While the Chisasibi band office has offered workshops for the past decade, the wood was always provided to the students, so they never learned how to make snowshoes from scratch. Last year, Christopher Cox and Lee Ann Angatookaluk created a non-profit organization called maaskinaachaasiuch (“trailmakers”), with the administrative support of Vincent Gautier-Doucet.

“I wanted to change the program to something you could really learn from,” Cox told the Nation. “Nobody knew how to get a snowshoe tree until we changed the program – it should have been like that the first time. If you don’t get the right tree, you don’t know how to cut or to measure.”

With funding from Niskamoon Corporation, Cree Native Arts and Crafts Association (CNACA) and other organizations, the initial course was offered in Chisasibi from October 25 to December 7. The 12 participants met six days a week: weeknights from 6-10pm and Saturdays from 2-6pm, when framing instructors Cox and Harry House would take advantage of the daylight to find trees.

According to traditional gender roles, men would handle the framing and middle laces with women lacing the top and bottom sections; the courses encourage everyone to learn all aspects of development. Other maaskinaachaasiuch instructors – Abraham Cox Sr, Connie Bearskin and Ruby Napash – helped guide participants with traditional teachings.

“There are not many of us left who can still make these things used in traditional activities,” said Christopher’s grandfather Abraham Cox, who made his first snowshoes about 70 years ago at age 14. “A person who knows which tree is good to use for snowshoes knows just by looking at the branches.”

As a field technician for the Chisasibi Council of Elders, Christopher Cox learned the traditional snowshoe-making craft from his grandfather and other Elders about 11 years ago. However, he modernized the design used by Cree hunters for thousands of years by moving the foot-hold closer to the front.   

“The Elders were all experts at making snowshoes,” explained Cox. “I figured out how to make them more efficient and easier to walk on. In the old days they had no measurements, all the snow would accumulate in the front, so they’d get heavier and heavier.”

Today’s snowshoe-makers have the advantage of precise measurements and a full range of tools for cutting, lacing and binding the wood together. While caribou or moose hide is ideal for the laces, modern snowshoes generally use synthetic paracord, which is available at Chisasibi’s Ouwah Store. 

Proper tree selection is the key to creating successful snowshoes but finding the right tamarack or birch isn’t easy. Once a suitable growing area is identified, Cox will often find three or four good trees. Although sometimes he cuts a “wrong one”, he’ll still take it home for handmade crafts to avoid wasting anything.

“The hardest part is finding the right tree and next is the bending part,” said Cox. “You have to look for one that’s really nice and straight like a chimney with nice grain. Flexibility, no knots, in an open area. You have to walk around, test it out, look at the tree very carefully at the bottom.”

Following the grain of the wood’s shape is essential as cutting it will break the snowshoe. With today’s tools, it takes about a week for someone experienced to make a pair – by hand it would take closer to a month. Among the 34 pairs made during the Chisasibi course, one man who had previously studied with Cox made six. 

The Chisasibi course was divided between a bush camp and canvas winter shelter. The diverse group of participants in their 20s and 50s included some who had previously attended workshops and wanted to perfect their craft. Through physical activity on the land, one man observed that he had lost 10 pounds. 

“It was a very intensive program, very intimate,” noted Gautier-Doucet. “It’s a communal activity, a bit of a therapy. We had catering on the weeknights. You become part of a little family that’s together six days a week.”

As a non-Native working with the Cree Nation Research Institute Project, Gautier-Doucet helped launch maaskinaachaasiuch in gratitude for learning snowshoe-making from Cox and Angatookaluk over the past four years. Many participants were interested in taking the course again to become more fully autonomous. 

Following Chisasibi, the maaskinaachaasiuch instructors held another successful course in Eastmain throughout January. Angatookaluk said they are proud to transfer this knowledge to younger generations.

“We find it inspiring for young women to do more hands-on snowshoe parts,” said Angatookaluk. “Some older women who came by the last few days learned the lacing a long time ago when they were teenagers. They say it brings back memories of their grandfathers or grandmas making snowshoes.”

While few Elders can spend much time in the cold or lift heavy logs in the bush, Cox provides wood for them to work on snowshoes from home. As indispensable tools for carrying nomadic ancestors across deep winter drifts, snowshoes have profound cultural significance.

Cox alluded to one story about the spider making a web for the rabbit to cross the snow. According to tradition, snowshoes have to be held pointing in both directions to ensure the walker returns home and doesn’t get lost. Cox advised to always put them on in the morning sun where you’re walking from.

Snowshoes remain essential footwear for Cree hunters in the snowy bush and highly popular for diverse winter activities. With substantial demand within Eeyou Istchee and beyond, including CNACA’s Wachiya Store and online marketplace, snowshoe-making is a potentially lucrative economic opportunity.

“My partner and I cannot keep up with the demand,” said Cox. “People are always asking me personally, even from out west, the south. There’s big demand for snowshoes – no one really has the handmade ones from the Cree.”

While it will be their first performance in Canada’s largest city, the group’s quickly growing confidence makes them believe they’re ready for any stage. With four lead singers blending rock, gospel and Indigenous music in both Cree and Innu, they bring a unique presence to every show they play.

Last winter’s Big Rock Music Festival planted the seeds for the band’s formation, with some of the biggest names in Cree and Innu music converging for three memorable days in Mistissini. Multi-instrumentalist Paul Napash was playing with Cree Rising in the festival’s house band and beginning a teaching residency in the Mikw Chiyâm school arts program.

