Ideas - Championing the quiet power of listening

Episode Date: July 22, 2025

For nearly 70 years, filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin's storytelling and documentary work have served as a mirror for Canada, reflecting Indigenous experiences and providing a space for all Canadians to witness perspectives that have otherwise been ignored. At 92, the Abenaki artist is not slowing down. "I never, never get tired of hearing people telling me about their life stories," she tells Nahlah Ayed. All 60 of her films are available to stream at the National Film Board of Canada website. *This episode originally aired on Nov. 7, 2023.

You sailed beyond the horizon in search of an island scrubbed from every map You battled crackens and navigated through storms Your spades struck the lid of a long-lost treasure chest While you cooked a lasagna There's more to imagine when you listen. Discover bestselling adventure stories on Audible. This is a CBC Podcast. Welcome to Ideas.

I'm Nala Ayed. I was driving my car and I hear the news, the shooting in Oka. This is documentary filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin. I turned around and I went to Oka alone in my car. And when I arrived there, there was a barricade of police officers and you couldn't go into the village. So I stood around a bit and talked to a few people, including the police, and I just was amazed and I guess very worried, and I felt it's my duty.

It has to be documented by one of us, what's going to happen here. Alaniso Bomsoen went on to spend 78 days embedded with Mohawk demonstrators and their supporters, carefully documenting what became a violent standoff with Canadian military and police. Her film, released three years after the so-called Oka Crisis, is titled Kana Satage, 270 years of resistance. On September 26, after 78 days under siege, the people reach a consensus. They will walk out of Tisiu.

For the moment, we have to endure persecution. We have to endure our people being mistreated in the courts, in the jails, being beaten, being bayoneted for now. But in the long course of history, the face of Canada will be politically, socially, economically, and spiritually changed. The film is now 30 years old, described by First Nations film critic and Canada Council of the Arts Chair Jesse Wente as, quote, a watershed moment in the history of first people cinema, putting Indigenous voices at the forefront and later winning more than a dozen national and international awards. Kana Satake, 270 Years of Resistance, is just one example of the nearly 60 NFB films that Alanis Obomsawin has directed over the past five decades.

Her aim? To provide a platform for Indigenous experiences that would otherwise go unseen and unheard. I'm not saying that everything is perfect, but there's a lot of good things happening and there's a lot of possibility to force changes. And making documentary for me is the best tool because you make a documentary and you believe and there's a lot of possibility that can change. Alanis is now 91 years old, witness to nearly a century of reckoning and change.

She delivered the 2023 BT Lecture at McGill University. Indigenous advocate and McGill professor Cindy Blackstock introduced Alanis to a packed auditorium. On August 31st, 1932, you looked up at the skies and you saw a solar eclipse. at the skies and you saw a solar eclipse. Those of different spiritual traditions know that that means that a change was coming. That those things that were stuck in the world were about to be transformed and moved. And so it's no wonder that that was also the day that a legend was born in the name of Ellenice Obomsawin. Keith Richards, I know it's a little bit of a stretch, but Keith Richards said that silence is the canvas of music.

And for Elenise, that has been one of her greatest gifts, is painting on these canvases. She uses this, her own silence to privilege the voices of First Nations, Métis, Inuit, and other peoples in her filmmaking at the National Film Board. peoples in her filmmaking at the National Film Board. She uses silence as a way of learning, a way of example for all of us. And if we look around the world, there is far too much talking and not enough silence and listening. Her other canvas is the etching board.

A very skilled and beautiful artist in her own right, she fills the white spaces, but just like with the silence, she doesn't fill the whole canvas. There's always blank spaces. Blank spaces for you to contribute your ideas, to inspire others. She's also just an accomplished lover of children. For those of you who know Elenise, you know that she loves children. And that has been in her life's work from when she was a haute couture model, doing

a fashion show so she could raise money to buy a pool for the children in her community who could no longer swim in the contaminated waters. An accomplished filmmaker of over 51 films at the National Film Board. And all of these are gifts to all of us. And all we need to do is to sit silently and to watch the voices that she privileges, to feel the voices that she privileges. And I am so blessed in my life to have Elenisa Obamsawan as a friend. to have Eleniso Bomsawin as a friend. And I feel like every time when I look up at that sky and I see that solar eclipse, I just think of the change

that came from one person loving more than anyone thought possible. And that love comes out in everything that Elenise Obomsawin does. So please join me in welcoming the solar eclipse woman herself, the incredible Elenise Obomsawin. My name is Alanise Aubame-Sawin. I am a Wabanaki woman. I was born August 31, 1932 in Lebanon, New Hampshire, USA, on Wabanaki territory.

