One of the well-known tropes used to explain chaos theory claims that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in New York City will somehow affect the weather in Moscow. Indigenous people have their own similar theory, called the WTF theory. In this case, the burial of a queen and coronation of a king will somehow result in my cousin refusing a holiday and going to work. It’s complex, but pay attention.
Oddly enough, it all started when I attended the Stephan Leacock Humour Awards this past weekend in Orillia. As the festivities began, the master of ceremonies asked audience members to stand so that they could toast our incoming monarch with a hearty “God save the King.” My partner (also a member of the First Nations Frequent Bannock club) and I, feeling the weight of colonialism heavy upon our shoulders, remained seated, quietly eating our salad.
We have nothing personal against King Charles III. But you know how they say, “Be careful when dating somebody with a long and troublesome history”? The same can be said about monarchs. Charles and his title have more historical baggage than Air Canada’s lost-luggage department. Anyway, I digress.
The salad was good.
Next at the event came the singing of “O Canada.” We looked at each other for a moment before deciding to stand and go through the motions of singing our national anthem, putting the emphasis on “our home and native land,” of course. After all, sometimes you have to throw the colonizers a bone, or they’ll just get into more mischief — and we can’t have that. Mentally, though, we were singing a Buffy Sainte-Marie song.
Years ago, when we used to regularly go to the July 1 festivities hosted by the Historica Institute in honour of Canada Day, we found ourselves facing a similar dilemma. This event also included, if I remember correctly, an oath of allegiance, along with “O Canada” and “God Save the Queen.” Admittedly, I was filled with a welter of conflicting cultural emotions. Luckily, I had my white half to give me strength and direction. I just turned up Kenny G on my cellphone and checked on my stock portfolio while everything was happening.
I know for a fact that many of the settler crowd, especially those with strong ties to the monarchy and the government, sometimes get offended by the attitude many Indigenous people have toward the monarchy and the federal government.
“They’re always bitching and complaining.”
“They never have anything good to say.”
“If they don’t like it here, go back where they came from.”
Now, I can’t speak for all Indigenous people — nobody can or would seriously want to — but I feel comfortable saying that many of us understand there are a multitude of other countries out there that, even in today’s world, have a far more repressive and antagonistic attitude toward Indigenous people. In some, I couldn’t even be writing something like this.
And in the murk and mire of Canadian society, there are subtle and occasional movements toward reconciliation and understanding. Residential schools are a thing of the past, even though the trauma isn’t. As a guy who has travelled the world several times, I know the unique position Canada holds. So, on one level, Canada can be a cool place to be. Who doesn’t love raisin butter tarts and loons? But, pretty universally, Indigenous people believe that Canada and its parent country could do better. A lot better. Thus, our choosing salad over a wine toast.
Now what does all this have to do with my cousin?
Monday has been declared a national holiday of mourning, and many federal institutions are closed. Most Indigenous organizations on reserve run under federal authority. So, for them, today is a holiday. But my cousin, whom I ran into at our powwow a few hours after leaving the Leacock awards, had a different opinion. He declined the opportunity to put his feet up at home and watch the funeral, saying, essentially, “Don’t know the woman. I don’t feel the need to take the day off. I’ll be at work.”
So he’s there in his office, relishing the WTF theory.
On a different tangent, this whole royalty thing puzzles us. Maybe that’s why so many Indigenous people get angry at settlers who report their great-great-great grandmother was an Indian princess.
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