Nature Reclaims her Land
- Maggie Graham
- May 1, 2013
- 5 min read
It seems a series of holding hands, then wars unplanned, until in anguish Nature reclaims her land.
It seems a natural tendency to document the past; it enables us to learn from previous grievance and success, if we are willing. Our minds travel to the great pyramids wherein lie pharaohs whose desire to be welcomed into the afterlife seems rivaled only by a unified desire to leave behind them an indelible mark of their existence. Monuments appear a qualified mode of documentation to a certain extent; but if history has had its fill of one thing, it is pride.
Who are we to suppose that our traces are ineffaceable?
How long did the Romans believe that their rigid Republic would endure the blows of a changing era if they made their roots in gravitas, dignitas, pietas and virtus? How long did that vain ruler of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s sonnet believe his legacy could live on? What power, oh Ozymandias, have you to command the living to despair for knowledge of your fleeting works? How long will Stone Hedge remain in a functional fog, refusing to begrudge the modern world a sliver of certainty as to its original use?
Ephemerality is a concept easily overlooked when its effects are not witnessed in one’s own lifetime.
And yet we know the function of the pyramids, and the Roman culture—though snuffed out long ago—is studied today for both its language and tradition. Perhaps language is the preservative, indelible ink at play. Written accounts of history, documents of trade, transcribed cultural artefacts: was written language the answer? I believe that it played an important part, but not one that was as integral as the oral culture perpetuating it.
It is true that both oral and written histories are rooted in their biases, however, oral tradition exists alongside the stories accepted by the majority; history need not only be told by those who have proclaimed themselves the victors. In Shelly Niro’s installation “Battlefields of my Ancestors” she presents contrasting modes of commemoration while simultaneously addressing the topic of merging cultures and history’s silenced voices.
The nature of war is pyrrhic and in her exhibition, Niro has selected pictures which portray land that was once touched by battle. Some are marked by intrusive, blue and gold commemorative signs which provide a short blurb on the significance of the place and tell a biased sequence of events. Other photographs are bereft of any commemorative piece; these places are marked by nothing except the intangible cenotaph erected in the oral tradition of a people who have pledged to remember.
There are two modes of commemoration in Niro’s exhibition. The first is the one with which most European descendants are most familiar: monuments. These monuments serve to identify the place of battle as an unforgettable milestone in history, whether it be an aspect of pride or guilt for the nation. The second mode requires no palpability, for Niro has taken photos of those sites whose violent pasts do not lay claim to them. This is not to say that the acts committed in these lands have been forgotten; instead they have been woven into the context of oral tradition so that they may be remembered, but not hinder the process of healing. In commemorating the losses of war, Nature has been allowed to reclaim those battlegrounds recognized by the Native people so that there is no remnant of war left in the place, save for the memories and lessons drawn from the conflict.
Although this stark contrast exists, Niro does not seek to diverge, but rather converge these two identities. As a Native Canadian she claims an identity that partakes in a dual history, a compelling dynamic that she allows us to explore through the motley nature of her exhibit.
On the wall opposite the framed photos, Niro has chosen to display an enlarged sepia image from an old stereoscope viewer. The caption below the image explains that the European woman in the picture was a heroine in the time of war. Across from this image, Niro has recreated this stereoscope viewer style with another image. Here, she has chosen to take the content of oral tradition and realize it through ‘credible’ medium of the European tradition. When scrutinized, it is clear that this stereoscope image is fabricated, but at first glance, the image passes for any other photograph. Similar to the first stereoscope image, Niro’s facsimile portrays a strong woman in a time of war, this one preparing the men for battle by offering them counsel.
In addition to merging identities, Niro is giving power to those whose voices have been continually silenced. Women and Indigenous people, two groups largely excluded from our nation’s celebrated history are now receiving attention of the public. The two images are separated by a third image that would resemble the pink frill of a dress if not more closely examined. This image, like many others in this same exhibition, requires the viewers to challenge their first perception in order to arrive at the real nature of the image. The pink frills consist of digitally altered and somewhat distorted images of shells; these shells once served as a currency for the Native people of North America before the arrival of European settlers. In this way, Niro combines the femininity evoked by the supposed image with the power associated with currency, all while referencing the history of a people whose stories and traditions are seldom acknowledged in our nation’s history.
The images of the battleground require the same search for context as the stereoscope pictures. It is notable that Niro has placed an image of the monument at Vimy Ridge among the pictures of the other battlefields, for the sacrifice made by Indigenous people of Canada during the World Wars is often overlooked. The Battle at Vimy Ridge is viewed as a galvanizing moment in the history of Canada and the victory encompassed all types of people and brought them together under the name Canadian.
As we prepare to celebrate Canada 150, it seems a general tendency to look to the Great Wars to consolidate our Canadian identity; in doing so, let us not forget the backgrounds of those who fought to create the Canada in which we live today. Furthermore, by whose measure are we declaring that we have achieved 150 years? There are histories stretching further back than 150 years which claim Canada as home. Conversely, some provinces have not yet constituted a segment of Canada for 150 years.
It is paramount that we recognize this identity as being multi-faceted. This does not mean that the Canadian identity is fragmented. It is rather similar to a plant whose roots are held firm in distinct regions under the soil; it could not stand if these roots did not spread out in new directions. The histories and cultures present in Canada are the roots of this country, and the nation visible above the soil cannot stand tall without this complex system to support it.
For now, we reside in this beautiful land—we share it as Canadians. Rather than building monuments in order that the world remember us when we are gone, let how we choose to live today be that testament for us. Commemoration is performed when something is enveloped by human culture, and hewn into legacy rather than stone. So let us celebrate the identity that has no other defining feature than a sense of foundation in no single trait. Let us first realize the results of such an identity above the soil for all our citizens to observe, feel, emulate.
Let us not spend our time boasting of the panaceas we have not yet conjured up when we could be realizing them. Let us remember that we are but tenants of this land for a fleeting while, for even when the tokens we leave behind are scars and strife, Nature reclaims her land.
We have a chance to heal.
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