Volunteers removing English Ivy in the forests of W̱SÍ¸ḴEM (Tseycum First Nation). Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
English ivy (Hedera helix) is a fast-growing evergreen vine that will flourish nearly anywhere. It thrives in multiple soil types and under most weather conditions — with waxy, dark leaves that rampantly weave through forest networks, up walls and along buildings, fences, and tree trunks.
Sarah Jim is W̱SÁNEĆ from the village of W̱SÍ¸ḴEM (Place of Clay) — the territory also known as the Saanich peninsula on “Vancouver Island.” As she got older, she started spending more time in her family’s forests and noticed that English ivy — originally brought over from Europe — was a significant problem.
Jim took it upon herself to remove the plant, cutting the ivy off the trees and pulling it from the ground. But because the vines blanketed most of the forest floor and had tightly wound themselves around almost all the trees, she quickly realized she would need help.
English ivy grows on the trunk of a tree in the forest of Tseycum First Nation. The dried vines have been cut at the roots to prevent nutrient uptake and stop the plant from growing further up the tree. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
So in the spring of 2021, she founded the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy Project (Healing the Place of Clay) and began inviting volunteers to help. By summer, she had partnered with Habitat Acquisition Trust (HAT), a non-profit focused on land restoration, which has a vast volunteer outreach and was able to provide resources so that the pulls could happen once a month.
This tending is an act of decolonization, healing and cultural revitalization. English ivy and other invasive plants have dramatically altered traditional forest ecosystems over time by choking native plant species. Because of its aggressive and fast-growing nature, it is seen as a plant pathogen as it invades forest understories, suppressing and smothering growth.
However, by removing the plant, volunteers create space for Indigenous plants to return, a tending that Jim calls “a physical act of decolonization.”
Sarah Jim is an artist of W̱SÁNEĆ and mixed settler ancestry. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
“Most of us love nature and appreciate it for its beauty, but living in relation to land through ecosystem restoration, stewardship, or harvesting creates a different appreciation and perspective,” said Jim.
“Once I started seeing the land for who it was and who it was trying to be, that’s when I realized the ivy was not letting the land be who it was meant to be.”
Jim has been doing restoration work since 2018, when she began working with PEPAKEṈ HÁUTW̱, a non-profit focused on restoring W̱SÁNEĆ ecosystems and promoting Indigenous food sovereignty. She is also a visual artist whose work consists of murals, paintings and prints. Tending to the land is the main inspiration for her art.
A volunteer removes ivy from the ground. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
Prior to working at PEPAKEṈ HÁUTW̱, Jim’s plant knowledge was limited because she didn’t have the privilege of growing up with a rich cultural upbringing due to the impacts of colonization.
As she’s fostered a deeper connection to her home territories, working on the land has helped her become more insightful about how language, culture, traditional knowledge and art are all intimately connected to the natural realm.
Since founding the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy Project a couple years ago, Sarah and her family have seen positive changes in the forest. Native plants such as trillium and trailing blackberries have returned, along with animals such as ĆIYE (Stellars Jay) and WEXES (chorus frogs).
A native trailing blackberry grows in the forests of Tseycum, with space to thrive since ivy has been removed. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
“When you spend more time in a place, you care about and appreciate it a lot more because of that relationship being built,” said Jim.
Max Mitchell, an employee at HAT, has been supporting the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy project since it started.
Since partnering with the project, Mitchell said there have been drastic changes to the land because of the strategic approach to removal. The first step was to target the trees with ivy growing on them since the climbing ivy plants produce berries that are then consumed by birds that spread the seeds.
“When you walk into the forest, if you know what you are looking for, the first thing that you will notice is the ivy climbing on all of the trees, which is all dead now,” he said.
“This feels like a major success in managing the ivy here.”
Sarah’s father, David Jim, gathers the ivy that has been removed from the ground. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
Common invasive plants like English Ivy are considered invasive because they can colonize an area they are introduced into, establishing themselves and quickly spreading and monopolizing resources.
