When I grow up I want to be the planner version of this.

(Source: wzrdkelley, via apihtawikosisan)

pasttensevancouver:

Calgary Shades, Friday 16 September 1960
The Moon Glow Cabaret was located at 331 East Georgia Street. After relocating from Calgary to Vancouver, the Shades added “Calgary” to their name because there was already a “Shades” in Vancouver. The guy wearing shades is Tommy Chong. 
Source: facebook




They were called the Shades because they were all different “shades” i.e. people of colour. According to this interview they were ran out of town by the mayor of Calgary for being too awesome. 

Tommy Chong later ran (with his dad Pops Chong)  a few clubs in Vancouver including a bottle club called The Elegant Parlour in the basement of what’s now Celebrities. The house band he played with there, Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers, was discovered by The Supremes in 1966 when they played the Elegant Parlour. The Vancouvers were the first Canadian and the first not all black band to be signed to Motown. (Oh yeah, and they discovered the Jackson Five) 

Love this story.

pasttensevancouver:

Calgary Shades, Friday 16 September 1960

The Moon Glow Cabaret was located at 331 East Georgia Street. After relocating from Calgary to Vancouver, the Shades added “Calgary” to their name because there was already a “Shades” in Vancouver. The guy wearing shades is Tommy Chong. 

Source: facebook

They were called the Shades because they were all different “shades” i.e. people of colour. According to this interview they were ran out of town by the mayor of Calgary for being too awesome. Tommy Chong later ran (with his dad Pops Chong) a few clubs in Vancouver including a bottle club called The Elegant Parlour in the basement of what’s now Celebrities. The house band he played with there, Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers, was discovered by The Supremes in 1966 when they played the Elegant Parlour. The Vancouvers were the first Canadian and the first not all black band to be signed to Motown. (Oh yeah, and they discovered the Jackson Five) Love this story.

(via rumours)

bannockandbutter:

Pipe Dreams
I created this piece in November of last year. It was originally published on the UBC Indigenous Studies Undergraduate Journal Blog.
An update is that in December, I met with the curator at MOA who is responsible for the pipes. We had an insightful conversation. She promised to do more research about where the pipes come from (almost nothing is known about any of them- there are several on display and in the archives). She explained MOA’s repatriation policy to me, and we talked through some of the repatriation challenges that these pipes present, given that their home locations are currently unknown. Our conversation raised more questions than answers, but I was grateful for it. I committed to raising the issue with communities that I am a part of and staying in touch. Anyways, here is my original article- 
**
Every time I enter the Museum of Anthropology (MOA), I feel hopeful that this time it will be different. I feel good, at first, in the minimalist space, enveloped by concrete, natural light, and high ceilings. Tucked between cedars, on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the windy Pacific, MOA is located on a powerful, spiritual piece of land. But it doesn’t take long before the bitterness and resentment start to wash over me. I see and hear that MOA is trying. Artworks by Musqueam artists stand at the entrance, evidence that a more positive relationship is being forged between the institution and the Indigenous peoples on whose traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory the institution stands. But as soon as I enter through the doors, and I feel the spirits of the totems standing there, so far from home, I start to feel sick. Uprooted. That is the word that came to me on my first visit, and it is the word that still haunts me. I come upon my partner’s family house post, and I speak to my great-grandfather-in-law. Meegwich moshum. Thank-you for standing here. You are loved. You are missed. You are remembered. By the time I enter the multiversity gallery I can’t keep the disdain off my face. I remind myself that MOA is doing some great work to create space for relationship building. Native youth give tours. Some of the display cases are curated in partnership with First Nations. But the walls and the drawers are so crammed full of items, I wonder how the spirits have room to breathe. To move. To dance. There are so many masks, drums, carvings, baskets, and tools it is as if I have entered an ethnographic hoarding situation. Why are these here? How did they get here? Who do these belong to? I am not the first person to ask these questions. They are questions folks who tour the museum, who write about the museum, and who work at the museum constantly ask.
Moving on, the tour starts to get more personal. I come upon the small section devoted to the Plains. My people. A relative’s moccasins. A relative’s headdress. A relative’s basket.  I look closely at the glass display cases.  If I am entirely honest, my agitation is coupled with a bit of desperation.  I am looking for medicines, looking for signs of my relatives. It is part of my search to recover my own Nahkawe-Nehiyaw identity, something that was also seized temporarily by colonization.  I am looking for something that might help quell the ancestral grief that lives in my bones, if just for today. I put my hand on the cool copper handle of the drawer beneath the glass case. I have heard these drawers are special. Imported from Europe. Very expensive, you know. The drawer slides open gracefully.  I almost cry out when I see what is inside. Sacred pipes. I am told that Pipes were given to the world to help to heal the people. Pipes are meant to smoked, to carry our prayers to Gihzwe Manido. Pipes are meant to be in ceremony. Pipes are meant to be lovingly carried in beaded buckskin, and feasted.  And here they are, sitting in a bourgeois anthropological museum, objects of curiosity.
——-
It has been over a month since I saw the pipes at the MOA, and I am still thinking about them. I see how much healing my Indigenous communities, friends, and family need, and I know those pipes can help to do that work. It is hard for me to know that they are in there, unable to carry out their original instructions.  I could hear the pipes singing songs of sadness, loneliness…their spirits are hungry for love.
Following my encounter with the pipes at MOA, I felt inspired to respond. I drew a comic strip, titled “pipe dreams”, which allowed me to explore new possibilities through imagination and fantasy. While pipe dreams is clearly a critique of museums, and MOA in particular, it is not meant to discount the good work that is being done in those institutions.  The Museum of Anthropology is a world leader for its progressive policy reform and extensive efforts to work collaboratively with Indigenous peoples, thanks to Indigenous activism and visionary work done by museum staff. Community outcry to past displays of sacred ceremonial objects has resulted in teachable moments for both the institutions and the public. Today, an empty display case in the Multiversity Gallery makes a statement that educates visitors on respect for cultural protocol. Evidence of the institution’s humility, many exhibits at MOA provoke interrogation of museum practices. And perhaps the most encouraging aspect of MOA is that it has demonstrated a commitment to working with the Indigenous community.  In these ways, MOA has shown that museums can simultaneously be sites of colonization and decolonization.
And yet, I cannot ignore the way I felt in my body and spirit during my last visit.  Sometimes I wonder, why do museums have to exist, as a given?  I see the value in galleries displaying objects, art, and artifact with permission of those who made them (or their descendants). But for those items that were stolen or otherwise dishonourably acquired, for the items that are shown with question marks on their identification cards…do those items have to be kept? It cannot be ignored that MOA is a multi-million dollar facility that draws in tourists. What message is being sent to those who do not have the tools to think so critically, or those who are not so familiar with the nuanced histories and context of MOA and its collection? While those questions are important, the questions that are really on my mind, and that I mean to pose with pipe dreams, are this: What are our responsibilities, as Indigenous peoples, to objects that were given to use to care for by our ancestors, but are now locked behind glass?  And, knowing that they may or may not eventually return to our communities, how can we feed their spirits?
Danette Jubinville, 3rd Year FNSP Major, Saulteaux, Cree, French, German, Jewish, Scottish & English ancestry

