A Beating of a Drum

 

DRUMMING FOR PEACE

Many people who know me know that my formative years were lived in a very small community in the Upper Fraser Canyon region of the Province of British Columbia, Canada. It was and is a hamlet, where non-indigenous people worked for the railway or in the forest industry, ran the aerial ferry, did haircuts and managed mail services … there might have been a population of 350 back then, and much less now. The Indigenous people were sequestered ‘on the other side of the tracks” mostly; some enrolled in school; some participated in community events; but, for the most part, they kept to themselves due to the impact of colonialism, racism and degrading attitudes.

The mystery behind all of that was very hush hush and never explained in school. Nevertheless, I noticed; I was curious; I was dumbfounded. I wanted to turn things around and make them better, but the dream was much like fighting Goliath. I wanted to be like David — the young man who hit Goliath with a stone from a sling and defeated him.

The very first time I was invited to an actual drum circle, I was an adult in a job that connected to a lot of Indigenous things. I had had no instruction and no direction.  I was handed a drum and began tapping it ever so lightly trying my best to follow the beat of other drummers. They seemed to really know what they were doing. 

It took a while for me to settle in that circle of drummers, but I remember deciding to make the experience work for me.  I wasn’t playing any particular tune; I was releasing a tempo of energy that was clearly locked inside of me from childhood. My mind focused on my early memories of living in North Bend and living within the clear separation of ‘us and them’. I did not like it; I did not understand it; and, I vowed to never play along.

That first drumming opportunity became a mind boggling story telling experience. I could feel the very real connection of my heartbeat and my mind, as my two hands tapped lightly and heavily, slowly and quickly, as though I was telling a story with a slow introduction, a profoundly moving development and a powerful ending. It was all impulse driven and I drove it hard.

As I released energy, I developed energy.  As I played, I listened. I visualized. I smiled; I cried. I closed my eyes and opened them. I was part of a group, but I was my own island. In a way, I think on that occasion, it might have been a  version of being high on a substance. The substance was all about history, Indigenous history, and my vision of how it was and how I wanted it to become. The more I drummed, the more I felt my neural pathways open up and clear out. As I got to the end of the rendition, I felt relieved and relaxed. I had   released the anger and stress that had been bottled up inside for so long. It strengthened my resolve to continue to do my bit to support reconciliation efforts in any way possible.

As my tapping hands began to slow down, my eyes opened.  I looked around at the other drummers. They were all like-minded people respecting the drum as a symbol of community and communication. The focus of their minds were not necessarily on the same wavelength as mine, but that did not and does not matter. We had all been releasing energy and gaining energy through body movements, intuition, cognitive thinking and connectivity. The experience was powerful and real, casual and calming; personally revealing and relaxing — personal and group therapy at its finest.

As September 30th (National Truth and Reconciliation Day) approaches, Canadians once again receive an opportunity to learn, appreciate and understand Indigenous history from their life experiences and that of their elders. Indigenous people are stepping forward to help us through the learning process, hosting us, inviting us, talking to us, showing us and sharing with us. They are a proud people — survivors of evil, of lying, cheating and misrepresentation. They have not lost hope, and neither have I.

I am so happy that I am no longer feeling alone on this mission to set things right. My drum keeps beating on the Indigenous file, as every year more and more people are getting on board to make things right. Recognizing past wrongs is one big step forward, and seeing the progress that has been made since my youth, has been heartwarming and beautifully rhythmic.  Let’s keep it going and growing. Maybe one day September 30th will be named our National Day to celebrate Reconciliation and Peace.

Written by Antoinetta DeWit

August 2026

SNOWBIRD FINALE 2026

 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒

On a beautiful day in August 2026, we watched Canada’s Snowbirds, our acrobatic fleet of courageous pilots and aging planes, do one of their final shows in White Rock British Columbia Canada. But the day became much more than that.

We arrived very early to easily find a parking spot for $7 a day, mere metres from the best possible beach viewing site.