English Ivy was intentionally introduced to “North America” as an ornamental plant by settlers during the 1800s. Once established in an area, its climbing vine crawls up and encircles the trunks of trees. This weakens the tree by suppressing nutrient uptake and making it susceptible to diseases. Shrubs begin to die because light can’t reach their leaves.
It’s no wonder its Latin name, “Hedera,” is a cognate of Greek, meaning “to seize, grasp, take.”
English Ivy has become a significant problem across Turtle Island — it can impact soil chemistry, fire, geomorphological processes, and hydrology, all crucial to a functioning ecosystem.
Volunteer Jon Velarde removes an English Ivy root from the ground. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
Mitchell said that the native plants in the W̱SÁNEĆ ecosystems haven’t evolved alongside a plant like ivy, so they have difficulty competing with it for resources.
“What will often happen then is that the ivy will completely take over an area, creating a monoculture that crowds out what could potentially be habitat for a diverse array of native plants,” said Mitchell.
Garry Oak ecosystems are highly threatened, sensitive ecosystems that are restricted to the southeast coast of “Vancouver Island” and the southern Gulf Islands. They are extremely significant to the W̱SÁNEĆ people both from an ecological and a cultural perspective. Less than 5 per cent now remain in near natural conditions. Several anthropogenic factors relate to their decline, and the introduction of invasive plants is one of them.
Sarah Jim and Max Mitchell are in front of English Ivy, which was removed from the Tseycum forest. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
Jim believes that the forests of Tseycum were once a Garry Oak ecosystem because she has found Garry Oak trees in the middle of the forest while removing ivy.
“It was really strange because Garry Oak trees don’t like to be shaded,” she said.
“They like big open spaces with lots of sun, so it makes me wonder if it used to be a Garry Oak meadow. But because there weren’t regular burnings happening — burning was outlawed because the settlers were afraid of fire — the forest grew around these oaks.”
Volunteers empty bags of ivy that have been removed from the forest. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
The volunteering aspect of the project has also created a tangible way for non-Indigenous people to support. In an era of “reconciliation,” many people want to learn about Indigenous culture and build relationships — however, reciprocity is key.
Mitchell said he’s noticed that settler organizations often approach “reconciliation” in an extractive way, with people thinking about a particular desired outcome from that partnership.
At the same time, he said, it’s crucial for settlers to do this work since the settler worldview of economic growth and extraction of the natural world has facilitated the ecological crisis that the world is seeing today.
“This partnership feels like it is based on friendships, which is my preferred way to work,” he said of the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy Project.
“Doing restoration, and especially supporting Indigenous-led restoration, is an actionable unlearning of this colonial world view where you are decolonizing the land through the physical act of removing non-native invasive plants from a native ecosystem.”
Jim said when she first started learning about plants, many people wanted to go on plant walks, but she felt uncomfortable with this dynamic.
“It feels transactional because I get paid x amount to walk around and talk about plants. It felt very one-sided and wasn’t very productive for me,” she said.
“Most people want to know what the plants can do for them. I turn it around and ask them what we can do for (the plants). So restoration is a really good way to direct people to learn about plants in a reciprocal and meaningful way.”
At the end of every pull, Jim facilitates a sharing circle. In one of her circles, Jim spoke about the act of restoration and how it isn’t a one-time engagement. It’s a commitment that requires showing up consistently to build a relationship with the land and with each other.
Sarah Jim facilitates a sharing circle at the end of an ivy pull. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
“By working together to heal the land, we are, in turn, coming together to heal relationships with each other, with ourselves, and with this place,” she said.
“Restoring the ecosystem not only promotes biodiversity, reestablishes habitat for plants and animals, and creates a more resilient landscape to climate change, but it also reconnects people to place.”
People are also invited to share their thoughts and feelings after the pull, and without fail, people report feeling calm, grounded and connected.
“Everybody is so thoughtful and generous with what they share, like how being on the land and pulling ivy with the community is good for their mental health and how it’s healing for them. It feels like an important thing to be facilitating because in this economy, in this climate, people have a need for autonomy and empowerment and healing,” said Jim.
Speaking to settlers in particular, Mitchell says he’s witnessed how impactful involvement in the project has been to the volunteers.
“I think another important part of the work is to restore community connections between people,” said Mitchell.
