(ACT 3) More than the Hands that Choke Us

[Music] Kansai, hello everyone. I'm Carly. I'm a Korean Mati descent from Treaty 2 territory. On the prairies of Turtle Island, and I am a digital artist. Hey everyone, I'm Danielle. My ancestors are Scottish and Norwegian. I was born and raised as a grateful guest on the unceded ancestral territories of the Musquean Squamish and slay with tooth first nations on the Pacific Northwest of Turtle Island. And I'm a student. Welcome to the final episode of season one of the Restory Podcast. This season, like this episode, was very organic. I think you meant to say emotional. That too, but also a journey. Funny story, but when we are planning out our interviews for the season, we were like, perfect. We've done it. This is genius. We're geniuses. Mm-hmm. Maybe you thought that when we planned the season? Okay, true, true. You're right. Speak for yourself. Anyways, but we felt triumphant with our themes of restoring connection to the land, to community, and to identity. And it looked so clear till we started doing interviews. Honestly, when we started thinking deeply about it, all of these themes we talked about, land, community, and now identity, are characters in their own restoring journey. And our luck has it. All three themes were well in every single interview. Ah, shocks, darn it! So while I'm post, thinking about the season, we had this brief moment of panic. It was like a solid few days. But I guess it's the best sort of panic, which feels odd to say, but because it just goes to show how deeply interconnected and holistic indigenous knowledgees are. It's something that throughout this season we've witnessed, as whole, brilliant people showcase they are in the process of reconnecting and restoring. Because for many during the pandemic, it was a time to really be in the process with ourselves. As we learned more about others' experiences, we began our own process of being, particularly in this episode about identity, which we can place in a sterilized container. It spills out into all areas of our lives. While we could take this episode in so many different directions, the conversation around identity has been one that's been coming up since the very beginning of the show. Before we had themes or even equipment, we've been having this conversation about processing and reconnecting our connection to identity and what that all means. And luckily we weren't alone this entire time. In late January, we brought to our show our senior producer, I call him Coach. Probably do you call him Coach? No, I just think of him as that guy. Oh, his name is Philippe Contreras. He's guided us on this journey of podcasting. Actually, it's more like we guided him, joking Philippe. Honestly, Philippe has been there for us, helping us navigate together some of the nuances of restoring at such a global scale. When we started working on this episode in particular, we kept having so many rich conversations after the other. You know that whole rabbit hole metaphor? Yeah, that was this topic for the three of us. So we decided we wanted to show you what that sounded like to kick off this episode. Welcome, our senior producer, Netiver, Philippe Contreras. Hey Philippe. Yo, hey everyone, thanks for having me. Of course, before we begin, you mind sharing a little bit about yourself. Yeah, so my name is Philippe Contreras, a mestizo, which is a Spanish word for mixed race. My identity is very complicated and my relation to land and community is also complicated. I am Puerto Rican, Taino, on my mom's side, and Salvadorian, on my father's side. But I was born and raised a part of a diaspora in Tongla and Tumashlan in Los Angeles, California. Let's get into it. Identity. Help us unpack. Carly, where do we begin? Well, I think we should begin with what we noticed. Yeah, what caught our attention in each restoring journey is how they all started with the same line. I feel like I am native enough now. I might not be fluent in today on Māori, but I am Māori enough. What does it mean to be native enough? I don't think I thought much about this as a kid since I never factored in my identity when I was younger. I was more concerned with fitting in since I was usually the lone native kid in a classroom. However, this is a question I thought of a lot as a adult, especially when I went to university and saw more Indigenous people on campus. Even more so, because I was a native studies major, before making that my minor and becoming a fine arts student. But I had native professors and peers who are more connected with their culture than I was, which made me want to connect more with mine. I resonate with Carly, it's something that is very difficult for me to really step into. In my experience, I've been in many spaces where I didn't feel enough. Maybe it's due to the nature of our work and my awareness of its sensitivities, and even though I'm accepted in our circles, as someone who is mixed race and born a part of a diaspora, I've spent time going back into communities where I'm from in air quotes, and I said from in air quotes, not to say I'm not from those places, it's to say that regardless of where I'm from, there always be barriers due to the color of my skin, my ability to speak the language, and other social cultural contexts like where I grew up and who I grew up with, which makes it hard because of two things, one, because