There was an eclipse of the sun that day. My mother said she was in labor and could see through a window at the foot of the bed people standing on the roof of a two-story house, having paid 25 cents to stand there. And some other people were climbing trees so they could witness the passage of the moon between the sun and the earth. The eclipse started at 544. It got dark, and that is when I was born.

Later on, when I was six months old, my mother took me to Odanak, a Wabanaki community in Quebec, where my father and her were born. She left me with her sister, Aunt Jessie, and my uncle Levi. They had six children of their own. Four of them were adults already. Roger was the youngest, and Genevieve was six months older than me.

They looked after me when my mother had returned to the U.S. to work. I grew up in Audanac until school time. Then my parents took me to Trois Rivières and that is where I went to school, from grade one to grade nine, and then I went to a private school to learn how to use the typewriters and stenography. My life was miserable. I got beat up a lot and was constantly humiliated. My regular name was Maudite Sauvage Salle

or God-damed dirty savage. I had two sisters who died as infant and one brother who died before I was born. Not long after I was left in Odanac, I became very ill. I was in coma. The local doctor said that I had just a few hours to live and that I should not be moved. During the night, as they were watching me,

an old aunt of my mother came in. Her name was Marijane Paquette. She had married my grandmother's brother, whose name was Jean-Baptiste Nagajwa. She took out the blanket, wrapped me in it, and took me away. She kept me for six months. No one knows what she did.

She saved my life. Juan Banaki. People from where the sun rises. The Delaware's who lived by the Atlantic Ocean believed they were the grandparents of other nations because they were the first to receive the light of the sun rising over the sea. This was the east where life begins. Our people travel all over their vast territories. They also cultivated the land. They looked up at the sky.

They watched the stars and the moon, our grandmother, who predicted the weather and the time to cultivate and harvest. They believed there were 13 moons in one year to guide their ways of living in cooperation with nature and the animal world. They knew about the summer and winter solstices. In the eastern township on the Pinnacle Mountain, a sacred place for the Wambanaki people, one can still see groups of large stones placed in circle to hold special ceremonies. The Wambinaki or Abenaki are part of the Algonquin nations. They lived all over New England, in the Maritimes and in Quebec. Different groups, each one with a different name but all identifying as Wambinaki nations. They lived by the side of the rivers,

lakes, and the Atlantic Ocean. The archaeological finds in Maine, New Brunswick, and Quebec date back over 11,000 years. There were wars for 300 years and at one particular time when our people were being killed their leaders got together with all the Wambanakis they could find and said, we must disperse to the four corners of our territory and will not meet again for many generations. Try to remember something of our traditions and our way of life. Someday, our descendants will meet again

and bring with them these memories so that the circle which has been broken will again be made whole. To symbolize this, they took the needle from the sacred white pine tree and placed them on a drum. As they play, the needle drift off near to the edge of the drum. Then follow the heartbeat of the drum back to the center.

In Odinac, the men worked mostly as guides for hunting and fishing. Some built birchbark canoes, and others were carvers. The women were basket makers. We are the people whose traditions are to honor our ancestors, who fought so hard for this land and their ways of life and died for it. We are the ones who think of the future generations in every decision we make.

We ask ourselves, are we serving the children? Is my brother or sister lost somewhere or feeling rejected? Or are they caught in an unbendable system designed to please the controllers. My dear brothers and my dear sisters, your life is sacred. When times are hard, take a deep breath, concentrate on bringing love into your heart. Hold that love in your heart, and soon you will want to share the good feelings with others.

Your eyes will fill with kindness and laughter, and people will want to be near you. In 1975, they said it was the Year of the Woman. I made a film to honor the women of our nations. The title of the film came from Anita Marie Goodeen, who was then well over 100 years old, whose name was on the list in 1876 when 336 was signed. Her name was later taken off the list because she married a non-status Indian. She is the one who said, the creator has a lot of affection for the woman. This is why he made her mother of many children.

