Anishinaabe Doodem Pictographs: Narrative Inscriptions and Identities

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Anishinaabe Doodem Pictographs: Narrative Inscriptions and Identities

Cory Willmott

Introduction

A shaft of winter sunlight dazzled the snow-filled yard and cut through the double-glass doors, marking a path across the middle of the table, where it splashed diffused light onto the piles of coloured seed beads. On this industri- ous Sunday afternoon in January 1999, Diana Whiteduck and I were creating beaded eyeglass cases with animal motifs to be sold at the Toronto First Na- tions Day festival held annually in June. I designed the motifs for a beadwork class that I co-taught at the Native Women’s Resource Center in Toronto with Debbie MacDonald, a beadworker of Cree descent who grew up in Toronto. Diana, an Algonkin whose family roots in Ontario spread from Golden Lake through Mattawa to North Bay, was an especially accomplished beadworker who was well known for high-quality items such as moccasins and pipe bags. As Diana added row upon row of brown beads to fill in a bear paw motif, the conversation turned to her doodem,1 the Bear. Since the meaning of “doodem” is in large part what this chapter addresses, it is difficult to provide a concise definition at the outset. In the Anishinaabe language, it never appears without a possessive pronoun; however, rendered in English the convention is to use the singular “doodem” and the plural “doodemag” forms. Baraga (1878, 96, 314) describes it as “My Indian family mark.” Nichols and Nyholm (1995, 104) equate it with a “clan.” Bohaker’s (2013, 9) account is more akin to the nuanced definition developed in this chapter: “Doodemag are a type of kinship expressed through relationship with specific other-than-human entities of the Great Lakes region.”

long-brown.indd 130 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Diana Whiteduck (2000) explained that she first became aware of her doodem in the early 1980s when she had resigned herself to living a Euro- American way of life. At that time she experienced disturbing dreams in which fierce animals would chase and harass her. As she escaped their at- tacks, an animal would appear and tell her, “You have to come back to who you are.” Since she began following this advice, those frightening dreams have been replaced by ones in which she receives guidance from ancestral, animal, and other spirits. “To me,” she says, “the doodem and the guardian spirit are one and the same. To me, that’s the ancestors. These ancestors guide me in dreams.” She says that her doodem “has always been there,” guiding her to know “what’s right for me regardless of the teachings that I hear.” As well, her doodem protects her from harm. When she first came to the city, she was not accustomed to crossing streets. Her doodem stopped her from crossing if a car was coming. However, she did not know the particular identity of her doodem until a series of dreams, events, and an elder’s interpretations made it clear. In Diana’s experience, her doodem serves the dual purpose of spiritual guidance and social identity. The association of ancestors with doodemag is in keeping with their social function of distinguishing lineage groups. The merging of spiritual and social functions is made possible by the fact that ancestral spirits appear in dreams to offer spiritual guidance. Given this cultural logic, however, I was puzzled to learn later that Diana’s brother has a different doodem, which an elder conferred upon him at a naming ceremony. I partici- pated in several Anishinaabe2 naming ceremonies and also studied the ethno- graphic literature on them. When the puberty vision quest was mandatory for all males, and in some regions for females too, namers with visionary powers conferred sacred names that functioned as temporary powers that stood in for those one would later receive from guardian spirits during one’s puberty fast. At that time, sacred names from naming ceremonies and from vision quests were kept secret. They established a reciprocal bond between the giver and receiver of spiritual power (Silverstein 1992, 102–4). As acquired powers, both sacred names and guardian spirits were the exact opposite of doodemag, which were statuses ascribed at birth and publicly proclaimed. How could this apparent contradiction be reconciled? When I had this conversation with Diana Whiteduck, I had been immersed in the Toronto First Nations community for about seven years. I was well known as a beadworker and partner to Anishinaabe storyteller Alex (Zeek) Cywink and was lesser known as a student of anthropology. The community consisted of an urban core of Anishinaabeg (mainly Ojibwe, Odawa, Pota- watomi, and Algonkin), Crees (mainly from James Bay), and Haudenosaunee

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long-brown.indd 131 2015-09-04 1:19 PM (mainly from Six Nations and Oneida reserves). The majority of community members were from families stemming from Ontario First Nations reserves. A sizable portion, however, were from families that were enfranchised or never registered and that were therefore not recognized as “Indian” as defined in the Canadian Indian Act (Hawley 1984, 12–15).3 The urban community ebbed and flowed as its members travelled frequently between Toronto and Ontario reserve communities, as well as to more distant Canadian and Amer- ican First Nations territories. As Zeek Cywink’s partner, I too travelled these routes. As a doctoral student at McMaster University, I was also privileged to travel, with Zeek, much farther afield throughout Chippewa and Odawa communities in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota during the summers of 1997 and 1998. These personal experiences in both urban and reserve Anishinaabe communities in the United States and Canada left me with a deep impression of the importance of local and regional historical approaches. When I first met Dick Preston in 1995, I had just completed a master’s thesis based on four years of “radical participation” among Toronto First Nations beadworkers (Silverstein 1995; Turner 2003, 146–7). My thesis emphasized the intimate connection between artistic creation and narrative processes. It employed Preston’s (1975, 14–15, 30) methodology by taking an inductive approach to Anishinaabe narratives that involved participation in the “value- tones or experience qualities of the basic categories and notions.” I was thor- oughly immersed in both beadworking practices and spiritual beliefs. As I became more and more interested in the ways that Anishinaabe narratives interwove with artistic traditions (Silverstein 1995) and real life histories (Silverstein 1998, 363), Anishinaabe doodemag became a primary focus of my attention as the most “basic category” or “core” of Anishinaabe identity (Silverstein 2000a, 2000b). This chapter is a synthesis and elaboration of a chapter in my dissertation (Silverstein 2000a, 78–107) and two unpublished works on Anishinaabe doodem emblems that I wrote largely under the mentorship of Dick Preston (Silverstein 2000b; Willmott 2003). In 1998 I urged scholars to “allow the images embedded in Native narratives to ‘dialogue’ with their lives to at least the same extent as they do the concep- tual models of the academy” (Silverstein 1998, 363). In order to do this, one must shift orientation from English-language categories of narratives to the Anishinaabe categories of aadizookaan and dibaajimowin.4 When narratives are told in the Anishinaabe language, there are linguistic markers that distinguish aadizookaanag from dibaajimowinan (Spielmann 1998, 186–8). How- ever, I have relied mainly on English-language translations, partly because I have only introductory-level knowledge of the Anishinaabe language and partly because many of the earliest collections of narratives were published

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long-brown.indd 132 2015-09-04 1:19 PM in English only. Without such linguistic cues, I distinguish between these two types of stories by (1) distance in time, (2) the key characters, and (3) the context of telling.5 Aadizookaanag refer to events that took place in the distant past, and they usually involve powerful beings whose identities are known to all Anishinaabeg. There is a taboo against telling aadizookaanag during the summer. Often men and women who were renowned for their storytelling prowess told these stories, but everyone learned them, and each household had its own storyteller. Dibaajimowinan are about events that took place within memory of the storyteller or of successive tellers of the story. They involve individuals widely known for their historical significance or locally known for their current presence in the community. Dibaajimowin stories of some historic depth may be told in similar contexts to those of aadizookaan stories but without restrictions on time of year. Indeed, stories about historic individuals who were renowned for their spiritual powers would eventually transform from dibaajimowin into aadizookaanag (Silverstein and Cywink 2000, 41). More commonly, however, dibaajimowin stories are told in everyday contexts, especially at the moment of meeting. While on visiting rounds in Ontario reserve communities during the 1990s, I found that my compe- tence in telling dibaajimowin stories upon arrival was the crucial factor in whether or not people would continue normal social interaction or alter it to accommodate an “outsider.”6 This chapter is concerned with both aadizookaan and dibaajimowin stories of doodemag in individual life histories in order to gain insight into the spiritual agency of doodemag in Anishinaabe identities. In many ways, Bohaker’s (2006, 2010, 2013) works on Anishinaabe doodemag made it possible to com- plete my own work. In The Politics of Treaty Pictographs (2013, 34–75), she provides an interesting analysis of doodemag origin stories (i.e., aadizookaanag). She also gives invaluable detailed description and analysis of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century documentary evidence that was out of my reach due to my limited skill in the French language. In contrast, the present chapter provides a more nuanced analysis of more recent time periods divided roughly into the nineteenth century, the early twentieth century, and the late twentieth century. As well, Bohaker deals primarily with doodem signatures on treaty documents, whereas the present work focuses on narrative doodem inscriptions and doodem emblems on personal possessions. In so doing, it illuminates the relationships among identity, spirituality, and social structure that have enabled doodemag to maintain their vitality in the changing historical circumstances of the Anishinaabeg. During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, three transformational trends may be identified with regard to doodemag. First, there is an increasing tendency to downplay the social