of my ambiguity, whether they are BIPOC spaces or not, people will mess with me because outside of my name, people can't really assume my identity. I really feel like there are spaces I can't be in, I just don't feel whole in them, because I've been told that by my own people that yes, I'm one of them, but I'm also not really because of said things, mostly because I'm a part of a diaspora that was created as a part of a neocolonial tactic to incentivize my people to leave their home, and to begin that disconnection and assimilation. It's crappy, but ultimately I came to accept that there always be gatekeepers, meaning there always be barriers that are made by colonial systems and frameworks because that was the way it was designed. And sometimes we are our own best gatekeepers. Yeah, we live in this world of status cards and blood quantum, a world where there are debates and nuances between who is what and who belongs where a world set up in ways that we further divide one another and gatekeeper ourselves. Speaking of our gatekeeping ourselves, can I can I tell you all a story about how sometimes we are our own biggest gatekeepers and how sometimes we need to restore ourselves? Yeah, we'd love to hear that. So let me do it. Yeah, of course, share. Do share. Styling that. Well, recently I met a new deal in my life. I met him on a shoot while working with a dear friend of mine on a film about indigenous genders. His name is Holy Old Mandible. He's Blackfeet, Alonae, Mexican with white European sprinkled in there. He's a two-spirit trans activist, artist and educator, who for years has worked around the United States with native communities, mostly in the city of San Francisco to amplify the rights of trans and two-spirited people. Those who don't know or are familiar with two-spirited people, they are indigenous people who don't fit in that heteronormative boxes of male and female. And in a pre-colonial time, their role is one of Frivenson communities, not only here in Turtle Island, but across the world. I'm telling you the story because long story short, because him and I had so much to talk about when it comes to being a Nah, from one Miss Diesel to another, but also as an elder that knows who what's struggling with identity it looks like, who has had to overcome many challenges to claim it publicly. He gifted me the strength to embrace mine and stopgap keeping myself. So close to the last day of the shoot, he comes up to me and he asks me to hold out my hands. And I'm like, "Oh, whoa, okay, yeah, what is happening? But do as your elders tell you to do." So I hold out my hands and he gives me a pouch of medicine. And as he gives me this pouch, he tells me, "Whenever I'm struggling with myself, whenever I'm in a room where I not feeling close to my ancestors, to smell that pouch and it will remind me where I come from. He then gives me a hug and he kisses me and he tells me to not forget about my ancestors. And I'm telling you this because for me, I think similar to the stories we're about to hear, sometimes we stop ourselves from fully embracing our wholeness and that our situations are complex. And that's why I restore you because sometimes all it takes is a moment of being seen by someone that resonates with how you feel that can be transcending and liberating. For me, that was one of the best teachings to date when it comes to identity. And now I have medicine to ground me whenever I feel like I'm not enough. So who's winning? I want to give that to our listeners. So they can restore their own identity as we embark on more stories of people who are doing the thing, the thing of restoring. So I don't know if that's helped y'all with this episode, but you know, like we've been at this for like four months now and five months now. And yeah, I just want to give that to you and like let me process that and do your thing. Thank you. That was awesome. That was amazing. Thank you. Thank you for getting vulnerable with us, you know. Yeah. Oh, wait. That's what I bring. I bring the vulnerability. I'll cry on this show and we'll do what it needs to. I'll do what I need to be. You know, Danielle makes us. You bring us down back to Earth Carly and I'm over here like being that guy. We love that guy. Thank you. I love you. Yeah. I feel like I've grown a million miles and feel much more secure in myself, but even then I still struggle with it every day. Right? There's still a still that issue where, you know, I don't feel like my reconnecting journey is certainly not done. It's certainly not in the middle. It's probably somewhere at the very, very beginning still, I think. Yeah. This is Brianna. I am Brianna Dice. I am El Chaco Dene from Anaheim Lake. My mom was a 60 scoop survivor. So she was adopted from there. I also have European ancestry from my dad's side. He's German Canadian and English. I am a bead artist, jewelry maker, content creator. I've been an artist my whole life. And yeah, I am a reconnecting indigenous person living in the city. Just doing my best. Brianna is a beating influencer. What started out as a hobby became a life changing passion in 2020 after one of her beating projects won viral on TikTok. Since then, she teaches folks how to be by facilitating beating circles and selling her jewelry, giving back part of her profits to indigenous communities and organizations. She is a legend. We're grateful