Udaanak was very different then. There was no electricity or running water. My cousins and I spent most of the daytime playing in the commune, chasing horses and watching turtles in the marshland, collecting pine gum and braiding sweet grass. Every house you went to, you could smell the sweet grass and the ash splints. At another house maybe someone was dying the ash splints in many colors to make baskets. They would hang them up on the line to dry so they curled with the wind blowing through them.

They looked as if they were dancing. The Abenaki language was spoken in many of the homes. I travel to many places in our country, first to sing and tell stories to the children in many schools, including residential schools in the 60s. I visited several prisons and communities to talk about the real history of our people. In 1967, I was invited at the National Film Board of Canada to work as a

consultant on a film. More interestingly, I was able to produce two educational kits kits for classroom representing two different nations, the Atigameg in Manoan, Quebec, and the Interior Salish in Montcury, BC, Léloïte. It was the first time that the voice of a people in a particular nation was heard for teaching instead of books written about them that were mostly false. As time went by, I was able to make my own documentaries. So far, I have produced, direct, and written 67 films since 1967. In 1984, I was making a documentary at Palm Makers Lodge in St. Albert, Alberta. The people I met had gone through a lot of hardship.

They were carriers of so much pain. But to witness the incredible feelings of so much love among themselves was such a gift. These were the words that Chief Pondmaker, when he was incarcerated in 1885 in Stony Mountain Prison with Big Bear and 41 First Nation men after the rebellion, he said, We will come through this as we have through other troubles. There is a strength in us that we ourselves have not yet recognized.

We will find a place in the world for our people again. I tell everyone here that is how it will be. We have had many great leaders who came before us. To learn and reading their words gives us courage and comfort. Through the 1970s and into the 80s, Alanis Obomsowen helped expose the impact of intergenerational trauma, trauma that has sometimes led to suicide. We're letting you know that because in this next section she describes an incident of that very kind of trauma. While I was working at Bonrykers Lodge, I was also making another film. Richard Cardinal, Cry from a Diary of a Métis Child. I was born in Fort Chippewa. That much I know for certain because it's on my birth certificate.

I have no memories or certain knowledge of what transpired over the next few years. I was once told by a social worker that my parents were alcoholics and that all of us kids were removed for this reason. Dear Chuck, if I die, try to understand. I did not do this because of you. I love you very much, even though we don't know each other very well. I hope that you can do better in life than I and keep trying. Things are bound to get better.

And you know me, I quit everything. Love, Richard Stanley Cardenal. Richard hung himself in the backyard of his last foster home. From age four to seventeen, he had been in twenty-eight fosters and group homes. During the last two years of his life, Richard was encouraged to write about himself. I would be returning to grade two this year. I was not considered an outcast this year. I got my first taste of puppy love with a girl named Heather. I was halfway through the school year when a social worker came to our home and I was to be moved and asked how soon I would be ready to move. I answered one week, I should have answered never.

His words were gentle and very sensitive, and his love and kindness came through all the way to the last word. I wrote these words for him and other people who have gone through the same problems. When the news of another suicide travels among us, there is terror, there is sorrow in our hearts. It is as though a part of us is gone. When the lodge comes into being, the people are calling out their needs to reach the Great Spirit. When the sacred smoke of the sweet grass rises over me, in kindness I see the other face of truth. There is love, there is peace in my heart. A gentle day is here. Hey, hey, my mother, the earth.

Hey, hey, my father, the sky. No, our people don father, the sky. No, our people don't have to die. Someday they will find their place on Earth again and feel the warmth of life and walk in a world of cooperation. Hey, hey, my mother the earth. Hey, hey, my father the sky. You're listening to Alanis Obomsawin delivering the 2023 Beattie Lecture at McGill University. If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available.

You can contact Talk Suicide Canada at 1-833-456-4566. There's also online support through the Talk Suicide Canada website. [♪MUSIC PLAYING—FADES out...] Ideas is a podcast and a broadcast, heard on CBC Radio 1 in Canada, on U.S. Public Radio, across North America, on Sirius XM, in Australia, on ABC Radio National, and around the world at cbc.ca slash ideas.