“It sometimes feels like we live in an increasingly individualistic, siloed world. In order to address the biodiversity crisis, I think we need to engage in work that restores not only the individual’s connection to land but to their wider community as well.”
Mitchell encourages the community to seek out projects like the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy Project that are happening in the territories that they live in.
“I think taking action to make an impact can be extremely empowering as it gives you this feeling of agency that you can do something that helps and contributes to positivity in the world,” he said.
“Going out there and doing something in person, in community, can be powerful in a way that engaging in online activism just isn’t able to be.”
Sarah Jim (middle) and her father David Jim (right) and Max Mitchell (left) during a sharing circle at the end of an ivy pull. Photo by Karissa Chandrakate
Jim also hopes that volunteers will take what they learn from the W̱SÍ¸ḴEM Ivy Project and feel motivated to create their own projects so it creates a ripple effect.
Jim predicts that it may take several years to get the ivy under control on her family land. ȽÁU, WELṈEW̱ also known as John Dean Provincial Park, is located near Sidney on Southern Vancouver Island. Jim says she heard stories that the park used to be covered in ivy, but with the help of volunteers, it’s been eradicated in 10 years. Though that’s a long time, Jim is in no hurry for the project to “wrap up” because of the strong community she has built through the project.
“I joke about hoping the Ivy is never gone because people won’t come here anymore. But it’s going to be a long and beautiful project.”
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Through film, Kayah George explores the nuanced responsibility of being səlilwətaɬ
Kayah George. Still from “Our Grandmother the Inlet.”
Waves crash upon a shoreline as a screen fades from black to the silhouette of a person walking across the protected Maplewood Mudflats within the unceded territory of the səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nation.
The light of blue hour is in full effect, hovering above the Parkland Refinery in the distance as a voice begins to speak, “My name is Halth-Leah. I carry my grandmother’s name, and she carries it from her grandmother. That goes 13 generations back. I’m from Tsleil-Waututh Nation, which translates to ‘People of the Inlet.’ We didn’t see this place the way the world does now.”
That silhouette and voice belong to Kayah George, a filmmaker and matriarch-in-training who is also from the Tulalip Nation in “Washington State.” It’s a scene from her poetic hybrid-documentary film, Our Grandmother the Inlet, co-directed with Jaime Leigh Gianopoulos, an emerging director, editor, and producer.
‘Asked to save a world that has taken everything‘
George has travelled globally for more than half of her life to speak on Indigenous and environmental issues. Recently, she has been moving away from the world of panels and protests toward filmmaking.
On a rainy day in November, George is sitting on the couch in the apartment that she recently moved into. The 25-year-old is in the process of “making the space mine,” she says — a longboard rests against the wall by the front door, a vinyl player with records in the left corner of the room, and her desk, nestled in front of the window, points toward the mountain range of səl̓ilw̓ət with a detailed (and full) calendar and positive post-it notes and affirmations hanging on the window beside it.
Coming from a long line of activists, George has been thrust into the spotlight since childhood, speaking out against resource extraction in her territory. Campaigning against the Trans Mountain Pipeline Expansion (TMX), which will significantly increase oil tanker traffic through the inlet, is one example of George’s activism work. Chemicals leaking into the Burrard Inlet threaten the Tsleil-Waututh Nations’ lands.
At 12-years-old, a very shy George had her first speaking engagement, a poetry reading where she and her dad, Rueben George, both spoke together. From there, these speaking engagements were nearly every few months, and reflecting back on that now, she feels like she was overburdened from a young age — with many environmental organizations jumping at the chance to feature the strong-spoken young activist. Now that she’s older, she’s taking back the reins on how and when she uses her voice.
“Environmental activism is going to be a part of my work no matter what,” George shares.
“I care about the Earth no matter what, whether it affects me or not. I care about it inherently.”
George believes that filmmaking has the power to inspire action and create change, even more so than activism.
“The frontline can be a healing place to stand up for things, but it can also be a bit jarring. It can wear on you. I feel that a creative and cultural outlet is super necessary for keeping a good balance internally. That was the point of making a film, using all the words I was saying and repeating every time I went up and spoke somewhere. I just put it in a film so I don’t always have to be out there,” shares George.
