Greetings, folks. My name is Algoma "Allie" Witashnah and I'm a young Aboriginal woman living in the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba. My father, George is Aboriginal, originally from the Sioux band, and my mother, Beatrice Kensington, is originally from Berkshire, England, but moved to Canada in the 1980s. I am the daughter of two worlds, but fiercely and proudly Canadian. These days, I'm a criminal justice student at the University of Winnipeg, and man have I got a story to share with you today.
Winnipeg, the town of my birth, is a place at a crossroads. It has the largest population of Native folks out of any city in Canada. Close to twenty percent of all Winnipeggers have some type of Aboriginal, Metis or First Nations ancestry. And our numbers can only rise. Relations between European Canadians and Aboriginals in Winnipeg have been tense at times. Trust me, as the daughter of an interracial couple, I would know.
My father George Witashnah is a stocky, dark-haired and bronze-skinned, proud Aboriginal man. Contrarily to what you might have heard about Native men, my Pops is a strong, intelligent and proud man. He studied at the University of Manitoba, earned his Law degree and started one of the first Aboriginal law firms in Winnipeg. While visiting relatives in Ottawa, he met my mother Beatrice Kensington, a tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed newcomer from England, at Carleton University. It was love at first sight, I guess. They got married and had little old me, along with my brothers Jared and Scott.
My brothers Jared and Scott opted to study outside Manitoba, and truth be told, this didn't surprise me. My dad wanted them to stay but as a lot of young people would tell you, there's not a lot do to in Winnipeg. Jared is studying business administration at the University of Toronto and from what he's told me, he absolutely loves it. He's dating a young Japanese woman named Melody Yasimoto, and from what I gather, it's pretty serious between those two. My other brother Scott is gay, and that's the source of much conflict between him and our father.
Scott lives in Montreal with his French Canadian boyfriend Jean-Luc, much to my father's everlasting shame. I love my dad but he can be pretty set in his ways. I blame his strict Catholic upbringing. Personally, I don't believe in the doctrines of Christianity, even though I do believe in a supreme being. I just find white people's religious rules absolutely ridiculous. If there's a heaven, all decent people who performed good deeds while on earth should go to it. If there's a hell, all wicked people who did evil while on earth belong there. Christianity would have us believe that if a person is good, but doesn't accept Christian theology, then his soul is doomed to hell. Give me a break, folks.
That's why I follow Native spirituality, which appeals to me. It's the spiritual belief system of my ancestors, and it teaches people to connect with Mother Nature, and to respect her works. I find that belief far more enriching Judeo-Christianity, and its offshoot, Islam. No offense to the white folks and their Christianity and the brown, black and yellow people and their Islam, but we Native folks have our own way of doing things. Abrahamic monotheism might be what most people believe in but it's not our way.
As you can imagine, I am very proud of my Aboriginal origins and culture. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, neither fat nor thin but "sturdy", as my father puts it. I've got long black hair, light brown eyes and dark bronze skin. My features are a beautiful blend of Aboriginal Canadian and Caucasian. Other Natives can tell that I am at least part white but most white people simply assume that I'm Metis. To be honest, as much as I love my mother, I prefer to embrace my Aboriginal heritage.
Not all Natives with mixed ancestry feel the way I do. There's this guy named Kyle Abukcheech in my sociology class and he's originally from Cornwall, Ontario. The dude came to Winnipeg to get in touch with his Aboriginal roots but he's completely clueless. He doesn't identify as Aboriginal because his mother is Native and his father is white. The fool hangs out with the white students at school, and scoffs at me whenever he sees me wearing traditional Sioux clothing. I'm the Vice President of the Aboriginal Student Club or A.S.C. which welcomes all students of at least partial Aboriginal, Native, Metis or First Nations ancestry.
We work hard at fighting against the stereotypes of the Aboriginal community as being lazy, prone to drunkenness and lawlessness. The University of Winnipeg and the University of Manitoba are full of Aboriginal students. We're studying to become lawyers, doctors, captains of industry, engineers, and other professional jobs with great titles. Of course, the biased western media doesn't show this. They'll walk right past the law firm of a successful Aboriginal man like my father and showcase instead the drunken Metis lout on the street corner, and proclaim him to be representative of ALL Native people. As if! I don't have to look far to see a drunken, homeless white guy, but I doubt CBC would proclaim him as representative of the entirety of Euro-Canadian society. Of course not. These fuckers are biased and don't play fair. That's why I don't like them.
I swear, sometimes I don't know what frustrates me more. The clueless Aboriginal guys I see on campus, or the insensitive white students who say stupid things about my people. When I share my frustrations with my parents, they tell me to relax. I can't relax. I'm an Aboriginal woman in twenty-first century Canada. To be racially and culturally aware is to be angry at the injustices perpetrated against one's people by the majority. I want to change things. I want to educate Natives and teach them to fight for their rights. Can anyone understand my pain and my struggle?
I honestly thought no one could, until I met Vincent Jacques Desmond, a big and tall ( at least six-foot-four ) young Black man of Haitian descent I met while visiting my brother Scott at his apartment at the University of Montreal. Scott has recently broken up with his boyfriend Jean-Pierre, and one drunken night, got attacked by some homophobes outside a bar. Off-duty security guard Vincent Desmond happened to be walking nearby, and jumped in. This guy saved my life and now we're friends, Scott told me, after introducing me to Vincent.
I looked at this very tall, dark-skinned, roughly handsome young man. Vincent Desmond was something else. We don't get a lot of black folks in Winnipeg. For the most part, black Canadians are found in Ontario, Quebec and Nova Scotia. Vincent politely greeted me and offered me his hand to shake. From the way he looked me up and down, I could tell that Vincent was checking me out. I found that flattering, but told myself he'd never get a chance at me. I'm a conscious Aboriginal sister. I can only share my bed with a man who understands my struggle. One of my people.