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long-brown.indd 133 2015-09-04 1:19 PM functions of doodemag and to instead emphasize their spiritual powers. Second, a corollary to this trend is a shift from doodem and kinship terms of address to personal names as means of identification. Third, changes in residence patterns and group composition have facilitated a shift in the means of identification from doodemag to places of origin, particularly the names of communities. This last trend is a large enough topic for a separate paper and cannot be adequately dealt with here.7 As an abstract concept that simply underlies social structure, it is difficult to see how doodemag could have “agency.” As “persons” in a network of social relations, however, doodemag fit perfectly into both Anishinaabe worldviews and Alfred Gell’s (1998, 7, 16–17) theory of agency, in which “things” are an- alogous to “persons” when humans attribute intentional causation to them and/or when “objects mediate social agency.” In these senses, the agency of doodemag can be conceived of as latent (i.e., “the grounds, limits, and situ- ated possibilities for action”) or as active (i.e., “effective action”) (Patterson 2006, 211). I argue that this distinction corresponds to the types of agency associated with doodemag and guardian spirits. Whereas Anishinaabeg and scholars alike have consistently classed guardian spirits as “persons,” which implies the possession and use of active agency, there has never been a consensus within either group on the classification of doodemag. At least since 1791, when fur trader John Long (1791, 86–7) coined the word “totem” in reference to guardian spirits, confusion between the two concepts has persisted. A few decades later, Schoolcraft (1855, 74) said the doodem was the “tutelary spirit of the tribe.” He may have derived this idea from an aadizookaan he collected in which a man took the Crane for his doodem after a “grandfather” crane saved his children from the severed head of their dead mother, which had been chasing them (Schoolcraft 1856, 209–11). In 1912 Paul Radin (c. 1913, 13–14) found conflicting views of the relationship between doodem and guardian spirits among informants at Sarnia, Ontario. In 1929 at Parry Island, Ontario, Diamond Jenness (1935, 9) recorded an aadizookaan in which the first doodemag were guardian spirits. These doodem origin stories vary slightly from other aadizookaanag in which humans are said to descend from their doodemag.8 If we grant, however, that the doodem is ascribed at birth and confers group membership, then it follows that it is fundamentally different from the exclusive, in fact secret, relationship individuals acquire from guardian spirits through naming ceremonies and vision quests. I agree with Claude Levi-Strauss (1962, 18–23) and Schenck (1997, 57–60) that, during the early fur trade era, doodemag functioned as a principle of social organization, whereas guardian spirits had different functions.9 It is an oversimplification, however, to say that during this period there was no commonality between doodemag

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long-brown.indd 134 2015-09-04 1:19 PM and guardian spirits.10 To rectify this deficiency, we need a close analysis of the spiritual agency of doodemag. I suggest that prior to contact and during the early fur trade period, doodemag possessed latent spiritual agency associated with ascribed social status and dibaajimowin narratives. During subsequent periods, however, this latent potential transformed increasingly into active agency associated with achieved social status and aadizookaan narratives.

Doodemag and Guardian Spirits

To understand the differences and similarities between doodem and guardian spirit agency in life histories, we must first explore Anishinaabe classification systems through linguistic evidence. Anishinaabeg generally draw no dis- tinct line between the secular and the sacred. In particular, the Anishinaabe category of “person” encompasses humans and other-than-humans, including certain inanimate objects, animals, and spiritual beings (Hallowell 1960, 359–60, 363, 369). There is no term in the Anishinaabe language that precisely matches “guardian spirit.” Manidoo (plural -g) means “spirit.” When spirits appear in aadizookaanag, however, they may be referred to as aadizookaanag. When they appear in dreams, they are likely to be called bawaaganag (“dream visitors”). Hallowell (1942, 7) refers to guardian spirits as bawaaganag for this reason. Schoolcraft (1855, 426), however, discusses a man’s “tutelary spirit,” whom he calls “his manito.” Basil Johnston (2007, 18–19), an Anishinaabe linguist and storyteller, uses the term pawaudjigaewin for “dream quest,” the context in which one would receive a guardian spirit, and pawauwaewin for “revelation; an awakening; a vision by which a person gains an understanding of matters not previously known.” Manidoog are not the only type of spirits to appear as bawaaganag. En- tities classed as “persons” can be spirit “persons” whose essential nature is immaterial, even though they may sometimes take on corporeal form. Hu- mans or animals, which are inherently corporeal, can also sometimes behave like bawaaganag manidoog by appearing in dreams. In all cases, a defining characteristic of Anishinaabe personhood is metamorphosis – that is, the ability to change form at will (Hallowell 1960, 373). Metamorphosis among “persons” who are not innately incorporeal is made possible by the existence of two souls. The “ego soul” (injichaag) gives life to the body, whereas the “shadow soul” (jiibay) is detachable and can appear in dreams and visions (Schoolcraft 1855, 79). Likewise, the “shadow souls” of animals and spirits are able to appear in any form (Jenness 1935, 20). The jiibay category of person is where the guardian spirit and doodem overlap. The root word form means “shadow soul,” as well as “ghost” and “specter” (Baraga 1878, 114; Nichols and Nyholm 1995, 73, 186). Derivative

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long-brown.indd 135 2015-09-04 1:19 PM forms mean “the Milky Way, or dead people’s road” (chebiecekun) (Boyd c. 1830s), “graveyard,” “grave marker,” “Northern Lights” (Nichols and Nyholm 1995, 73), “corpse,” “dead person’s bone,” “coffin,” “the Day of the Dead, All Souls Day” (Baraga 1878, 381), “the Land of the Dead,” “the Feast of the Dead,” “an enclosure constructed over a grave,” “a grave yard,” “the Path of Souls,” and “Cheebyauboozoo” (also “Chibiabos” or “Chebiabose” and brother of “Nana’b’oozoo”) (Johnston 2007, 16, 18). After the Lower World beings killed him, Chebiabose became the keeper of the Land of the Dead and the leader of the ancestral dead (jiibayag). He gave the Anishinaabeg the drum, vision quests, songs, communication with spirits, and sacred rituals (Johnston 2007, 16; Schoolcraft 1851, 317–18; Schoolcraft 1969b, 149). Although there are many local usage variations, among these terms one can see a close association both with proximity to the dead person’s body and with the locations of the dead person’s soul after death. Jenness (1935, 107) says the “soul” (injichaag) travels to the Land of the Dead, whereas the “shadow” (jiibay) stays with the bones. In linguistic practice, however, jiibayag may linger at the gravesite, travel the Path of Souls, reside in the Land of the Dead, and return to visit the living. Following Darlene Johnson, Bohaker (2013, 83–9) argues that an Anishi naabe person’s “shadow soul” is shared with his or her doodem. Crucial to this argument is the notion promoted by Anishinaabe historian William Warren (2009, 23) and others that Anishinaabeg share physical and behavioural traits with their doodemag.11 Similarly, the social function of the doodemag may be seen as sacred in the same light as all relationships that entail reciprocal obli- gations (Hallowell 1960, 384–5). This principle applies to all terminological “grandfathers,” including old men generally, guardian spirits, and doodemag. The spiritual power of reciprocal relationships gives doodemag an agency that parallels that of guardian spirits in their real consequences on human social life and personal life histories. Shadow souls of doodemic ancestors can appear as bawaaganag to intercede in the affairs of their descendants. It is this spiritual agency that has caused both ambiguity among Anishinaabeg and confusion among scholars. Despite this overlap in the categories of doodemag and guardian spirits, there remain significant differences that merit exploration. First and foremost, up until the twentieth century, the doodem conferred an ascribed status that was given at birth through the patriline, whereas guardian spirits were acquired through a naming ceremony and/or a vision quest that resulted in an achieved status. One’s doodem was typically singular and dictated by birth, whereas individuals had freedom to both reject undesirable guardian spirits and accept multiple guardian spirits (see Dens- more 1929, 84–5; Hallowell 1966, 467–8; Kohl 1860, 236–7; Radin 1936, 244;