“I found a lot of healing in making a film and expressing myself, having that outlet and showing things I couldn’t put into words — feelings or thinking. Some of the themes depicted in the film show how I felt inside, and having them out took that pain out of me.”
Narrowing her view on filmmaking is what drives George, which is evident with the recent release of Our Grandmother the Inlet.
The nine-minute film explores her and her grandmother Ta7a, daughter of the late Chief Dan George, as they reflect on their relationship with water, culture and land.
Following the opening, the film transitions to a short scene of George skateboarding down an East Vancouver street with an appearance from Joe Buffalo before their paths diverge, and George is left to reflect on what it has been like to grow up facing the demons of colonization and questioning why she was “asked to save a world that has taken everything from me, everything from my people.”
In one part of the film, George and her grandmother harvest softshell clams from səl̓ilw̓ət, the name of the Burrard Inlet in hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓, waters which were once abundant with whales, herring, salmon and shellfish consistently and sustainably harvested by the Tsleil-Waututh people before colonization.
Seven hundred contaminants were identified in səl̓ilw̓ət between 1971 and 2016, a Tsleil-Waututh report found.
Because of all the urbanization and industrialization, countless marine terminals and oil refineries punctuate the shoreline of the inlet, which can be seen in montage clips throughout the film.
As the film continues, George highlights the historical importance of the inlet alongside its current struggles and her wish to protect it as it has protected her and her ancestors.
Still from “Our Grandmother the Inlet.”
A dream from the ancestors
George, whose first name means “wolf” in hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓, recalls a moment when she was sitting at the dining table in her Auntie Char’s kitchen in the Tsleil-Waututh Nation when it all came together. She had taken a step back to focus on her emotional and spiritual selves and was plotting her next steps.
“I was like an arrow being pulled back, thinking, where do I point my bow?” she noted.
That’s when it hit her, and she heard a voice from her ancestor say, “Follow your dream.”
She allowed herself to let go of what she thought might be the most realistic path and instead asked herself what she wanted to do next, noting that it was always filmmaking that most captured her attention.
“I wanted to act, and I had another dream: I wanted to go back to school and finish my degree. So I decided to do those things,” she shared.
As a child, George said she would watch films on a projector set up by her father, Reuben, Sundance Chief and member of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation. Reuben, who recently released his memoir and national bestseller, It Stops Here: Standing Up for Our Lands, Our Waters, and Our People, had also wanted to be a filmmaker when he grew up.
She has no regrets about changing course, considering she recalled being raised hearing stories about her great-grandfather, Chief Dan George, who has been referred to as “the most famous Indian in the world,” she shares while laughing.
She continues with a story her grandma told her about going to the Oscars with him. While there, Jack Nicholson approached her and asked, “Who might you be?”
“Amy George,” she answered.
“The chief’s daughter?” he questioned.
That story still sits with the younger George as a driving narrative of how her path would unfold.
Her stepfather, Myron Dewey, from the Walker River Paiute Tribe, was also a guiding force in her life. He was a filmmaker, journalist, professor at Duke and activist who helped bring attention to what was happening at Standing Rock.
She recalled when he said, “We need to put storytelling back into our people’s hands. People can’t keep telling our stories.”
Still from “Our Grandmother the Inlet.”
‘Be careful about what you pray for’
A self-described “shy” kid, George credits her “spunkiness” and ADHD as a big part of what drives her. “I feel like I have a lot of ideas,” she said.
“You expect yourself to work at the same capacity as people who don’t have ADHD, and you’re hard on yourself when you have to overcome something. That’s why we tend to overdo it,” she shared.
“I’ll schedule 20 things and be like, ‘Oh, I have a free hour, I can go to the gym, I can go grocery shopping. I can do it all.’ But it’s like, no, you can’t. The biggest message is to be kind to yourself. Today, that was something that was really sitting with me, so I wrote on a bunch of sticky notes and put them all over. I realized something needs to give because I can’t do it all.”
