The Sleeping Giant Awakens

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Among the Anishnawbe people of the northern shore of Lake Superior (in Northwestern Ontario, Canada) there is a legend of the Sleeping Giant. This giant can be seen to this day lying down on his back at the end of the Sibley Peninsula, just to the east of the city of Thunder Bay. I have not visited this sacred place in person, but I flew over it once on a flight to western Canada on a clear day: I was astounded at how much it looked like a reclining giant even from thirty thousand feet in the air.

The legend has several variants, but in general it goes as follows:

Once there was a powerful and benevolent spirit named Nanabijou (sometimes also spelled ‘Nanabozho’) whose home was the depths of Lake Superior. Nanabijou loved and protected the Anishnawbe people of the Great Lakes region and throughout the ages he watched over them and helped them in their time of need. Then the Europeans came and set up trading posts: these newcomers looked for resources to be gleaned from the land. During this time, Nanabijou offered a gift to the Anishnawbe people – a gift that was not to be shared with the invading Europeans, nor should the Europeans learn about it. This gift was silver.

One day, Nanabijou called the Chief of the Anishnawbe people to the Thunder Temple atop the mountain. Nanabijou sternly warned the Chief that if he told the secret to the White Men, then he, Nanabijou, would be turned to stone and the Anishnawbe people would perish. The Chief gave his word. And Nanabijou told him the secret of the rich silver deposit at a place known as Silver Islet. Nanbijou told the Chief to go to the highest place on Thunder Cape (now called Sibley Peninsula) and there he would find a tunnel that would lead him to the centre of the silver deposit.

The Chief followed Nanabijou’s instructions and found Silver Islet. He and his people mined the silver and the Anishnawbe people became famous for their beautiful silver ornaments. So beautiful were these ornaments that the Sioux warriors (who had not yet migrated to the Great Plains) saw them on their wounded Anishnawbe adversaries and they tried to wrest the secret from them – but under no circumstances would the Anishnawbe prisoners of war give up the secret.

So, the Sioux had to find another way to find out the location of the Anishnawbe’s secret silver. Sioux warriors entered Anishnawbe camps and tortured and even killed the villagers in the hope of getting them to reveal the secret. These efforts, too, were in vain.

Realizing that direct force was of no use, the Sioux sent a scout to an Anishnawbe village, disguised as an Anishnawbe tribesman, and he listened for a long time about what was discussed among the villagers. Eventually, he learned the location of the secret silver mine.

Going to the mine at night, the Sioux scout picked up several large chunks of the metal in order to take them back to his Chief to prove that he had found the mine. However, on his way back to Sioux territory, he stopped at a White trading post to purchase some food. He had neither furs to trade nor cash on his person, so he used a piece of silver. The traders’ eyes gleamed at the sight of this piece of pure silver: they wanted to know where the Sioux warrior got the piece of silver so that they could go there and mine it themselves and become fabulously rich. The traders got him drunk and the Sioux man “spilled his guts” (so to speak) about the mine’s whereabouts.

Nanabijou was aware of what had happened. As soon as the Europeans knew where his gift was located, he sprang into action. Disappointed and angry, Nanabijou created a massive storm over Lake Superior at the same time that the White traders were paddling on the lake almost in sight of Silver Islet. Waves grew taller than hills; trees were ripped right out of the ground by the furious gusts of wind. The Europeans’ canoe filled with water; the swamped boat sank and the Europeans drowned. The Sioux scout paddled his own canoe aimlessly and in a crazed condition, for what was once an open bay was now  a gigantic hill in the shape of a sleeping man.

Nanabijou had laid down, arms crossed over his chest, and covered the silver mine under his feet, hidden from everyone. Nanabijou lays there, to this day, hiding his gift. The Anishnawbe people immediately knew what happened and offered thanks to Nanabijou for having allowed them to access the silver for a good while and for protecting its exploitation by others.

Here legend blends into history. It is a fact that on a little island at the foot of the Sleeping Giant can still be seen the partially submerged shafts of what was once the richest silver mine in northwestern Ontario. But the mine has never yielded its riches to the White Man. Company after company purchased the island throughout the 19^th century and tried to turn it into a viable mine with the extensive use of water pumps and all other available technologies. None of them ever succeeded: each venture ended in physical disaster and financial ruin. For nearly 150 years the old Anishnawbe silver mine has lain unmolested.

