The holiday of love, Anishinaabe style

Valentine’s Day has always been one of my favorites of the commercialized “holidays.” I love chocolate and at this time of year, chocolatiers pull out the stops. Even more exciting, what’s left on store shelves goes on sale February 15. Sadly, in recent years, the markdowns have been less noteworthy than I remember in my youth, although that could be contributed to my adult outlook on money.

More relevant than my lifelong love of chocolate, Valentine’s Day offers a wonderful insight into Anishinaabe lifeways and how they have survived despite colonialism. This is the other reason I love this time of year.

When I was a child, my parents gave us Valentine’s Day gifts, usually small candies and cards. We would go out to dinner together, as a family. This seems fairly common amongst families with young children. What else are parents to do? Find a babysitter?

Later, when I was in high school, I was involved in my high school’s native youth council, which was part of UNITY (United National Indian Tribal Youth). The mid-year UNITY conference took place in Washington, D.C. in mid-February. I went at least twice, and each year my mom would pack Valentine’s Day goodie bags and send them with the chaperones, who were sworn to secrecy until February 14. On that morning, they gave them to all the students in our group. This was surprising to me each time. I’d had no idea my mom had done this and it was so awesome. I want to emphasize that each student got a goodie bag, not just me. That’s some strong auntie vibes there.

I did my undergraduate studies at Michigan State University whose campus is situated on land ceded in the 1819 Treaty of Saginaw. Though it’s within our original lands, MSU is sixty-one miles from our reservation, where I’d gone to school and lived near (and periodically on) for my entire life. “Sixty miles and a universe away,” is what I used to say. Going to college was a culture shock like I haven’t experienced since. During those four years, my mom either sent me Valentine’s goodies or drove down and took me out to dinner. My (non-Indigenous) roommates and friends were confused by me going to dinner with my mom on Valentine’s Day. I thought it was sweet.

It can be difficult to extrapolate Anishinaabe cultural practices. Was this just my family or did other Anishinaabeg do this as well? One relies on observation and verbal confirmation to figure it out. I like to offer my readers sources other than my own personal observations and anecdotal tales from my friends. