There’s meaning behind the movement at the B.C. Coastal Dance Festival.Supplied
There’s meaning behind the movement at the B.C. Coastal Dance Festival. Margaret Grenier, producer and director of the event, says the annual celebration of Indigenous song and dance is “about strengthening our community and our voice as Indigenous people, and inspiring one another with all the work that has happened in all of our many communities to revitalize these practices.”
Taking place in New Westminster (unceded land of the Halkomelem speaking people), this year the four-day festival will bring together more than 14 groups of Indigenous dance artists from coastal B.C. and the Prairies, as well as international performers. Many of the participants have been returning over the years, creating a familial atmosphere where people display their cultural heritage and share traditional knowledge.
In its current iteration, the Coastal Dance Festival began as part of the Cultural Olympiad in the lead-up to the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. But, Grenier says, its lineage can be traced back to the Haw Yaw Hawni Naw Annual Salmon Festival. That event, which took place in Prince Rupert, B.C., from 1967 to 1986, was founded by Grenier’s parents, Kenneth and Margaret Harris, in response to the lifting of the Potlatch Ban in 1951.
“People really didn’t have anything,” Grenier says of her parents’ festival, which allowed the region’s Indigenous peoples to finally celebrate and honour their heritage without fear of repercussion. “They were borrowing from collectors, they were borrowing from the local museum. They were bringing in artists from Alaska and the surrounding areas, just to be able to host the very first festival.”
With the CDF, Grenier continues the work of her parents, putting the focus on celebrating dance, song and stories of Indigenous people residing on the northwest coast of B.C., the traditional ancestral and unceded territories of the Musqueam, Kwantlen and Qayqayt people (to name a few). However, this year’s artists also include the Wagana Dancers from Australia, as well as renowned Maori artist Rosie Te Rauawhea Belvie from New Zealand.
Grenier and CDF have been cultivating a strong relationship with communities in New Zealand since the festival’s beginnings. She is struck by the more formal structure they use in training when it comes to language, song and dance. “That’s something we’re still working toward, our training. It’s through personal connections and networks and community connections, but not institutionalized with formal training opportunities. I think that’s something for us to be able to learn from. Hopefully, one day we can have that opportunity for our young Indigenous artists as well.”
Bringing together so many experiences and artistic practices into one dance festival isn’t only about learning from one another, but also thriving in community. “It strengthens who we are as Indigenous people in our ability to hold that in a nonstatic way,” Grenier says. “Something that’s fluid has the ability to transform not only within ourselves but as a community, so that it becomes a stronghold or a foundation for what’s coming next.”
It’s this kind of thinking that allowed CDF to ride out the pandemic in the virtual space, and inspired hybrid programming available this year that will allow for audiences outside of New Westminster to share in the festivities. Grenier is quick to point out though that, while “it was wonderful to do it online, it means so much to come together again.”
For Yisya ‘winuxw Dancers founder Pewi Alfred from Alert Bay, B.C., one of the benefits of participating in CDF is education: Yisya ‘winuxw was formed so that Alfred’s family could sing in their language together and pass down traditional dances. Together they represent many of the 18 tribes of the Kwakwa̱ ka ‘wakw.
“When we formed the dance group, we really wanted to educate other people about who we are,” she says over a video call from northern B.C. “No one really completely knows about us.”
At the festival, people get to see them “in the raw” as opposed to only in history books, Alfred continues. “I was raised by my grandparents, and our family is well-known for the dancing. It’s not just a performance for us. I’m sharing my identity, who I am as a person. When we dance, we’re telling stories of our personal history.”
Sometimes Alfred can’t understand the languages of some of the other artists, but for her it’s more about connecting on an emotional level through stories that come from the same deeply personal space.
“You just watch their faces. You watch how passionate they are about sharing who they are, and educating other people just like we do,” she says. “When I hear someone from New Zealand singing, I get emotional with them. It’s that powerful. They put their whole being and spirit into their dance, too.”