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long-brown.indd 136 2015-09-04 1:19 PM and Schoolcraft 1851, 390–7). The practical consequences of these differences can be seen only after exploring the social and political functions of the doodemag, as well as the pictographic traditions associated with them. Anishin- aabe doodemag did not change throughout life no matter what other status individuals acquired. Women did not change their doodem upon marriage. Patrilineal descent formed the basis for doodemag with far-reaching political and economic functions, as well as for individual identities within doodemag. Lateral alliance through marriage formed the foundation of both a formid- able political confederacy and the intimate environment of familial relations (Silverstein 2000a, 85). From the precontact period to as late as the early twentieth century in some regions, doodemag were exogamous. Members of the same doodem were not eligible marriage partners, but terminological cross-cousins were ideal or at least acceptable marriage partners. Hallowell (1937, 106–7) suggests that conversion to Christianity was responsible for the decline of the latter practice. Although there is no certain proof, the existence of doodemag territories suggests that patrilocality was the norm in the seventeenth century. Kinietz (1965, 326) infers patrilocality from La Potherie’s description of a late- seventeenth-century treaty between the Sioux and Ojibwa in which each gained access to the other’s territories through marriage exchanges. Evidence from as early as the seventeenth century, however, shows that temporary matrilocal residence was common (Nicholas Perrot, in Blair 1911, 1, 69–70; Peter Grant, in Masson 1889, 320). Later accounts suggest that bride service often became a more permanent arrangement (Hickerson 1962, 40, 51; Roark-Calnek 1996, 167). Throughout the fur trade era and into the early twentieth century, polygyny was a desirable type of marriage as a form of male status display and a means to increase the reproductive output of domestic groups (Landes 1937, 69; Roark-Calnek 1996, 162). Sororal polygyny was favoured but often among terminological rather than biological “sisters” (Hallowell 1992, 57). Levirate and sororate marriages were common through the nineteenth century and continued in some remote regions of northern Canada into the twentieth century (Hallowell 1937, 104–5; Landes 1937, 63). These various marriage practices created households that could be easily identified by the multiple doodemag that composed them. For this reason, up until about the mid-nineteenth century, the impermeability of ascribed doodem identity was necessary to the performance of its social and political functions. In particular, the use of doodemic emblems to identify individuals in a system of Anishinaabe pictorial inscription enabled enhanced communications across distances of time and space. There were essentially three contexts in which doodem emblems functioned to narrate personal and

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long-brown.indd 137 2015-09-04 1:19 PM group identities: (1) descent narratives, (2) dibaajimowin narratives, and (3) aadizookaan narratives. With regard to the first, a single doodem emblem typically embodied a story about the individual’s lineage. The most well-known examples of this are the chiefs’ “signatures” or “marks” on treaties (Bohaker 2013). This chapter, however, is concerned with doodem emblems on personal clothing, regalia, religious paraphernalia, and an array of emergent forms in the late twentieth century. Unlike visual descent narratives, visual dibaajimowin and aadizookaan narratives are typically compositions consisting of multiple figures, only some or none of which may be doodemag emblems. I shall discuss each of these in turn, beginning with descent narratives.

Doodemic Emblems as Descent Narratives

Henry Schoolcraft (1851, 338) noted that chiefs and warriors drew pictures of their doodemag on personal property such as their weapons, lodges, canoes, and war “trophies.” Because clothing is so intimately associated with identity, and Anishinaabe identity is largely determined by group affiliation, it is not surprising that Anishinaabeg also depicted their doodemag on their garments. During the mid-nineteenth century, Johann Kohl (1860, 144) noted that the Ojibwa had “picture-writing on their clothes, the leather side of their buffalo robes, or the blankets in which they wrap themselves.” In contrast to the buffalo robes, which had pictorial narratives painted on them, “the blankets [were] usually only decorated with their totems, or special personal signs.” Kohl notes that the figure of a bear or a bird, for example, may be sewn with blue thread in the selvedge of the blanket. In view of the confusion between doodemag and guardian spirits, it is difficult to know which of these were on the blankets observed by Kohl. It is certain, however, that at least some Anishinaabeg wore doodem emblems on their clothing. In 1849 Cornelius Krieghoff painted a portrait of Nebenagoching of Sault Ste Marie in which he wears a white hide shirt bearing a Crane doodem painted in red vermillion or ochre to denote his hereditary chieftainship (figure 5.1).12 The accuracy of Nebenagoching’s regalia in this painting is cor- roborated by two additional contemporaneous representations of him at the same time and place (Chute 1998).13 He wore this regalia in 1849 when, in the context of a dispute over mining rights on Anishinaabe land, he and Shin- gwauk of Garden River near Sault Ste Marie visited Montreal to discuss the issue with the governor of Upper Canada (Harper 1979, 54). As Bohaker (2013, 269) has insightfully observed, Anishinaabeg of the Crane doodem employed crane body language in their inscriptions to convey finely tuned political mes-

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long-brown.indd 138 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.1 Aboriginal Chief, Chippewa, the Eclipse, or Wabumagoging, 1849, by Cornelius Krieghoff. The portrait actually depicts Nebenagoching, chief of the Crane at Garden River, near Sault Ste Marie, Ontario

long-brown.indd 139 2015-09-04 1:19 PM sages. In this case, Nebenagoching’s message is unambiguous. The crane is depicted in the “defense posture” with neck extended, wings raised, and feet planted firmly on the ground.14 Just like actual cranes, this signals his intent to defend his territory. Other elements of his regalia provide further details of his visual narrative. During this period, the Anishinaabe style of dress was composed largely of fur trade goods. Nebenagoching’s white painted hide shirt and birch bark belt accessories can therefore be read in the context of revitalization movements that denounced the European trade goods (Silverstein 2000a, 227). He is wearing a large heart-shaped medal that bears the British coat of arms (Hamilton 1995, 148–9). Interpreted as a mere trade ornament, this may seem contradictory; however, in colonial eyes, it was a diplomatic medal that gave weight to his claim to chiefly authority. More im- portantly, among Anishinaabeg, it is a symbol of sovereignty that confirms the nation-to-nation relationship and frames the encounter in the history of diplomatic relationships and promises (A. Corbiere 2010, 12). The feathers on his headdress tell another interesting part of the story. Ostrich feathers were among the items that fur traders included in the “chief’s outfits” that they gave to successful and loyal hunting chiefs (Willmott and Brownlee 2010, 68). Alan Corbiere (2012a, 42–3) found that eagle feathers lowered to either side of the head symbolized peace, whereas those standing straight up signified war. Nebenagoching has one “peace” feather falling on the side of his doodem,15 and three “war” feathers astride an illegible pictographic inscription. The upright feathers suggest that Nebenagoching’s mission was not a peaceful one. This is confirmed in Janet Chute’s (1998, 108–24) detailed account of the firm position of the Anishinaabe leaders in the fight to retain their land and min- eral rights in the years leading up to the Robinson-Huron Treaty of 1850. During the nineteenth century, intermarriage with non-Anishinaabeg and conversion to Christianity put strains on the doodem system that caused adaptive innovations in its practice and functions. The father of Shingwauk, who accompanied Nebenagoching in Montreal, was either French or Scottish (Conway and Conway 1990, 69; Kohl 1860, 374). His mother was a member of the Crane lineage that held hereditary leadership at Sault Ste Marie, and his treaty signature appears to be a Crane doodem (Bohaker 2013, 460). How- ever, he married a Crane of the same lineage, and his descendants say that his doodem was a Plover, which he acquired in a vision quest (Chute 1998, 10). Perhaps due to his questionable descent narrative, Shingwauk based his leadership claims upon his personal spiritual and military accomplish- ments. Shortly after his death, his son told Kohl (1860, 376) that he had a vision when he was a youth in which the Sun appeared to him dressed “from head to foot in white garments.” At Montreal in 1849, he wore a white hide

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long-brown.indd 140 2015-09-04 1:19 PM shirt with a painted sun motif that clearly embodied the power that the Sun spirit bestowed upon him in his vision. In the late nineteenth century, one of his sons posed for a photograph holding a war club with a bird track motif that could have been that of either a crane or plover, both of which leave a track with three toes (Chute 1998). In Shingwauk’s case, we see a shift toward the rising power of achieved leadership roles, which his sons could never- theless appropriate back into leadership claims that were based on ascribed doodem descent. By the early twentieth century, the practice of wearing doodem emblems on clothing had declined in some regions. During the 1930s, Parry Island Ojibwa told Jenness (1935, 8) that formerly Anishinaabeg had represented doodem animals or birds on their clothing and had painted their faces in designs rep- resentative of the doodemag for special occasions. It is possible this decline in doodem emblems is indicative of the disruption of the doodem social system itself. Around the same time, Ruth Landes (1937, 32) found that in Emo, On- tario, there was wide diversity in beliefs about doodemag, the only point of consensus being that it was “from the old days.” Seeing no group cohesion beyond the family, she characterized the Ojibwa as “atomistic.” Subsequently, ethnohistorians argued against this highly damaging characterization by showing that “atomism” was an artifact of colonization (Lovisek, Holzkamm, and Waisberg 1997; Rogers 1967). Doodem emblems on clothing and regalia are currently experiencing a dramatic revival of popularity in concert with the growth of the self-determination political movement. This development can be traced in the experience of Anishinaabe artist Anny Hubbard of Sault Ste Marie, who possesses extraordinary skill in the art of making birch bark cutouts (figure 5.2).16 The cutouts are an art form on their own, but Hubbard also uses them as patterns for ribbonwork on pow-wow regalia. She has employed a Bear doodem motif on her own regalia. Hubbard (1999) explains that the demand for doodemic animal motifs has increased in direct proportion to the increase in spiritual and political awareness. Her grandmother, who taught her the art, occasion- ally put small rabbits on Sunday-best dresses, but there were no animal designs on regalia during the early years of the pow-wow movement. At Sault Ste Marie, she notes, the American Indian Movement initiated pow-wow dan- cing during the 1970s: “At first I can remember shirts with just ribbons. Maybe two colors, you know, you just did what you could … [But now] more and more people know what clan they are, and as they know what clan they are, they’re more comfortable putting animals on their outfits. People would be hesitant to put a bear on their outfit if they didn’t know what clan they were. So as people have grown spiritually, it’s influenced what their outfits look like.”

