As I walked the length of Kitsilano beach in Vancouver today, I understood why First Nations people chose it as the perfect place to establish a village. It is one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline in the Pacific Northwest, and it has all the necessary amenities to sustain communal life. When white settlers arrived thousands of years later, they quickly made the same observation. According to a story I heard this week, they then used their superior power to simply round up all the villagers and put them on a huge barge that was pushed out to sea. By providence, strong currents took the barge load of terrorized passengers not out to the open ocean but to the shores of what is now northeast Vancouver. There, they found graciously hospitable people from a clan related to their own, and they were welcomed with open arms. Apparently, this welcoming spirit was part of the culture of that unique place. So, when Catholic priests came to establish a mission there, they showed hospitality to them as well. Across the water, the city of Vancouver continued to grow as more and more people crowded into the small piece of land that is now called Gastown. In fact, the buildings and factories were stacked together so closely that, when fire broke out one day, it began to spread at a stunningly rapid pace. As the story goes, this stirred up compassion in the First Nations village that included those former residents of Kitsilano Beach. Rather than simply watching the drama unfold, it is said that they jumped in their canoes and paddled across the bay to begin the process of rescuing the desperate people who were trapped by the fire. No one had to tell them to do this. It was just a way of life. As they paddled, they chanted songs together, but this unnerved many of the people who were being saved. Some of them shouted to their children: “Cover your ears, because they are trying to curse you.” In reality, they were singing a simple litany over and over again, one that had been taught to them by the priests and then translated into their own language. Perhaps you know it: “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.” I came here looking for stories of hope, and this is one that will hold on to for a long time. For me, it is a beautiful reminder of what happens when hospitality and grace form the essence of a community, from one generation to the next.
When the Queen of the North BC ferry sank at night off of Gil Island in 2006, the first people on-scene were the first nations people from Hartley Bay (Gitga'at) in all the personal vessels and fishing boats they could muster out. Ninety-nine out of one hundred and one souls were saved, and taken back to Hartley Bay in the middle of the night.
ReplyDeleteOn the topic of hospitality and first responders:
ReplyDeleteBack in the day, people passed the time sitting out on the front porch (or stoop). They were the eyes and ears on the street. This yielded a sort of gracious vigilance which enhanced the community. (File under "it takes a village").
Flash forward to the recent trend in modern domestic architecture: the "snout-house" or the unfortunate design where the garage takes actual and symbolic dominance; it is the closest thing to the street. Cars drive in. People slip into their homes unnoticed. Nobody is the wiser. No need to greet that pesky stranger! The front porch has disappeared, leaving a front door which is seldom opened.
Happily some urban planners, designer folk and neighborhood communities are trying to re-introduce the concept of a porch or front stoop. Perhaps a fresh chance to "greet everyone in peace."