Decades ago, I had a close friend who spent a lot of time with the Anishnawbe people. He told me this story, but he told me something else which is not discussed publicly: some of the Elders say that the Sleeping Giant will rise again during a time of turbulence and change – at a time when the native peoples of the continent (Turtle Island) have put their traumatic past behind them and are able to openly celebrate their traditions again. For many years I hoped that I would live long enough to see such a day. Now, to be clear, I have not expected to literally see a three-mile-tall flesh-and-blood giant emerge from the Sibley Peninsula; but a vision, or a feeling, that some giant sleeping Spirit of the Land would make itself felt within my heart and within the hearts of others.

And then, in my mind’s eye, I saw the Sleeping Giant rise. As clear as day. It happened almost exactly four years ago (probably on January 29, 2022). And it was in connection with an unforgettable event (at least for Canadians): the Freedom Convoy.

During the Covid Era I had become more sensitized to what is happening within Canadian society. Being under virtual house arrest (working exclusively from home, banned from restaurants, movie theatres, trains and planes, and religious activities shut down) helped me participate in social media, which I had hitherto completely avoided. And, so, being more plugged into the dissident zeitgeist than previously, I quickly got wind of a trucker’s protest starting in British Columbia in reaction to the new federal government mandate that forced truckers (formerly lauded as ‘heroes’ during the early days of the national ‘lockdown’) who had not participated in the mRNA experiment to be quarantined every time they cross the border with the USA (a mandate that affected a large proportion of the trucking industry). And I watched videos and listened to reports assiduously. Soon it became clear that a major spontaneous movement was afoot. Canadians – not just truckers – were seriously pissed and had had enough of the government over-reach.

What struck me when the massive convoy made its way across the Prairies and into western Ontario was the very visible participation of Indigenous people, directly or indirectly, in the movement. Despite the bitter -30 degree cold, Indigenous groups performed the ‘smudging’ ceremony to trucks as they sped by on the highway; and many Indigenous individuals posted videos of special prayer-dances in the snow. One incident in particular drew my breath: a Métis family drove from rural Saskatchewan to western Ontario to deliver a sacred relic to Pat King – a popular and outrageously outspoken Youtuber who has some Anishnawbe ancestry – to take to the protest site in Ottawa to ‘carry on the fight’. This incident happened on the trans-Canada highway close to Thunder Bay – that is, in the traditional territory of the Sleeping Giant legend. And that is when it hit me: in my mind’s eye, I saw a human giant, standing two miles tall, looking to the east, standing beside the convoy-carrying highway. At that moment I knew a major cultural event in Canadian history was in the making: an event in which the Native Canadian values of freedom and independence would feature strongly.

For three weeks I closely watched all that I could on the Freedom Convoy as it made its way along the highway, thronged by cheering masses of people on overpasses, and established itself in Ottawa. I saw members of First Nations from coast to coast, as well as Métis from across the country, very active in the convoy. But not only that: I watched in amazement as protesters from the provinces of Alberta and Quebec – who under normal circumstances are enemies – forming close spontaneous friendships. Peoples of all ethnicities were present, too – and especially immigrants who had fled to Canada from authoritarian regimes (eastern Europe, Iran, China), many of whom stated that what they are experiencing in Canada “has the same smell” as the regimes that they fled and therefore vehemently oppose. After having been cooped up in their homes via what seemed to have been an interminable time by nonsensical mandates, Canadians of all walks of life and all imaginable backgrounds turned the main streets of Ottawa into a festival – a winter Woodstock, so to speak – where people celebrated the simple pleasure of mixing with each other without the encumbrances of face masks, Plexiglas screens and the like. Joy, openness and generosity flowed in a way I had never seen before (or since). And not even a single snowball was thrown in anger during the nearly three weeks in Ottawa, let alone burning cars, looting stores and other violent shenanigans that seem to accompany protests like smoke accompanies fire.

But the big question that I puzzled over was why the big presence of Indigenous people in the convoy and the Ottawa protest? What was at stake for them? Sure, protesting is almost a way of life for some native bands. I cannot count the number of times that highways and railroads have been blockaded by some irate band or another. There was even an armed standoff between Mohawk protesters and Canadian infantry in Oka (just outside Montreal) in 1990 that lasted for 78 days. But their protests have been strictly focused on their specific Indigenous concerns. I could not think of a single major non-Indigenous issue protest that garnered any visible Indigenous presence. So, what compelled our Indigenous brothers and sisters to show up this time, and in large numbers?

What I heard many Indigenous participants in the Freedom Convoy say, almost in one voice was startling: “For generations we have suffered under a heavy-handed government dictating nearly all aspect of our lives on the reservation; we do not wish that on anybody else. Now that you have had a taste of what that kind of life is, we fight beside you for you to regain your freedom.” In essence, they had nothing to gain personally from protesting; they had no ‘skin in the game.’ But even more common answers that I heard were, “as soon as I found out about the convoy, something inside of me strongly said, ‘go and join them’ and before I knew what I was doing I hopped in my car and came here” and “the village elder said to us ‘go – even though we don’t like to involve ourselves with outsiders’ concerns, the spirits are saying that this time it is different – we must participate.’”

