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Rant & Rave by Norbert Many Grey Horses It never ceases to amaze me how ignorant and insensitive the white society in Canada has become whenever my real name comes to their attention. While I was purchasing my goodies from my friendly neighborhood Safeway, I presented my Air Miles card and the check-out clerk asked me if it was indeed my real name. I responded sarcastically, "No, I just made it up." Do Canadians think the First Peoples of this country just pull names out of the blue and say, "This will be my name from now on"? And this has happened more times than I can remember. Not to say I am not proud of my heritage and my name, but growing up deep in the heart of redneck country in Southern Alberta I was made to feel inferior and inadequate. How I got my last name has a history to it. Long, long ago when my great-grandfather went to battle with his enemies far, far away in their part of this country, he fought and raided the enemy. He took many horses and many of the horses were the colour of grey. Hence he was named Many Grey Horses. He was the very first Many Grey Horses. A lot of Natives have names that may seem funny or weird to the non-Native society because their great-grandfathers and grandmothers were named after an event, dream, visions and so forth. A person could change names several times in their lifetime. At least my name means something. Better than being called Jones, Smith or Joe Blow. The education system in this country has failed in teaching anything about Native culture. And what was taught was inaccurate, biased and according to their history as they saw fit. It is never from our viewpoint. Natives were considered a conquered Nation – and whenever we were mentioned in any battles we fought with the white man and won, it was considered a massacre. We were the villians in any conflict with the newcomers to this country. Our culture, spirituality and lifestyle was thought of as "evil" and "demonic" by the Christian churches. Together with the Government of Canada, Christian authorities set out to systematically destroy our way of life by imprisoning our grandparents, mothers and fathers in boarding schools set up on reservations all across Canada. There my parents were forbidden to speak our language and practise our way of life. It’s a wonder how the language and culture survived to this day. Sometimes I wonder if this is really how the majority of black South Africans felt during apartheid or the blacks felt during the ’60s in their repression and struggles. It’s sad in this day and age that I constantly feel hate directed at myself in this city and wherever I travel in this country for no apparent reason other than I am of a darker shade of colour. Stereotypes still exist and the racism is as strong among whites as it ever has been in Calgary and in Canada.

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