for the gifts it is to honor Brianna's story on the show. Brianna's story began in the mid 1960s when their mom was born. Brianna's mom was born into a period known as the 60s scoop where numerous policies enabled Canadian child welfare authorities to forcibly scoop indigenous children from their communities. Starting them in the foster care system for adoption into white families. While Brianna's mom's grandparents assisted on adopting Brianna's mother and siblings a year after her birth, Brianna's mom was adopted into a white family. So she grew up with an amazing family, but she definitely struggled with that being the native kid in a white family in a small white town as well. She grew up, she moved across the country, went to school, tried to be as far away from her. Her old life is possible, and yeah, grew up into an incredible strong woman and eventually got married and had me totally removed from her community, her culture and her land. As she grew up, Brianna's mom modeled and has continued to model the journey of restoring, connecting with the life that was torn from her. I think her whole life she's been looking for her siblings. She has quite a few summer full siblings, summer half siblings. She's been successful in finding some not so much with others. I think one of her brothers passed away before she ever got to meet him. Another sibling she reached out to and they had no interest in connecting with her. So part of the reality too is that you're not necessarily always going to get that connection. We'll don't have to give it to you. It has been a long fight for Brianna's mom to be recognized as a 60 scoop survivor by the Canadian government and to apply for status. While we were writing this episode, Brianna's mom found out that she'll have to wait another year to get her status. Until her mom is recognized by Canada, Brianna will not be eligible to apply. Because of the fallout of the 60 scoop, Brianna grew up with a fractured sense of connection. She grew up in seashell with a large native community. Everyone basically was brown. They had features that looked, you know, she saw they had this really tight knit community. There's a large reservation. A lot of people live there. They already had this connection. They already had all of this. As a teenager, I would say, "Oh, hi, I'm native too." Nobody really cared. When Brianna finished high school, she moved cities for university. I was kind of at a point in my adulthood where I was reflecting on myself and kind of feeling like there was something a part of me that was missing. And it really did feel like it was my connection to community, to my indigenous side, to my mom's experiences, all that. At university, Brianna began to re-story. First, while taking a course on decolonization and revitalization. And that class really opened it up. It helped me just realize that I could claim being indigenous. I was enough. I think that's something, you know, with blood quantum, with your skin, with your connection to community. It's so hard to get yourself to that place. So that's where it took me. Since then, I feel like I've grown a million miles and feel much more secure in myself. But even then, I still struggle with it every day. Part of the struggle has been that question. Am I native enough? I addressed that question with my mentor. And she told me about this paper written an indigenous academic wrote about, you know, what is native enough and like, what does that mean? And yeah, it really comes down more to your connection to community and not necessarily what your skin looks like, what your actual blood percentages or whatever you want to say makes you native enough, whatever it is, I don't know. But, uh, yeah. So these days I'm more comfortable with it. But at the same time, I, I still struggle where I feel like I'm native enough. But at the same time, I still feel like there's so much missing for myself. I don't know. It's hard to answer. Like many of us, Brianna and her mom have been trying to re-story and reconnect to their community for years. And then COVID came and I thought, you know, it's not like we can just drive up to the community and go visit some elders in the middle of a pandemic. Like that's insane. I can't do that. Cotton the space between non-status and status, seeking out kin and connection during COVID-19 lockdowns and social isolation felt impossible. I feel like I've been in a roadblock for a couple years as well, where I am kind of stuck not knowing what to do besides, you know, just trying to find community online the best I can and locally as well to have some kind of a connection with the land that I live on and the people that are here. In the early 2020 and the midst of isolation, Brianna joined an online beating community. It was there that Brianna was introduced to Indigenous Tech Talk. It was really cool. It was really exciting too because there's this humongous native community on Tech Talk and so it was like circulating in the community and everyone was so encouraging. They were telling me that the work I did was beautiful even though it was my first try and it was not that beautiful and they all encouraged me and they loved the idea, wanted to see more and yeah it was just it's so welcoming. It was surprising. It was awesome. It was really cool to just feel accepted into the online native community right away and just