final draft DS
Posted: Fri Jan 28, 2011 12:13 pm
It is February 12, 2010 and I am about to dance in front of a billion people, representing my nation to the world, along with 300 other youth. After 2 weeks of preparing to welcome the Olympics to Canada, we truly felt like family and I cannot help but cry. To help you understand my emotional state I need to go back over a 100 years.
In 1898, when the Klondike Gold Rush hit our homeland, we went from being an isolated people to being at the centre of a thriving metropolis of 40,000. When became clear that our Han culture would be lost in the tidal wave of newcomers, our Hanke (Chief) Isaac travelled to Tanacross, Alaska with our songs, drums and Ganhank (sacred dancing stick) for safekeeping because he foresaw that without this action, the voice of our people though song would be lost forever and we would never get it back.
In the early 1990’s with the finalization of our self-government agreement, we began to reclaim our voice. I remember first hearing the sounds of the drums and singers’ voices, and being filled with a clear image of who I was, and that is what the Han songs are about - a celebration of who we are; they tell of the landscape, the people with whom we interacted, and our interconnections. When I graduated and moved to my home community to work, I felt spiritually uplifted as the songs centred me, and I joyfully celebrated who I am. I was honoured when asked by my elders to undertake the role of a ganhank dancer to help revive this portion of the dance ceremony and lead our dances, as it allows me to share our culture.
I was delighted when I was selected to be one of 300 first nations youth from across Canada to participate in the Vancouver 2010 opening ceremonies. During the preparation for the event my eyes were opened to the great diversity of Aboriginal cultures of North America represented; from the deep sounds of a Nisga'a paddle song to the high cries of Powwow singers and hip hop, it all spoke to who we are as Aboriginal people. I was also able to draw on our core values, our ability to embrace computers and automobiles yet still allow the land and the animals to speak to us. I understood our commonality in the ways we learn from all cultures to make our people strong. On the night of the ceremonies, I found myself crying. I acknowledged my responsibility to my people to ‘represent’, and, beyond that, a responsibility to the family who had saved our songs; I was scared, but I raised my voice strong for the world to hear our songs and the stories in the songs of who we are and our interconnectedness. The energy of that moment will always empower me.
Please rip it apart
In 1898, when the Klondike Gold Rush hit our homeland, we went from being an isolated people to being at the centre of a thriving metropolis of 40,000. When became clear that our Han culture would be lost in the tidal wave of newcomers, our Hanke (Chief) Isaac travelled to Tanacross, Alaska with our songs, drums and Ganhank (sacred dancing stick) for safekeeping because he foresaw that without this action, the voice of our people though song would be lost forever and we would never get it back.
In the early 1990’s with the finalization of our self-government agreement, we began to reclaim our voice. I remember first hearing the sounds of the drums and singers’ voices, and being filled with a clear image of who I was, and that is what the Han songs are about - a celebration of who we are; they tell of the landscape, the people with whom we interacted, and our interconnections. When I graduated and moved to my home community to work, I felt spiritually uplifted as the songs centred me, and I joyfully celebrated who I am. I was honoured when asked by my elders to undertake the role of a ganhank dancer to help revive this portion of the dance ceremony and lead our dances, as it allows me to share our culture.
I was delighted when I was selected to be one of 300 first nations youth from across Canada to participate in the Vancouver 2010 opening ceremonies. During the preparation for the event my eyes were opened to the great diversity of Aboriginal cultures of North America represented; from the deep sounds of a Nisga'a paddle song to the high cries of Powwow singers and hip hop, it all spoke to who we are as Aboriginal people. I was also able to draw on our core values, our ability to embrace computers and automobiles yet still allow the land and the animals to speak to us. I understood our commonality in the ways we learn from all cultures to make our people strong. On the night of the ceremonies, I found myself crying. I acknowledged my responsibility to my people to ‘represent’, and, beyond that, a responsibility to the family who had saved our songs; I was scared, but I raised my voice strong for the world to hear our songs and the stories in the songs of who we are and our interconnectedness. The energy of that moment will always empower me.
Please rip it apart