The reality behind the success of high achievers with ADHD is often unexpected. Though some find healthy coping mechanisms to manage some of their ADHD traits, many are often time-consuming and draining, working twice as hard as those without ADHD, which can lead to burnout and isolation.
Before the pandemic, George was enrolled at Simon Fraser University to study her language when she realized she needed a break. She moved to San Pancho, Mexico, for two and a half months to learn Spanish — her other grandmother’s language — work on her film and surf.
She then began studying linguistics and psychology while working as an environmental research intern with Clear Seas Centre for Responsible Marine Shipping.
George is still keeping busy. Recently, she’s taken a semester off school to focus on travelling to film festivals and acting. In July, she will begin filming an educational short Docu-series on orca whales and matriarchy funded by National Geographic. Currently, she is working on her next script.
“Right now, I’m living out my dream and happy about that. I prayed for all these things. The only thing is they all came true at the same time, which is hard. So be careful what you pray for,” she says.
I tell her this reminds me of something Dane-zaa, nêhiyaw, and mixed European author and activist Helen Knott said at her book launch in October.
“Be careful about what you pray for. If you’re praying for strength, you’re going to be given hard times to build up that strength, so I’m mindful of how I pray,” Knott shared.
George laughs and pulls her copy of Knott’s memoir, Becoming a Matriarch, out of the box beside her, sharing how much she wants to read it.
“I’m being all the things I wanted to be as a kid. It’s so healing to be able to express myself like this.”
Kayah and Ta7a George. Still from “Our Grandmother the Inlet.”
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Police discrimination probe builds on Indigenous families’ calls for justice
People hold up signs during a rally calling for justice for Jared Lowndes in 2022. Photo by Philip McLachlan
“British Columbia’s” human rights commissioner has launched an inquiry into police discrimination when it comes to use of force.
The province-wide investigation was announced in late January in response to public concerns about disproportionate violence from officers against racialized people and people with mental health issues.
While systemic racism in policing is a known issue, there is still a lack of comprehensive data about these impacts which is what Kasari Govender’s office hopes to uncover.
“This inquiry aims to better understand who is at the receiving end of use of force by police, whether any disproportionate impact revealed amounts to systemic discrimination and what can be done to address any equity issues that emerge,’” Govender said in a news release.
Govender said she hopes this investigation will enable communities to have greater involvement in the province’s approach to policing and ownership over their information.
Investigation will ‘narrow scope’ of past work
According to Govender, the inquiry builds on previous work done by her office. In particular, a 2021 report which found racial disparities in the province’s policing system.
The “Equity is Safer: Human Rights Considerations for Policing in British Columbia” report analyzed data from the “Vancouver” and “Nelson” police departments and the “Surrey,” “Duncan” and “Prince George” RCMP.
It found that Indigenous people are overrepresented in arrests, chargeable incidents and mental health-related incidents. Indigenous women are also overrepresented in arrests compared to white women or women from all other racial backgrounds.
The data also found a great deal of police activity involves people experiencing mental health issues, with Indigenous, Black, Arab and West Asian people significantly overrepresented in these types of police interactions in many jurisdictions.
While the 2021 report focused on five police jurisdictions in “B.C.,” the inquiry will use data on police interactions across the province. Policing bodies are legally obligated to provide this data to the government, according to Govender, which she said will also help her office “produce some results and move towards recommendations.”
The 29 recommendations made in the 2021 report include asking the provincial government to provide funding to enable Indigenous peoples to be partners in Police Act reform, that the “B.C.” government should make significant investments in civilian-led mental health and substance use services, and establish a robust and well-funded Indigenous civilian police oversight body.
Govender said these recommendations would be revisited, and new recommendations would be made through collecting, storing and using data per the Grandmother’s Perspective, which centres on relationships with affected communities grounded in the concept of data sovereignty.
“The recommendations in that last report were aimed at the legislative committee tasked with looking into reforming the Police Act … so they were quite far ranging — we made recommendations about school liaison officers, about de-tasking the police, how to overcome bias and stereotyping [in police checks],” Govender said.
“This inquiry is going to be much more narrow in scope in the sense that we’re only looking at the use of force data rather than a broader range of information, and we’ll be making recommendations about how to address any disproportionate impacts we see there.”
