It’s 11 a.m. in Anywhere, Indian Country. The meeting was supposed to have started two hours ago. Half of the people expected haven’t even bothered to show up yet Someone titters nervously about “being on Indian Time again, I guess.”
Nobody laughs. Jokes about Indian Time are wearing thin. An annoyed band administrator and two Tribal Council types announce “they have more important things to do with their time”—and leave for appointments elsewhere.
So what exactly is Indian Time? According to romantics, it’s a natural time, the Creator’s time, a spiritual time in tune with the ancient rhythms of Mother Earth—and in perfect synchronization with harmonies of the Universe…
Opponents dismiss it as bullshit, our very limited time and meager resources wasted again, a lackadaisical inability to maintain a simple timetable, an appalling disrespect for the schedules of others, thinly disguised as some kind of noble cultural trait Does “accountability to the people” refer only to the cash box in Indian Country or can it include the use—or abuse—of time as well? Is there a balance, somewhere between living life by the clock and being “out to lunch” when you should be hard at work? Speaking of waste, how about some of these big “Chieves” (one of them actually pluralizes the noun “Chief” in this manner) getting flown into Toronto, Winnipeg or Vancouver for yet another two or three-day “high-level meeting.”
Since everybody is on Indian Time the majority arrive late. Agendas are often hours or even days behind. Often the agenda is abandoned and a new one made up on the spot, to the dismay of organizers who may have worked months to set the bash up.
The meeting is opened by a “highly respected Elder” who is dragged in to say the opening prayer in some obscure dialect few understand. He or she is then shuffled off into Elder limbo, to await the closing prayer. This is one way Indian Country demonstrates its great “respeck” for its Elders.
Some Chiefs don’t utter a single word during the entire meeting, other than gossiping. Others, mesmerized by the sound of their own voices, can’t be shut up. Speakers are often drowned out by tables of delegates more at home in a bingo hall than they are at national meetings. Frequently the chair has to ask for “some silence and a little respect” Rarely do they get it National, provincial or regional visions, if there are any, are discarded in favour of individual Chiefs grabbing the opportunity to whine about their own individual community problems. Every little coffee or lunch break becomes a major task for organizers to get delegates back into their chairs.
Around the second last day, when important resolutions are being put together and votes are required, the Chiefs start vanishing, leaving to catch a plane, get in a few rounds of golf, head for the mall, or to do some heavy decision-making at the local casino.
A good time was had by all—except for the “grassroots people” back home. Do the people deserve more from their so-called “leadership,” or do they deserve exactly what they accept? Gilbert Oskaboose is a 53-year-old Ojibway from the Serpent River First Nation in Ontario. He is a retired journalist and former communications director for the North Shore Tribal Council.