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long-brown.indd 141 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.2 Birch bark cutout of bears, 1998, by Anny Hubbard

A magnificent dance fan by Ruth Shawanda of Wikwemikong, Ontario, provides another example of this trend. In the catalogue for the exhibit From Our Hands (Aarons et al. 1982, 30), which features this dance fan on its cover, Shawanda explains that the fan’s bear motif “is significant of the clans,” the “medicine man,” and “protection against evil.” She notes that the “Bear Clan’s” example of finding herbs for healing in seclusion is “very much a relevant message to the Indian people. Through a renewal of their arts, craft and culture their hands will ‘heal’ their spiritual illnesses.” The fan’s black and white colours represent the “Milky way – the path travelled by souls to reach the other world. The yellow and green diamond shapes represent bear tracks.” Shawanda’s explanation of this colour symbolism accords with my experience as a beadwork instructor in the Toronto Native community. Doodemag are often associated with particular colours that people use on their regalia and other ceremonial items. Debbie MacDonald (1995) dreamed colours for a necklace she was making for an Anishinaabe elder. When she gave it to the elder, she learned that they were her doodem colours. Jingle dress designer Marie Eshkibok-Trudeau of Manitoulin Island says that when she makes a dress for someone, she chooses the colours according to the person’s “Nation,

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long-brown.indd 142 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Indian name and Clan.” She adds, “but the person has to know what their clan is or what their Indian name is for me to do this” (in Ireland-Noganosh 1995, 62). As I shall later discuss, it is significant that she distinguishes between the doodem and sacred name colours. By the late 1990s, there was a concerted effort to revive doodem identities as a means of asserting sovereignty. In a pamphlet published by the Woodland Printers and Native Art Gallery, for example, Peter Kokoko (2000, 4–5) addresses an Anishinaabe audience:

Where at one time, [the sacred] fire almost died and even the ashes appeared cold, however, some embers remained unnoticed under the ashes. Once again the flames of this fire will rise and draw the Anishnabe[g] to come and share the warmth and to remember Anishnabe culture and heritage. The language will return as will the teachings that have been dormant. Its [sic] time to gather firewood … Our political organizations are faced with the tasks of making major decisions. Ideals of self government, self determination[,] are at an infancy stage. Focus groups are established to gather information. Some elders have mentioned the Clan System and have suggested perhaps it is time to revisit these ancient teachings.

Kokoko presents doodemag as a clan-based social system whose spiritual power derives from renewed pride in cultural heritage and the sense of be- longing acquired through deeper knowledge of one’s family history (10–11). He advises his readers to inquire into family oral history in order to learn to which doodem they belong. Interestingly, although he acknowledges many elders for sharing their teachings, Kokoko also quotes William Warren’s (2009) account of doodemag at length. Both Kokoko’s citation of a nineteenth- century Anishinaabe author and his own pamphlet illustrate the important role of the printing industry in the revival movement.

Doodem Emblems and Dibaajimowin Narratives

The most powerful evidence against the “atomism” theory is the way doodem emblems were employed to tell dibaajimowin narratives. In some regions, and at least until the early twentieth century, Anishinaabeg employed doodem emblems to designate individuals and groups on birch bark messages, for personal letters and stories, and in the historic records of communities. “Travel- lers’ messages” were attached to sticks that were placed at strategic locations along paths where their recipients were likely to find them (Silverstein 2000b).

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long-brown.indd 143 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Travellers might encounter birch bark messages that conveyed information about the circumstances of groups or individuals. To read these messages, the recipients had to be familiar with both the system of visual symbols and the social composition of the community. John Tanner (1830, 175) describes how he read such a message:

I found the mark of a rattlesnake with a knife, the handle touching the snake, and the point sticking into a bear, the head of the latter being down. Near the rattle snake was the mark of a beaver, one of its dugs, it being a female, touching the snake. This was left for my information, and I learned from it, that Wa-me-gon-a-biew, whose totem was She-she-gwah, the rattlesnake, had killed a man whose totem was Muk-kwah, the bear. The murderer could be no other than Wa-me-gon-a-biew, as it was specified that he was the son of a woman whose totem was the beaver, and this I knew could be no other than Netnokwa. As there were but few of the bear totem in our band, I was confident the man killed was a young man called Ke-zha-zhoons; that he was dead and not wounded, was indicated by the drooping down of the head of the bear.

Nawajibigokwe, an elderly Anishinaabe woman at White Earth, Minne- sota, made pictographic inscriptions that included “travellers’ messages” as well as “maps” and “narratives” (Densmore 1929, 179–83). In the latter category, Nawajibigokwe produced an example of a pictographic inscription of an episode in the life of her father’s grandmother, Wiigobiins (“Little Bass- wood Fiber”). The inscription takes the form of a map; yet the accompanying narrative tells a long and detailed story of Wiigobiins’s escape from a small- pox epidemic that began in the village of Wackokagon. She travelled through many other villages. In one, she encountered a medicine man who healed many people by transforming into a Water Serpent. At another location, she buried her sister and recovered her mother’s cache of maple sugar. The narrative ends with her happy marriage and many offspring. Clearly, this inscription is mnemonic rather than purely representational. Nawajibigokwe’s inscriptions show that, in some regions, literacy in narrative pictographs continued into the reservation era. Before her death in 1923, she also gave Densmore (1929, 177, figure 16; 178, figure 19) several examples of travellers’ messages. One of them shows two nuclear families travelling in two canoes. The front canoe contains a father and his three children of the Bear doodem followed by his wife of the Catfish (maanameg) doodem. In the second canoe are a father and his two children of the Eagle doodem followed

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long-brown.indd 144 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.3 travellers’ message, c. 1913–23, by Nawajibigokwe

by his wife of the Bear doodem. This group likely represents a food-gathering expedition of an extended family consisting of a brother and sister with her husband and their children. They are probably living with the siblings’ par- ents, of whom the father would be of the Bear doodem. In the case of the brother-in-law, the inscription depicts an instance of matrilocal residence that has extended beyond the typical temporary period before the birth of the first child. Nawajibigokwe also provided a more complex pictorial narrative that tells the story of a group of Anishinaabeg of five different doodemag who camped at a certain location for two days where they were well supplied with food (figure 5.3). When they saw a group of Sioux warriors up a nearby stream, they departed by an alternate route. They placed the pictograph inscription at the site as a warning to other Anishinaabeg travelling along the same route. Anishinaabeg used these same pictorial conventions on other forms of inscription besides travellers’ messages. Hoffman (1888, 377, 380) gives an example of a “love letter” drawn by a woman of the Bear doodem in which she requests her lover of the Mud Puppy doodem to visit her where she is camping with two friends. He also published a birch bark record that was made to “commemorate a treaty of peace between the Ojibwa and the As- siniboine Indians.” Both chiefs are depicted in abstracted human form due to the intertribal context of the inscription. Similarly, in 1920 Anishinaabe par- ticipants in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s (HBC) 250th anniversary presented HBC officials with two pipes and two belts in a ceremony that was a blend of celebratory pageant and diplomatic negotiation (figure 5.4). Both pipe stems

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long-brown.indd 145 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.4 Hudson’s Bay Company diplomatic belt and pipe, 1920

and one of the belts depict doodemag emblems, including Bear, Deer, Moose, Beaver, Otter, and Pelican, as well as unidentifiable fish and birds. They also portray two men, one with a feather and one wearing a hat, who are joined by held hands or by a single line. The remaining belt has the latter symbol of peaceful alliance, with triangular human forms that represent the Anishi naabeg. In 2003 the text of a Manitoba Museum exhibit interpreted these objects as “symbols of the spiritual meaning [the Anishinaabeg] accorded their historical trading partnerships.”17 Both pipes and belts, however, are political symbols associated with chiefly regalia (Willmott 2012, 78–9). Given the context in which HBC officials distributed medals to the assembled chiefs, there can be no doubt that these animal motifs are not guardian spirits but the doodemag of the chiefs they represented. Charles Bishop (1969, 4, 9) notes that nineteenth-century HBC factors recorded their northern Anishinaabe trading partners in terms of bilateral co-residential groups named after the doodem of the leaders, including Deer, Moose, Sucker, Sturgeon, Loon, Peli- can, Crane, and Kingfisher.

