Jillian Morris is Kanien’kehá:ka, turtle clan and band member of Six Nations of the Grand River Territory now living in Collingwood. She will be sharing stories and experience passed down through the oral traditions of Kanien’kehá:ka culture in her regular column, entitled Ka’nikonhrí:io, (The Good Mind) published on CollingwoodToday.ca.
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Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings to everyone. I am grateful to share this piece today.
I have been humbled by the process of this writing.
It was my intention to have this article dedicated to Black History Month. It feels not just appropriate but necessary.
I have so graciously been given space to tell stories. I feel inspired to share that space. After all, it is what I understand of many of the teachings I carry. If it can be shared, it should be.
I begin with a preface.
I have my reservations about days and months dedicated to marginalized groups of our society. Memorializing the deaths of our sacred children one day a year. Celebrating my culture and lineage for one month a year. It does not look like that in my world. The dark and the beauty are with me always. I do not decide when the impacts of either are felt.
Every day I am proud of who I am, my heritage, and the profound history of resilience.
A day, a month is not enough.
I am thankful that this exercise gave me a broader perspective. There is still truth here, but I gained appreciation for the opportunity that these commemorations can offer.
I began my brainstorming.
I had a few ideas about what I wanted to write. The intersections of the Black and Indigenous experience? First Nations’ role in the Underground Railroad? The Black and Indigenous influence on the evolution of music on Turtle Island?
I wanted to demonstrate how this relationship predates me, predates all of us here today.
I researched. I read stories. I listened to podcasts.
I was waiting for that aha moment. It didn’t come.
I sat in reflection. I thought about the relationships I have been building with my Black brothers and sisters here in Collingwood. The work we’ve been doing together. The love, the encouragement, the common fight. The strength and pride that comes from standing together.
All the work I did in preparation was not in vain by any means, but those larger topics faded into the background.
It was the subtle threads woven through the stories, the essays, the discussions and within the reflections that followed.
And there it was. The moment.
I am not Black. This month is not for me.
But it is!
Through diving into stories, into the lived experience of Black lives, I felt my connection strengthen. I deepened the knowing that our relationship is a sacred one.
I was reminded again and again that the Black community is an Indigenous community. Removed from ancestral and traditional lands but not from spirit. There is love for the land, the similar reverence of ancestors, honouring of elders for the wisdom they carry, respect for the matriarch.
This is not the piece I set out to write. It turned out more meaningful, more powerful.
Writing has always been cathartic for me. But this was healing for me within the community I have been building here.
I do not want to share what I learned and retell a history of two beautiful races coming together, standing together, working together, and loving together.
I want you to experience this for yourself.
What does your relationship with the Black community look like, feel like?
Black history month is for you.
The theme this year…February and Forever: Celebrating Black History today and every day.
Exactly.
Skén:nen, Peace.