bannockandbutter:

Pipe Dreams

I created this piece in November of last year. It was originally published on the UBC Indigenous Studies Undergraduate Journal Blog.

An update is that in December, I met with the curator at MOA who is responsible for the pipes. We had an insightful conversation. She promised to do more research about where the pipes come from (almost nothing is known about any of them- there are several on display and in the archives). She explained MOA’s repatriation policy to me, and we talked through some of the repatriation challenges that these pipes present, given that their home locations are currently unknown. Our conversation raised more questions than answers, but I was grateful for it. I committed to raising the issue with communities that I am a part of and staying in touch. Anyways, here is my original article- 

**

Every time I enter the Museum of Anthropology (MOA), I feel hopeful that this time it will be different. I feel good, at first, in the minimalist space, enveloped by concrete, natural light, and high ceilings. Tucked between cedars, on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the windy Pacific, MOA is located on a powerful, spiritual piece of land. But it doesn’t take long before the bitterness and resentment start to wash over me. I see and hear that MOA is trying. Artworks by Musqueam artists stand at the entrance, evidence that a more positive relationship is being forged between the institution and the Indigenous peoples on whose traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory the institution stands. But as soon as I enter through the doors, and I feel the spirits of the totems standing there, so far from home, I start to feel sick. Uprooted. That is the word that came to me on my first visit, and it is the word that still haunts me. I come upon my partner’s family house post, and I speak to my great-grandfather-in-law. Meegwich moshum. Thank-you for standing here. You are loved. You are missed. You are remembered. By the time I enter the multiversity gallery I can’t keep the disdain off my face. I remind myself that MOA is doing some great work to create space for relationship building. Native youth give tours. Some of the display cases are curated in partnership with First Nations. But the walls and the drawers are so crammed full of items, I wonder how the spirits have room to breathe. To move. To dance. There are so many masks, drums, carvings, baskets, and tools it is as if I have entered an ethnographic hoarding situation. Why are these here? How did they get here? Who do these belong to? I am not the first person to ask these questions. They are questions folks who tour the museum, who write about the museum, and who work at the museum constantly ask.

