Meet the Indigenous performers reviving and re-imagining the art of dance
From Canada to Norway, Indigenous artists reclaiming dance forms nearly eradicated by colonization
Margaret Grenier grew up immersed in the traditions of her Gitxsan and Cree ancestry, traditions that are only around today because her parents and grandparents fought to keep them alive.
"I was very fortunate because I grew up as one of the first generations to grow up with song and dance once again," said Grenier, executive and artistic director of the Dancers of Damelahamid.
The songs and dances of Grenier's people were almost completely lost due to a part of the Indian Act known as the potlatch ban which made traditional dance and regalia illegal across Canada from 1885 to 1951.
Dance holds an important place in Gitxsan traditions as they relate oral history.
"Our people don't have a creation story in terms of like when the land was created," Grenier said. "But we speak about a time when the people of the Damelahamid started and that was when our first three ancestors were placed on earth and our original earthly home became known as Damelahamid."
During the ban, Grenier's grandmother hid the family's regalia within the walls of her home to protect and maintain them. Once the ban ended in 1951, Grenier's mother and father worked to revitalize traditional dance.
Across Turtle Island and beyond, Indigenous dancers are fighting to occupy dance spaces and venues that excluded their ancestors. Grenier is part of a growing movement inspiring a new generation of dancers to reclaim sovereignty over dance forms previously lost.
"It has been the women in our family that have carried forward the work," Grenier said. "And I think that it's something that we want to be able to leave to our daughters and we want to be able to do it in a way that they can bring their voice to the stories that are going to come."
Grenier's newest work, Raven Mother, celebrates the legacy of her late mother Margerat Harris who Grenier says is the reason Gitxsan people "even have song and dance today."
An excerpt of the piece premiered at the Vancouver Coastal Dance Festival earlier this year. The work will premiere in its entirety in October 2024 at The Cultch. Grenier runs the festival, to ensure that Indigenous dancers always have a space to celebrate a culture that wasn't always welcomed in Western dance venues.
"The festival is intended to be a space to hold their community, to allow our artists to represent their families, their communities, their songs, their stories, their dances in a way that's true to themselves," said Grenier.
'Let's gather all together'
In Quebec, Ivanie Aubin-Malo always found spaces and opportunities to celebrate and support her love of contemporary dance. However, she couldn't find regular meeting spaces to partake in pow wow dance.
"I graduated from the École de danse Contemporaine de Montréal in 2014," Aubin-Malo said. "After that, I really wanted to focus on my Indigenous identity. And I was like: 'It's through dance, but how can I start that?'"
Aubin-Malo eventually attended the Canada Dance Festival in Ottawa and met James Jones, also known as Notorious Cree on TikTok, who encouraged her to travel to Vancouver and learn more about pow wow dance. In the months she spent there, she gathered regularly with other dancers and learned a type of pow wow dance called Fancy Shawl.
Eager to keep on with the practice, Aubin-Malo searched out a similar space in Montreal. And while there were places like the Friendship Centre that accommodated drumming, no spaces were big enough to regularly host dancers.
"So when an Indigenous organization wants to organize workshops …it can take place over a session — and then it stops," she said.
WATCH | Dancers gather for the MAQAHATINE pow wow celebration
That's when Aubin-Malo decided to take matters into her own hands. In 2021, she started a collective with two others where they hosted 30 Indigenous-only workshops over three years at the Place des Arts in Montreal. Aubin-Malo says this was intentional so that each Indigenous dancer would feel comfortable in the space.
All this work culminated in a one-of-a-kind event where dancers were invited to come together at a pow wow. Aubin-Malo calls the celebration MAQAHATINE, which translates from Wolastoqey to "Let's gather all together."
"Like any pow wow, it's open for everyone," said Aubin-Malo. "I wanted for the contemporary dancers to feel familiar and to feel good in a space, but I also wanted the pow wow community to take over that space."
'It was the Norwegians that danced'
The idea of taking over a space — or in this case land — is a concept familiar to Sámi contemporary dancer and choreographer, Elle Sofe Sara.
In Norway, Sámi communities have lost land due to resource extraction and the climate crisis. Inspired by the political protests in her homeland, Sara choreographed Vastadus Eana: The answer is land to examine reclamation of Sámi identity.
"When I was younger, I did a project about [dance] to interview elders in my area about dancing and actually asked my neighbour," said Sara. "He said that they didn't dance. It was the Norwegians that danced."
As Sara pushed for more answers, she discovered that her people did not dance in the traditional sense of the word. When they would joik — a form of singing in Sámi culture — they would sway, adjust the belts on their girdles and do other natural movements.
Sara utilized these movements, her knowledge of contemporary dance and Sámi joiks to create a piece that speaks to the trauma that comes with colonialism, assimilation and displacement.
"Some of the joiks here that we have are also about Sámi who have been displaced," Sara said. "And I think also many indigenous people have lost their home or have been taken away from their home in different ways."
Vastadus Eana includes Sámi sayings that encourage people to think about how they live with the land rather than off of the land. It's a call for others to acknowledge land and protect it.
"People are raising their voice more," said Sara. "I think that of course the young generation is the loudest, but I think … older people are also seeing that many things in the system are very wrong, so we have to raise our voice."
Grenier is equally proud of the younger generation. As the work to revitalize ancestral traditions continues, young dancers are becoming more steadfast in their Indigenous identities, making her grandmother's dream a reality.
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