Find us on the CBC Listen app and wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Nala Ayaed. You sailed beyond the horizon. Listen Up, and wherever you get your chest. While you cooked a lasagna. There's more to imagine when you listen. Discover bestselling adventure stories on Audible. Hey, I'm Jill Deacon and I'm excited to share my new podcast with you. A Love Affair with the Unknown is conversations with smart, funny people navigating life's

unknowns with courage and candor, something we could all use during these wildly uncertain times. Me and I started to cry and I realized I haven't dealt with anything. My family's motto was, I'm not going to be able to handle that. What's your family's motto? Listen and subscribe to A Love Affair with the Unknown wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every Tuesday. At age 91, documentary filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin has witnessed nearly a century of change. For five decades and counting, she's used her skills as a filmmaker and storyteller to privilege the voices and stories

of Indigenous people across Canada. She's directed dozens of NFB documentaries and has at least two more in active production. In October, 2023, she took time away from filming to deliver the Beattie Lecture at McGill University, giving the sold out Hall a glimpse into what drives her life's work. In 1990, I covered the Oka crisis, Kana Satake, 270 years of resistance. I witnessed the spirit of courage to many people who were part of the resistance. The nights in Kanesatake were always scary.

There were many fights between the soldiers and the warriors. Plus, for about eight days, the soldiers were calling me a squaw every time I came in front of the barbed wire. Needless to say, I was in great danger. One night when the army had sent a flare that landed close to the people sitting by a fire. All hell broke loose. When we were filming the scene in the middle of this scary chaos, I heard this woman singing and comforting her child.

I said to the cameraman, turn the camera towards this woman. Mom, what's that thing? No, though. I know it's a bomb, Mom. Yeah, it's some kind of bomb. What happens if you touch it? It'll go. It's poison, I guess. It needs to live.

What's poison? It makes us sick? We don't know what it is, first of all. The flare went up and this thing landed next to me. We were sitting here, look, Bruce was lying there relaxing. And this thing made a big noise in the ground like a big thump. If it had killed either one of us, I mean, I know everybody in there would have been dead. Seva zaze ho ki va seva In 1967, I traveled to Moose Factory in James Bay on the Ontario side. I lived with the children in Horden Hall and visited the residential

school every day. The film is called Christmas at Moose Factory. Moose Factory is on an island located in Moose River among the tidal flats of James Bay's lowlands opposite Moosene. The village has a population of about 1500 people, Crees of the Algonquin nation. The children of Moose Factory speak swampy Cree and also English as their second language. Here they speak with their drawings about life around them and how they feel when Christmas time comes. This is my mother making bannock. She's ready to put it in the oven.

When it's ready, we take one. I like to drink tea, coffee, orange juice, coke, and ginger ale, and Pepsi, and home brew. This is my house and my grandmother's tent. This is me and taking my dog for a walk. I continue making documentaries in those days. Everything was so full of pain and dangerous. It was hard for our people to imagine change. My dear brothers and sisters, we are all born with a gift, and to each one of you, your

life is sacred. You must change the perspective from limitations to all is possible. Slowly, change came, and our people realized their ability to become whatever they wish, or what they wanted to be. Many years pass. I am now 91 years old. I am now 91 years old. A few years ago, I told myself, everything has a reason. The fact that I went through so much trouble, I did not want other children to experience these feelings.

So I worked hard to make sure that no other children would be treated like that. Now we are in 2023. As I travel in many places in the world, I see Canada at the front. There are good people all over the world. I feel respect, curiosity. I know that in general Canadians want to see justice done to our people. Thank you for the tremendous change in most learning places.

The true history of our country is now being taught in schools of all levels. My greatest wish has come true. Today, everything is possible for this generation and the future generation. No one will be abused or badly treated in this country. Look into your heart, you beautiful people, be honest. Feel the gift you were born with. Reach for the creator for the creation of your dreams. In 1939, when the National Film Board was created,

it was a man of a great mind who influenced Mackenzie King, the Prime Minister at that time, to create what they called a film unit. I want to say thank you for the support I have received over the years from the National Film Board of Canada. I wish to remember John Grierson, who founded the NFB in 1939, and who also influenced three other countries to start film school. India, New Zealand, and Australia. One man, one mind achieved this. I was lucky to meet him when he came back to Canada in the 70s to teach here at McGill. The term documentary was coined by him.

