January 2012
It was another beautiful sunny morning as my sister and I were waiting on the pavement outside the hotel for a coach to take us to Grouse Mountain. On the way we would be stopping at a narrow suspension bridge strung over a valley floor thousands of feet below us leading to a forest where wooden walkways were constructed high up in the trees as if we would be floating like birds above the mundane life going on in the world. Not good if you suffer from vertigo!
Every year I go to Toronto to visit my daughter and her family and as my sister had just retired from the Metropolitan police after 30 years of hard slog she decided to come with me. I thought let's make a real trip of it so we started our holiday in Vancouver BC hence the wait for the coach.
At last the coach arrived and our driver stepped down to usher us on board. He was obviously of Indian extraction with his hair scraped off his finely chiseled face and a luxuriant pony tail hanging down his back. I will call him Steve as I can't remember his real name. Off we went to pick other trippers up and we headed into North Vancouver via a bridge over the dividing river. Steve was giving a commentary on all the interesting places we passed. Someone must have asked him a question as he then proceeded to explain that in the 18th century Christopher Columbus, the conqueror of new worlds, thought he had landed in Asian India, hence the indigenous peoples he encountered became known as Indians. There are many tribes and settlements in British Columbia, the peoples now known as the First Nations. For years there has been unrest re the settlement of land as they believe they were stripped of so much which is rightfully theirs and the British Columbian Assembly of First Nations are in the process of implementing their title and rights through the courts so they can claim better land and resources to reach their full potential.
Steve then told us a tale how many of his people cannot get work and how poorly paid they are if they do; so they turn to drink to pass the days away. The Government provided what we would call an off-licence on the corner of the street where they live and gave them huge discounts on the alcohol sold to them. However a few enterprising townsfolk heard of the cheap booze and spread the word, so car loads of people turned up at the off-licence paying pennies to the locals to go in and buy their month's supply of drink. Of course government officials learnt of this and, realizing they were losing hundreds of dollars in taxes, closed it down.
Another misconception Steve told us about was the Film industry showing Cowboy and Indian westerns (which I used to love watching) depicting the Indians arriving on horses which might have been true in America's vast open countryside but not in Vancouver where alongside most of the rivers is thick forest where no man could get through let alone a horse. The only way to get about was in canoes from which they used to catch their fish and visit other settlements.
Most horrifying was the tale of how the 'white man' captured and took away the First Nation's children and deliberately endangered their lives by introducing them to our common diseases and, because they had no immune system to counteract them, thousands of them died; another reason for them to distrust the people who destroyed their way of life. After this information the coach went quiet and we concentrated on the views.
Eventually we reached Grouse Mountain, going to the top in cable cars. A cry went up that a bear had been seen in a wooded area which was thankfully fenced off. Fifty people crowded round with cries of, 'There he is . . . ', 'Where? . . . ', 'Behind you!' But I never saw it although quite a few said they had.
It seemed strange to me that everywhere we stopped were signs of the craftsmanship and cleverness of the Indians in their carvings from key rings to totem poles, paintings to embroidery as if that was all they were good for, to make these things to be sold in shops so a profit could be made for the State; how much I wondered was given back to them.
So we started our homeward journey and as we came back over the bridge into the city, Steve pointed out the homes of the First Nations nestled under the bridge in what looked like an industrial area where their homes, rather like the prefab I lived in, in the late forties, were squashed together with no gardens or trees but plenty of rubbish piled up. It looked a sorry sight but Steve made no excuses for this, except to say that if the Assembly of First Nations win their battle in the courts and gain back the land which is rightfully theirs, it could all change for the better.
My sister and I were so glad to have had Steve as our driver and to have learned so much about the First Nations people and hope their quest is successful.