Inquiry follows calls for justice
The inquiry into the police use of force by Govender’s office follows concerns raised by Indigenous families who are living with violence perpetrated by police forces across the country, along with efforts by policing bodies to improve accountability for their actions.
An example of this is Chantel Moore’s family and friends, who have participated in an inquiry into her death at the hands of a “New Brunswick” police officer and travelled across the country to share their community’s experience with the police.
Moore, a Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation woman, was fatally shot by Const. Jeremy Son, who had been dispatched to check on her wellbeing in June 2020.
Since then, Moore’s mother Martha Martin has been seeking police reform through greater accountability and transparency in investigations against police behaviour.
Martin said the inquest into her daughter’s killing relied heavily on testimonies and evidence presented by the Edmundston Police Force. She noted that investigative bodies lack Indigenous representation.
“The second something happens, the police set the narrative,” Martin said.
“I found the inquiry was such a one-sided story because it was the police officers and the paramedics — the [inquest] didn’t bring any other person to come and say what they had seen.”
For Martin, the lack of Indigenous representation in the investigation process leads to limited transparency by the police and a lack of accountability for officer behaviour.
“It’s an ongoing problem that goes across the country where Indigenous people and the BIPOC community have been feeling like they’ve been a target,” Martin said.
“The transparency part is always one-sided because it’s an officer’s word against [ours].”
The road to data sovereignty
Meanwhile, on Jan. 9, the RCMP announced the launch of its own initiative to respond to concerns about racism and discrimination by its frontline officers.
Created following two years of consultations, the Race-Based Data Collection Initiative will involve researching race-base data in order to understand the extent of systemic racism within the force.
The data will be based on “officer perception,” wherein the officers will observe and determine the identity of the people they interact with,” according to Mai Phan, the RCMP’s acting director of its anti-racism unit.
“Officer perception is an important metric to identify whether perceived race and perceived Indigenous identity influence outcomes for different groups of people,” Phan said during a virtual media briefing in January.
“We will be using that data to analyze our impacts and outcomes for community groups in the pilot locations.”
The initiative will begin in three communities — “Whitehorse” in the “Yukon,” “Fort McMurray” in “Alberta,” and “Thompson” in “Manitoba.” Two additional pilot sites — one in “British Columbia” and one in “Nova Scotia” — are set to follow later this year.
Phan said piloting the initiative will allow the RCMP to test processes and make improvements and adjustments before an anticipated future national rollout.
Hard data is critical for understanding interactions between police forces and Indigenous and racialized people, according to Govender. Yet she said it is not always accessible, as is the case in B.C., which has no public body tasked with providing comprehensive, publicly accessible data on the police’s interactions with racialized people.
Govender said she hopes to fill this gap by analyzing data currently available to the provincial government. For the inquiry, her office has submitted an information request to the B.C. Ministry of Public Safety and Solicitor General, which receives annual reports on the use of force from police departments across the province.
Her office will review this data to determine whether it shows any disproportionate impacts on racialized persons or persons with mental health issues.
She will also meet with community organizations during the inquiry to ensure they have a say in deciding how the data about their lives will be used to create positive change.
This goes hand-in-hand with the Grandmother Perspective, released in 2020, which “answers and echoes the calls to collect disaggregated data to advance human rights.”
The Grandmother Perspective asks that instead of monitoring citizens, we collect and use disaggregated data to emphasize care for communities through “informing law, policy and an institutional practice that is in service of — and developed in collaboration with — those who are systemically discriminated against,” writes Govender in the report.
“We cannot act on what we do not know. This is a call for knowledge. We cannot make change without first building the foundations of a respectful relationship. This is a call to work alongside community in meaningful partnership. This is the time for commitments to address systemic racism and oppression across British Columbia and to move from words to real change.”
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At the All Native Basketball Tournament, the AMR team faces ups and downs
Players from the All My Relations Basketball team enter the locker room after warming up for their first plays in a high-stakes game against Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh) as the basketball court is reflected behind them. Photo by Paige Taylor White
This is the second story in a three-part series about the All My Relations basketball team and their journey to the All Native tournament in “Prince Rupert.” You can read the first story here.
