Short Story - How Did the Ojibway Treat Their Women?

At a poetry and music gathering a few months back I was able to engage in a dialogue about how the Ojibway treat their woman. The person who I was talking to was really into Ojibway culture and this person was not Ojibway. He and I spoke for about a half hour about Michigan, the Great Lakes and the tribes in Michigan. These are some of my favorite subjects in the world to discuss. I shared the information I know about the Ojibway culture to the best of my knowledge but I wish I knew the answer to his question - how did the Ojibway treat their women?

I didn't grow up on the reservation in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where most of my relatives live. I spent a plethora of time up there. As a child I knew I was Native and Ojibway. I loved spending time with the land, going to powwow's and being around my relatives on the reservation. This place has a special place in my heart and will have a special place for the rest of my life. The magnificence that the beauty of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan holds is deep rooted in my soul. The water, the old rocks, the tall pine trees, the fresh air and the healing that this place has provided me is more than I can describe to you here.

My perspective on how Ojibway women were treated comes from my experiences, intuition and the ancestors. The feathers lay on top of the book case in my relatives home. There is an air of tiredness and someone cracks open a beer. Someone steps outside to light a cigarette. I hear the door creak open as as the person steps outside and the sound of the door as it slams shut. I watch my Mother, Grandma and Aunt sit inside. There is a feeling of loss, loneliness, desperation and a saddened heart. Because I was young and operated out of the fine weaving's and intricacies of internalized oppression I have no words to speak. I sit on the couch, hyperactively moving my legs, squeezing the couch cushions with my hands and wanting to touch the land. I play with my long hair, look at the hair on my arm and take a look at my Grandmother. She is French and her husband was Ojibway. She rocks in her chair and smokes a Pal Mall cigarette. My heart goes out to her and she winks back at me.

Because of colonization we have hidden our love and our hearts have been hardened. I feel that the current treatment of women in the Ojibway culture stems from colonization, genocide and the wounds that need healing. My Grandmother loved my Grandfather. I know they dealt with a lot in regards to being a mixed couple in the 1950's. The story is not really told between relatives and family members so I go by with what I feel from them as my ancestors that guide me through my life. I feel my Grandfather loved her and did the best under the certain conditions of their time. She was treated by how he could treat her. He could not take care of himself because of his constant desire to vanish himself as a Native man in the 20th century. Tears fill my eyes with great gratitude as I write this. I know my relatives paved a path for me and opened doors that could of not been done without their courage and strength. Love between a Native man and a French woman acted as metamorphosis for the consciousness of our time. Even unseen the workings of these two catapulted through the fear filled and judgmental consciousness that existed like a brick wall then. All I know is that I am here, because of them and I can speak about the experiences of us.

They smile at me as I write this. The Earth, my Grandfather and Grandmother are in my soul and my DNA. Despite the Ojibway tribe being known for its patriarchy I feel something different. I feel it is matriarchal. I feel this just by knowing. I feel this because I am listening to my Grandmother and Grandfather now. They show me times that once were and times that can be in the future we when heal.