Doodem Emblems and Aadizookaan Narratives

I have been unable to find any examples of contemporary travellers’ messages. I believe this is due both to changes in the mobility patterns of Anishinaa- beg during and after the reservation era as well as to changes in communication technology that make the need for these messages obsolete. On the one hand, messages concerning the movements of individuals and groups were less critical to survival. On the other hand, by the late nineteenth century, the

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long-brown.indd 146 2015-09-04 1:19 PM clarity of doodemic relational identities was compromised to the extent that complex pictorial messages were no longer coherent. These circumstances led to the discontinuation of dibaajimowin inscriptions. In contrast, pictographic inscriptions of sacred motifs have continued to abound or have been revived. Sacred forms of pictographic inscription include song and ritual scrolls as well as rock art. Beginning in the nineteenth century, scholars found these aadizookaan forms of pictographic inscription more significant than the dibaajimowin genres.18 Their fascination with the aadizookaan inscriptions continued into the late nineteenth century (Hoff- man 1891) and proliferated in the late twentieth century (Conway and Conway 1990; Dewdney 1970, 1975; Dewdney and Kidd 1967; Rajnovich 1994; Vasto- kas and Vastokas 1973). Controversies surround these studies due to the fact that the esoteric song and ritual inscriptions on birch bark were kept secret in Anishinaabe spiritual traditions and because contemporary Anishinaabeg discourage public display of the aadizookaan inscriptions that are now in museum collections.19 The popularity of aadizookaan imagery, however, has grown exponentially since the 1960s.20 The Anishinaabe painter Norval Morrisseau is significant in the revitalization of Anishinaabe aadizookaan traditions in two ways. First, he promoted the disclosure of formerly secret sacred names, and second, he publicized secret sacred imagery. With regard to the first, Morrisseau (1965, 1) proclaimed in the opening sentence of his book of Anishinaabe legends, “I am Norval Morrisseau and my Indian name is Copper Thunderbird.” He was raised by his maternal grandfather, an Assiniboine who was adopted by the Ojibwa. Thereby, the Plains Grizzly Bear doodem was introduced into the Lake Nipigon Ojibwa community. Morrisseau, however, had the doodem of his father, from whom he was estranged. He received his sacred name from a medicine man who cured him of an illness (Penney 2013, 16). We should view Morrisseau’s bold proclamation of his “Indian name” in the dual contexts of traditional Anishinaabe naming customs and a colonial assault on names. Commenting on Jackson Beardy’s name, art historian Kenneth James Hughes (1979, 4) remarks that the “wholesale surrender of Cree names probably resulted from the concerted actions of missionaries of many religious denominations.” To “stamp out” the “detestable heathen nature-religion,” they “attacked the traditional aboriginal system of naming.” The adoption of Chris- tian names was accompanied by baptism and conversion, thereby undermin- ing traditional society. Morrisseau considered himself a Christian, and his struggles to reconcile this orientation with his traditional beliefs exemplify those of many Anishinaabeg of this early revitalization period, which extended from the 1960s through the 1980s.

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long-brown.indd 147 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Morrisseau’s transgression of Ojibwa name customs has seldom been re- marked upon; however, his use of sacred imagery from Midewiwin scrolls in the painting style he created has attracted a lot of attention both within Anishinaabe communities and among art historians (McLuhan 1988, 35; Penney 2013, 15). Although Morrisseau was criticized at the time for painting sacred symbols, now dozens of Anishinaabe painters work in this style, which has since been called the Woodlands School. Moreover, mass distribution through print media has made the sacred imagery ubiquitous in Anishinaabe commercial arts such as posters, t-shirts, and coffee mugs. Another Anishin- aabe painter, Daphne Odjig, was influential both in teaching a younger gen- eration the Woodland School and in popularizing it within the mainstream art world through limited-edition prints (Hill 1984, 24). On the north shore of Lake Huron, the Woodland Printers and Native Art Gallery at Serpent River First Nation was influential in promoting the Woodlands School from the early years of revitalization. One of the owners, Jeremiah Day Duncan (2001), told me that during the 1970s they produced calendars featuring local artist Leland Bell that helped bring him and the Woodlands School national rec- ognition. At the same time, his father founded the first commercial printing company in the region. Today, their print shop provides a full range of printing services from business cards to Woodlands art t-shirts. They support local Woodlands School artists by purchasing their work not only for their gallery but also for printed graphics of Anishinaabe service organizations and cultural events. Across the border in Michigan, the Ziibiwing Cultural Society has been influential in promoting the revival of Anishinaabe arts. Its logo of the Saginaw Swan Creek Black River Band of Chippewa, designed by Steve Pego, incor- porates his own Fish doodem and the Turtle doodem (figure 5.5). Both are the “philosophers of our tribe,” says Pego, and the Turtle is also “round like Mother Earth.” Additional symbols include a swan for the nearby Swan Creek and a darkened river for Black River, a coming together of waters that serves as a meeting place (Pego, in MacDowell and Benz 1999, 56). This exemplifies how the doodemag emblems have become incorporated into a more general aesthetic lexicon derived from aadizookaan inscriptions. Moreover, such mobile everyday objects, especially event t-shirts, are incorporated into biographical narratives (Silverstein 2000b, 354–5)21 and into the Ziibiwing Cultural Society’s dibaajimowinan stories. This logo appears on a t-shirt com- memorating the Indigenous Peoples Art Market held at the Soaring Eagle Casino and Resort in 2000. On Manitoulin Island, the Manitou Arts Foundation began holding annual art camps for youth in 1971 (Odjig, Vanderburgh, and Southcott 1992, 73). By

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long-brown.indd 148 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.5 ziibiwing Cultural Society logo on t-shirt, 2000, by Steve Pego

1977 the Ojibwe Cultural Foundation (OCF) had inherited these camps (S. Corbiere 2013). In the summer of 2009, OCF camp leaders told student par- ticipants stories about Shawanasowe who received healing powers in a vision quest on Dreamer’s Rock near Manitoulin Island. The students then hiked up to Dreamer’s Rock, where they could personally experience the spiritual power of the place for inspiration in their artwork. They were then shown a presentation about doodem signatures on treaty documents, which became a “focal point of the campers’ art” (A. Corbiere 2009, 8). The program of this artist camp exemplifies the contemporary Anishinaabe cultural matrix, in which the land, the manidoo bawaaganag associated with it, and the doodemag all blend together in a characteristic Anishinaabe visual style and in the personal life histories of Anishinaabeg.

Transforming Guardian Spirits, Sacred Names, and Doodem Narratives

To understand the predominance of spiritual imagery in contemporary Woodlands School art, we must delve into the guardian spirit tradition. In