In between the third and fourth quarters of their second game in the All Native Basketball Tournament, the All My Relations (AMR) team was doing sit ups.
Communication has long been a focus, and coach Adelia Paul wasn’t happy about how many screens the team didn’t call during the match against the Gitxaała Lady Warriors of Kitkatla. She called for 10 sits ups per player.
AMR won the game on Monday with 69 baskets to their opponents’ 22 points. They also won their first game against the Old Massett Raiders by a comfortable margin a day earlier.
The sit ups weren’t about winning, it was about execution and doing the dirty work. It was about holding one another accountable — skills that would each become more crucial as the tournament in “Prince Rupert” progressed through the week.
Though the East Van club team started the tournament on a high with the two wins under their belt, the journey to their latest game this weekend would prove to test them in almost every aspect.
The AMR team does sit ups in between the third and fourth quarters during their second game of the tournament against Kitkatla. Photo by Paige Taylor White
The AMR team huddles at their bench during their game against Kitkatla. Photo by Paige Taylor White
“Alright you have 10 seconds to say what some of our wins were from today’s game,” Paul said after the team’s win against Kitkatla.
Players shouted out replies: drawing fouls, intensity, pressure, confidence, encouraging each other, hustle and determination.
After this quick celebration of what the team did well, the conversation changed focus to where the team could improve.
The team had an off day on Tuesday spent resting and scouting games. On Wednesday, the match up was against the Hesquiaht Descendants, which would prove to test and challenge the team.
AMR player Tamia Edgar from Hesquiaht and Ditidaht Nations warms up in the locker room. Photo by Paige Taylor White
AMR players and cousins Shauntelle Dick-Charleson and Tamia Edgar are both from the Hesquiaht Nation. Edgar is from the Hesquiaht and Ditidaht Nations, and Dick-Charlesson is from the Hesquiaht and Songhees Nations.
They have relations to almost every player on the opposing team — made up of their aunties, nieces and cousins. In the end, AMR lost.
“It came down to grit, that’s what it was,” said Dick-Charleson in an emotional discussion after the game.
“They wanted it more, they were hungry for that ball. I say it every practice, hunger. We need that hunger. I don’t know what switched.”
AMR player Shauntelle Dick-Charleson from Hesquiaht and Songhees Nations is one of the players on the team to compete against family members from her nation’s team. Photo by Paige Taylor White
A final score of 55-50 meant the only way to continue in the tournament was taking what’s referred to as the “backdoor route” and entering the losing bracket.
“We didn’t do all that training for nothing,” Dick-Charleson said.
“We put in the work. We put in that work and we lost … I just wish that we came out and showed up to that game”.
Once you lose a game at All Native, it means playing more games and a much longer road to the finals. If the team had won against Hesquiaht, they would have only needed one more win to qualify — now, they needed four.
But it’s been done in the past. In 2022, AMR won the tournament, in what is so far their first and only time, by going the backdoor route.
Later on Wednesday, the team met at the gym to watch the game between the Gitxsan Mystics (Hazelton) and Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh). AMR would play the winner of this game the following morning, in the team’s first must-win game of the tournament.
After a three-pointer with four seconds left in the game, the Gitmidiik Thunder made a comeback to send the game to overtime and win.
At AMR’s pre-game meeting, the team discussed accountability for one another, adjustments that needed to be made, and deciding the best way to get everyone to come together for the team’s common goal.
“I don’t feel mad, upset, jealous, I could’ve done this, I couldn’t have done that. I don’t feel any of that, I feel proud of my teammates,” said Marnie Scow when it was her turn to speak in the circle.
“We really have to leave our egos at the door. It’s not about us individually.”
AMR player Marnie Scow fixes her hair in the locker room mirror before hitting the court. Photo by Paige Taylor White
At the next morning’s game, the AMR team brought a different energy. Somewhere between calm and confident, light yet focused — the team found ways to be more connected before the game.
Playing against Gitmidiik was a back and forth effort all game long for AMR. Up by a point at half time, and then down 43-40 going into the fourth quarter, it was an all or nothing scenario.
