Calgary Stampede's First Nations Princess wants you to understand her people's connection to the rodeo
Sikapinakii Low Horn: 'The rodeo scene is still a part of who we are'
Sikapinakii Low Horn has attended every Calgary Stampede with her adopted grandparents since her early teens. But this year, she's in the spotlight: she's the 2022 Calgary Stampede First Nations Princess.
The 27-year-old Siksika Nation Traditional Women's Dancer, artist, and Master of Fine Arts student at the University of Calgary will represent First Nations communities during Stampede festivities and beyond. The year-round title is meant to increase knowledge of rodeo traditions and cultures, specifically from a First Nations perspective.
"Storytelling is one of my favourite things to do and I have had many opportunities to tell them so far," Low Horn tells CBC Arts. But she has also been listening to others share their own stories.
"Rodeo culture is very prominent in our communities. But there's all different types of knowledge, and I've met a lot of people and I've already heard a lot of stories about more Blackfoot people in the Stampede. I would like to bring this knowledge into my own artistic practice one day."
Over the past week, cities across the country struggled with a holiday celebrating the nation while confronting its history of violence and genocide toward the Indigenous people of this land. In Calgary, that tension is even higher with the Stampede, the biggest public celebration of civic and provincial pride — especially since this year, it's back to full force for the first time in three years. Hay bales, oversized "Yahoo" signs, and windows painted in cartoon cowboys were common sights even before the Stampede officially kicks off at 9 a.m. on Friday, July 8 with, as tradition has it, a downtown parade (this year marshalled by Kevin Costner).
But presence from the Indigenous Nations of Treaty 7 land — including the Blackfoot Confederacy, comprised of the Siksika, Piikani, and Kainai First Nations; the Stoney Nakoda, comprised of the Chiniki, Wesley, and Bearspaw First Nations; and the Tsuut'ina First Nation — is nothing new to the Stampede, and may be surprising to Canadians unfamiliar with the tradition.
It adds another layer of complexity to an already massive scope: ten days of rodeos, outdoor concerts, a nightly variety show, a dog show, a carnival and a surrounding citywide network of corporate parties and pancake breakfasts. Sometimes it takes the form of bestowing a First Nations woman with the monarchial title of "Princess," and Low Horn welcomes the opportunity to investigate that complexity.
As a visual artist, her role as First Nations Princess intersects with her current studies in fine arts focusing on the history of Blackfoot cowboys, inspired by her father and two grandfathers, and celebrating the complicated role that the rodeo has played in Blackfoot culture.
"One of the things that I was told growing up is that the rodeo was something that was there to replace what was taken away from us, our culture and our language, our traditional ways. Being a cowboy — and being a farmer, being a rancher — was basically the only thing that we had at that time," Low Horn says.
"And we were good at what we did. We took advantage of being put in those situations. It's a part of our history as Blackfoot people as well, right? And luckily, our traditional ways, our language came back to us. But the rodeo scene is still a part of who we are."
The royalty component is one of the more subdued — but no less important — traditions of the Stampede, beginning with the first Stampede Queen in 1946. Crowned this spring after a string of judged events and interviews, Low Horn is joined by a Stampede Princess, former Stampede Showrider Jenna Peters.
According to Vanessa Stiffarm, 2016 First Nations Princess and current coordinator for the Stampede's Indigenous Programming and Youth Programs, the First Nations Princess didn't have a continuous presence in the Stampede until the 1990s.
"I don't think of it as a beauty pageant," Stiffarm says. "I feel like we all bring our own uniqueness into it. Like, we have a past Princess on the path of becoming a lawyer. I want to be a doctor in the next couple years."
"It opened a lot of people's ears and minds of how to really listen to a First Nations woman and what we bring to the table. And not just with the Stampede, but as a Treaty 7 woman in the area."
Today, the role is integrally tied to the Elbow River Camp, a site on Stampede grounds with daily First Nations markets, cultural workshops, pow wows, and tours, including 26 family-owned tipis passed down from generation to generation. Low Horn's adopted grandparents own one of these tipis, which offered her a chance to dive into this element of her heritage in a consistent way and it became an annual tradition.
"There were several dancers, but I'm the one who would go to every pow. When I applied [to be First Nations Princess] in 2019, I thought it would be a really great opportunity to have that representation for not only my adopted grandparents, but the rest of my family, the Nations of Treaty 7 and of course, the Calgary Stampede. Being able to represent all those different aspects really, really appealed to me."
Stampede administration and the First Nations communities of Mohkinstsis/Calgary have not always seen eye-to-eye; it was only in 2018 that the name of the camp was changed from "Indian Village" and the royalty title from "Indian Princess." But First Nations communities have been involved since the very first Stampede in 1912, often lobbying the federal Department of Indian Affairs to overcome government bans on Indigenous participation.
The more we reckon with Canadian history that's at once horrifying and triumphant — like Low Horn's family relationship with the rodeo — the messier our communal celebrations are becoming. Roles like the First Nations Princess at the Stampede may not be perfect, but at least they, like Low Horn herself, are digging into that mess, and doing so with art and conversation as the end goal. Fireworks are pretty, but the way forward is, evidently, a more complicated kind of beautiful.
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