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long-brown.indd 149 2015-09-04 1:19 PM contrast with the doodem, a guardian spirit is acquired through a naming ceremony and/or a vision quest. In nineteenth-century accounts, successful puberty vision quests resulted in relationships with one or more guardian spirits who conferred very particular gifts. In puberty dreams collected by Johann Kohl (1860, 206–8, 240–1) in 1855, Agabe-gijik received “health, and strength, and long life, and all creatures of nature.” Four spiritual grandfathers presented him with a box of medicines to symbolize the first two gifts, after which they told him that their white hair represented the old age that he would attain. They then showed him a wigwam full of animals of all descriptions, which they gave to him while stating that he would become a famous hunter. Similarly, when Kagagengs fasted, the Sun summoned him to his lodge, where he showed him four persons who he gave to him to be his future sons. Addi- tionally, the Sun told him that his own white hair symbolized the long life that Kagagengs would live. Finally, the Sun handed Kagagengs an eagle and a white bear with a brass collar. The latter two were to be Kagagengs’ “protecting spirits,” images of which he subsequently sewed on his blankets and carved on his pipes. He also made wooden effigies that he kept in his medicine sack. Nineteenth-century recipients of guardian spirits’ favour represented their gifts in pictographic emblems on their clothing and other personal property. They also recorded entire visions on birch bark, which were nonetheless kept secret lest the visions lose their power (Schoolcraft 1851, 390–7). Some time between 1822 and 1836, a Christian convert, Catherine Wabose (also Ogee- wy-ahn-oqut-o-kwa, or “Bright Blue Sky”), gave Jane and Henry Schoolcraft a drawing of her puberty vision quest, during which she received powers that enabled her to become a jessakid (“prophetess”) (figure 5.6).22 School- craft provides three separate accounts of this pictographic inscription. Two of them are numbered lists that correspond to numbers in the illustration, and the final one is a transcription of an oral account that Wabose gave to Jane Schoolcraft, Henry’s wife. The two women were related through common descent from Wabojeeg (“White Fisher”) of the Caribou doodem and the “ruling chief” of Chequamegon (Schoolcraft 1855, 525). This inscription illustrates several of the ways that nineteenth-century Anishinaabeg crafted their individual and collective identities to maximize social and spiritual benefits in Anishinaabe and settler worlds. It reads from right to left. Wabose drew herself in her menstrual lodge as a circular face with long hair extending from the top23 and an upright triangular body to represent her gender (nos 1 and 2). Travelling along a silver cord (no. 3), Wabose saw the moon with a flame on her right (no. 6) and a sun holding an object she thought might be a book (nos 7 and 8). These manidoog portend that Wabose will meet manidoog of the Sky World. Continuing along the path,

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long-brown.indd 150 2015-09-04 1:19 PM Fig. 5.6 Pictograph of a puberty vision, c. 1830, by Seth Eastman, after Catherine Wabose

she saw on her right a person who identified herself as Everlasting Standing Woman (no. 9). At the same time, she gave Wabose her name and the power to give her name to others, as well as the gift of long life and the power to cure others. Lines coming forth from Everlasting Standing Woman’s mouth signify not only that she spoke to Wabose but also that she granted her the power of naming. Sacred names contained the spiritual power of a guardian spirit and were most potent when not spoken aloud (Schoolcraft 1852, 66). The next person Wabose encountered also told her his name, Little Man Spirit, which he gave to her first son (no. 10). Next, Wabose encountered Bright Blue Sky (no. 11), who guarded the opening to the Sky World (no. 12). He made her undergo three trials with points jabbed into her skin (nos 15 and 17), and he gave her his name to give to others. He told her she had come to the limit beyond which she could not pass and directed her to mount a fish (no. 13) that would take her back to her body, which he said must be sustained with food when she got back. Indeed, her mother brought her a portion of dried fish as her first food to break her fast. However, she continued to fast another three days, during which she saw the previous vision again and had another vision in which a Woodpecker manidoo (no. 18) gave her the power to see into the future and thus to become a jessakid. At the far right of Wabose’s inscription are several figures that provide context but are not part of the vision story proper. According with convention, Wabose represented the ten days of her puberty fast with sticks (no. 5). Simi- larly, in the vision inscription that Amongs interpreted for Kohl (1860, 400–

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long-brown.indd 151 2015-09-04 1:19 PM 1), he drew nine sticks to represent the nine days he spent fasting. These sticks provide the context in which to read the inscription, and they lend weight to the authority of the dream powers it depicts. Wabose marked the sixth day, when she received the main vision, with a cross (no. 4). Schoolcraft (1851, 391) was probably mistaken that the crossed lines at number 16 represent “a symbol of harm.” In the 1880s a Midewiwin priest at Red Lake, Minnesota, told William Hoffman (1888, 372) that this figure, which appeared four times in two bark inscriptions, represented “a woman, and signifies that women may also be admitted to the Midewiwin.” Selwyn Dewdney (1970, 18–19) similarly interprets an hourglass rendering of an anthropomorphic figure with downward sloping projections at the top corners of the inverted triangle as a “female shaman.” If we are reading these correctly, this figure in Wabose’s inscription may also function to authenticate the powers of her vision and her right to them. The style Wabose used to represent herself in abstracted human form (no. 2) is characteristic of the esoteric lexicon used for sacred inscriptions but not of exoteric inscriptions used for everyday communications. In the exoteric style, Anishinaabeg portray themselves by their doodemag, whereas all non-Anishinaabeg are shown in human form. The remaining two figures in this design field are a “rabbit” (no. 19) and a “kind of fish” (no. 20) (School- craft 1851, 391). Schoolcraft explains the “rabbit” as “a symbol of her present name” (wabose, meaning “hare”), but he gives no explanation for the fish. Both the important role of sacred names in Wabose’s vision and the fact that she adopted her Christian husband’s name as a surname give pause for re- flection. First, we might take into account that Wabose is related in legends as synonymous with, or the brother of, Nanabozho, the Anishinaabe culture hero (Nicholas Perrot, in Blair 1911, 1, 32–40; Schoolcraft 1851, 317–18). He is also one of the original doodemag whose domain is the sky (Bohaker 2013, 88). Yet the adoption of her husband’s surname at marriage signifies Wabose’s conversion to Christianity. Anishinaabe women did not change their doodem at marriage. Because American kinship is bilateral, we cannot assume that when Schoolcraft said Wabose was “in a direct line of descent” from Waubo jeeg, he meant to infer that she shared his doodem of the Caribou. More likely, the fish depicted in her inscription (no. 20) is her own doodem, the Catfish (maanameg). I surmise this because it is portrayed in the conventional style for drawing the Catfish doodem from above with eyes and whiskers, as seen on treaty documents and other exoteric inscriptions (Bohaker 2013, 461; Densmore 1929, 177–9). We can see from this cluster of images at the right side of Wabose’s inscription that she has appropriated a Western naming convention in order to add power to her association with the Sky World man-

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long-brown.indd 152 2015-09-04 1:19 PM idoog of her vision. Conversely, the fish at numbers 13 and 20, as well as the first food she ate to break her fast, relate to her alliances in the realm of human social relations. As the nineteenth century progressed, cross-cultural contexts demanded creative new applications of the pictographic lexicon. During the first half of the century, a Minnesota fur trader used pictographic symbols to record the trade items, and how many of them, each customer took on credit. To designate individual customers, he employed the Ruffed Grouse doodem and unidentified emblems that may designate personal names (Anonymous c. 1836–48).24 Schoolcraft (1852, 222, plate 54) published an example of an 1849 “Indian Census” from Mille Lacs that similarly employs emblems for “family names.” Nago-nabe drew this census to ensure accurate accounting in annuity payments. According to Schoolcraft, it was necessary to draw family names rather than doodemag because the “band are nearly all of one totem.” Al- though he believed that mid-nineteenth-century Ojibwa villages were composed of a single doodem patrilineage and their affines, evidence suggests that villages in that region were already composed of two or three doodem patrilineages by the late eighteenth century (Schenck 1997, 64–6, 68). More- over, seven out of the thirty-five census “names” are recognizable conventional doodem emblems. Although the doodem composition of the village is inconclusive, this evidence certainly shows that Nago-nabe employed pictographs to designate individuals’ personal names. These examples of the in- novative use of inscriptions show that individual identities took on increasing importance in economic exchanges in both fur trade and diplomatic contexts. Among nineteenth-century Anishinaabeg, economic exchanges were governed by principles of reciprocity (White 1982). In this context, doodem bawaaganag were able to give gifts much like guardian spirits do. The hospitality expected between members of the same doodem was virtually indis- tinguishable from the help of guardian spirits, when the gift exchange was between the living and the dead. For example, John Tanner (1830, 108) relates an incident in which he camped at a place where two brothers “who bore the same totem” as himself had killed each other. During the night, these two appeared and spoke to him: “‘There, my brother,’ said the [jiibay], ‘is a horse which I give you to ride on your journey tomorrow; and as you pass here on your way home, you can call and leave the horse, and spend another night with us.’” Tanner was unable to speak or move from the spot in terror of their appearance. At dawn, however, his fear subsided and he contemplated the rest of his journey: “[T]he frequent instances in which I had known the in- timations of dreams verified, occasioned me to think seriously of the horse the [jiibay] had given me. Accordingly, I went to the top of the hill, where