The All My Relations Basketball warms up for their first game against Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh). After losing the day before to the Hesquiaht Descendants, the AMR team has to go the “backdoor route” to the finals playing additional games to try and earn their spot in the finals. Photo by Paige Taylor White
Shenise Sigsworth works her way to the hoop while AMR takes on the Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh). Photo by Paige Taylor White
AMR player Laura Lewis draws a foul while AMR takes on the Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh). Photo by Paige Taylor White
In the last quarter, Laura Lewis was on the court when Gitmidiik took possession of the ball and moved it down to AMR’s net.
Playing defence, Lewis and others lept for the ball at the same time as several other players. With Lewis putting all her energy and focus into protecting the net, the collision brought her to the ground. In a fall that looked at first looked like it was okay — Lewis didn’t return to her feet and was still on the ground.
Looks from the AMR bench and the crowd showed the heartbreak of the situation. Without needing to look at Lewis herself, she could be heard across the court in audible distress during the already emotionally charged game. She was escorted off the court, leaving her teammates without the player’s leadership but with new motivation to win on Lewis’s behalf.
AMR player Laura Lewis gets help from family member and teammate Brenna Doolan after spraining her knee against the Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh). The team depends on Lewis as a leader and vocal player on and off the court. Photo by Paige Taylor White
With only a few minutes left in the final quarter of a close game, AMR’s youngest player Amber Wells was able to steal the ball and score to put her team back in front on the scoreboard.
As the clock wound down, AMR held on to the win with a nail-biting final score of 61-60.
Amber Wells shares and emotional win with teammates after beating Gitmidiik Thunder (New Aiyansh) in a back and forth game. Photo by Paige Taylor White
When the teams untangle themselves, a woman with purple hair breaks into centre court saying continuously “I am so proud of you.” Aggie Wells is the grandmother of AMR player Amber Wells — and congratulates her with a hug. Photo by Paige Taylor White
The win against Gitmidiik took AMR to another game on Thursday at 8 p.m., this time against Haisla Nation.
As the team warmed up in the locker room that evening, someone yelled out as Drake’s infamous song “Started From the Bottom” began to play. AMR lost to Haisla last year in a game that knocked them out of the tournament.
The All My Relations Basketball team warms up in the locker room ahead of their game against Haisla Nation. Photo by Paige Taylor White
Coach Paul, who is from Haisla Nation, learned from the coaches on that team. She addressed the AMR team ahead of the game by saying “at this point it comes down to who wants it,” while adding it will take everyone on the team for them to win.
As AMR hit the court, it became clear who most of the crowd was rooting for — with Haisla Nation being a beloved hometown team close to the host town of “Prince Rupert.”
With AMR’s black jerseys emphasizing their villain status, the sounds of whistles, boos, and comments like “clean your glasses ref” echoed through the gym. Up 23-20 at the half, AMR continued the forward momentum and pressure. Despite the cheers for the Haisla team, AMR harnessed the power of being disliked to keep a steady and calm handle on the local team.
Coach Adelia Paul and player Brenna Doolan huddle with the rest of the AMR team wihile taking a minute to strategize during their game against Haisla Nation where coach Paul is from. Photo by Paige Taylor White
The AMR team runs to coach Adelia Paul after they win against her her home nation’s team, Haisla, which knocked AMR out of the tournament last year. Photo by Paige Taylor White
In a final score of 51-43, the AMR team beat Haisla for their second win while taking the “backdoor route” and earning a chance to play for at least one more game against the Laxgalts’ap Aces (Greenville), which is set to take place Friday morning.
The tournament is set to conclude on Sunday, Feb. 18.
AMR player Joleen Mitton walks off the court after the team’s win against Haisla Nation. This win allows the team to play the next morning against Laxgalts’ap Aces and continue their run in the “backdoor route” of the tournament. Photo by Paige Taylor White
Reporting for this story was made possible in part through funding from the Real Estate Foundation of BC, a philanthropic organization working to advance sustainable, equitable, and socially just land use across the province.
The post At the All Native Basketball Tournament, the AMR team faces ups and downs appeared first on IndigiNews.
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