I went to UBC's Museum of Anthropology a few weeks ago to check out their exhibit, "Nuxalk Strong: Dancing Down the Eyelashes of the Sun." The Nuxalk are neighbours of the Tsilhqot'in and one of the stories that my grandma used to tell had to do with one of our ancestors spending the winter in their territory.
Their exhibit featured some blankets, and stories about blankets.
One of the stories was about a blanket which was taken to Winnipeg, and then they were able to repatriate it. The story for the blanket above, however, was that no one knows where it is. The caption says that the yakyanlh (mountain goat wool robe) was passed down. It contained rights to hunt in a specific area. And the woman brought the robe, along with the rights, with her into marriage. But now no one knows where the blanket is.
I was really moved when I read this story. Blankets are about warmth and protection, yes. But they are more than that. A blanket can be about identity, who you are, and how you are connected to others. It can carry rights and responsibilities. It can represent belonging within a community and belonging to the land.
During that dark period of time of the potlatch ban and pass system, how painful it must of been for the family to know that this beautiful blanket existed, and to not be able to share the blanket with the next generation. How difficult it must have been to not be able to show it to the children and youth and say, "Your ancestors created this beautiful item for you. This is who you are."
I read about the repatriation from the Vatican. I noticed how one of the Metis leaders implied that repatriation would insult the ancestors who gave the gifts. This comment does not take into consideration the fact that many of these gifts were "given" under duress. Due to government and church policies, many Indigenous communities were in survival mode, and people felt like they had no choice except to part ways with their belongings. Repatriation is not an insult to the ancestors. It's a reconnection with the creative spirit that they placed into the items that they created.
While I was at the MOA, I visited the blankets in some of the other exhibits too. I always find it interesting to learn about the different materials in the blankets. Wooly dog wool, wool, mountain goat wool, jute, cedar... I was curious about what Tsilhqot'ins made blankets out of so I did some asking around and someone sent me a photo of a fur blanket. The fur was made into strips and woven together with wool. They said it was wild cat fur, possibly mountain lion. Of course Tsilhqot'in ancestors would have the most intense blankets lol.
Anyhow, I really need to blog about today's book today because I am going to lend this book to my mom next time I see her.
A Steady Brightness of Being: Truths, Wisdom, & Love from Celebrated Indigenous Voices is a collection edited by Murray Sinclair's family members, Sara Sinclair and Stephanie Sinclair. In the introduction they talk about how one of their grandparents was a holocaust survivor, and her trauma was recognized by society. But their other grandparent was a residential school survivor who carried shame, and during his lifetime they did not understand his trauma because it was not recognized by society. And so they never had an opportunity to really know him and they carried regret over that. The introduction contains a letter from one of the sisters to Murray, and the letter was written while he was in the hospital. During that period of time, my mom had tickets to see him at the Vancouver Writer's Festival. But he was sick so he could not come and I felt sad that she was not able to meet him.
The book is a series of letters written from prominent Indigenous writers. the letters are addressed to various recipients: relatives, students, future ancestors, the Boreal Forest... Niigaan Sinclair has a letter to Canada. In the letter he talks about how his dad, Murray Sinclair died. He gives some biographical information about his dad's background and career - in particular his work with the TRC and RCAP. And then he says that he is angry because Canada took his dad from him because his dad spent so much time working against racism and genocide. And he talks about a conversation where he asks his dad why. Then he talks about his dad's final days, and how his dad asked him to talk about the creation story and what happens after someone dies and he reassures his dad that he will do the specific things attached to those beliefs. Normally when I encounter a passage in a a book and it moves me, I share an excerpt. In this case, though, I think you just need to read the book. Niigaan talks about his dad's duty and care, and how we all need to take up his work.
As much as I bawled my head off reading Niigaan's piece, I felt comforted knowing that Murray Sinclair's family was able to provide him with those reassurances that they would take care of him after he passed.
The cover of the book is beautiful. And the cover suits the book.
It's a small book, less than 200 pages, but powerful. Here is the publisher's blurb:
Drawing on the wisdom and personal experience of its esteemed contributors, this first-of-its-kind anthology tackles complex questions of our times to provide a rich tapestry of Indigenous life, past, present, and future. The letters explore the histories that have brought us to this moment, the challenges and crises faced by present-day communities, and the visions that will lead us to a new architecture for thinking about Indigeneity. Taking its structure from the medicine bundle—tobacco, sage, cedar, and sweetgrass—it will stir and empower readers, as well as enrich an essential and ongoing conversation about what reconciliation looks like and what it means to be Indigenous today.
I think it hits the mark. It is like a balm. It does not ignore or shy away from difficult things, but it provides kind and gentle encouragement to those who are doing the difficult work. Some books are for when you need to breathe fire. Some books are for when you come home from being breathing fire all day and you need a soft place to land. This book is that soft place. The title of the book comes from Terese Marie Mailhot's work, "To Indians Now and Forever Surviving." She says,
I believe we are a steady brightness of being, like a running wheel of light. Native people carry power. All Indigenous people are bound to something inextricably connected to the land, the sky, and the universe. (Mailhot, 2025, p. 13).
I listened to her memoir, Heartberries, and it was an emotionally difficult read. Her contribution is the first piece in this collection, and I think it set a very warm and supportive tone for the rest of the book.
There are 25 contributions from people such as Miss Chief Eagle Testickle, Joshua Whitehead, Cindy Blackstock, katherena vermette, and Jennifer Grenz. I won't go over each and every contribution, but I will say that I felt like all of the pieces belonged in this work and positively contributed to the overall vision of the collection.
The final piece is by Waubgeshig Rice, who writes to his great great grandchildren. For those teaching his novels, Moon of the Crusted Snow and Moon of the Turning Leaves, this letter might be a good way to introduce his work and also a good way to introduce the concept of Indigenous futurisms.
