The Drum Makers

Ancient tradition leads to a new way to solve battles

by DIANE SELKIRK, photo by Nancy Bleck, Slanay Sp’ak’wus

Hereditary squamish chief Bill Williams stands on the banks of Sims Creek.

Mist rises from the rushing water and fades into the dusky light. Across the river, mountains tower. “This place is called Nexw-ayantsut. It means transformation,” Williams says. Once, long ago, his people had the ability to transform themselves into animals, and deep in these mountains, the Squamish people are once again making this journey of transformation.

In the group are two Squamish youths. They may have heard this legend a hundred times, but still they stand transfixed. Myths have meaning to the Squamish people; the stories help explain their relationship with the land and their role in the universe.

Ten years ago, this moment would have been unimaginable. The Elaho Valley and Sims Creek were at the centre of B.C.’s “War In the Woods.” In 1995, in an effort to educate people about the pending clear-cutting, art student Nancy Bleck and legendary mountaineer John Clarke bypassed the violent protests and brought camping groups into the Elaho to see the vast watershed. Bleck says she and Clarke were convinced that solving our land issues meant “moving beyond protest and finding a new model of communication.”

Williams, the region’s Watchkeeper, heard about the visitors and travelled to observe them. When Bleck noticed him standing apart from the group, she asked who he was, then asked if he would welcome them. He explained that they had already breeched protocol by travelling into the territory without permission. Surprisingly, he didn’t send them away, but offered to join their circle.

Bleck recalls being humbled in this moment. “I realized that, even as an environmentalist, it wasn’t possible to do no harm.” She says that, by not collaborating with the Squamish people, they were perpetuating historical wrongs.

The idea for the Ut’sam/Witness camping weekends grew from this new connection. Williams explains that the idea for the weekends has its roots in Salish tradition, where you are hospitable to others, especially those who are your enemies. He says that, if you invite people into your life and teach them your ways, they may start to respect you.

The camping weekends began with an ancient Witness ceremony, a cornerstone of the Squamish culture. It consists of calling someone to act as witness every time important work is done. The role is both an honour and a responsibility. It requires the witness to listen without judgment, and then to tell the story of all they have learned.

During the next 10 years, all of the stakeholders (not just environmentalists) were invited to the river. Mountaineers, politicians, lumber-company executives, loggers, and families came to the river and sat side by side. Teachers from the Squamish Nation taught traditional skills. Together, visitors learned plant gathering, cedar art, and how to make drums. More importantly, they learned what it meant to witness: to let each other speak, to learn from each other, and to return to their jobs and communities and tell others what they learned.

While many different people came to camp, people from the Squamish Nation were initially absent. “It took years for that trust to develop,” Bleck says. Williams explains that his people “knew the ceremonies and knew the locations to hold them but they were afraid to go.” Lumber company ownership meant they felt “ostracized in their own land.” He says Ut’sam/Witness acted as a catalyst, an invitation, “showing people they had a right to return to sacred places.”

During a final opening ceremony of Ut’sam/Witness, Williams stood with his hands raised in ancient welcome. He explained that Ut’sam/Witness was over. Peaceful discussion between all parties had done what no amount of protesting might have accomplished: Interfor had agreed to sell Tree Farm License 38 to the Squamish Nation.

In a reversal of roles, the Squamish Nation now controls the land and Interfor is the customer. The lumber company now depends on the Squamish band for lumber, while environmentalists trust them with the land’s stewardship. The Land Use Plan is pending approval by the B.C. government in March.

Ut’sam/Witness was a deceptively simple idea that seemed to be about camping in the woods, listening to stories, and learning traditional skills. As the Squamish Nation regains control of its traditional lands, it’s clear there was another lesson: When you take the risk, and invite your enemy into your home to teach them about what you value most, peace can follow.

Diane Selkirk writes about the environment and breathes what passes for clean air. Visit dianeselkirk.com.