March 10, 2008

Lieutenant Governor's visit a royal treat

By David Seaweed

 

Le week, I had the privilege of
seeing BC’s Lieutenant Governor, the
Honourable Steven L. Point, speak at the
opening ceremonies of Douglas College’s
new aboriginal speakers’ series known
as “Reconciliation: The Experience of
BC Peoples.” The protocol involved
for the Lieutenant Governor’s visit
consisted of much pomp and pageantry
and was extremely formal (the contrast
was especially strong considering I had
earlier met the Lieutenant Governor
when he was a judge and I was an

Aboriginal Witness for a new program at
the Justice Institute—back then I could
call him Steven).

As the speaker series opened, the
audience stood in silence while the
Lieutenant Governor was ushered in by
a very moving and talented group called
the Git Hayetsk Dancers. A blessing was
then given by Chief Rhonda Larrabee
of the New Westminster Indian Band,
the Qay Qayt. This was followed by a
beautiful and moving performance by
the dancers, which seemed to particularly
resonate with the Lieutenant Governor.

He gave his opening remarks, and when
finished, the audience stood while the
Dancers ushered the College President
and the Lieutenant Governor out of the
theatre with his aide de camp. The aide
de camp, as I’ve been told, is a retired
military man who is at the right hand of
the Lieutenant Governor. At the Wosk
Center, he appeared to be a marine in
full military dress. At Douglas, it was an
army gentleman in full military dress.

In a lot of government protocol
that I have had the opportunity to see,
the dignitary is usually rushed from one
place to another without time to forge
any type of relationships or even deal
with photo opportunities. The Lieutenant
Governor, by contrast, took things
much slower. He was thrilled with the
dancers and commented on a couple of
the specific dances and how they were
so appropriate for the occasion. As they
stood in line, the Lieutenant Governor
was introduced to each one and he shook
all their hands and asked what Nation
they were representing. I don’t know
who was more excited, the Lieutenant
Governor or the dancers. Although
the Honourable Steven L. Point was
pressed for time, he took time to meet
the dancers and other dignitaries, as well
as spending some moments with the
group for pictures. What an honour it is

to be able to share a few moments with
a man who understands his role with the
government, but is also willing to make
time for people without worrying about
any specific political agenda. As you
can tell from our photo, you can sure
tell he is enjoying himself. His foot was
bouncing while he watched the dancers
perform and he had a beaming smile
of enjoyment. He displayed that same
energy as he met the dancers before
moving on to another engagement.

In the picture of me and the
Lieutenant Governor, you can see the
Aboriginal print which we gave as a gift
toall the speaking dignitaries. I purchased
the prints while recruiting students in
Prince Rupert. They are beautiful prints
of Aboriginal culture by an artist by the
name of Ben Houstie of Bella Bella. The
framing was done at the last minute but
was outstanding. I was unable to get the
name of the framer at the deadline so I
will let you know next issue because it
was very impressive and beautiful.

And with that, the Lieutenant
Governor was whisked away and the
remaining powerful speakers completed
the day. As usual, I would like to thank all
the departments involved from inception
of the project to the completion of the
opening of the speaker series.

 

Sometimes it pays to think small

By Kai Jansson

dives in our fast-paced culture, with its rapid
transit, alluring entertainment, and lack of substantial
human contact, do you ever long for a simpler way
of life? Do you ever just lay down on your bed and
daydream about possibly living as part of a tight-knit
community, where everyone depends upon everyone
else, where you feel needed, and where the bonds you
knit with others are very strong because you depend
upon them, and they upon you? Many of us long for
this kind of lifestyle to a certain extent, and all of us
need to be needed. This need is a vital component of all
families, societies, and civilizations.

Our social lives have changed much over the last
century. We, as city-dwellers, no longer live in the
small towns of old, where everyone knows everyone
else, and where—if you are in need—the whole town
will pitch in to help. I imagine most of our grandparents
and ancestors lived in these kinds of societies at one
time. Some of us have been fortunate enough to have
even experienced them firsthand. I have fond memories
of growing up in Pinkham, Saskatchewan, a pioneer
town with fewer than 75 people, many of whom would
gather together for town socials at a local farm. While
each of us children would go out into the woods and
explore, playing tag and capture the flag, the women-
folk would go knit and bake cookies, and the men-folk
would sit in their chairs and argue about politics and
farm implements. I fully realize how boring and rather
sexist it sounds, but it was actually quite reassuring to
me as a young child. There was something comforting
about seeing all these familiar faces, all my adopted
“aunts” and “uncles” and other characters, all together,
laughing and making each other happy just by being
there.

The cities we live in now, however, do not and
cannot provide the same situations that you’d find in a
small prairie village. For example, we may see a person
in scruffy clothes, crying and squirming on a sidewalk

 

 

and we avert our eyes and quicken our pace; or, if we’re
the curious type, we stare out of our car windows as we
pass by, doing nothing, often also feeling nothing. We
are so numbed by the sheer amount of people in the
city that we feel we can’t possibly help everyone. We
justify this feeling by saying things like, “What good
would it do to help that person when there’s fifty more
needing just as much help waiting in line?” It’s as if
we’re seeing the entire population of a city through a
telescope, and confronted by the numbers we glaze our
eyes, not considering that there is merely one person
standing before us, and that we ought to help that
person. We can’t win by expanding our scope too wide.
However, even if we only help one other person in this
life, that still means something—especially to that one
person.

Let’s say that weeping man in scruffy clothes was

suddenly transported onto the gravel road of a tiny
villa in rural England. The people there, instead of
ignoring him (as if anyone in such a condition could
really be ignored in a small village), would likely see
him moaning and put their hands on his shoulder to
help him up, while shouting to others to come. They
would put a warm blanket around his disheveled form
and take him into Mr. and Mrs. Hobley’s living room,
setting him by the fire to warm up. They would offer
food and drink and ask what they could do to help, with
concern and care in their voices. They would not try
to convince themselves that there are simply too many
people to help, that they couldn’t put their lives on pause
to help even one. They would simply see a person who
is crying out for help and help him.

I know it sounds strange to say this, but we must as
city-dwellers stop looking at the big picture and begin to
think in terms of the day-to-day and person-to-person.
It’s somewhat akin to biking up a steep hill. In order to
make it up, you may use the technique of focusing your
vision on a clear target only a few feet in front of you,
and once you’ve reached that target, you find another
target, a few feet beyond the last one. Reaching several
small goals that make up the main goal of reaching the
top can make it much easier than trying for that larger
main goal. If you make the top of the hill your only
goal, you might simply stop and scream, “I give up! It’s
impossible! It’s too far!” and just walk the rest of the
way or give up altogether. But by taking it step-by-step
you can fool your mind into thinking, “Hey, it’s only
a couple of feet, I can do that.” If, in your life, there is
an obstacle so big that you can’t see past it, try to think
of it as one big puzzle, composed of many pieces, each
piece smaller than your hand. You probably won’t find
it hard to get past an obstacle that small. Once you’ve
gotten past that minor obstacle, just go for the next
one.

Sometimes it’s good to be short-sighted. Just leave
the telescope at home.

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