“Cree Rising lead singer Brian Fireman actually brought everyone together,” Napash recalled about his late bandmate. “He asked everyone to be part of something big, like a music community. That’s when I became friends with Rachel and Patrick – it started from there.”

Rachel Neeposh and Patrick Petawabano had joined forces with visions for something bigger, connecting with Big Rock co-organizer Baby-Jane Kistabish Nadon as their manager in June. Napash came on board, prompting a move to Mistissini, followed shortly by Innu singer-songwriter Gilbert Pietacho on bass, who had played Big Rock with his folk-rock group Innutin.

Waswanipi Day last June 7 was Eeyou-Innu Rock Band’s first gig, followed by Indigenous Peoples Day shows in both Chibougamau and Mistissini a few weeks later. They have played about a dozen more since then, including Chisasibi’s Malaisi Festival and the Youth Council’s urban tour in Ottawa, Val-d’Or and Mingan.

Although a power outage cut short their New Year’s Eve show in Mistissini, they braved snowstorms for recent performances in Waswanipi and Eastmain. It was during a pit stop at the Route du Nord’s Km 381 for the latter show that they made the group call to confirm the Toronto show.

“Some connection I have in Toronto tagged me on a post,” explained Napash. “I reacted and the promoter reached out to me. I told him more about the band and he connected with our manager. It was a 15-minute phone call and we decided to go for it.”

Winnipeg-raised Indigenous musician and promoter Damian Krypt of Gothic Arcadia Media Group is the event organizer. He believes in the healing effects of bringing people together.

“My goal is to let people know they’re not alone,” Krypt told the Nation. “Music was my medicine – it kind of saved my life. I love rock’n’roll music you can really connect to. Not only will Indigenous people want to show up but also non-Indigenous. I’d like to try to connect communities to spread understanding of who we are.”

Ottawa-based musician Kevin Schofield plans to bring a violinist and vocalist from his seven-piece band. Equally adept at Johnny Cash covers as traditional powwow music, his 2022 album was 30 years in the making. Originally from Moose Factory, he earned his nickname Tennessee Cree from a two-year stint in Nashville after a painful divorce.

“All my honky-tonk dreams came true,” Schofield said. “I’d wake up, put on my Elvis suit, grab my guitar and head downtown. I realized I’m just as good as any cowboy. When I’m the Tennessee Cree I could call the girls little darlings. If it was just me, they’d stab me with their violin bows.”

With growing interest in his music from back home, Schofield returned to Canada about 16 years ago to reunite with his son and has since become a familiar busker on Ottawa’s streets. A residential school survivor, he has played gigs supporting other survivors and describes his band’s dynamics as sensual and primal.

Napash, who attended school in Ottawa for years, said he jammed with Schofield just a few weeks ago. He’s excited about potential opportunities arising from the exposure in Toronto. The Eeyou-Innu Rock Band has been practicing almost every second day, composing new music and working on demos.

“Our next goal is to have our own studio here in Mistissini to record the first album,” said manager Kistabish Nadon. “We’ll record in Mingan in 2025. I’ve been working every day, promoting, searching for gigs, looking into building a studio, talking with different producers about recording the first album.”

Despite her busy schedule with the Cree Health Board’s Nishiiyuu department, Kistabish Nadon accompanies the band to nearly every gig and is their most enthusiastic supporter. A longtime friend of Neeposh and Petawabano, she believes the band’s promotion of language and culture is both healing and empowering.

“We believe in our dream and it’s coming true,” said Kistabish Nadon. “It’s amazing how everything has been working out since June. So far, I’m the only manager in Eeyou Istchee. I’m looking forward to adding other regional artists, eventually working only as a manager in the music industry.”

With a growing number of Cree music festivals and resources for artists, there are opportunities throughout the industry. Petawabano noted there are jobs in lighting and road crews that didn’t exist when he was younger.

“I wanted to experience the road 10 years ago, but couldn’t have that experience,” Petawabano said. “I’ve somehow gotten to that world and it’s something I want to give back to other musicians, not to experience the hard times so they’ll know they won’t be alone.”

Having played guitar around the region for nearly 20 years, Petawabano took a step back in 2019 but credits his late mentor Brian Fireman for reigniting his love of the road. During one of his frequent meditations between travels, he had a vision of having Kistabish Nadon as their manager, though “it took her a while to cave in,” he said.

“I always visualized myself in a group where we can all be ourselves completely, where there’s no limits to our talents,” said Petawabano. “Where we can be free and untouchable. That’s how it feels in this group. Back then I used to dread going on stage – now I’m so excited before it starts.”

Influenced by stories of First Nation peoples, in his wood carving Valade creates themes of the Earth, animals and Indigenous traditions.

“I create the animals and Indigenous people because all of them together make the world beautiful,” he said. “It is like spiritual, it is like magic, all the animals and the environment really touch me, I want people to see their beauty.”

Valade employs ancestral methods, including oven-dried wood, fish glue, and earth oxides and pigments of fossils to create colours.

“Using colours, I try to revive all the traditional clothes of people who lived at those times,” he explained. “The goal of my sculptures is to give Canadians the feeling of respect to the environment as well as to provide memories about Indigenous livelihood.”

