Abenaki children in traditional dress, in an image taken from the documentary Waban-Aki: People from Where the Sun Rises. Courtesy Musée des abénakis d'Odanak/National Film Board.
Ever since catching the attention of producers at the National Film Board in the 1960s, Alanis Obomsawin has been making compelling, opinionated documentaries about the dilemmas facing North America’s aboriginal communities.
Her films are a powerful fusion of the personal and political. Obomsawin allows her subjects to tell their own stories, and then hitches those individual tales to larger issues like land claims, treaty rights and other government policies. Her films include Incident at Restigouche (1984), about the police raid of a Micmac reserve; Richard Cardinal: Cry from a Diary of a Métis Child (1986), about youth suicide; and No Address (1988), about the plight of the homeless. In Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance (1993), arguably her most controversial film, she delved into the standoff between Mohawk Indians and the police and army during the 1990 Oka Crisis.
Although her films are varied, the common thread is the appalling treatment of native people. Her latest film, Waban-Aki: People from Where the Sun Rises, takes her back to her roots: the Abenaki community of Odanak, Que. There, she finds a group of people that has suffered from both economic exploitation and discrimination. But Obomsawin also explores the issue of native status. The Abenaki’s numbers have been diminished due to laws that state that if a woman marries a non-Indian, she and her children are stripped of legal native status. Obomsawin sat down with CBC Arts Online on the eve of the Montreal World Film Festival to talk about her latest film.
Filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin. (Frank Gunn/Canadian Press)
Q: What first led you to filmmaking?
A: I was fighting to redress the education system. I wanted to see changes in the classroom. I didn’t quite know how to do it at first, but I was determined. I was actually singing then, and I used to sing at parties for friends. I performed at a concert called Folkways in New York in 1960. I used to tour schools and prisons and sing and tell stories. Ron Kelly was then an independent filmmaker and he made a short film for the NFB about me. In 1966, some producers at the NFB saw the film and asked to meet with me. I was contracted to consult about film. And then that led to me making some filmstrips for educational kits for the classroom for the NFB. The first film I did was about a small native community called Christmas at Moose Factory. It started in 1967, but I didn’t finish it until 1971. That was a children’s film. After that, I was seeing so many issues that needed addressing. I never stopped after that.
Q: You’ve said that when you started out, some members of the aboriginal community were uncomfortable with you capturing things on film. Who was it making uneasy?
A: Some of the elders were uncomfortable with it. They felt that capturing these images on film, to expose a story on camera like that, the soul of the story would be gone. I understood that. I also saw that the traditions were getting lost because of television. The children were watching a lot of television, and storytelling was getting left behind. A lot of people were also very upset because there were films coming out on television, but they generally showed people getting drunk and falling down on the street. There were very serious discussions about bringing the camera in. But I really wanted them to know that the stories we told could be recorded for all time on film.
A: My views have not changed. I had a lot of conversations with him, and a lot of fights with him, too. There were arguments sometimes — I told him that I really didn’t like the idea of a filmmaker always talking about “my film.” As a filmmaker, I don’t feel like the proprietor of the films that I make; I feel like it’s a film by the people I’m filming. I’m a tool that makes it happen. That power has got to be theirs. It’s got to be for the public. We were talking that way about certain people who feel they’re doing documentaries but are creating their own stories. I’ve always fought against the idea of preconceived notions, and of the idea that I own the story. Grierson was very supportive of me, very encouraging. I think he thought of me as this wild thing. But he liked my ideas and saw that I had things I wanted to say.
A: Some have, but they are looking at a time [the '40s] when the country was at war. Where Grierson did have something right is that he felt very strongly about the fact that people were often looking at a life on film that they could never attain. The wealth in the Hollywood movies, the long stairs, the rich actresses who descended them — the people were watching those films but could never live that life, they could never be part of it. That rang true with me, because in our case [i.e. North American natives], Hollywood had done an extremely good job in making us invisible. People often assume there are no more Indians because we don’t show up in film. And before that, there were thousands of cowboy and Indian movies. Every week, there was a new one — you couldn’t go to the cinema without seeing one. Westerns were everywhere, and Indians were always getting shot at. When I was a young girl I saw a film called Northwest Passage. I was so upset, because the story was based on a massacre that occurred on our reserve. I wasn’t up for analyzing films at the time, but I knew watching this that something was really wrong. That’s what I told our people: film is an outside power that is incredible. We have to get our own images out there, we have to get our own stories into the schools. And that was something Grierson felt strongly about, too. The first step, he felt, was that people should see themselves on the screen. All of the criticism of Grierson really can’t come close to the good that he did.
Abenaki schoolchildren in Odanak, Quebec. This vintage picture appears in Alanis Obomsawin's documentary Waban-Aki: People from Where the Sun Rises. Courtesy Musée des abénakis d'Odanak/National Film Board.
Q: I recall that when they finally agreed to show Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance on national television, the CBC was worried about charges that the film was biased. So they arranged a panel discussion that would be aired live after the broadcast. You declined the invitation to appear, saying the film spoke for itself. Do you still hear criticism that you’re not objective?
A: When I’m part of panel discussions that will often come up. I think it’s a big joke, because some people will pretend they’re without a point of view. Of course, when you’re back in the cutting room, you’re choosing what it is you’re going to include and what you’re going to cut out. There’s a bias right there, obviously. Some people hide behind that and argue that there’s no point of view here, that they’re objective. I don’t believe it. I’m a point-of-view filmmaker. I don’t hide anywhere. Everybody knows it.
A: That proves that Canada is many things. I think it’s a great country. I wish that every country would have a place like the National Film Board. We would know a lot better what goes on amid all the turmoil. It’s something to be proud of. The board has put Canada on the map. Some people don’t like it, but they learn by it. Some government people have complained to me, “Oh my God, we paid for this film!” When we went to Argentina and showed my films, people were overwhelmed. I could have stayed there for two years with the films, people really identified with them. The films spoke to all people, not just Indian people.
A: The situation surrounding status, and what that has done to the people and what is still happening to them as a result. The laws surrounding status have meant that you lose your status if you marry a non-Indian. I felt I had to do a documentary about this. I knew the people I was talking to pretty well. But I wanted to concentrate on the history, because the children in particular don’t hear about the history. It’s extremely important for young people to know where they came from, what their history is and why things are the way they are today. This is crucial. If we don’t explore this, examine this, as a country, if we don’t look at our mistakes, we’re doomed to repeat them all.
Alanis Obomsawin’s Waban-Aki: People of the Rising Sun screens Aug. 31 at the Montreal World Film Festival, which runs Aug. 24 to Sept. 4.
Matthew Hays is a writer in Montreal.
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