Remembering Harriett Nahanee - Reclaiming our Sacred Space, and Holding the Criminals Accountable
by Kevin Annett / Eagle Strong Voice
One of my proudest moments with Harriett Nahanee happened on a Sunday morning in Vancouver's downtown eastside, on November 16, 2003. On that day, Harriett led a score of aboriginal youth into an Anglican mass and took over that worship service, raising general hell among the shocked stuffed shirts who run St. James Anglican Church.
At the time, it seemed that the issue that led us to occupy that church for awhile was the dead and disappeared children of the Indian Residential Schools: the 100,000 souls whose fate and remains have never been accounted for by either the Anglicans or the Catholics or United Church. But later, it became clearer to me that Harriett was really reclaiming a place stolen by my culture, and reasserting the sacredness of her peoples' way in the face of the very state religion that had tried to stamp it out.
It all started innocuously enough. A few of us thought it was time to confront the churches that had run the residential schools on their own turf, and Harriett happened to be within earshot. And so, in her usual manner, she dispensed with debate and took direct action: she began walking up and down east hastings street on that Sunday morning, collecting our people in the ones and twos. Soon, we were a small army: uncertain, wary of what might happen, but led by Harriett's firm steps.
It's great when you catch the Beast napping, and occasionally you can surprise It by doing the unexpected. Unlike nowadays, there were no security guards at the door of St. James Anglican Church that morning, and the twenty six of us poured into the sanctuary in the midst of the morning mass. Fanning out into the throng of hymn singers, our group instinctively headed to the front of the church, where two robed priests were so engrossed in leading their multitude that they didn't seem to notice the bunch of scruffy Indians and assorted poor folks who took up position around the pulpit and communion table.
They were completely shocked. One of the priests actually stood with his mouth open, gaping at Harriett as she approached the pulpit. His colleague quickly motioned to the organist to continue playing, and the confused congregation kept singing the same final verse over and over. The clerical machine started to hiss and sputter.
I stood at the back of the church, recording all that happened, and from there I saw the older priest whispering something to Harriett, who kept shaking her head. Later, she told me that the priest had said that we could all go to jail for two years for disrupting their service. (That's no lie, either: check out Section 176 of the Criminal Code of Canada). But Harriett ignored the threat and literally seized the pulpit.
Reverting to the soft cop approach, the priest announced to the congregation with a saccharine tone,
"We have some new friends with us today. They have something they'd like to say to us."
But no amount of patronizing could have prevented, or predicted, what came out of Harriett's mouth after that.
"This is the place from where your people conquered mine, and destroyed our religion. So now I'm going to use this place to take back our religion and our land.
"You're always telling us how we're the ones who need healing. But you're the people who are sick and who need healing, not us. You are the ones who murdered innocent children and who still refuse to say where you buried them. You need real healing, and we're the only people who can give it to you, because you tried to destroy us. But we're still here, and so I've come to offer you that healing."
That kind of turning-of-the-tables was too much for the head priest, who quickly interrupted Harriett by declaring,
"The Anglican Church has acknowledged the wrongs it did towards First Nations people and has begun a comprehensive healing program. We have apologized for the residential schools and have ..."
A sudden cry arose from the back of the church, close to me:
"How do you apologize to a corpse?" yelled one of the non-native protestors. "How do you say sorry to a murdered child?"
And then all hell broke loose. A general outcry arose from the white folks in the pews, who began to call us all sorts of nasty names. A guy at the door started screaming into a cell phone,
"Code Red! Code Red! Call the police!"
None of that fazed Harriett. With great dignity, she stayed put in the pulpit and kept trying to speak. But the older priest, tired of civility, started shoving her away, and a few of the younger native men moved to her defense. Some of the others in our group kept leaning non-chalantly against the front altar, smiling at all the chaos.
Suddenly, Harriett emerged from the maelstrom, gathering all of us in her wake, and leading our army out of the church as the insults and screams rained down on us. We left the building before the cop cars arrived - all four of them - and our triumphant throng marched down east hastings street together. We were elated. We had made our statement, reclaimed what had been stolen, and turned the tables on the criminals. And it was mostly due to Harriett.
A triumph like that can never be re-created. It's true that since then, we've basked in the knowledge that after our protest, the Anglicans hired a regular batch of security guards to monitor everyone coming into their churches in Vancouver. The sense of finally being noticed, of having an impact on the normally dead order of things, has always stayed with us since that beautiful day when people with so little made a powerful church become very afraid. And that seed will continue to grow and bear even stronger fruit.
But what I mostly carry with me from that day is the memory of a completely unafraid woman, tortured as a child by the very people she offered healing to, and thereby showing the official Christians what Jesus really meant, and lived. Harriett was Christ for me that day, and Buddha, and the Great Spirit: the voice of truth ringing in ears clogged by corruption and babble. It's a voice that still speaks to me today, and to anyone who will listen.
They haven't killed Harriett Nahanee at all. Don't believe that judicial murder, or pneumonia, or a cross, ever silences the just souls among us. May they, and may Harriett, continue to make us restless, and move us to act.
Author's Note: You can see Harriett Nahanee in our new, award-winning documentary film on Genocide in Canada entitled UNREPENTANT. Information on this film can be found at: Hidden from History
5 March, 2007
Occupied Coast Salish Territory
Read and Hear the truth of Genocide in Canada, past and present, at this website: Hidden from History
... and on this radio program: "Hidden from History", every Monday from 1-2 pm (PST) on CFRO 102.7 FM CFRO 102.7 FM (Vancouver) (Vancouver)
"When the desire for Truth and Virtue becomes the only bias in our mind, only then can we know in ourselves what is right."
Peter Annett, Humanist and dissident, 1769 (jailed and persecuted by the Church of England for his questioning of the Bible and the church)
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March 2007 Reports
Last updated on March 06, 2007