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As I Remember It: Teachings (Ɂəms tɑɁɑw) from the Life of a Sliammon Elder The Sliammon-language term for this label means “it is mine.” This book contains the teachings and history of the ɬaʔamɩn people as remembered and narrated by Elder Elsie Paul. The effort and care she takes in this work is important. She offers a counter-narrative to incorrect and inappropriate interpretations previously drawn by settlers. Please respect Elsie Paul’s right and responsibility to relate the history and teachings in her own words. She does so from her own perspective and does not attempt to speak for all ɬaʔamɩn people. Please attribute the stories shared in this book to Elsie Paul.

Some sections of this book are authored by other individuals and should be attributed to the appropriate person(s) as indicated. This label refers to a teaching that emerges throughout this book: “you learn from someone by example.” (The literal translation of tiʔiwš is “fast learner.”) The goal of this book is to share ɬaʔamɩn teachings and history widely with ɬaʔamɩn community members, students, and teachers at all levels, and with any other interested readers. This is Elsie’s goal in sharing ʔəms tɑʔɑw, and all of the authors hope the book serves an educational purpose. The authors ask readers to take care to use this information respectfully and in context. Material in this book may be culturally sensitive for a number of reasons. This label identifies such content by stating: “it is ours.”

ɬaʔamɩn teachings, laws, and practices that flow from them are subject to the ʔəms naʔ label because they are communally held and collectively stewarded by ɬaʔamɩn people for future generations. Much of this knowledge is captured in our legends, for example. The authors recognize that ɬaʔamɩn, Klahoose, and Homalco families have their own tellings of the legends.

Other parts of the book are labelled “ʔəms naʔ” because the ongoing nature of settler colonialism means that the histories discussed here are not part of a distant past. For close to a century, colonial laws and policies prevented community members from sharing teachings freely in their community without fear of punishment or retribution, imposing silences that remain even today. Thus this label also applies to chapters that discuss the genocidal practices that sought to interrupt the transmission of teachings and to sever ɬaʔamɩn sovereign rights to their territory.

Please treat information and photographs marked with this label with special care, especially if you plan to share them with others.

ɬaʔamɩn Boys

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Segregation
“So it was really difficult to – it was a difficult life, that you couldn’t do anything. You didn’t have the freedom to go to the movies and to go wherever, unless you’re told. Unless you’re given permission!”
I’m surprised when I think back on it that they didn’t restrict us from doing that. That we could go and sell baskets in town. Or do business with the town people. Because we were not allowed to be in Powell River, unless we had business. So I guess that’s business so it’s okay. You didn’t go and hang out, or you weren’t allowed to mingle with the white people. Unless you had business. Yeah. Everything was so segregated – you went to the Rodmay to eat, there’s a certain area to sit. You went down to the cafeteria, which used to cater to the mill workers. It’s no longer there. But there’s a designated area that you would go and sit. The corner’s for Indian people.
And we didn’t eat out a lot. Like, we’re so free today to go and, “Which is the best restaurant to go?” And you have your choice. You have your pick. Well, back in the day, as small as Powell River was, we didn’t have that freedom. We didn’t have the choice. I never had a friend, a non-Native friend. I couldn’t invite anyone to come to our home, because we were just a totally different world. We were worlds apart. And if we went to town, it was to shop. There was one cafeteria in town, in the townsite just above the mill site there, that we would go, and there was a designated area for Native people. That’s where you went and sat. You didn’t sit with other people. You went and sat over there – it’s in a delegated area for Indians.
And then, going to the movies, that would’ve been in the later forties, mid-forties, that you couldn’t sit with non-Native people. We’d walk to town to go see a movie, at the Patricia Theatre. And we didn’t have cars then. I remember going to the movies with my grandparents, and I was just a little child, where I remember being packed on my uncle’s shoulders and … we would go as a family. And walking home at night after the movies. There’s a designated area for our people, which was upstairs at the balcony.
And if that balcony was full, if it happened to be a good cowboy and Indians show, you know! We enjoyed that. Cowboys and Indians! [laughs] Our young guys were always the cowboys. Oh dear, that is the truth. That’s a fact! [laughs] The young guys, the young boys, yeah. They were the cowboys. They’d say, “Yeah, go get ’em, cowboy! Kill ’em! Shoot ’em!” That’s how naive we were! [laughs] Oh boy.
But you know, we’d walk all the way there, which is what? About four miles. And sometimes we didn’t get in – we’d walk back again. Walk home. But that section below, down in the main area. And there’d be lots of seats there. No! You weren’t allowed to go there.
So that was, you know, that history of discrimination and racism. So it was really difficult to – it was a difficult life, that you couldn’t do anything. You didn’t have the freedom to go to the movies and to go wherever, unless you’re told. Unless you’re given permission! “We’ve built the school now, your children can come here, but please don’t dirty this building!”
This just makes me so angry when I think of that. “And you can come to this theatre, but you sit upstairs. You can come to this restaurant, but you sit over there!” It’s like we’re dirty or we’re … I don’t know. We just didn’t fit in.