The piece “Broken Arrow” presents a Native warrior, who is “close to nature, close to the earth, free and self-confident, who never hunted just for fun, he hunted to feed himself.”

For his sculpture “Eternity” the entity of the wolf comes out of the frame. Valade chose a male wolf playing with a female because “love is continuous, love is always there, it never stops.”

“Mother Earth” features a globe that a mother bear is holding in her paws, based on the belief that “life came from the marriage of Mother Earth and Father Sky.”

His research on First Nation peoples, their traditions and territories led Valade to discover pictures by American photographer Joseph Curtis, who captured images of members of the Sioux, Apache and Lakota nations.

“When I sculpt an Indian, I am inspired by Sitting Bull because I like his gaze,” Valade said. “There is no hatred. He is a warrior; he is a healer.”

Born to a Métis family, Valade spent his youth in foster homes in Montreal, then worked in the restaurant industry for 40 years. However, 20 years ago he returned to his roots in Ste-Émélie-de-l’Énergie, where his grandfather, an immigrant from France, had lived and where Valade “finally found peace and serenity.”

“This beautiful mountain gave me all the elements I needed to be able to express my creativity,” he said. “I want to demonstrate respect for nature through all my works. I want to interpret nature through animals, humans and the environment.”

Valade never knew his Indigenous grandmother, who was from the Saint-Michel-des-Saints area, near the Atikamekw in Manawan. He never spoke her language, which belongs to the Cree-Montagnais-Naskapi linguistic group, but it is important for him to pay tribute to his ancestors.

His wood sculptures have been displayed in various exhibitions, in museums and private collections in Canada, the United States and France.

Every year Shefford resident Yuriy Kotenok goes snowboarding in Saint-Michel-des-Saints and stays at the Auberge du Lac Taureau, where a large collection of Valade’s sculptures is located.

“I was impressed with the professionalism and the details of the sculptures,” Kotenok said. “If it is a human face, it is done accurately with such detail that I can recognize the emotion. If it is an animal image, there are many specific elements, and I am impressed it is done by human hands, and it takes around a year to create one sculpture.”

Kotenok was attracted by the theme of Indigenous tribes, spirits and the connection of these tribes with the nature. That’s why he purchased the Valade sculpture “Le bandit”, depicting an eagle catching salmon. He said it represents the strength and power of the bird, with 500 carved feathers.

He thinks people have become too distant from nature. “But nature is eternal,” Kotenok said. “It gives inspiration, because wildlife is first of all about our health, clean water and the environment.”

One of the highlights of our trip was visiting the Huron-Wendat Museum. The museum is an incredible space that brings Indigenous history to life in a way that is engaging and educational. It has an interactive section where you can smell different traditional medicines. It has some traditional antique regalia and a booth with headphones where you can hear Elders speak. 

As we walked through the exhibition, I was struck by how the museum managed to convey both the challenges faced by Indigenous peoples throughout history and the strength and resilience that has allowed us to survive and thrive. 

The artifacts, stories and displays offered a powerful glimpse into the rich culture, traditions and history of the Huron-Wendat people. The museum isn’t just a place to look at the past, but also a space that celebrates the vibrant culture that continues to flourish today. 

While the museum was a powerful experience, the most magical part of the weekend was the light exposition in the forest. As night fell, we walked into the woods, where hundreds of lights illuminated the trees and paths.

The lights didn’t just provide a beautiful visual, they created an atmosphere that felt both spiritual and grounding. The forest, alive with the glow of lights, invited us into a deeper connection with the natural world around us.

The colours, the ambiance and the quiet peacefulness of the forest made me reflect on my own journey as an Indigenous youth, navigating the modern world while staying connected to the traditions of my ancestors.

Leaving the forest that night, I felt a sense of peace and clarity. Onhwa’ Lumina had shown me that the power of Indigenous culture is alive, vibrant and ever-present, even in the modern world.

It reminded me that, as Indigenous youth, we carry the stories of our ancestors within us, and it’s up to us to keep those stories alive, just as the light show had kept the spirit of the forest glowing through the night.

What struck me most about Onhwa’ Lumina was how it brought together art and culture in such a meaningful way. The lights were a tribute to the spirit of the land and our people. 

The entire walk lasted about an hour. I took my time and mainly stayed behind everyone, but you could finish it in about 30-45 minutes. Walking along those illuminated paths felt like a quiet invitation to reconnect with the core of who we are as Indigenous peoples. 

This trip reminded me of the importance of staying connected to our roots, our culture and the land, no matter where life takes us. The A’no:wara trip to Wendake gave me a deeper appreciation for the traditions that continue to guide us, and it’s something I’ll carry with me as I continue my journey at Vanier and beyond.

“Wapikoni has given so many Indigenous youth a space to thrive, to be heard, and to reclaim their identity,” said new president Catherine Boivin. “This anniversary is a celebration of resilience and creativity that enriches our society and brings us closer together.” 

Wapikoni Mobile is named for Wapikoni Awashish, a promising Atikamekw filmmaker who co-founder Manon Barbeau had been working with in 2002 when she died in a car accident at age 20. Two years later, Barbeau launched Wapikoni – meaning “free-flowing flower” – with the Atikamekw Youth Council and other partners like the National Film Board to give youth a place to gather and create. 