The sky was blue. The air was breezy and warm. The smoke from the many wildfires in our province and from the country south of us, was noticeable but initially not too bad.

The tide of the Pacific Ocean at Crescent Beach was further out than we had ever seen. It caught our eyes instantly so immediately upon having set up our space, we happily walked barefooted along the bare floor of the ocean to the water’s edge many metres away. It was surreal to see the peacefulness of the ground exposed like that with a few broken shells here and there, some creepy crawling crabs, and small beds of flattened seaweed. The occasional small ponds of warm water along the way were appreciated by the few people around us, and a few obedient dogs. Some people were ‘crabbing’, exploring, collecting shells, kiting, playing Bocchi, and enjoying their picnic lunches. 

We sat for hours in our comfortable reclining camping chairs, quietly staring, smiling, watching, listening, snoozing, thinking, breathing. Slowly people from all walks of life started to show up to claim their spot — singles, couples, families, small groups, larger groups, nicely spaced, with or without sunbrellas, with or without blankets or chairs.Everyone was in their happy moods, talking to each other nicely, joyful and appreciative of each moment. Peace was in the palms of their hands.

It is at times like this that one can’t help but wish the whole world could be in this moment. Parts of our own province of British Columbia are significantly ablaze; people have been in a high level of anxiety, sadness and fear about their homes, their livelihood, their community, their future. Fires are front page and breaking news in many parts of the world right now — so are heatwaves, diseases, earthquakes, tsunamis, bombs and bullets. 

Yet here we are in this beautiful setting far removed physically from the unrest elsewhere, even just for a day, enjoying something so many simply cannot.

As we sat mindful of reality, we could not help but notice a family of four next to us. They were speaking a different language using words of joy and excitement that were difficult to ignore. I looked over several times hoping to make eye contact to greet them and say a few kind words. 

I said to the matriarch “hello, what language are you speaking?”

“Somali”, she said.

“Wow, it is great to see you here having such a pleasant, peaceful time.”

“Thank you”, she, an other adult and two teenaged children, said in unison. 

Moments later, while they sat together on their blue tarp preparing their picnic lunch, one of the adults presented me with a plate of food. Of course, the hesitant side of me stepped in; but, I fought my inner self back because the moment was sincere and special. Saying ‘No thank you’ would not have been the right response. 

I graciously accepted the impressive feast of rice, ground meat, cucumber, lettuce and potatoes, all arranged beautifully, including a metal spoon.  I nudged my dozing friend to share the joy of the experience. One of the teens brought over a similar plate for her. She came back to give us serviettes. It was clearly an honour for them to share their bounty, but it was equally an honour to be recipients. 

Soon thereafter the beach became more and more crowded as the airshow was about to begin. Our Somali neighbours were no longer our neighbours, and we are not even sure if they knew something big was about to happen in the sky above. At one point I looked over at their spot, and they were no longer there. They had given us unconditional love in its truest form.

Turns out they had given us much more than that. We experienced first hand the sincere joy and appreciation of people fleeing from the atrocities of war and conflict in their homeland. They have turned the grief and sadness of their losses into a different level of happiness — family togetherness and cultural pride in a new homeland.

As the Snowbird show was about to begin, I could see the smoky skies were going to be a problem. Often we could hear plane engines roar and we could even occasionally see coloured smoke coming from them. But, for the most part, the planes were distant and did limited tricks or formations above us. There was no traditional ‘figure 8’ exercise, and  no big finale which was a big disappointment since this is the crew’s last farewell gig. The planes are being retired this year and nothing similar will replace them for several years.

Nevertheless, we all know safety must always be first. We are grateful that some of the show did happen. Despite that modified version, our day turned out to be both intriguing and enriching, peaceful and calm — from walking barefooted on the big wide bare ocean floor, to the beautiful weather, the quiet, peacefulness of the setting, the loving, kind, thoughtful and proud Somali family, being a part of the Snowbird farewell, and just having the opportunity to be there to enjoy such an outing: these were truly the greatest gifts of this day.