Chief Robert Joseph's Namwayut is a memoir of survival, healing and a way forward — read an excerpt now
CBC Books | | Posted: June 16, 2022 2:23 PM | Last Updated: October 6, 2022
Namwayut is a new book by Chief Robert Joseph.
Namwayut tells a personal and emotional story of Joseph's experience as a residential school survivor. It is a story of political action and charts the rise of the "Indian Rights Movement."
The memoir is also a meditation on the learnings of the Global Truth and Reconciliation community — and delivers a manifesto for how Canada and Indigenous communities can move forward.
Chief Robert Joseph is the Hereditary Chief of the Gwawaenuk people and one of the remaining first-language speakers of Kwak'wala. Joseph is the ambassador for Reconciliation Canada and chair of the Native American Leadership Alliance for Peace and Reconciliation.
He received the Order of British Columbia in 2015 and is the 2016 winner of the Indspire Lifetime Achievement Award.
Joseph believes that humans share a common experience — and that reconciliation belongs to everyone. Namwayut traces his personal journey to become a leader who inspires individual hope, collective change and global transformation.
The hardcover book will feature case art, a piece titled The Epiphany by First Nations artist Andy Everson.
You can read an excerpt from Namwayut below.
As we sailed past the southerly point of Cormorant Island, I spotted the Indian graveyard. There were so many totem poles towering, standing like eternal sentinels. The 'Namgis People had used Cormorant Island as a place to bring their people who had passed on. It was known as a place of eternal rest before the Europeans arrived. Missionaries forced the 'Namgis to give up their traditional practice of lashing the dead, carefully wrapped and sometimes boxed, to the branches of large trees in that place. A Christian graveyard was demanded by the Europeans, but the Kwakwaka'wakw placed memorial poles alongside the gravesites to honour their ancestors.
A year earlier a young boy in our own community had died at birth. The parents, wanting to follow the old ways, wrapped him up and placed him in a heavy canvas atop a tall tree. I remember seeing him swaying in the breeze, serene, gentle and sombre. The authorities arrived a day or so later and ordered the baby taken down and buried.
I was born on September 15, 1939, in St George's Hospital, right next to the 'Namgis cemetery. In all of the trips we took over to Alert Bay almost weekly when I was a child, I don't know how I missed spotting St Michael's Indian Residential School on the north end of the island, but I did.
'Yalis, the Kwak'wala name for the place, means "sitting on the beach with legs spread apart," in reference to the way in which the shoreline at the village is shaped. We finally arrived at the dock, which clearly marked the divide between the Indian population and the white population on Cormorant Island, in the middle of those legs. Our lodging for the night with relatives was just at the head of the wharf. We dropped off our belongings and visited for a short while. The exchange of pleasantries seemed to go on forever.
I was born on September 15, 1939, in St George's Hospital, right next to the 'Namgis cemetery. In all of the trips we took over to Alert Bay almost weekly when I was a child, I don't know how I missed spotting St Michael's Indian Residential School on the north end of the island, but I did.
The island was changing quickly. A hundred years before I was born, there were a dozen large communal houses at 'Yalis, and many had added one or more totem poles to the front of their houses like eagles, Thunderbirds, Huxwhukw birds, and a raven whose beak opened and closed as guests arrived for a Potlatch, along with human welcome figures to signal the ceremonies being held inside. Fifty years before my birth, there were only forty white settlers in the area; by 1900, there were 650; and by the time I arrived for school there were hundreds and hundreds more white people on the tiny island.
Now, both newcomers and the 'Namgis Peoples were flooding into Alert Bay to work the saltery and new salmon canneries, and it was filled with shops and excitement. I was restless and impatient. "When are we going shopping?" I whispered to my mother.
"We will go later," she kept saying.