The nomadic workshop started in a holiday trailer with a sound studio installed in the shower. Mobility is key to its accessibility for often isolated Indigenous communities – the trailer has even travelled by boat to some locations. Bringing that technical capacity to community members with stories to tell builds their artistic and leadership skills, while elevating cultural knowledge and awareness of social issues.

Anishinaabe rapper Samian credits Wapikoni’s 2004 stop in Pikogan as a turning point in his life and career, reconnecting him with his roots and activating his power as a changemaker. Now a Wapikoni spokesperson with music, photography and acting accolades, he performed at the Montreal anniversary party. 

“Wapikoni opened up new horizons and laid the foundation for a career built on pride and advocacy,” Samian told the Nation. “None of it would have been possible without this opportunity. It’s a beacon where dreams take shape and voices that are often overlooked finally have the chance to be heard.”

Wapikoni’s three trailers have now visited over 55 communities, including stopovers in various South American countries. It’s facilitated the creation of more than 1,500 films and 900 musical works that have earned 261 international awards and contributed to the personal and professional development of countless Indigenous collaborators. 

“For the past five years, we have developed mentorship opportunities in big film projects,” noted director general Véronique Rankin. “We love to work with Indigenous production companies. The first step is making a short film, then they have to go to trainings and work to develop their skills.”

Each mobile studio is equipped with an editing station, a small sound studio, a screening and projection area, HD cameras and microphones, and computers loaded with filmmaking software. “Mentor filmmakers” work with local coordinators and assistants in each community they’re invited to, holding open houses and encouraging exploration.

Wakiponi is now featured in Montreal’s prestigious Place des Arts programming, while a partnership with Netflix has yielded professional development training. Longtime Wapikoni collaborator Sonia Bonspille-Boileau recently produced Pour toi Flora, Radio-Canada’s first all-Indigenous series.

“Now we know we have an impact and not only Indigenous people but also non-Indigenous want more of our stories and music,” asserted Rankin. “Like in Place des Arts, they are interested in how they can make us a place to be seen and heard. There are a lot of opportunities to take if youth are interested.”

Wapikoni visits 10 to 15 communities a year, solidifying connections by returning to each of them the following year while adding a new destination annually. Rankin said they try to limit absences to five years. During the Covid pandemic, they introduced a virtual studio that pairs creators with mentors from a distance. 

“With this kind of studio, we can be more present with them,” Rankin suggested. “Even if we don’t go to the community, they have the chance to apply, propose a project and be selected to one of our virtual studios we’re helping with tools like Zoom.”

Community members of all ages may be the director or subject of Wapikoni creations – Chisasibi artist Dinah Sam’s 2020 five-minute documentary The Hands of an Elder advanced to international film festivals. Sam gained further experience as an intern on the set of APTN’s Warrior Up. 

“Working with Wapikoni opened my eyes to working in the industry,” Sam said. “The last festival [my film was] shown at was last year in Mexico – I am truly amazed and proud it is still getting seen all over.”

Between August and October, the mobile studios touched down for nearly month-long stays in Chisasibi, Wemindji and Mistissini. Jason Swallow, who first knocked on Wapikoni’s door to make a music video in 2013, was happy to help as Mistissini’s local coordinator. His supporting role included time as a drone pilot.

“I felt nostalgic when they came back,” said Swallow. “They told me Mistissini is unique because we invite them to come over here. Most of the kids go record some stuff or play around with music in the trailer. Some sit around the tables and ask how the film industry works.”

Swallow turned his early video experience with Wapikoni into full-time employment at the local James Bay Cree Communications Society radio station. That expertise with lighting and camera angles informed the project he developed with Wapikoni last year, a short film called Broken Reflections. 

“After we made that film, they asked if I wanted to send it to film festivals,” Swallow explained. “Wapikoni does that for free. I got into three; I went to [Montreal’s] Fantasia in July. Getting into these festivals showed people like my stories.”

Each month’s residency is capped with a screening of the new films and videos. On October 16 at Wemindji’s community hall, films by Leslie Mayappo Jr. and Clyde Visitor, Moses Stewart, Silas Katapatuk, Ashley Mark-Ottereyes and Mario Blackned were shown. 

After writing scripts for three years, Mistissini’s Ezekiel Mianscum was ready for Wapikoni with Silent Shadows, about a youth trapped in the life of a hitman. While the six-minute version was recently screened, Mianscum said he’s still working on the longer director’s cut with music by Franklin Moar (aka Vangorian) – and the sequel.

“It was surreal to watch something I’ve written be acted out,” said Mianscum. “I did the theme song. [Wapikoni] helped with the editing and the filming in early October. I want a career in this. It made my filmmaking dream come true.”

“The Surrealists were interested in dreams in the act of creation,” Diamond told the Nation. “They would try to recreate dreams they had, considering them important, which is the same in Cree culture. I remember my father talking about certain dreams that were messages from who knows where – your mind, the universe?”

In the early stages of filming Red Fever’sdive into pop culture’s stereotypical Indigenous imagery, Diamond heard about a century-old mask selling at a high-end art fair and realized the story deserved its own film. His journey first takes him from New York City to the mask’s origin in Yup’ik territory, Alaska.

Inspired by images shining through the spirit world, shamans wore these masks crafted from wood and feathers during ceremonial dances as portals for transcendence and prayers for abundance. After fulfilling their purpose when the ceremony was finished, they were thrown into the fire to release their spirits.    