Moving on, the tour starts to get more personal. I come upon the small section devoted to the Plains. My people. A relative’s moccasins. A relative’s headdress. A relative’s basket.  I look closely at the glass display cases.  If I am entirely honest, my agitation is coupled with a bit of desperation.  I am looking for medicines, looking for signs of my relatives. It is part of my search to recover my own Nahkawe-Nehiyaw identity, something that was also seized temporarily by colonization.  I am looking for something that might help quell the ancestral grief that lives in my bones, if just for today. I put my hand on the cool copper handle of the drawer beneath the glass case. I have heard these drawers are special. Imported from Europe. Very expensive, you know. The drawer slides open gracefully.  I almost cry out when I see what is inside. Sacred pipes. I am told that Pipes were given to the world to help to heal the people. Pipes are meant to smoked, to carry our prayers to Gihzwe Manido. Pipes are meant to be in ceremony. Pipes are meant to be lovingly carried in beaded buckskin, and feasted.  And here they are, sitting in a bourgeois anthropological museum, objects of curiosity.

——-

It has been over a month since I saw the pipes at the MOA, and I am still thinking about them. I see how much healing my Indigenous communities, friends, and family need, and I know those pipes can help to do that work. It is hard for me to know that they are in there, unable to carry out their original instructions.  I could hear the pipes singing songs of sadness, loneliness…their spirits are hungry for love.

Following my encounter with the pipes at MOA, I felt inspired to respond. I drew a comic strip, titled “pipe dreams”, which allowed me to explore new possibilities through imagination and fantasy. While pipe dreams is clearly a critique of museums, and MOA in particular, it is not meant to discount the good work that is being done in those institutions.  The Museum of Anthropology is a world leader for its progressive policy reform and extensive efforts to work collaboratively with Indigenous peoples, thanks to Indigenous activism and visionary work done by museum staff. Community outcry to past displays of sacred ceremonial objects has resulted in teachable moments for both the institutions and the public. Today, an empty display case in the Multiversity Gallery makes a statement that educates visitors on respect for cultural protocol. Evidence of the institution’s humility, many exhibits at MOA provoke interrogation of museum practices. And perhaps the most encouraging aspect of MOA is that it has demonstrated a commitment to working with the Indigenous community.  In these ways, MOA has shown that museums can simultaneously be sites of colonization and decolonization.

And yet, I cannot ignore the way I felt in my body and spirit during my last visit.  Sometimes I wonder, why do museums have to exist, as a given?  I see the value in galleries displaying objects, art, and artifact with permission of those who made them (or their descendants). But for those items that were stolen or otherwise dishonourably acquired, for the items that are shown with question marks on their identification cards…do those items have to be kept? It cannot be ignored that MOA is a multi-million dollar facility that draws in tourists. What message is being sent to those who do not have the tools to think so critically, or those who are not so familiar with the nuanced histories and context of MOA and its collection? While those questions are important, the questions that are really on my mind, and that I mean to pose with pipe dreams, are this: What are our responsibilities, as Indigenous peoples, to objects that were given to use to care for by our ancestors, but are now locked behind glass?  And, knowing that they may or may not eventually return to our communities, how can we feed their spirits?

Danette Jubinville, 3rd Year FNSP Major, Saulteaux, Cree, French, German, Jewish, Scottish & English ancestry

Planning Valentines

Planning Valentines

(Source: planning-love)

Some childhood stories as told by Waka Flocka.

(Source: dmwalking, via rumours)

oops.

oops.

(Source: cineraria, via yankfiction)

Me on any bus

Me on any bus

(Source: fier-panda, via yankfiction)

apihtawikosisan:

wocinsolidarity:

Reverse Racism

This is amazing. And the only definition of reverse racism I will ever entertain.

(Source: georgialovesyou)

bikepath:

"Bed Down"
by Liz Toohey-Wiese
Ink on Paper
2013

bikepath:

"Bed Down"

by Liz Toohey-Wiese

Ink on Paper

2013

indigenousnationhoodmovement:

 UPDATE: SWN Agrees to Turn Back Trucks for the Day, But Elsipogtog Anti-Fracking Battle Continues
Following a day of heated confrontation with Mi’kmaq land defenders, SWN agreed to turn back their seismic testing trucks—although they plan to return to work again tomorrow.

indigenousnationhoodmovement:

UPDATE: SWN Agrees to Turn Back Trucks for the Day, But

Following a day of heated confrontation with Mi’kmaq land defenders, SWN agreed to turn back their seismic testing trucks—although they plan to return to work again tomorrow.

pasttensevancouver:

The first caretaker’s cottage at Mountain View Cemetery near Bodwell Road (33rd Avenue) and North Road (Fraser Street), ca. 1891
Source: Photo by Bailey and Neelands, City of Vancouver Archives #Dist P9

my hood! 

pasttensevancouver:

The first caretaker’s cottage at Mountain View Cemetery near Bodwell Road (33rd Avenue) and North Road (Fraser Street), ca. 1891

Source: Photo by Bailey and Neelands, City of Vancouver Archives #Dist P9

my hood!