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Community ᐄᐦᑖᐧᐃᓐ

While land-based programs expand, resistance remains for ceremonies 

BY Patrick Quinn Jan 2, 2025

Land-based healing has become increasingly prominent throughout the Cree Nation, with demand for recent wellness retreats overwhelming available places. These holistic programs deliver numerous benefits, including cultural reconnection, intergenerational knowledge and identity empowerment. 

The Cree Health Board’s implementation of traditional medicine and land-based healing has largely been guided by the Nishiiyuu Council of Elders, with which it signed a collaboration agreement in 2020. In the last year, it acquired a large outfitting camp called Mirage, which former chairperson Bertie Wapachee called “our place where we deal with our trauma.”

While several camps in Eeyou Istchee currently host healing gatherings, cultural workshops and detoxification sessions, emerging resources such as Chisasibi’ Miskasowin Healing Lodge will significantly expand this availability. Expected to open in 2026, this land-based wellness recovery centre will include 20 beds for longer-term care to “nurture the spirit within.”

Being out on the land, away from modern distractions and dependencies, brings participants closer to their Cree language and culture, with proximity to natural medicines. However, that’s not the only reason these healing retreats are held outside communities. Many land-based programs include traditional ceremonies, which remain controversial among Cree people.

“Some of the tallymen around Chisasibi don’t want the ceremonies,” explained Wayne Rabbitskin, addictions specialist and founder of the National Indigenous Men’s Gathering. “There can be some hostility having it in the community.”

Rabbitskin has observed more and more land-based programs occurring, primarily at Mirage and the community of Whapmagoostui. He’s involved with a provincial program held 40 minutes outside of Quebec City that’s funded by Health Canada, integrating counselling sessions with traditional and spiritual healing methods. 

“We let the men know we’ll be doing some sweats, smoke our pipes, smudge, our tobacco ties, that sort of thing,” Rabbitskin said. “We haven’t done a shaking tent, but we did mention if the men wanted to have a teaching on it and the impacts of colonization, the brainwashing tactics used by the churches. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

Rabbitskin and Christine Petawabano, his co-host at the recent Cree Knowledge Festival, have been facilitating “Wellbriety” retreats for the past few years in Mistissini territory. While sage is available for participants to smudge, these gatherings are designed to be spiritually neutral. 

“There are communities that are more Christian-based, so we have to be careful not to impose anything on them,” said Rabbitskin. “We just leave some of the stuff out, like the sweat lodge or the pipe ceremonies – especially the community of Mistissini, when we do the Wellbriety retreat.”

Finding that attitudes are gradually shifting towards curiosity, Rabbitskin noted that there’s now a mitutisaan (sweat lodge) in Chisasibi. Located in a cabin across from the museum, it’s concealed yet out in the open, accessible to community members who may not be able to attend distant retreats.  

In 2010, a sweat lodge established by Redfern Mianscum in Ouje-Bougoumou was forcibly dismantled by orders of a band council resolution. The homemade structure built in his friend’s backyard quickly drew opposition from Pentecostal Christians, with a petition signed by about 130 people sparking a swift response from leadership.  

“That was a hard time,” shared Mianscum. “They didn’t want ceremonies, powwows; they even banned traditional people in the community. This was our way of life, to bring healing to our people. It hurt me.”

The resolution stated “the community was founded by Christian faith” and “native spirituality practices … do not conform with the teachings of our Elders.” At the time, community member John Shecapio-Blacksmith said they didn’t want to confuse youth and “you don’t want to bring in witchcraft.”

As Mianscum defended his religious freedom with a high-profile lawyer and the controversy made news across Canada, the Grand Council affirmed the importance of sacred Cree ceremonies, and a counter-petition was signed by over 100 locals. With the issue set to go to court, the resolution was rescinded about a year later and a mitutisaan was soon built by the sports lodge just outside the community. 

This rift between Christian teachings and long-outlawed Indigenous spirituality indicates the depth of unresolved historical traumas that land-based programs seek to address. Mianscum emphasized that learning both the ancestral teachings and colonizing forces in Cree history is a key to unravelling the root causes of addictions. 

“A lot of the teachings come from those ceremonies,” asserted Mianscum. “We learn how to honour life; it brings a sense of belonging. People are going through an identity crisis – I think what’s missing in our communities is an understanding of who we are.”

Mianscum knows the power of ceremony from personal experience. He described himself as a heavy cocaine user when he and his partner lost a baby 16 years ago. Quitting everything cold turkey the day of the funeral, he credits a friend’s invitation to a sweat lodge with helping turn his life around.

“I went to ceremonies every chance I got,” Mianscum recalled. “I never went through withdrawals, fortunately – traditional medicines and ceremonies, especially the sweat lodge, detoxified my body. I thought about my friends going through the same thing and wanted to move my sweat lodge home.”

Since the controversy, Mianscum has coordinated several powwows in Ouje-Bougoumou and healing retreats are increasingly held at nearby Maamuu Lodge. In November, he participated in an ambitious youth and traditional healers gathering at Mirage, which included ceremonies, traditional activities and drum making. 

He has witnessed land-based detox programs bring calmness to participants, nearly eliminating substance withdrawal symptoms, sometimes with the help of a traditional medicine made from tamarack and black spruce. While he believes there will always be some resistance, he sees people change their opinions once they participate.

“When they come out of the sweat lodges, they feel lighter and they just want to go back in again,” said Mianscum. “It changes their perspective of what ceremony really is. People need to reconnect with their roots. Land is medicine – there’s a lot of peace out there.”

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Patrick Quinn lives in Montreal with his wife and two small children. With a passion for words and social justice, he enjoys sharing Eeyou Istchee's stories and playing music.