As Long As We Hear Those Drums
STORY by MASHKODE-BIZHIKIGAHBAW, BENJI SAM
PHOTOS by VIVIAN LaMOORE - See more in the “Galleries” section!
Like a shot out of a cannon, the sound of that first drum beat cuts through the air with a bellowing echo as if our very own ancestors were there with us. Just feet from the water's edge on Mille Lacs, the lake that supports our very existence as a tribal nation, it's powwow time.
For centuries, it's been tradition to gather in song, dance, food, memory, and togetherness around the region to share gifts, teachings, and time with one another. The only difference now compared to the past is we now gather in a state-of-theart arena with seating for a few hundred people, driving cars and trucks to a familiar destination close for some and far for others, and yet the power of those drums remains the same. There is a certain emotion that's almost palpable, the drums almost a pulse from Mother Earth herself, that can be felt the second you step into that arena.
That emotion can look and feel different to everyone in attendance. To me it brought me back to feeling like a child, remembering my parents tying my bells tighter between intertribals because I would dance so hard the leather bounds would loosen. Now bringing my own two-year-old daughter to dance somehow feels like life has drawn full circle.
Come Grand Entry time, we stand, together, to honor those veterans, Elders, loved ones who gave their lives, those who have taken that journey to the next life, and to those who still serve today in such a powerful display of culture, pride, and respect that always brings tears to my eyes.
For avid powwow-goer Darcie BigBear, she recalls being a child watching her mom, her idols, other women dance about the arena with pride and grace. "It seems that no matter what someone is going through, at the powwow, those hard times don't exist and the arena is a place for so much healing," BigBear said. "I love watching the Elders in the stands as we dance by and seeing the pride on their faces — that's what it's all about. There was a time where they weren't allowed to dance and here we are today singing, dancing, and passing these traditions on to our grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. It means everything to me."
For fellow dancer Luther Sam, powwow weekend gives him a chance to wear his honor on his sleeves. "I always have a sense of belonging when dancing side by side by my brothers and sisters," he said. "I know the songs and drum are the echoes of the past and I will always give the drums the best I can."
When asked about being someone young dancers can look up to, both BigBear and L. Sam spoke of how dancing and devotion to the arena has been a powerful pathway to solidify and affirm their sobriety. Walking the Red Road is often difficult, even more so if walking that path alone, and both BigBear and Luther believe it's important to know that the arena is a safe, fun, and fulfilling environment to enter and stay involved in.
But like all things in life, the celebration must come to an end, and the final chapter of each powwow is written in a quiet, empty arena with worn-down grass and the new memories of hundreds of beautiful dancers having just represented their own colors, their respective tribes, and their culture the best way we know how.
We are proud. We are still here.
We are Anishinaabe.