As masks were integral for several Northwest Coast peoples, Diamond next visits the Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw in Alert Bay, BC, whose traditional masks depicted animals they believed were their ancestors’ original forms. Between potlatch ceremonies, each family’s unique masks would be hidden away in a “box of treasures”.

“It was an archive, this is how our family or clan came to be,” explained Diamond. “They either came from raven, orca or grizzly bear. It was very theatrical. I remember going to the Museum of Anthropology at UBC in Vancouver where a person stood behind this carved pole and narrated the story told during the potlatch.”

While Yup’ik masks were purchased or found on the tundra by collectors, Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw masks were confiscated or sold by the Canadian government after potlatch ceremonies were banned and several leaders were imprisoned in 1921. After the potlatch ban was finally deleted from the Indian Act, the feds only returned the masks when a gallery was built to house them.

“Many don’t know how vile the Indian Act was and is,” Diamond said. “They’ll be shocked to learn people were put in jail for having ceremonies. There was no negative effect of having a potlatch. Somebody gave all their belongings away and started over again – it must have shocked the western mind.”

The documentary follows the gallery’s persistent efforts to repatriate their stolen history from international museums and the homes of rich collectors. George Heye’s massive collection, mostly acquired between 1905 and 1925, ended up in the National Museum of the American Indian and German art dealer Julius Carlebach’s New York antique shop. 

European surrealist artists fleeing fascist oppression during the Second World War were thrilled to discover these Indigenous creations in New York City, pooling their money to buy whatever they could. Studying these ceremonial objects obsessively and immersed in their imagination of the Pacific Northwest, they became fundamental inspiration for their subsequent artwork.  

André Breton, the author of the Surrealist Manifesto in 1924, who introduced intuitive techniques to unlock the unconscious mind, declared the masks were more surreal than the Surrealists. Upon fulfilling one of his greatest desires by meeting Indigenous peoples, Breton said, “They touched me with their dignity and untouchable genius.”

When Breton’s collection was auctioned off by daughter Aube Elléouët-Breton in 2003, she realized there was a Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw piece and immediately contacted the U’mista Cultural Centre in Alert Bay. Invited to return it in person, she participated in a moving ceremony and later donated money for its preservation – “a poster child for repatriation,” according to the Centre’s director, Sarah Holland. 

“Repatriation is a complex beast,” Diamond asserts in the film, which focuses on the Centre’s efforts to track down the elusive Raven Transformation Mask. This mind-blowing mask-within-a-mask would have a spellbinding effect during ceremonial performances, with the raven’s head opening to reveal a carved face at the dance’s dramatic climax.

Collaborating with art dealer Donald Ellis and a private investigator, they plan a letter to the mask’s present owner, the widow of French art connoisseur Georges Duthuit, carefully avoiding the “R-word”. Options provided include donation, sale to a donor or a loan. Holland says they often find these pieces “when they’re ready to come home.”

So Surreal weaves together Indigenous history with insights from contemporary artisans and art experts. Yup’ik storyteller and dancer Chuna McIntyre is a charming character, accompanying Diamond in Paris to reconnect with his community’s masks that have moved from Surrealist collections to institutions like the Louvre. 

“For a long time, our works were treated as mere artifacts of the past, gathering dust in museum basements,” Diamond muses in a voice-over. Today they can be found adjacent to some of the world’s most revered masters and regularly sell for millions of dollars. However, Diamond hasn’t found an Indigenous language with a word for “art”.

“My dad used to make his own paddles, canoes, axe handles and even spoons for scooping out fish,” said Diamond. “He designed them to look beautiful. They weren’t just utilitarian, they looked pleasing to the eye.”

While there are increasing examples of successful repatriation, there are no Canadian laws enforcing this practice except for an Alberta law relating to First Nations sacred objects updated in 2016. During his research, Diamond found that Harvard University has numerous Indigenous skeletons in a basement whose origins have likely long been lost. 

Revealing in the film that his grandfather and great-grandfather were shamans, Diamond reflected on the pervasive influence of colonialism that outlawed Indigenous ceremonies like the potlatch. In Eeyou Istchee, long-banned traditions like shaking tents are slowly being revived but still face resistance. 

“A friend of mine who does counselling and is a traditionalist, recently wanted to have a sweat lodge ceremony outside Waskaganish and this group of people told him he better not,” shared Diamond. “That colonized mentality is still strong, that all these ceremonies we had were evil. Imagine if the Surrealists had discovered shaking tents?”        

But those are the outdoor decorations, Spirit Halloween also has indoor ones that consist of plushies, posters and blankets. Plus, they have sales occasionally that will help you save money. Spirit Halloween has the “Spirit of Children” campaign, which funds and supplies hospitals with Halloween stuff and volunteers throughout the entire year.

Spirit Halloween has a lot of officially licensed materials. The brands they have include Inside Out, Beetlejuice, Descendants: The Rise of Red, Haunted Mansion, Corpse Bride, Terrifier, Barbie, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostface, Harry Potter, The Nightmare Before Christmas and Bluey. 

Costumes are a huge part of Halloween. You can get lots of them at Spirit Halloween or Amazon. You can always find this year’s new shows and games. If you are looking for a costume, I’d recommend you go as a superhero like Deadpool, Wolverine, Spiderman, Batman or Superman. For a scary costume, you can be Beetlejuice, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger or Jigsaw. And for children, they can be Mario, Goku or SpongeBob.

Halloween is such an enjoyable experience, and I hope everyone reading this will enjoy it as much as I do!

WaaPaKe begins with a interview with Koostachin’s mother, a softspoken woman, recounting the abuse and neglect she endured at residential school. She remembers how those experiences influenced her protectiveness towards her son, Koostachin’s deceased brother. 

The film later addresses how Koostachin’s mother became a troubled parent, with anger issues. As a result, Koostachin and her siblings evolved into second-generation victims of residential schooling. 

Another filmmaker may have presented Koostachin’s mother as monstrous – a fearsome figure from childhood. However, by starting the interview with the elderly woman recounting her childhood trauma, viewers are primed to see the defenseless child within her. From this framing, the ensuing traumas of Koostachin and her siblings cannot only be placed on their mother’s shoulders. Instead, the blame is directed towards the brutality and inhumanity of the residential system itself. 

During an interview, Koostachin vented about her upbringing. “I think I needed just to say it, get it out of my system,” she said. 

In the post-production process, she reviewed the footage and opted to self-censor dialogue she considered too harsh. She confessed to feeling guilt at the prospect of hurting her mother’s feelings. “They get older, and they’re more frail, more childlike in a way,” Koostachin observed. “And then you feel like a jerk.” 

As a mother herself, Koostachin seeks to break the cycle of abuse that often accompanies residential school trauma. “When people experience trauma as a child, sometimes they don’t move beyond that,” she said. “It’s almost like they’re still kids.” 

She addressed how some abuse survivors wind up feeling jealous of the perceived health and happiness of their own children. After emerging from her difficult childhood, Koostachin sought counseling, to ensure that the burden of trauma would end with her. Accountability and forgiveness are regarded as aspects of healing in WaaPaKe.

Though her mother’s time in school was fraught with abuse, a young Koostachin experienced education as a privilege. When she became a young mother, Koostachin aimed to use education to lift herself out of poverty and secure a better life for her children.

Even as education offered her opportunity, Koostachin still views academia as a “colonial system,” involving the erasure of Indigenous people. Throughout her studies she was plagued by self-doubt, which she attributes to internalized racism. 

As an educator, Koostachin attempts to remedy this issue by teaching the next generation of Indigenous youth. She emphasizes her students’ intelligence and their right to question the material they are assigned. 

Koostachin speaks of anger, frustration and resistance as driving forces in producing change – and inspiring art. After working for years in social services, film and teaching, she chose to pursue a PhD in philosophy. During her studies, she focused on the topic of anger – the anger that BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and people of colour) women so often experience. 

“It’s this colonial idea of gender. You need to be quiet. You’re not allowed to be angry – then, you’re crazy,” she said, adding, “I have a right to be angry, and that’s okay.” 

Projects such as Koostachin’s 2023 feature film Broken Angel explore generational anger, passed down through families. It challenges the colonialist mentality that Indigenous people must somehow feel accepting towards the injustice that has historically been dealt to them.

While completing her PhD, Koostachin sought to collect accounts by Indigenous academics about how residential school impacted their area of study. When people were unable to submit such accounts, the filmmaker speculated: “Maybe people are not ready to speak to their experience being raised by survivors.” 

She subsequently approached the National Film Board, seeking the greenlight for a personal film project. The result, WaaPaKe, documents her family’s efforts to shed themselves of residential school trauma.  

“Documentary is accessible, manageable and affordable,” Koostachin declared about her chosen medium. “If I’m not seeing something, I know there’s a void. That’s where I go.”

For an example, she brings up KaYaMenTa, her documentary that covers menopause from an Indigenous lens. When she underwent perimenopause, she discovered an absence of information, conversation and support. “Whenever I do any kind of project, it’s because people are not talking about it yet.” 

Koostachin models a uniquely Aboriginal directing style, aiming to sustain a safe space with an on-call counselor on set. She starts the day with “Indigenous protocol,” having a knowledge keeper to open and close the production. At film festivals, she maintains closed Q&As to protect her family and herself from insensitive questions. 

In documentaries, when subjects sign release forms, the content of their interviews is fair game. Koostachin however, is concerned about the vulnerability of her subjects. Noting that people sometimes “forget they’re being interviewed on camera,” she tries to protect these relationships. And in WaaPaKe, the interviewees include Koostachin’s own children. 

Thus, Koostachin runs sequences by her subjects for their approval before the final cut. She recounted one interview in which a young woman started sharing traumatic experiences. Koostachin reacted by switching off the camera. “I could totally exploit this person and be a jerk because they signed the friggin’ release form,” she stated. “But, really, is it worth it?”

Koostachin pointed out the tendency to include characters of colour in stories, only to have them behave in a whitewashed way. “They’ll have a Black character or an Indian character, but they seem all very white… even in their clothing and their earrings and the way they speak.”

Koostachin warns against this tokenizing tendency within the academic community. She calls for “more Indigenous researchers, more scholarship by Indigenous folks, more critical analysis.” 

WaaPaKe exists, in part, to combat the erasure of Canada’s dark history. “We can’t forget the past,” she said. 