He once told me that he felt very disturbed by the fact that people would watch Hollywood films in which rich people in opulent dresses were in rooms lit by chandeliers, an unattainable reality far from theirs. He believed that people of all different nations should be able to sit in a theater and see themselves on screen. Documentary would fill the void with the sound of all people, which I thought was the most beautiful way of ensuring that all voices would be heard. Institution that allow all voices to be heard. The National Film Board of Canada CBC, 87 years since 1936. Telefilm Canada, 56 years since 1967.

Canada Arts Council, 66 years since 1957. National Art Gallery, 57 years since 1966. National Gallery of Canada, 143 years since 1880. We are lucky to have these institutions that make it possible for all voices to be heard. And to not have to rely on private foundation as many other countries, it is not the same as in Canada. Thank you to all Canadians for supporting this beautiful institution. Thank you. Legendary documentary filmmaker and artist Alanis Obomswami. I wanted to begin with words that you've used to describe your own filmmaking. You've described your films as a quote, a mirror for this country.

You have now been holding that mirror for more than half a century. That makes me an old lady. What is, after all of these years, what is it that we should be seeing in that mirror? Well, as you know, I'm still working. There's no way, as long as I have my health, I'll be working. I never, never get tired of hearing people telling me about their life stories. And as you probably know, I do a lot of interviews just sound before coming in with a crew. And as I do a lot of mentorship, I keep telling young people, I think they don't want to bother

because they love the camera. So I try to explain to them that when someone is telling a story about themselves, they don't have to worry about five, six people that they don't know with cameras and stuff like that. It's a very different feeling. And for me, it's so sacred. It's the voice of the people. It's the voice that when you feel at ease

and not worried that you're being used or abused, you are different. And many people, they tell me their life stories. And I compare it to the sea, just like the waves. You know, if the wave is in the rain, it's going high. It's the same thing with the voices. Someone tells me something really sad.

The sound changes and it's so moving. Then they go on to another period of their lives and again the change through the voice is superb and I keep telling people that but I know that in general, people say, oh I'm just coming with the camera, but I think it is unfortunate because it takes away something very personal and very beautiful from the story. And this is what I still do and I'm telling you, I never get tired of listening to people. And yet long before you became a filmmaker, you were always a storyteller. You were traveling to schools, as you mentioned, and to prisons, and to places where not only

you were listening, but you were also telling stories. Can you take us to the moment when you realized that this was a role that you were going to play in life? A primary role? I didn't feel it's a thought that I was going to do something a certain way. But I think that the idea of hearing people comes from when I was a child in Odanac. We didn't have TV or radio or no electricity

and no running water either. So then what happened at night, you know, you had the oil lamps, and the men often told stories about their experience in the bush as they're guiding somebody, and the animals were always mixed up in it. And us, you know, four or five children are listening to that story. Today I would say you have four or five different stories. Because we didn't have any images, and you just heard the voice, and you imagine.

I imagine what I'm being told in a way, but my cousin over here is imagining totally something else. And I think I find that very fascinating to the sound, the sound of people, of animals, of the wind, and all those things. And I still think it's very important, and I love it. I was really struck by what you said in your comments about all is possible. You see this as a moment when all is possible. Can you speak a bit more about, you know, you've seen a lot of change in the relationship

between the Indigenous people of this country and the settlers on this land. Can you speak some more about how you see that shift from your vantage point? I think that didn't happen overnight. It's been very bad for many generations. I'm part of that. This is why I'm still here, because I really believe what is possible. But the extraordinary thing, like let's say even 10 years ago I could not have talked the way I do now. And for instance, if we in conversation with anybody from anywhere, if you mentioned the word treaty,

the reaction I know with me is always, oh, what's that? That doesn't even exist anymore. No, yeah, there's no treaty. And it really annoyed me, something awful. But I made a film, it's called Trick or Treaty. That tells you a lot. And since then, it's very much used at all levels,

the university level, colleges, everywhere. It's very different. I hear so much respect. Oh, we didn't know this. And you're like, nobody was listening at the time. But now, everywhere I go, I can tell you people are listening to me. And I feel the respect.