how welcoming everybody is. Like many during COVID, Brianna began tick-tocking but instead of doing the fun dance trend, actually maybe she did. Huh, who knows. What I do know is she began showcasing her beating evolution. One of her early beating projects was honestly beautiful and one viral. And the weeks that followed, Brianna became a influencer. On her platform she started exploring her identity and the response she got was huge. There's so many like little things like I've posted before too, like sometimes feeling insecure. In my indigeneity is something that I think a lot of people probably are familiar with, especially with colonization. My mom being adopted, me being white passing, not getting to grow up with community. So one of the biggest things that I got was just feeling more valid in myself, which was really nice. I definitely have appreciated is I've gotten a lot of messages from people who said like they're in a similar position you know they're reconnecting they don't really know they don't feel secure whatever it is and seeing my content or hearing me talk about my struggles and how that has how they can relate has made me feel really amazing. I think that's been a big one that that not only am I figuring it out for myself but I'm helping other people do it and I think that's kind of the best thing that I can do. Brianna emphasizes that she is still very much in process. Her advice to those that are on that similar journey with their identity? Be going online can be a great place to start to find it you know come to my community come hang out with us we're lovely. In Tommaki Makoto-Aklin Trina Baggett a project coordinator for Community Health Project tells us about Hui. Hui is a Māori community meeting where each member shares their pipihā. A pipihā is a beautiful Māori way of introducing yourself. Once pipihā is a crucial part of identity and connection each member of the hui shares their iwi, tribe, their fanua, family and as they do they weave vivid and sacred connections between each other across the room. Aki te tāhu o toku pāpā, kō pamate, pamiston, mai mātou, kō ribbon masters, kō kō kō raua, kō ad masters, kō kō kō kō raua, kō dāg masters, kō kō kō pāpā, kō dorahau, kō raua kō tauni baggett, oku mātou afāgai, kō Trina Baggett, oku ednawa, kō kō raua raua raua, kō o levia, aki tāmāhinē, nō tsui raua hō. Trina learned her pipihā four years ago. So Kia ora, I've just shared my pipihā with you and it's just the manga awa, the mountain, the river, my waka, my marae, and my people, my ewi, my tribe, and my grandparents and my mother, on my mother and my father's side, but I was adopted into a vano, close adoption from birth in the 1970s, and so I also shared with you my beautiful adoptive parents, Toni and Dora Baggett. I also shared who I am, my name, and then my elders, my daughters, Kādianmoa and Olivia. I hail from a place called Tiwairua, it is a small rural town in the Kahununu or our tribal area, but I currently live in live work and play in Tamaki Makoto Auckland and have been here for about 12 years. For Maori, pipihā is a source of connection, and sharing one's pipihā one is able to discover relationships and connections. But for Trina, it's not that simple. I've stood on many occasions when we've gone to share our pipihā in Hawai'i or in Waaranga, whatever case it is, and I haven't been able to share where I was from, so it was always like this hand around my throat. Trina has been restoring her identity for as long as she can remember. Yeah, and that's, it's been an interesting and very challenging journey, and I think at times one that has brought real struggles in regards to who am I, you know, and that's from a very, very young age. When she was just an infant, Trina was adopted into a white family or Pākea Fano. I am very blessed to have been adopted into the family that I was. My dad was an amazing, my mum and dad have since passed, but the values that they installed in me and my sister, I believe have led us to be very strong. While she has wonderful memories of her family, she also has hard memories of racism within her extended family. There were kind of points in my life where I was like, um, far out, man, what's, you know, like, I'm Māori, but what does that, what does that mean to be a Māori woman in our world? I have no idea. And so there were real struggles and actually wanting to fit with Māori people as well. So I used, I did, I used alcohol and drugs to actually escape and mask many of that, butch of that. Since I've just not having any clue who I am or where I connect to. At 26, Thick in the Battle Against Disconnection Rejection, Trina did the only thing she knew to do. She thumbed through the phone book of her biological mother's hometown and started calling people. And then actually the complete fear of reaching out, because, you know, as an adopted person, I think I battled with rejection, like, you know, rejection, well, not I think I know, I battled with rejection. And so reaching out was really quite scary. That's how she reconnected with her biological mom, dad, aunties and uncles. It was scary. I will say it was really scary. And they made me feel so welcome. It was awesome to meet them and to start to make those connections. But a very long journey though, because what I think, what I think people that we don't have that same memory of Farno, that Farno families