The Great Hall of the SLCC was inspired by a Squamish Longhouse. Its open feel is enhanced by the natural light streaming in through its wall of windows and by its lofty ceilings that mimic the tall cedar trees of the local forest. The staff is soft-spoken and serene, but remarkably hospitable. Although during the Olympics the admission fee was lifted for all visitors, I made a donation of the student price anyway which, looking back, surprises me slightly; at nearly every other establishment in Whistler, my friends and I would ask if we were entitled to any sort of discount with our official Olympic accreditation. Here, however, I chose to pay the full price normally expected of me. Before I even realized it, some of the honor and respect intrinsic to these peoples had been transferred to me, compelling me to share it back with them.
Museum map in hand, I delve into reading every word of every portion of the exhibits. I am thankful for my solitude ― I love working my way slowly and methodically through museums, so as not to overlook any interesting tidbits. I had not progressed very far from inside the large wooden doors when Martina, the beautiful young Lil’wat who had greeted me upon entry, came over to invite me into the storytelling performance taking place in the SLCC’s auditorium. I was touched by her thoughtfulness, and overly impressed when she proceeded to hold the door for me so that I had enough light to find a seat.
The storyteller wore all black, and the stage was unadorned with scenery or props aside from a single chair. She first introduced each story, then both narrated and provided voices to each character, acting out bears wrestling and siblings fighting. Each story had a moral, of course, and animals were used metaphorically to engage the children in the lessons. She was not overly theatrical, yet the energy she put into the performance was evident.
I emerged from the theater to return to my careful inspection of each display, and learned about the aboriginal carving tradition. Carving has been at the heart of Squamish and Lil’wat culture since their creation, and those who excel at the art are held in high esteem within their communities. As with everything about native cultures, carving relates to all aspects of tribal life. Their language and stories are engraved into wood to be passed down to the generations to come. Canoes, which contribute to the tribes’ sustenance, are themselves hollowed by carvers and then ornamented with symbols representing their values. Two large wooden weaving whorls stand guard in the great hall: one bearing a human face and welcoming arms, to represent the native people welcoming all visitors; the other depicting a legendary two-headed snake, slain by the Squamish hero Xwecht’aál. As Jodie Broomfield, from the Squamish Nation, says, “it’s all connected spiritually, mentally, physically”.
When Xwecht'aál defeated the serpent, he took a bone from it that gave him healing powers.
My leisurely pace caused me to still be in the vicinity of the theater when the fifteen-minute documentary Where Rivers, Mountain and People Meet was scheduled to begin. Martina approached me once more and in her quiet manner invited me in to watch, also informing me that a tour of the building would take place after. Again she held the door for me, a humble smile on her face as I thanked her and found my seat.
Our tour guide, Bill, met us outside the theater. He wore the same shy grin as the women at the admissions desk, and its placement on his round face was cherubic. Though his red button-down shirt was not traditional aboriginal clothing, a small woven cedar bark hat perched atop his head, and his proud posture carried it as if it were a bird’s nest laden with eggs. His dark eyes twinkled like those of a wise grandfather, and he shuffled around carrying a weight indicative of some plentiful harvests in recent years. I liked him immediately.
Bill escorted our small group throughout the exhibits, and his insights greatly enhanced the museum experience. He added personal touches to the pieces, such as identifing one of the men in an old black and white photo as his grandfather, and sharing a private story about some young men who were recognized for reviving their culture’s carving customs. At one point while we were paused, waiting for the rest of the group to gather around, Bill looked at me and asked softly, “How am I doing?”
“You’re doing great!” I encouraged. He was becoming more and more endeared to me every moment.
“Oh, thank you,” he blushed. “I have to ask every once in a while to make sure”.
By the time we returned to the Great Hall, only myself and two older American women remained in the tour group. Bill invited us up on a platform to sit at a long table, which had wooden pegs fastened to the edges and a bundle of cedar bark strips next to a plastic tub of water on the top. He asked us to get our piece of bark deeply saturated with water, then showed us how to loop the bark around the peg, pulling tightly toward ourselves, while first twisting each side of the bark and then crisscrossing the two sides to form a type of braid. Once the ends were tied off, we either had a bracelet or, if the bark strip was too short, a bookmark.
Our craft table
My bracelet!
The craft project was the conclusion of Bill’s tour. While we worked, he told us about some of the special events that had been hosted at the SLCC during the Olympics, and at how shocked he was that the dignitaries and other important guests wanted to have their pictures taken with him. The three of us did not find it strange at all, however, and also requested photos.
Me and Bill!
Though I had learned a lot from Bill’s perspective, I returned to my thorough reading of each exhibit piece. Weaving is another highly revered skill to both the Lil’wat and Squamish nations. A large cedar root mat hangs proudly in the Great Hall of the SLCC, created specifically for the building as a way to pass on the artform to the youth. The entire process, it is explained, takes a whole seasonal cycle. Young members of the Lil’wat nation learned what resources are harvested when and how to prepare them for weaving. To dye the wild cherry bark black, for instance, it must spend months buried in slough water. Through the creation of this wall hanging, many lessons were able to be passed down to modern generations, and the cultural traditions can now be kept alive.
A glance at my watch told me two things. One: I had been at the SLCC for two hours, and two: it was lunchtime. Although a nearby sushi restaurant had been highly recommended to me by numerous people, I decided to continue embracing the natives’ culture and check out the café downstairs. Contrary to my typical tendencies, I opted for the venison chili (I had never before been inclined to eat venison, but I thought hey, when in Whistler…) and bannock, which was defined by the menu as “a traditional fry bread made fresh daily”. It turned out to be an excellent decision.
Venison chili and bannock
When I returned upstairs to complete my visit, I was drawn to the maps on the wall outlining each culture’s territory. Whistler was depicted in a distinct overlap between the two, and having by that point spent almost three full weeks in the mountain village I understood first-hand the value of this land. Rather than becoming a battleground of constant conflict, however, the area became a symbol of alliance, unity, and cooperation between the two nations. For centuries the two peoples lived side by side in peaceful coexistence, and in 2001 a Protocol Agreement was signed as a contract of solidarity in continued collaboration regarding matters of preservation and protection of their mutual heritage.
The following year, the Shared Legacies Agreement was signed between the Squamish and Lil’wat tribes as well as the Vancouver 2010 Bid Corporation and the Province of British Columbia. It was this powerful pact that granted $3 million towards the building of the SLCC, as well as 300 acres of land for economic development and another $2.3 million dedicated towards a skills and legacy training project.
As I stared at the maps inside this beautiful building, founded by a joint partnership of different cultures, I couldn’t help but wonder why other parts of the world were unable to set aside their differences in customs and beliefs and instead celebrate their commonalities. When roots are allowed to forge their paths deep into the earth without conflict, the tree – and the community which it protects – grows healthy and strong. When roots from neighboring plants are fighting for same space, however, the growth of each is stunted and their beauty diminished. The Squamish and Lil’wat peoples are excellent examples to the world of the gifts that can be bestowed by a healthy living environment – their woodwork comes from sturdy trunks, their baskets are made with strong bark. And their cultural center is operated with pure human spirit.
