Cumberland BC: The Cumberlander Articles Section
Global · 20th December 2009
Kevin Annett
"He is Not Dead ... but Gone On Before You":
Resurrecting Johnny "Bingo" Dawson, and so many others.
Only about a third of the crowd of mourners came with us as we strode out into the busy downtown traffic and reclaimed the street. Frank, who had occupied churches with Bingo, held one end of our banner and Bingo's son the other, as the two of them led us through Vancouver's downtown eastside.
As it had when it stood displayed in front of aghast parishioners at St. James Anglican, our banner proclaimed to the world,
"All the Children Need a Proper Burial".
We were headed for St. James again, thirty of us this time, and we were led, as before, by Bingo's indomitable spirit - and by the 50,000 murdered children whose ranks he joined last week.
It had all started predictably, as a hundred or more people, poor and well dressed, appeared from everywhere to gather at the corner where Bingo had lived, and loved so many. The drumming and smudging, the songs and recollections were all shared, as was proper, but then came the pause, and the question: Is this all we can do?
An older aboriginal woman broke the silence with the truth:
"Three days before he died, Bingo got beaten up really badly by the cops. He was holding his side and he told me his ribs were broken. That wasn't the first time it happened, either. His fingers got broken by the cops, they knocked out all his front teeth, they was always after him 'cause he fought back, he wouldn't take their shit."
Her words hung over our gathering for a moment, and then Frank suddenly motioned to Bingo junior and announced to all of us,
"I'm going!"
He picked up our banner and the two of them walked alone into the street, and stood there facing down the traffic.
Someone started drumming and I walked towards the two brothers, and a few others followed. Soon there were a score of us, and Carol from the Womens' Centre was announcing to everyone that we were heading to St. James Anglican Church, to continue Bingo's fight, at the spot where he and Frank had walked alone into the bowels of the church that had murdered innocent children in their Indian residential schools.
Small yet united, our group left the other mourners and walked slowly up Cordova street, past gaping cops who didn't know how to react. Passersby waved their support, and one driver blasted his horn and gave us a thumbs up. By the time we approached the church, several cop cars were following us, lights flashing, and more police were arriving by the moment.
Ignoring them, we walked up the steps and stood in front of the locked church doors next to a homeless man, wrapped against the biting cold and dozing at one door.
We felt like an honor guard, bringing Bingo home. Our sorrow began to give way to something else: that rising inhalation of hope that comes as a gift to those who actually confront the forces of oppression and death.
"Now I feel he's here with us!" said a voice at my elbow, but before I turned to see who it was, Carol had spoken.
She and I had been there that day, last year, when Bingo and Frank had been locked in the church where we now stood, and conducted their lone witness during the Anglican mass. She recalled the moment now with tears in her eyes, and asked everyone there to carry on Bingo's fight to see that the thousands of murdered children would get a proper burial.
A smirking policewoman who had been watching us yelled out to Carol,
"You're losing the focus of why you're here!".
"Don't you tell us what our focus is!" I immediately yelled back at the cop, pointing my finger at her.
"Don't you dare tell us why we're here!".
Carol was about to resume when Frank, glaring at the cops, yelled out,
"We're here because of them!" he said, pointing at the police.
"They killed my brother Bingo! They beat up and kill our people down here all the time!"
That sparked other voices from the crowd to speak, telling of their assault by police, and Cop Woman began to lose her smirk. She spoke into a phone, and backup began to arrive.
"When I was in Rome last month, doing a service like this one at the Vatican, for all the children who died in residential schools, I felt they were all there with me. When I told Bingo what had happened, he was happier than I had ever seen him. I asked him to come back with me to Rome next April and help me confront the Pope, and he was flying high. He was determined to be there with me. Well, I know now that he will be."
I said that to everyone, and even the cops seemed to be listening. Then I asked the people to not let Bingo's death be for nothing, but to carry on these protests, and to return to this spot on January 10.
We were about to leave, when my partner, another Carol, stepped forward.
Her eyes were aflame. She was looking directly at the policewoman who had smirked, and admonished us.
"We're here because of how Bingo died!" she exclaimed, speaking to the policewoman.
"People in your department caused his death! Maybe it wasn't you personally, but it happened, and you know it's going on, and yet you stand by and let it happen! Where is your humanity?"
She paused. The street had become silent, and all eyes were on her.
"I just want you all to remember Bingo by doing what he'd do. Help us bring the children home and stop all this violence!"
We began to disperse and walk up the street to the Sweetgrass Center, where bannock and turkey soup awaited us. I turned and invited the police to come and eat with us. And then, hugging Carol and congratulating her for saying it all, I joined the others as we were followed slowly by three police cars.
There were police at every corner, watching us, but none of them joined us for lunch.
"I felt him there today with me" Frank said, as we walked together to the Center.
"I felt his anger. I felt like he was speaking when I did."
Later, over soup, as we all laughed and joked and felt that high we always do when we face the wrong and find our voices, I thought of all the funerals I had conducted over the years, and of the sad but hopeful friends who are always left behind after any variety of crucifixions.
Sometimes we are lucky enough to meet our best hopes and best friends again, even after the world has pronounced them gone. We bleed with them, and we believe against all reason that right will triumph, and we carry on. Maybe that's all there is to resurrections.
............................................................................................................................
Read and Hear the truth of Genocide in Canada, past and present, at this website: www.hiddenfromhistory.org , and watch Kevin's award-winning documentary film UNREPENTANT on the same website.
UNREPENTANT: Kevin Annett and Canada's Genocide
- Winner, Best Foreign Documentary Film, Los Angeles Independent Film Festival, March 2007
- Winner, Best Canadian Film, Creation Aboriginal Film Festival, Edmonton, 2009
Soon to be released feature film, THE DIARY, based on Kevin Annett's epic struggle to bring to light genocide in Canada - see the trailer at:
www.thediarymovie.com/trailer
“Kevin is more deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize than many who have received it in the past.”
- Dr. Noam Chomsky
Institute Professor Emeritus
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
“A courageous and inspiring man." (referring to Kevin Annett)
- Mairead Corrigan-Maguire
Nobel Peace Prize Laureate
Belfast , Northern Ireland
"As a long time front line worker with the Elders' Council at the Downtown Eastside Women's Centre, I stand behind what Kevin Annett is trying to do for our people. The genocide that continues today and which stemmed from the residential schools needs to be exposed. Kevin Annett helps break the silence, and brings the voice of our people all over the world."
Carol Muree Martin - Spirit Tree Woman
Nisgaa Nation
"I gave Kevin Annett his Indian name, Eagle Strong Voice, in 2004 when I adopted him into our Anishinabe Nation. He carries that name proudly because he is doing the job he was sent to do, to tell his people of their wrongs. He speaks strongly and with truth. He speaks for our stolen and murdered children. I ask everyone to listen to him and welcome him."
Chief Louis Daniels - Whispers Wind
Elder, Turtle Clan, Anishinabe Nation
Winnipeg, Manitoba
Resurrecting Johnny "Bingo" Dawson, and so many others.
Only about a third of the crowd of mourners came with us as we strode out into the busy downtown traffic and reclaimed the street. Frank, who had occupied churches with Bingo, held one end of our banner and Bingo's son the other, as the two of them led us through Vancouver's downtown eastside.
As it had when it stood displayed in front of aghast parishioners at St. James Anglican, our banner proclaimed to the world,
"All the Children Need a Proper Burial".
We were headed for St. James again, thirty of us this time, and we were led, as before, by Bingo's indomitable spirit - and by the 50,000 murdered children whose ranks he joined last week.
It had all started predictably, as a hundred or more people, poor and well dressed, appeared from everywhere to gather at the corner where Bingo had lived, and loved so many. The drumming and smudging, the songs and recollections were all shared, as was proper, but then came the pause, and the question: Is this all we can do?
An older aboriginal woman broke the silence with the truth:
"Three days before he died, Bingo got beaten up really badly by the cops. He was holding his side and he told me his ribs were broken. That wasn't the first time it happened, either. His fingers got broken by the cops, they knocked out all his front teeth, they was always after him 'cause he fought back, he wouldn't take their shit."
Her words hung over our gathering for a moment, and then Frank suddenly motioned to Bingo junior and announced to all of us,
"I'm going!"
He picked up our banner and the two of them walked alone into the street, and stood there facing down the traffic.
Someone started drumming and I walked towards the two brothers, and a few others followed. Soon there were a score of us, and Carol from the Womens' Centre was announcing to everyone that we were heading to St. James Anglican Church, to continue Bingo's fight, at the spot where he and Frank had walked alone into the bowels of the church that had murdered innocent children in their Indian residential schools.
Small yet united, our group left the other mourners and walked slowly up Cordova street, past gaping cops who didn't know how to react. Passersby waved their support, and one driver blasted his horn and gave us a thumbs up. By the time we approached the church, several cop cars were following us, lights flashing, and more police were arriving by the moment.
Ignoring them, we walked up the steps and stood in front of the locked church doors next to a homeless man, wrapped against the biting cold and dozing at one door.
We felt like an honor guard, bringing Bingo home. Our sorrow began to give way to something else: that rising inhalation of hope that comes as a gift to those who actually confront the forces of oppression and death.
"Now I feel he's here with us!" said a voice at my elbow, but before I turned to see who it was, Carol had spoken.
She and I had been there that day, last year, when Bingo and Frank had been locked in the church where we now stood, and conducted their lone witness during the Anglican mass. She recalled the moment now with tears in her eyes, and asked everyone there to carry on Bingo's fight to see that the thousands of murdered children would get a proper burial.
A smirking policewoman who had been watching us yelled out to Carol,
"You're losing the focus of why you're here!".
"Don't you tell us what our focus is!" I immediately yelled back at the cop, pointing my finger at her.
"Don't you dare tell us why we're here!".
Carol was about to resume when Frank, glaring at the cops, yelled out,
"We're here because of them!" he said, pointing at the police.
"They killed my brother Bingo! They beat up and kill our people down here all the time!"
That sparked other voices from the crowd to speak, telling of their assault by police, and Cop Woman began to lose her smirk. She spoke into a phone, and backup began to arrive.
"When I was in Rome last month, doing a service like this one at the Vatican, for all the children who died in residential schools, I felt they were all there with me. When I told Bingo what had happened, he was happier than I had ever seen him. I asked him to come back with me to Rome next April and help me confront the Pope, and he was flying high. He was determined to be there with me. Well, I know now that he will be."
I said that to everyone, and even the cops seemed to be listening. Then I asked the people to not let Bingo's death be for nothing, but to carry on these protests, and to return to this spot on January 10.
We were about to leave, when my partner, another Carol, stepped forward.
Her eyes were aflame. She was looking directly at the policewoman who had smirked, and admonished us.
"We're here because of how Bingo died!" she exclaimed, speaking to the policewoman.
"People in your department caused his death! Maybe it wasn't you personally, but it happened, and you know it's going on, and yet you stand by and let it happen! Where is your humanity?"
She paused. The street had become silent, and all eyes were on her.
"I just want you all to remember Bingo by doing what he'd do. Help us bring the children home and stop all this violence!"
We began to disperse and walk up the street to the Sweetgrass Center, where bannock and turkey soup awaited us. I turned and invited the police to come and eat with us. And then, hugging Carol and congratulating her for saying it all, I joined the others as we were followed slowly by three police cars.
There were police at every corner, watching us, but none of them joined us for lunch.
"I felt him there today with me" Frank said, as we walked together to the Center.
"I felt his anger. I felt like he was speaking when I did."
Later, over soup, as we all laughed and joked and felt that high we always do when we face the wrong and find our voices, I thought of all the funerals I had conducted over the years, and of the sad but hopeful friends who are always left behind after any variety of crucifixions.
Sometimes we are lucky enough to meet our best hopes and best friends again, even after the world has pronounced them gone. We bleed with them, and we believe against all reason that right will triumph, and we carry on. Maybe that's all there is to resurrections.
............................................................................................................................
Read and Hear the truth of Genocide in Canada, past and present, at this website: www.hiddenfromhistory.org , and watch Kevin's award-winning documentary film UNREPENTANT on the same website.
UNREPENTANT: Kevin Annett and Canada's Genocide
- Winner, Best Foreign Documentary Film, Los Angeles Independent Film Festival, March 2007
- Winner, Best Canadian Film, Creation Aboriginal Film Festival, Edmonton, 2009
Soon to be released feature film, THE DIARY, based on Kevin Annett's epic struggle to bring to light genocide in Canada - see the trailer at:
www.thediarymovie.com/trailer
“Kevin is more deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize than many who have received it in the past.”
- Dr. Noam Chomsky
Institute Professor Emeritus
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
“A courageous and inspiring man." (referring to Kevin Annett)
- Mairead Corrigan-Maguire
Nobel Peace Prize Laureate
Belfast , Northern Ireland
"As a long time front line worker with the Elders' Council at the Downtown Eastside Women's Centre, I stand behind what Kevin Annett is trying to do for our people. The genocide that continues today and which stemmed from the residential schools needs to be exposed. Kevin Annett helps break the silence, and brings the voice of our people all over the world."
Carol Muree Martin - Spirit Tree Woman
Nisgaa Nation
"I gave Kevin Annett his Indian name, Eagle Strong Voice, in 2004 when I adopted him into our Anishinabe Nation. He carries that name proudly because he is doing the job he was sent to do, to tell his people of their wrongs. He speaks strongly and with truth. He speaks for our stolen and murdered children. I ask everyone to listen to him and welcome him."
Chief Louis Daniels - Whispers Wind
Elder, Turtle Clan, Anishinabe Nation
Winnipeg, Manitoba