have when they brought up together. And so that's a connection that I'm trying and, you know, that we're trying to build. Yeah, it's not an easy journey. For some people it may be, but mine was very long times of not connecting or not, you know, meeting up or, you know, that kind of coming to family events. That reconnection journey has taken years. There have also been some dark, challenging times of not belonging. I never have found to real Māori Māori language easy to learn. And I believe that it is because it comes with, well, at times, an embarrassment that I don't know my language. I understand that impacts and, you know, and why. But yeah, and actually being able to, I've always talked about the feeling of hand around my throat. So while I can understand what people are saying to me, feel okay, I still struggle to reply. And it's kind of releasing that. There have been beautiful celebrations in that journey. The past years of the pandemic have been one of those victories. During the pandemic, Trina received her Moko Kauai. Receiving my Moko Kauai, I expect volumes to the journey as a Māori wahi. Moko Kauai are tattoos received by Māori women, other lips and chin. They are special tattoos that represent a woman's fano and leadership within her community, recognizing her Fakopapa, status and abilities. Colonial narratives prove the ammunition for racist policies that sought to erase Māori cultural identities and oppress the practice for Māori people. Across the world for centuries, appropriation has been happening. Once deemed as barbaric to the world, Moko has been appropriated as fashionable. Today, Māori women are restoring and reclaiming this practice to combat the oppression that has taken place for the last century. I was a part of a group of wahi there that came together and we, our mentor, shared, put our core out to wahi there with thinking about or interested in learning more about Moko Kauai. So I joined this wahi wahi with four other beautiful Māori wahi there, women. We began to explore what is Moko Kauai to us, what is our journey. For me, my own narratives that I created around not being Māori enough, not speaking to Māori fluently, not being raised at the feet of my nanny, or korowa at the marae, you know my whole kind of narrative that I'd created, which is also a narrative that had been held within our society as well that I've taken on board, was actually not right? Yeah and oh man it was an out-of-it-genny because this happened during lockdown, it's one longer. Prior to that I'd been kind of journeying for quite a quite a you know long time, rediscovering what it is to be Māori, trying to understand that the use there has been a disconnection but actually trying to flip that narrative in there's been a disruption, actually Anemakairi, I'll use who called it or, is a disruption and knowledge and it's only a small space and time that this has happened, you know. So and if we're looking at the millennia of knowledge and cultural ways of being, of who we are, this is only a small part and now the journey is coming back to reclaiming and restoring that. Trina's family and friends across Addea Roa and beyond called into witness as Trina received for Mokikawa. On her call with us, Trina shared the meaning of her Mokikawa. For me it's very significant to come to this point of time in my life knowing too that you still have racism but remembering and this is what I feel is important to know that we're all on our own journey and restoring, restoring, you know. So yeah, just trying to take that on board rather than react to some upsetting situations where people are on their own journey. We asked Trina if she had any advice for others who are restoring their identity as indigenous people. I'm going to be honest, I still struggle on the daily. I find it is a daily restoring process. It's daily, yeah, I think but we'll be something that will be a lifetime journey and that's okay, hey, that is okay. Yeah, so just take the step and start it for yourself and your old family and your future generations. Say, in whatever way shape will for you do, but if we don't do something for our own self then before our own far know, then it's going to go to another generation. The hardest part really I think is taking that first step to start and realising that when you do, you're actually having a ripple effect for your future generation. This interview was moving for us because from the moment we started Trina felt like home. She welcomed us, total strangers with her Katakia and with her Fucka Papa and her care. We weren't strangers to her even though we had just met and we found that particularly moving in light of the fact that so much of her journey of restoring has been battling disconnection and trying to reclaim that sense of belonging. Trina has created this powerful space where others belong. Because of what she's gone through, she knows the beauty and joy of belonging and carries that in a way that changes things. In the battle to reconnect to home, she has become a space of belonging for others to find home in their own battles. Trina, we're honored to witness and to celebrate your story. So yes, back to the question of am I native enough. It's something I have thought about and I don't think I wrestled with it as much. Rather, I saw that there was not one way to be native. Some walk the red road, participate