At last we were out the door. The first stop was a little Chinese restaurant. My mother ordered hamburger steaks. The bottle of Coke and the straw topped it all off. The next stop was a little general store where my mother bought a pair of runners for me. I was so happy, I felt I could outrun the wind. The next items Ada picked out for me were a pair of blue jeans and a little white shirt. I had no idea what all her generosity was about. At the end of the day, we returned to our relatives' house for the night. "Coming to Alert Bay and receiving all of these goodies is reason enough to be anywhere," I thought to myself. We were ordered to bed early, my sister and I, and I didn't mind at all, even when I woke up a time or two to hear loud chatter and the singing of traditional songs. A rousing party was underway.
We were out the door early the next morning and started walking toward the uqsta lis, the north end of the island, in absolute silence. Our mother was walking in the middle and Na'di and I were catching up on either side of her.
"Where are we going?" I wondered to myself. "Why is no one saying anything?"
The silence continued, broken only by the sound of our footsteps over gravel. The streets were empty. We passed two older men sawing firewood on the beach.
The only other signs of life came from columns of smoke rising from a few chimney tops. Still the silence prevailed. Suddenly, two adults came out of nowhere and grabbed Na'di. There was tussling and screaming, crying and shouting. It was total pandemonium. My mother, sister and I tried to hold on to each other to no avail.
As quickly as the chaos erupted, it ended. I later realized that it was Na'di's birth father who had grabbed her. Ada was afraid of the authorities and so was Na'di's father, and yet neither of them knew what the better path was. Despite her father's efforts, Na'di ended up at another tuberculosis hospital before eventually being remanded to join me at the residential school.
My Ada and I hugged and sobbed for what seemed like eternity. We finally got ourselves together and started walking again. The silence seemed even deeper and more ominous, as I am sure Ada was doubting herself, what she knew, and what she should do. I heard the eagles overhead, crying.
The front door of the building swung open and a strange-looking man invited us in. I had never been up close to a white man before. He spoke to my mother in a language that neither of us understood. My mother could only stare at him hopelessly. My fear was coming back.
As I watched the bird kingdom in motion above me, I caught a glimpse of the multistorey red-brick building ahead. I had never seen a building like that before. A knot built up in my tummy. I had a sense that this place was our final destination. The school property was completely fenced off. Two towering totem poles stood sentinel at the entrance. Each pole had giant Thunderbirds perched with outspread wings atop monstrous-looking grizzly bears. Each bear embraced a child. All figures had piercing eyes that were discouraging rather than welcoming. Both mythological entities represented supernatural power and strength, but none of that mattered that day. We reached the front of the building and climbed a steep set of stairs to the first-storey entrance to the school.
The front door of the building swung open and a strange-looking man invited us in. I had never been up close to a white man before. He spoke to my mother in a language that neither of us understood. My mother could only stare at him hopelessly. My fear was coming back.
"What are we doing here?" I thought.
From where we were standing, three long hallways stretched out to the left and right of us and straight ahead. All three directions had significant implications. Without a word, my Ada handed me over to the stranger. My mother turned around and walked away without any explanation.
Absolute sadness draped her appearance. She never looked back. She never said goodbye. I wanted to yell for her to take me with her.
She never said, "I'll come visit often."
She never said, "I love you." I knew that she did, but her grief overwhelmed her.
I was horrified and felt completely abandoned. Confusion and bewilderment added to my deep sadness. It had been quite a day already for a young boy with little understanding. First there was that long walk without explanation or understanding followed by the aggressive intervention and loss of a sister. Being dropped off with a total stranger in a hitherto unseen environment capped the evolving calamities in the worst day of a five-year-old. Little did I know that it would only be the beginning.
Excerpted from Namwayut by Chief Robert Joseph. Copyright © 2022 Chief Robert Joseph. Published by Page Two. Reproduced by arrangement with the Publisher. All rights reserved.
Watch the CBC video Namwayut: we are all one. Truth and reconciliation in Canada
Corrections:
- This post has been updated to reflect the correct surname for Andy Everson. June 16, 2022 10:53 PM