By delving into her family’s experiences, Koostachin opens a dialogue about the after effects of the residential system. “It’s pretty raw, and it’s a pretty brave film, and I don’t say that egotistically. I say it’s a freaking brave film, because it’s a hard film,” she emphasized. “You’re putting all your dirty laundry up there.”

Produced and distributed by the NFB, WaaPaKe will be available to view for free on its website starting September 30.

From August 15 to 17, Chisasibi held the second annual Mailasi Music Festival with exciting guest artists and an abundance of local talent. The festival coincides with the community’s 43rd birthday celebration, which featured a giant barbecue cookout, cake contest, fireworks as well as arts and crafts vendors.

Initiated by Makivik’s council in Chisasibi, led by Raymond Menarick, Mailasi is the community’s Inuit name. Thanks to the generous support of sponsors, the event was once again completely free. The Fort George Rockers, Cree Rising and Into Overdrive served as the weekend’s house bands, each rehearsing over 40 songs to back up the local talent performing 15-minute sets, who comprised most of the festival’s 40 artists.  

The festival was imbued with the spirit of the late Brian Thomas Fireman, the Cree Rising frontman who tragically passed away April 19 aged 42. One of Mailasi’s highlights was an emotional tribute set from the band’s surviving members – Timothy Bosum, John Henry Wapachee and Paul Napash – led by the stirring vocals of co-founder Darrel Spencer. 

“It’s sure emotional playing on stage without him,” Spencer shared. “He pushed me to sing ‘mahn kiyah’, but I never wanted to sing live. Now, that time is here. I decided that I will do what it takes to release our originals this coming winter.”

Spencer was working on unfinished new material with Fireman before his passing and still checks his late partner’s final texts, which urge him to “keep doing what you’re doing, don’t wait for me.” With so many people pushing him to persevere Brian’s legacy, Cree Rising plan to hit a Toronto studio this winter. 

Organizing committee president Dale House called Fireman an inspiration and said he “was like the glue that held the musicians together.” A member of the legendary Fort George Rockers since around 1975, House has backed up so many singers over the years that he’s given up trying to list them.  

Some of House’s favourites at Mailasi were Francine Weistchee, Timothy Mayappo’s young family from Eastmain and Patrick Petawabano’s Mistissini band featuring Innu guitarist Gilbert Pietacho. When Fort George Rockers played at this summer’s Innu Nikamu festival for the first time since 1989, House broke the long drive into two days with a stop in Gatineau.

With a record attendance of over 30,000 over six days, Innu Nikamu mixed international stars like Bryan Adams and Aqua with emerging Indigenous artists and extensive cultural programming. Impressed by the event’s hospitality and scale, House said it was a learning experience in organizing. 

“That was a long drive but well worth it,” recalled House. “It was something else, with two stages. We’re hoping to get bigger. We hope we can fit everybody, maybe having two venues. We’ll try to organize little events to keep that energy going but keep the main one in July or August.”

Mailasi’s closing band Miigwin have had a busy summer, being booked every weekend of July and August. With a surging popularity since regrouping five years ago following a lengthy hiatus, they plan to record a 10-song album this winter with eight Cree language originals and two covers of Morley Loon songs. 

“The highlight of my summer was falling off the stage in Whapmagoostui,” said Miigwin frontman Reuben Wapachee. “It went viral with 1,200 shares. I always tell the guys whenever anything like that happens don’t stop. I was a little dazed, then suddenly I regained consciousness and continued the show – the crowd went wild.”

Performing a song in memory of their “late brother” Brian Fireman, Wapachee could see in other musicians’ faces that Fireman was there in spirit. Already looking forward to the next Mailasi Festival, Wapachee is heartened by the emergence of new festivals and Cree talent playing them. 

“I try to encourage the message, don’t let that talent go to waste,” said Wapachee. “Slowly, musicians are coming out – people need to hear them. Festivals are a great way to bring people together. Music has to breathe. There’s unity in it, a really good vibe.”

Cree pop singer/songwriter Siibii has also had a busy summer, from playing in their hometown Mistissini for the Eeyou Istchee Summer Games to several high-profile Montreal gigs. Backed by members of the band Oliver Forest, Siibii played on Mailasi’s first evening after cancelling last year because they lost their ID.  

“Of course, with my luck, I once again lost my ID but I’m really glad I made it this year,” Siibii said. “The organizer I spoke with, Raymond, was an absolute sweetheart, like a father figure. I used to make that long drive a lot when I was a kid living in Chisasibi.”

With over two million streams and numerous prestigious awards, Siibii is currently navigating a new recording deal with Ishkōdé Records. It’s the home of artists like Aysanabee, who they played alongside at this year’s Indigenous Peoples Day show at Montreal’s Cabot Square.

“Sneak peek – we recently finished recording a song with Aysanabee,” Siibii shared. “We’re super excited about that one. For the recording aspect, I don’t work with my band. My producer Jacky Levare is kind of the mastermind of the pop sound I live in and favour.”

While a new album or EP could be released as early as November, the project’s first single “YOY” has been an instant hit since it was released in 2022 and promoters are already requesting the next unreleased single. 

As Siibii reaches new audiences performing at Olympic Stadium for Pride Montreal (“a dream come true”) and the recent opening of the Wachiya store in Old Montreal, it’s always special to return home to the comforts of aunties and uncles singing along and rez kids running around.