in ceremonies or hunt on the land. But I also think of my dad and he doesn't necessarily participate in ceremonies but he's the most native man I know. He's been there for his family, for his wife and kids and there's five of us and he's always made sure that we had a roof over our heads and that we were fed and taken care of and loved. To me, the best way to be native is to be there for your family. To take care of yourself and each other because at the core of being native to me is family. We have to take care of each other and by doing so, we create a brighter future for future generations. Restoring is powerful. We realize that oftentimes it can feel daunting because restoring is a movement. A movement we are building together. We hope it can be a tool you can use as you resist narratives that can feel like hands tightening around your throat and ultimately, the best way to combat colonial narratives is for us to embrace that we are all storytellers and that means something. Just before I sort of get into that little story, Daniel, I'd like to sort of think back and I look back and I say, what is the role of a storyteller? Historically, right? At the very start of our journey into podcasting, Elder Calvin Resett reminded us what this all means when we re-story and why it's important to acknowledge the original purpose of our roles as storytellers. Historically, a storyteller was somebody who carried the news. They were the the national news. They were the broadcasters. They went from community to community and they shared the story, shared the news, shared what was going on. They controlled the narrative. They had an honored position in that community. They made decisions on what should be told and what should be shared and they kept an accurate record of what should be told. They talked about okay upcoming ceremonial events. They said, this is what we can tell you about it. They told learning stories, teaching stories, things that were in season. They preserved the protocols of the community. Things like that, they played a pretty important role in that. While the season is about to end and who knows how long it will take Carly and I to make season two, we hope you learned a few things, laughed a little and maybe cried a little bit because we sure did. Before I begin the cry, let's wrap this season with our final reflection. Take a breath and close your eyes. I want you to re-story a place where you feel the most you. As you focus on breathing, remember that a place can mean a lot of things. It can be a landscape, it could be a person or community that sees you or it could be a pouch of medicine that when you smell it, it grounds you to you. Now hold that and go remember what it takes to follow in the footsteps of a nine-year-old chakka girl. Remember we are all storytellers who battle black snakes, who connect and reconnect with our people, who co-create communities, grandchildren and ancestors in the making who fight back from the hands that silence us, who live in the web of love, we call community. Our voice is too powerful to keep silent. Whether you're a settler and an ally, she was actively listening and challenging your own colonial stories, or an indigenous person coming into their own power. Our re-stories are the healing bomb that this world needs. So please keep processing and restoring. Keep letting the love that has sustained the past seven generations strengthen you to create a world that can heal the next seven generations. [Music] We're starting the plan our next season and we want to hear from you. What are topics themes that you want us to restore? Let us know on social media and vote for topics you want to hear about. We'll see you next season and also special thanks to everyone who's been a part of this show. It has been an honor to hear your voices and your stories and we are grateful for the opportunity to amplify them. This season all our music was by our featured artist Kino Benelle, Adena DJ, producer and musician. You can find his latest album on Bandcamp. It's called The Hema and the Hashtagson. The re-story podcast is a production by Cedar. Kovar Nets indigenous engagement development research pillar seven. Cedar is an indigenous and woman-led research team. Our mission is to use community engagement, knowledge sharing and research to ensure that indigenous stories are heard. Our guests represent themselves and their views may not reflect those of Cedar. We are dedicated to honoring our guests their honest perspectives and lived experiences. If you enjoyed this episode, please subscribe to the podcast on your favorite platform. Leave us a review and share the re-story podcast with everyone! Do it! Just joking, but please. We love hearing from our listeners. You can reach us on Instagram at Cedar_7 or you can learn more about the re-story podcast on Cedar's website. Link in the bio. This episode was produced by Danielle Ray and Fleet Bay that guy Contreras. Edited by Fleet Bay Contreras, Tamara Chavez, Jordan Dirkson, Jacqueline Smith, Sterling McGregor and Carly Morseaux. Mixed by Fleet Bay Contreras, our executive producers are Tamara Chavez, Michelle Johnson Jennings and Katie Collins. Our senior producer is Fleet Bay Contreras. Our producers are Danielle Ray, Sterling McGregor and Jordan Dirkson. Carly Morseaux and myself, Danielle Ray are your hosts. We'll see you next season. you