What's changed? I think maybe many of our peoples. The educational system has changed. For many generations, the books that were used in places like this and the books called The History of Canada, written by the brothers of the Catholic Church, which was pretty ugly, full of lies, and designed to create hate towards our people. When I figured that one out,

I was getting beat up all the time as a child. When I figured it out, I thought, if the children could hear a different story, they wouldn't be like that. They're not born racist. And that's when I started singing and took quite a while to get to that point, but, and telling stories to children.

I've done hundreds of school over the years, and I still do whenever I can. So there's a lot of good things happening all across the country. So this is why I keep telling people, just decide what you wish to do. And there's help everywhere, especially in these institutions. This is why I named them. Thank God we have these institutions. And you know, I travel all over the world and I criticized this country a lot for a long time, but I can say that now I can say Canada is at the front for a lot of things concerning

education and these things. So this is a big change. And I want to not anybody who's making the changes to get discouraged. I want to praise them because I see the difference. And the difference is in people's mind and how they talk to you and how they respect you or treat you a different way. You feel it. And I think, aren't I lucky to have lived this long to see the difference? It's wonderful. Not at all to take away from what you've just said and the positivity of that, but

when you look forward, what still needs to change? Well, I'm not saying that everything is perfect, but there's a lot of good things happening and there's a lot of possibility to force changes. And making documentary, for me, is the best tool. Because you make a documentary, and you believe, and there's a lot of possibility that can change. And people who have the power, who've made these awful laws or make it difficult still for the rights of children, for instance, or adults,

sometimes a story that they watch makes them feel differently, and they make the change. So there's a lot of things going on. We have our people across this country well represented. They're not in a corner anywhere that we don't know who they are. And that is so strong. It doesn't matter which nation,

there's a lot of advancement that is happening everywhere. But what do you look forward to in terms of a genuine sign or evidence of a genuine attempt at truth and reconciliation in Canada? Well, you're not going to believe me, but it's happening. I don't know if what we want exactly will come to. I think it will.

And I never thought that, for instance, I could be part of a group with the government that we criticize and you know all that stuff, that they're listening to you and they're listening. are the possibilities and the strength is there. I'm not saying it's gonna happen tomorrow, but you watch out. Wonderful. You said you're not done yet. Just as a final, you said you're not quite done yet. And I wanna ask you as a final question. When will you feel like you've played the role

that you need to play and you can stop making film? Or is that ever going to happen? It's never going to happen because the role I'm playing, discovering and I'm hearing and I'm helping a lot of other people, I's it. And that's it. I hope you never stop. Thank you very, very much for taking our questions. Wonderful to be with you tonight. Thank you very, very much for taking our questions. Wonderful to be with you tonight. Thank you. Thank you. Documentary filmmaker and artist Alanis Obomsawin.

Her NFB films are available to stream for free through the National Film Board of Canada. We'll link to her vast archive through our website, cbc.ca. Special thanks to all those involved with the McGill University Beattie Lecture, including Megan Thurston and Robin Koning. Thank you as well to the recording engineers at McGill University's Pollock Hall, Serge Filiat-Roll, Sung Woo Han,

Jonathan Roy and Stuart McCombie. The web producer for ideas is Lisa Ayuso. Technical production by Gabi Haugorilis and Danielle Duval. Senior producer, Nikola Lukcic, and Greg Kelly is the executive producer of Ideas. We're going to leave you with an excerpt from a very special performance. Back in 1984, drawing on her singing and performance roots, Alanis Obomsawin recorded an album under the title Bush Lady. Then, 33 years later, at the age of 85,

she performed songs from that album at a live concert in the Netherlands. I'm Nala Ayed. Thank you for listening. My village is called Oudanak. Oudanak means village. Oudanak orke, at the village. And it says in there to love our place, Odanak, to take care because there is a story that one day in one of the territories where our people were in Vermont,

there was a woman washing her clothes in the river, and this beaver came, and he sat on a rock just in front of her, and he began to sing, and he told her that all the people were being pushed away further in the bush, and they were going to lose their land and it really happened so this song about Udaanak tells us to remind us and not let it happen again Hey, how? Hey, how? Hey, how? How?

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