Caldwell First Nation is moving home after hundreds of years. Here's what it took to reclaim their land
Caldwell members say hope is what got them to this moment
From Lake Erie's northern shores in Leamington, Ont., Darlene Marshall watches the waves crash into each other.
The water, called nibi in Anishinaabemowin, holds memories, she says.
And for her, the water brings to mind vivid images and stories of her grandmother and father — both members of Caldwell First Nation. Not far from where she stands, is where her grandmother Gertrude Thomas was born, on what is now Point Pelee National Park.
"[My grandmother] lived there in their village for a number of years until the [Royal Canadian Mounted Police] on horseback came, asked them to take what they could carry and they were removed, all of them, from their community and their homelands," said 62-year-old Marshall..
"And my grandmother said she turned to see behind her that all that was left of their community was smoke and fire."
This is a memory that Marshall — whose traditional Anishinaabemowin name is Na'akshi Anung Kwe, meaning First Evening Star Woman — remembers her grandmother sharing with her when she was little.
According to Caldwell First Nation, the 1920s were the last time its people lived on its ancestral lands — that is, until now.
After fighting to reclaim its land and reunite its community for more than 230 years, Caldwell is celebrating a monumental moment: its people are returning home.
The first few families have already made the move to the reserve, just off of Bevel Line Road and Mersea Road 1 in southwestern Ontario, with dozens of others expected to arrive by mid-September. The hurdles the nation has overcome to get to this point mean that the joy of this moment is also mixed with sadness and pain.
Many are reminded that their people lost more than just their land — they also lost their way of life. Their language, traditions, teachings and stories were scattered along with the dispersal of people.
Today, Caldwell members are still trying to piece together their past to better understand who they are.
WATCH: 'I wanted this all my life:' Caldwell members speak about coming home
Meet Zaaga'iganniniwag, the 'people of the lake'
When asked about her people, Angela Duckworth lets out a deep sigh and asks herself,"where do I start?"
"That's kind of a difficult question," she said, her voice breaking.
"And what makes it so difficult is growing up not knowing who you were, who you are, where you come from, not knowing your connection to Caldwell First Nation, not knowing your history."
Duckworth's traditional name is Ba Masshi Migizi Kwe, which is Anishinaabemowin for Soaring Eagle Woman.
Duckworth's sister, Mary Duckworth, is the current chief of Caldwell. She says their mother was from Caldwell and their father was British, from London, England.
Duckworth is one of many members looking to make sure their past remains a part of their future.
The First Nation's traditional lands stretch from the Detroit River all the way to Long Point on the north shore of Lake Erie, including Point Pelee National Park.
They are Anishinaabe and are also known as Zaaga'iganniniwag, meaning "people of the lake," or the Chippewas of Pelee.
Standing at the end of the Belle River Marina, Duckworth says she's heard that these parts of southwestern Ontario were where her ancestors hunted and fished. They developed strong relationships with the water, plants and animals.
And their teachings and medicines revolved around these parts of the natural world.
Settlers stripped Caldwell of its land, ways of life
According to the First Nation, in May 1790, land on the north shore of Lake Erie, including Point Pelee, was surrendered to the Crown by the Ottawa, Chippewa, Pottawatomi and Huron First Nations. Caldwell says it was not a signatory nor a beneficiary to the treaty.
Caldwell says its people continued to live on Point Pelee and were promised retention of land at the point in return for fighting for the British during the War of 1812. But that promise wasn't upheld. And in the 1850s, Caldwell says white settlers began moving onto their land. It was in the 1920s, the First Nation says, that its members were burned out of their homes by the RCMP.
The First Nation says its food storages went up in flames and people were chased with whips off the land. They could no longer harvest the plants, interact with the fish and animals, or hold gatherings or ceremony at their sacred sites.
In the decades that would follow, Caldwell leaders and members would write letters and attend meetings with the Canadian government, urging them to give them their land back.
Getting 'a homeland'
As his father did before him, former Caldwell chief Larry Johnson spent decades as head of the First Nation fighting for justice. Johnson's traditional name in Ojibway is Equambgat, meaning "the one who watches" and in Delaware his name is Walamaseehaht, meaning "he who looks on in a good way."
While many Caldwell chiefs worked to preserve and secure land for the First Nation, Johnson was part of multiple formal land claim processes with the Canadian government.
In 1988, one year into his leadership, Johnson says he started planning a reserve for his members and raising money for their future home.
A few years later, Johnson delivered a passionate plea at the 1993 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP).
The commission was created to investigate and find solutions to issues impacting Indigenous People and the Canadian government.
His speech, according to a transcript of the meeting, implored the commission to remove bureaucratic and political barriers so that the First Nation could have land that would "become a permanent home for the Caldwell people."
"I went into my presentation with a bit of nervousness," recalls Johnson, now 75 years old.
As he talks, he's sitting on a folding chair in his mom's backyard in Kingsville, Ont., smoking a cigarette.
During that meeting, he says, he read out a letter dated June 1927 from former chief Archie Dodge to Ottawa's then-called Indian Affairs department. The letter asks the government to find a way to preserve Caldwell's lands for its people.
"I saw the Royal Commission as our big chance. If we get our words into the Royal Commission ... we'll just get a quick response toward our issues. We are going to get a homeland for our people."
But that homeland wouldn't become a reality until more than 15 years later after a $105-million land claim settlement would allow Caldwell to acquire 80 hectares. According to Caldwell, the land claim was only for Point Pelee, and part of their agreement was that they sign on to the treaty from 1790 to surrender their other lands.
Caldwell says it still has outstanding land claims with the Canadian government.
About a decade later, in 2020, their land was officially designated a reserve — meaning members of the nation could have a permanent home on the ancestral lands.
What was once an empty plot of farmland, now has 28 housing units on it. There are walkways and roads with street signs.
It's hard for Johnson, now a Caldwell councillor, to express exactly what it means for him to finally witness the revival of his nation.
"I wanted this all my life," said Johnson, wiping tears from his eyes.
"And my mother and father wanted this for their entire married life. And our elders, those who aren't with us anymore. They wanted something like this: a homeland."
Moving home is just the start
Resiliency, strength and, most importantly, hope, are what Caldwell members say has gotten their nation through the toughest of times.
And while this might seem like the end of a long journey, Duckworth says it's just the beginning.
This is when the hard work starts, when the nation can build its relationships and figure out who it is, she says.
And the most challenging part, she added, is that everyone has a different idea of what it means to be Caldwell. Because they were displaced and weren't able to learn from their community, people might have unique traditions or picked up different teachings.
But, she says, "it's about hope."
"I have that hope and I know one day we'll be there. That we'll be able to sit in kindness and that there won't be that division between families. You know, it's gonna take work, it's gonna take time. But I have hope."
On Saturday, Duckworth organized a community event — giiwewjigaaza meaning "being brought back home" — for Caldwell members to celebrate their return to the land.
She says there will be drumming, dancers, vendors and a hand-made quilt for each new Caldwell reserve resident.
And by mid-September, Duckworth will be one of the roughly 60 people living on the land.
"I hope that there's a big community with lots of love," said Duckworth about Caldwell's future.
"I see people living together in homes. I see a community centre. I see ceremonies, I see traditional gatherings ... people being able to hold conversation in the language, people learning the language. I would love to see our community dance, you know, to make that regalia to go to powwow and dance."
As for Marshall, whose grandmother was taken from the lands and never got to return, she says she thinks that as long as Caldwell members feel respected and secure, then her grandmother would be "happy" to know that they've got a piece of their history back.
"We are strong people," she said.
"We are resilient. We're still here."
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