“It always feels more comfortable singing to people who make me feel I belong,” explained Siibii. “To actually see these festivals and know the organizers are Indigenous is super deadly. Being on these stages and seeing faces that look like yours staring back at you is a magic I will never take for granted.”

A project technician for the Cree Nation Youth Council in his day job, Einish was a rousing presence at the Cree Nation Government’s recent annual general assembly. While his advocacy for the region’s youth motivated his involvement in Wemindji’s music festival, the experience turned out differently than initially expected. 

Offering to help book two hip-hop acts that topped community surveys, Einish said organizers kept him in the dark for months before telling him Nomad would have its own day. Despite communication friction and logistical challenges, he shifted strategies and booked an ultimately successful all-Indigenous lineup.  

“My goal was to showcase our people,” Einish told the Nation. “Being an entrepreneur, sometimes you encounter problems but those are the times when your character is built. It felt they were purposely trying to make me drop the ball.”

Hosted by Kahnawake rapper Will E. Skandalz, the event featured the NorthStars, Violent Ground, Slice, CJAY GRiZ, Showbiz514, Digital Fire and KONG. With numerous generous prize giveaways, over 100 people enjoyed the free concert, which was alcohol and drug free.  

“My favourite moment of the entire night was having the youth fully engaged with my words, whether I was hosting or performing,” said Skandalz. “It’s all about the youth when it comes to this music with me.”

When Einish was managing Violent Ground in his earlier days with Nomad, Skandalz (aka Satehoronies McComber) helped them scout locations near Montreal for a music video. Skandalz and KONG reunited to record the track “Rez Dawgz”, which they performed together during this summer’s shows and will soon release an official video for. 

Einish’s gritty verse courts controversy with references to Rezolution Pictures’ One More River documentary about the Paix des Braves agreement. Declaring that he’s not a sellout, he raps, “all I know is they lied trying to get a piece of the pie; all they got was crumbs.” 

“Lots of Crees have their own say about what went on with our agreements,” Einish explained. “I’m sharing the real, what it’s like growing up as a Cree. I don’t talk about being in a jet or mansion. I’m just a kid from the rez.”

His song “In Da Rez”, which had reached #6 on the Indigenous Music Countdown at press time, recalls his world crashing down at age 15 when his mother died from cancer. It’s been a surreal experience performing alongside hip-hop artists he admired during those troubled years at a group home.

After opening for G-Unit star Tony Yayo last year, momentum started building at the CNYC’s youth summit in February. Driving rapper and concert promoter Peter Jackson from the airport, whose International Touring Agency was responsible for Ice Cube’s cross-Canada tour, an opportunity arose to open the Montreal date for G-Unit star Lloyd Banks on July 3.

“He glanced at me: ‘You killed it out there, man,’” Einish recalled Banks saying about the show. “That moment was unreal. The tour manager said [Banks] doesn’t talk to any acts. After he shook my hand, I watched him perform on my mic. That was like in a movie when the artist is about to blow up.”

A decade-long collaboration with event promoter Rickey Daley delivered an even greater thrill – opening for Wu-Tang Clan legend Method Man and Redman before thousands at Montreal’s Olympia Theatre. Einish received a cryptic call from Daley a month before the show saying, “You’re on!” Then 20 minutes later, he received an email with his name on the flyer. 

“When I posted it, I still couldn’t believe it,” Einish said. “People tell me ‘You Wu-Tang now?’ If I hadn’t performed those previous venues, I probably would have gotten stage fright. People were taking pictures; I gave an autograph – just a rock star moment.”

Coming from the VIP booth, Einish was asked for a photo with a boy about 11 who had a hospital bracelet and appeared to be a chemotherapy patient. Keeping a positive face, it hit him in the three seconds they shared a brief hug that he’s doing something good and should stop doubting himself.

After the Method Man show, Einish was back on the road for his next gig in Mistissini. Opening for Plains Cree rapper Drezus at the Eeyou Istchee Summer Games was a full circle moment. Einish said Drezus was another artist he’d listen to in group home. “The first time I heard Natives can rap and thought this is a possibility.”

KONG’s largest audience was performing in front of 10,000 fans at Innu Nikamu’s 40^th anniversary festival before headliner Flo Rida’s electrifying set. At their music industry showcase the previous summer, Einish had made a strong impression and was singled out in a newspaper review. 

Offered a one-hour set, Einish brought along Skandalz, Violent Ground and DJ Blaster, calling it “KONG and Friends.” It delivered another surreal experience and backstage Einish was treated to his own trailer, a fridge full of drinks and delicious meals at a catering teepee. 

It’s been a wild ride since Einish started writing again during the Covid pandemic, kickstarted by a TikTok duet video challenge, leading to a fruitful collaboration with CJAY GRiZ (aka CJ Monias). Monias generally sends Einish various beats, who then works on verses before they sit down to record – most recently for Monias’ new album to be released September 20.

“I’m excited as an artist to finally have something out there that represents me,” said Monias. “We’re trying to grow the scene. We know it’s going to snowball as long as we keep putting the work into these shows.”

Having just moved into a new house in Wemindji, Einish is currently planning an event for CNYC’s youth week and whatever comes next. He’s open for bookings, including motivational workshops discussing his journey.

“My summer has been a movie,” said Einish. “Good things can come from being positive. There’s more to life than the partying and getting into trouble.”