And they came in the thousands. Many slept in their cars in frigid temperatures for weeks, having neither the comfort of a truck cabin nor a hotel to stay in. And they prayed long and hard, singing and playing their drums in front of Canada’s parliament buildings.

The presence of Indigenous people at the convoy/protest accomplished several important things: it enabled contacts to be made with many non-Indigenous Canadians, and it helped to expose these Canadians to Indigenous spiritual and cultural beliefs, which they spoke of freely (for a change). This formed bonds across cultural and religious barriers that have persisted to this day.

In the end, the Government of Canada prevailed – at least at the physical level. It invoked the Emergencies Act (formerly called the War Measures Act) – illegally, as it has been proven in two courts – which allowed the amassing of the worst cops in Canada (and some from the USA and UK) to brutalize the mass of unarmed, peaceful protesters, and break into and impound many trucks on February 19, 2022. Many organizers were arrested and held without bail; others retreated to the outskirts of Ottawa in the hope of being able to continue the peaceful protest – but it was not meant to be. The wonderful “spell” of peace, harmony, and joy at just being able to assemble without hindrance was effectively broken by hobnail boots following orders of masters who were terrified of a persistent street party.

But did the Government of Canada ultimately prevail? I am not alone in strongly answering “no” to that question. Even while the Freedom Convoy was thundering across the nation, the governments of one province after another were dropping their restrictive “medical” mandates as quickly as if they were hot potatoes, and within a couple of months after the Freedom Convoy had been beaten into submission in the bloody snow, the Government of Canada quietly dropped the last of its draconian mandates.

More importantly, life did not go back to “normal” for many of the participants and supporters of the Freedom Convoy. Organizations spontaneously formed to fight medical tyranny and government over-reach – many of which are thriving today. And quietly, almost surreptitiously, some Indigenous spiritual leaders have worked tirelessly on dismantling the system that nearly strangled the life out of Canada during the Covid Era. But their work is not on the outer level; rather, it is at very deep spiritual and symbolic levels – undoing and unravelling key elements of what they are convinced is the black magic that has contaminated Canadian politics and society at large. They shun the limelight, for their work does not need publicity; it works in its own way and in its own time, as magic always does.

In my inner eye, I still see what I refer to as the Standing Giant (formerly “Sleeping Giant”) protecting this country, not just the Anishnawbe inhabitants of a particular region. I cannot say with certainty exactly what the Standing Giant has planned for the future, but I do know that he marks a major turn that will ultimately be for the better. I see the Standing Giant as the embodiment of the deep fundamental culture of this land: a culture that is in harmony with the land and actually comes from the land. I believe that it is, literally, the Spirit of the Land (Canada? North America? I am not sure). I know what I see, but I don’t claim to fully understand the meaning of what I see.

Oddly enough, while I give enormous importance to the spontaneous Freedom Convoy as a bonfire that dispelled the dystopian darkness of the Covid Era, I believe that there was an earlier spark that (at a subtle level) ignited the fire. Far away, on the other side of the world, in a place called Aotearoa (New Zealand) in late November of 2021, there manifested the first (to my knowledge) opposition to the totalitarian terror that was the Covid mandates. In the capital city of Wellington, facing the nation’s parliament buildings, an immense crowd of Maoris assembled and performed in unison, the hakka “war dance” (which I believe is actually an effective magic ritual). I have seen many hakkas performed (including one, in person, in New Zealand): it is extremely powerful at an instinctual level (like a bear warning you before it attacks). As soon as I saw a recording of this “mass hakka” in late 2021, I felt that it was sending out a signal that would reverberate around the world – and that other Indigenous peoples would be most sensitive and attentive to the signal. Now with hindsight I see the “mass hakka” as being the call; and the Freedom Convoy (and the many other convoys that spanned several contents) was the reply. I consider it to be perfectly natural that one of the key originators of the Freedom Convoy – Tamara Lich – is Metis and that the Native Canadian presence in the convoy was so conspicuous.

Perhaps it is pure coincidence (whatever that is) that in early 2021 I wrote a short story (published in Mythic magazine), which came to me in a flash of intuition, about an ancient conch shell being blown for the first time in recorded history, and that it awoke two giants (named “Hard Limits” and “Wisdom”) who had slumbered on the bottom of the ocean for aeons, in order to restore “balance” in the West. Coincidence or not, I do believe that the Sleeping Giant has risen, and that can only be a good thing.