a century is a millisecond. Barely a blink of an eye. The same can be said about how long it takes for attitudes to change. In a nearby restaurant/tavern close to my reserve, somebody was discussing with a waitress the possibility of holding a wake. The waitress thought this was odd and jokingly asked "Is the guy Irish?"
The man said "Actually he was part Native." Almost immediately, most of the patrons burst out laughing. And not a pleasant laugh.
It must have been the fellow's white Irish side wanting a wake. You know how they like to drink.
I don't think people are laughing in Yellowquill.
Once those poor girls are buried, the legacy of their passing will unfortunately live longer than they did. You have to wonder.