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long-brown.indd 153 2015-09-04 1:19 PM I discovered tracks and other signs, and following a little distance, found a horse, which I knew belonged to the trader I was going to see.” In the realm of human interaction, doodem reciprocity took the form of hospitality and generosity, particularly the sharing of food (Bishop 1973, 8). Such reciprocity was extended to all members of one’s doodem even if they were of another nation (Howard 1965, 59). A corpus of stories that Maggie Wilson of Emo, Ontario, narrated between 1932 and 1936 shows that these customs continued into the reservation era. One story shows the ambiguity of manidoo and doodem bawaaganag (Wilson 1932–36, story 40, 20–2). A young woman had been wandering in the woods for about a month when she came upon a village. However, she was too shy to enter it “because she was all ragged and her hair never combed.” A young hunter dreamed of a young woman watching the village. Thinking it meant there was a bear there, he went to the spot shown in his dream and found the young woman. He then asked his sister to help clothe her, and “the young man and his sister came and other women which had the same doodem as her and gave her some things.” The story implies that the Bear doodem intervened to alert the girl’s doodem relatives of her needs by showing her to them in a dream. The dream format was so similar to those involving guardian spirits that, at first, the dreamer thought it was a message from a Bear manidoo in human form. It was only upon finding the girl that he realized the “bear” was his doodem relative. The story reverses the direction of reciprocity. Instead of the Bear manidoo offering itself to humans, the Bear doodem asked to be “pitied” by human relations. At least for this time period, not all shadow soul bawaaganag were doodem ancestors. Deceased household members of different doodem could also appear. In one of Maggie Wilson’s (2009, 148) stories, a boy’s dead mother came to him in a dream and gave him the gift of transforming poor pieces of meat into choice ones. In another of her stories, a girl’s dead mother came to her in the form of a skeleton and gave her the news that soon her father would also die (44). This appearance portended evil since it inferred that her father would become an aadizookaan baagaag, a ghost-like being who appears in the form of a skeleton.25 The father was destined to perpetual roaming as a skeleton because he had killed his brother in order to marry his brother’s wife (Johnston 2007, 17). Both of these stories feature the “wicked stepmother” motif. The retribution taken by the dead mothers is due to the failure of the fathers to adequately perform the rites of mourning. A widow or widower is expected to compensate the doodem relatives of his or her spouse for the loss of a life. Only after the relatives ritually release the mourner is it considered proper to remarry (Landes 1937, 44). Retribution of the deceased or his or her

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long-brown.indd 154 2015-09-04 1:19 PM doodem relations, living or dead, is the inevitable outcome of such a breach of social mores. In the absence of a doodem, a guardian spirit may provide the gifts of power necessary to live a successful life. Maggie Wilson (1932–36, story 10, 1–21) told a story about Queses Begge, the daughter of a Cree woman and a “half-breed” with no doodem. After her father’s death, her mother married an Ojibwe of the Moose doodem. Wilson describes at length the measures Queses’s mother took to ensure that her daughter had a proper puberty fast and reincorporation ceremony. Afterwards, however, the girl became so accomplished that her mother became jealous and drove her away. Her step- father had no opportunity to adopt her into his doodem. Queses married a half-breed and moved to Kenora, where she raised a family of ten children, all of whom became successful in the growing settler society. She lived to be very old and had a proper funeral, even though she had no doodem. This story contains a double irony. First, Queses acquired the powers she needed to suc- ceed in settler society through her puberty fast, and second, lacking doodem relatives, she found her place among her doodemless father’s people. Here Anishinaabe doodem exogamy is replaced with Metis endogamy. Survival in the twentieth century could not depend on doodemag; hence manidoo bawaaganag came to the fore. During the early twentieth century, not only did doodem bawaaganag appear in the dreams of their human relatives, but the spiritual powers humans acquired in vision quests could also be passed through the doodemic line. For example, Matthews and Roulette (2003, 267, 274, 278, 281) note that one of the reasons why the Ojibwe medicine man Naamiwan could not be consoled over the death of his grandson was that the boy was “seen as the direct heir to Naamiwan’s gifts through Angus,” Naamiwan’s oldest son. After the first grandson’s death, the spiritual gifts fell to his younger brother, Charlie George Owen. Significantly, Angus, who also had the spiritual powers associated with his father’s drum, had to legitimate this gift through his own visionary encounter with bawaaganag. The transference of power was not automatic, and it also had to be proven empirically by successful healing ceremonies. In contemporary times, spiritual powers may still be passed through the ancestral line if subsequently legitimated through one’s own efforts. Two instances known to me involve Shawanasowe, a medicine person from Birch Island, Ontario. My friend Marilyn Johnson served an apprenticeship under his descendant John-Paul before his death in 1976. In her master’s thesis about this experience, Johnson (1983, 1–2) notes that John-Paul “inherited his shamanic power from his father’s lineage, his grandfather being Shawanasowe.” John-Paul’s father descended from Shawanasowe’s daughter who married

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long-brown.indd 155 2015-09-04 1:19 PM a Scottish fur trader. It appears, therefore, that ancestral power can also be passed through the maternal line, particularly when a suitable candidate has European paternal ancestry. Such was also the case with Marilyn: “When I was about five years old, my mother’s grandfather died; I believe that I inherited his ‘power’ or his spiritual energy at that time. My spiritual abilities were heightened after that event. In addition to soul traveling, spirits come from the Land of the Dead from the Western direction to ‘speak’ to me; I ‘see’ visions and interpret them into art – embroidery on fabric” (1). This form of power transference is indirectly related to the doodem system. Shawanasowe achieved his legendary powers by acquiring guardian spirits through fasting. He has been immortalized at Birch Island through many stories of his healing powers26 and a public school dedicated to his name. He also encountered the artist Paul Kane (1858, 11–16), who painted his likeness and recorded a story about him.27 Like John-Paul, Zeek Cywink is a descendant of Shawanasowe’s daughter. Cywink (1993–2000) does not claim her doodem of the Pike28 because he holds strictly to the patrilineal principle. Rather, he recalls that during childhood dreams certain ancestors, Shawanasowe among them, introduced him to their guardian spirits, who were the sources of their powers. Like the gifts acquired by Naamiwan’s sons, therefore, the spiritual inheritance from Cywink’s ancestors was not something that could be passed directly from one person to another. Instead, it consisted of a set of spiritual relationships that required his active engagement to develop. However, it took him many years to arrive at his present understanding and to develop his powers since there were no teachers to assist him in his childhood. John-Paul, for instance, was at that time shunned for his shamanism in the Catholic community of Birch Island, and children were expressly warned against visiting him.

Doodemag and Empowerment

The use of travellers’ messages declined rapidly after the creation of reserva- tions, where seminomadic lifeways were no longer practicable. By the early twentieth century, the doodem system had ceased to function as a corporate lineage, with exogamous marriage remaining its sole function as a principle of social organization. Simultaneously, youths no longer customarily practised puberty fasting. Despite all these changes, the latter half of the twentieth century saw a revival of doodem identities and emblems, which are imbued with spiritual, social, and political power. As was the case 200 years ago, these emblems both reflect and influence the social cohesion of the Anishinaabe nation. The experiential phenomenon of ancestral visitations and the transference of power relationships have facilitated an increase in the spiritual functions

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long-brown.indd 156 2015-09-04 1:19 PM of doodemag in the years since residential schools and other factors forcibly removed puberty fasting from the customary practice of the Anishinaabeg. Specifically, spiritual aspects of doodemag were passive or latent when they were functioning as a cohesive social system. The mid-twentieth-century state of social disintegration, however, necessitated that doodemag take an active spiritual role with regard to both community and individual concerns. Thus, as in Diana Whiteduck’s (2000) case, ancestral bawaaganag exhort their descendants to embrace their Anishinaabe traditions and identities. In contemporary Anishinaabe culture, doodem bawaaganag have become virtually interchangeable with manidoo bawaaganag due to the transform- ation in the roles of sacred names and the pervasiveness of the Woodlands School, which blends imagery of aadizookaanag and doodemag. Both of these trends are integral to the revitalization of Anishinaabe language and spirituality. In this context, it is as valid to discover one’s doodem through genealogical research as it is to acquire one in a naming ceremony. Both are part of the healing process. In this manner, Anishinaabe individuals are spiritually em- powered by affirming their place among their human and spiritual relations.

Acknowledgments

I am deeply grateful for the Anishinaabe friends with whom I shared the portion of my life that this chapter draws upon. They, and the Anishinaabe consultants whom I interviewed, helped me to glimpse within an Anishin- aabe view, which I hope I have respectfully and accurately represented here. I am also grateful for the encouragement and mentorship of Dick Preston, Harvey Feit, and Trudy Nicks, each of whom guided my academic development through this period. Jennifer S.H. Brown, John S. Long, Alan Corb- iere, Elizabeth Willmott, Donald Willmott, and several anonymous reviewers made valuable editorial suggestions. I also want to thank Heidi Bohaker and Alan Corbiere, colleagues in the Great Lakes Research Alliance for the Study of Aboriginal Culture (GRASAC), with whom I have shared many journeys, real and metaphorical, in relation to this project. All errors and omissions remain my own. Finally, I wish to thank the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada for financial support of this project.

