Demian Diné Yazhi’
Untitled (For Anna Mae Aquash Pictou), 2013
— Printable poster 18”x 24” —
In the spirit of International Women’s Day, let us take a moment to honor the words and work of the late Mi’kmaq warrior Anna Mae Aquash Pictou, whose lifeline was shortened due to her brave and resilient spirit!
This poster was inspired by Anna Mae’s Aquash’s statement to the Court of South Dakota, made after her arrest and interrogation by the FBI regarding fellow activist Leonard Peltier, who was wanted tor the murder of two FBI agents. The FBI had arrested and interrogated Aquash a number of times throughout 1975, including one in which she was allegedly told she would not live out the year it she did not give up the information they wanted. Aquash claimed to have no information about Peltier. She was murdered in late 1975, and her body was discovered along a stretch of highway in South Dakota in February 1976.
About Anna Mae Aquash (March 27, 1945 – mid-December 1975):
Annie Mae Aquash (Mi’kmaq name Naguset Eask) was a Mi’kmaq activist from Nova Scotia, Canada, who became a member of the American Indian Movement, on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, United States during the mid-1970s.
Aquash participated in the 1972 Trail of Broken Treaties and occupation of the Department of Interior headquarters in Washington, DC; the Wounded Knee Incident in 1973; and armed occupations in Canada and Wisconsin in following years. On February 24, 1976, her body was found on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota; she was initially determined to have died from exposure but was found to have been executed by gunshot. Aquash was thirty years old at the time of her death.
Etienne-Léopold Trouvelot, Direct Photograph of the Electric Spark, Negative Pole, 1888
More from poet-wonder Timothy DuWhite:Joy RevisitedDuring a discussion about existentialismour professor explains to us that all true intellectualsmust understand that meaning will always be subjective.It is simply a matter of who wins the majority vote.For example, this is only a handbecause enough mouths have spoke it into existence.So, a while back I decidedI’ll try to be my own self-determining agent of authenticity.So this is not a hand.No, this is a hubalu.I occasionally pick shit up with it.Here, pass me the ballWatch me catch it with my hubalus.This,is meaning,for me.It is mine.I made it.I am not asking you for yours.Yet, what does it matter without a majorities approval?For the last few years I’ve been trying to define my own meaning for Joy.The dictionary says that Joy is a state of happiness or felicity.Yet, that always felt so limiting.If Joy truly only shows up when I am happy;Then it does not deserve meNo,I want my meaning for Joy to be bigger than that.The day I was diagnosed H.I.V positiveI showered my body in this worlds definition of sorrow.I didn’t speak of joy for monthsMy family and friends would not allow it.I was supposed to be sad.Every mouth around me spoke it into existence."Tim you are only 21.Tim you have only loved once.Tim you must truly hate him.”But see today I am 23.Just as alive as before only difference is now a college graduatewith enough intellect to understandthat meaningis always subjective.So I’ll tell you what Joy is.It is a year and a half later after my diagnosis.It is me calling my ex,calling my first love,and telling him,that I forgive himfor everything.Joy is me unblocking his phone number.Me listening to how his year has been;The struggles he has been forced to go through.Joy is me no longer being afraid to admitthat I still love the man that gave me a terminal illness.And though the majority of you may not approve of this,that is okay,because this is Joy for me.It is mine.I made it.I made it.I made it.I am not asking you for yours.
Only in Japan… polar bear-shaped radish in Japanese hot pot
Mark Flood, The Path, 2010. Courtesy the artist and Zach Feuer Gallery.
Brion Cemetery by Carlo Scarpa / 1972
One of my favourite buildings by one of my favourite architects. Scarpa was a creative genius with a unique architectural language.