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long-brown.indd 157 2015-09-04 1:19 PM notes

1 Apart from variants quoted in other sources, all Anishinaabe-language terms used in this chapter employ the double-vowel orthography of Charles Fiero as set out in Nichols and Nyholm (1995). “Anishinaabe,” “doodem,” and “manidoo,” as well as their plurals, are not italicized upon first mention because they have become integrated into the English language from frequent usage. 2 Anishinaabe (plural -g) is a self-designatory term for Algonquian-speaking groups such as the Ojibwe (or Chippewa), Odawa, Potawatomi, Menominee, Al- gonkin, and sometimes Crees. It does not include the Wendat (or Huron), Hau- denosaunee (or Iroquois), or Sioux (Lakota, Dakota, Oglala, etc.) peoples, all of whom are members of other language groups. This chapter focuses mainly on the Ojibwe, although it touches on examples from the Odawa, Algonkin, and Crees. 3 During the 1990s, the Toronto First Nations community also included many individuals who had recently, or were imminently expecting to, gain or regain their “Indian” status through Bill C–31, a 1985 amendment to the Indian Act that cor- rected gender bias by allowing descent to be traced through the maternal line. For an extended discussion of the origins of Bill C–31, see Silman (1987). 4 Many scholars have described the differences between these two categories for the Ojibwe (Bohaker 2013, 39–40; Hallowell 1976a, 364–5; Silverstein and Cywink 2000, 40–1) and for the Crees (Brightman 1989, 6–7; Preston 1975, 288–93). 5 It should be noted that these categories vary greatly among Anishinaabe communities (Silverstein and Cywink 2000, 40). Even the word aadizookaan, which is animate in Southwestern Ojibwa, as employed in this chapter, is rendered as aansookaan, an inanimate term in the Manitoulin dialect (A. Corbiere 2014). 6 For a similar situation among the eastern James Bay Crees, see Preston (1975, 16–17). 7 This was a theme in my dissertation chapter that needs further elaboration (Silverstein 2000b, 91, 102–3). Alanson Skinner (1914, 481) noted this trend among the Plains Ojibwe. On the change from doodem territories to “multiclan villages” during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, see Bishop (1998, 259), Hickerson (1962, 69–71, 82–5), and Schenck (1997, 39–45). 8 See Bohaker’s (2013, 47–8) discussion of an aadizookaan story that Nicholas Perrot recorded in which Anishinaabeg descended from their doodemag. 9 Hallowell (1966) argued that the puberty fast functioned as a mechanism of social control by fostering both self-discipline and self-confidence, which enabled Anishinaabeg to take responsibility for their own behaviour while providing as- surance of support for right behaviour. I partly agree with this interpretation, but my approach in this chapter is not as narrowly functionalist. 10 This chapter is, in part, a clarification of the assertion made by me and Kevin Brownlee that doodemag and guardian spirits “bore no relation to each other” (Willmott and Brownlee 2010, 74). Although a clear distinction is desirable in the context of reading doodem emblems and inscriptions on regalia, the deeper

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long-brown.indd 158 2015-09-04 1:19 PM relationship between them must be drawn out in order to fully comprehend these doodemic symbols in their cultural and historic contexts. 11 For extended discussions and examples of this concept, see Bohaker (2013, 114– 16) and Silverstein (2000a, 86–8). 12 As was typical for Krieghoff, he produced at least two similar paintings of Neben- agoching. The other one is in the Thompson Collection at the Art Gallery of Ontario and is published in Harper (1979, plate 52) and Reid (1999, plate 26). Differences between the two renditions include the addition in the Thompson Collection version of a fan, wampum string necklaces, a circular medal, and two more feathers in the headdress. The background is also different. The 1849 photograph reproduced in Chute (1998) suggests that both of these paintings have elements of his actual regalia but that neither exactly represents it. 13 Krieghoff shared a studio with Somerville, who, on the same occasion, made pencil drawings of Shingwauk and Nebenagoching. An etching produced from these drawings, in which the two chiefs wear outfits identical to those depicted by Krieghoff, was published in the Illustrated London News on 15 September 1849 (Chute 1998; Harper 1979, 52–3). 14 For an explanation and illustration of this crane posture, see International Crane Foundation (n.d.). 15 This feather is not clear in the photograph and lithograph reproduced in Chute (1998). It may be explained by the poor quality of these images, or it may have been a Krieghoff addition. 16 For discussions of this art form, and illustrations of traditional designs, see Dens- more (1929, 88–90, plates 84 and 85), Lienke (1976, passim), and Howard (1980, passim). 17 This text appeared next to a display of one of the pipes and belts in an exhibit of the Hudson Bay Collection at the Manitoba Museum in 2003. 18 In his essay on the “Intellectual Capacity and Character of the Indian Race,” Schoolcraft (1851, 333–54, 358–411, 416–20) devotes almost twice as many pages to his discussion of religious practitioners’ pictography as he does to secular genres. Following Schoolcraft, Kohl (1860, 150–5, 285–97, 386–94, 397–404) seeks esoteric inscriptions. 19 I was aware of this movement during the 1990s. I have also encountered it in collaborative museum collections research with members of the Great Lakes Re- search Alliance for the Study of Aboriginal Culture (GRASAC). In a community consultation that I conducted for GRASAC in 2009, a majority of respondents from the Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa and from the Ojibwe Cultural Foun- dation suggested that sacred materials could be drawn but not photographed (Willmott 2014, 6, 9). For more information about GRASAC, see Bohaker, Corb- iere, and Phillips (2014) and Phillips (2011, 289–96). 20 There are innumerable individuals and organizations that could be mentioned in connection with the revitalization and popularization of Anishinaabe art based

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long-brown.indd 159 2015-09-04 1:19 PM on aadizookaan. The discussion that follows touches on only some of the best and least known of these influences. 21 For an interesting discussion of the similar functions of t-shirts with Northwest Coast crest motifs among the Kwakwaka’wakw of British Columbia, see Glass (2008). 22 Schoolcraft (1851, 390) explains that Wabose drew this inscription herself, but it was then transcribed to a smaller sheet for publication. This contrasts with another pictographic inscription of a vision that Schoolcraft says merely “imitates the Indian method of drawing” (389). 23 I would be tempted to interpret these as power lines, but Wabose says that in number 14 the lines are “my hair floating behind me in the air” (in Schoolcraft 1851, 393). 24 This trade ledger has been attributed to Louis Provençale, an American who traded furs with the Sioux around St Peter, Minnesota. The ledger’s donor, Clem- ent H. Beaulieu, was not sure whether the author was in Sioux or Ojibwa territory. He described all of the name symbols as “arbitrary signs,” apparently not recognizing the Anishinaabe Ruffed Grouse emblem. The presence of the latter, clearly in the “drumming” posture of the male during the mating season, strongly suggests that the Provençale attribution is erroneous. It is more likely that the ledger was written by a trader who dealt with Ojibwa customers in northern Min- nesota and/or across the Canadian border. Densmore (1929, 76, plate 29a) gives an example of a Ruffed Grouse doodem grave marker, which she attributes to “Canadian Chippewa,” presumably at Manitou Rapids, Ontario, where she conducted fieldwork. 25 The term “baagaag” does not appear in Nichols and Nyholm (1995). From working with linguists and Anishinaabe elders, Alan Corbiere (2014) found that there is uncertainty about the vowel length at the end of the word, but he recommended “baagaag.” This term is often given as some variation of “paukuk,” but in Fiero style, p would be b and k would be g. 26 For two of Cywink’s stories about Shawanasowe, see Silverstein and Cywink (2000, 37–40). Radin (c. 1913, 109–10) also collected a story about Shawanasowe at Birch Island in 1913. 27 Cywink (1993–2000) denounces the story Kane relates about Shawanasowe because it has never been told in his family or community. Kane’s painting is in the collection of the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM 912.1.6). Kane erroneously translates Shawanasowe as “Faces to the West.” Realizing that zhaawanong means “south,” rather than “west,” I asked Lillian McGregor, Cywink’s aunt (also descended from Shawanasowe) what the name means. She and a number of other fluent speakers agreed that the name derives from zhaawanong and bmose (“he or she walks”). The translations they suggested were “He Walks South,” “He Who Walks South,” or “Walking South.” More plausibly, Alan Corbiere (2014) argues the name derives from zhaawanong and inaaswe (an archaic term meaning

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long-brown.indd 160 2015-09-04 1:19 PM “facing a certain direction”), which suggests that Kane had only the direction wrong. 28 Alan Corbiere (2012b, 15) published an image of Shawanasowe’s treaty signature doodem. It can easily be identified as a Pike through Bohaker’s (2013, 462) detailed analysis of doodemag images, which enables us to make fine-tuned identi- fications of the images’ referents.

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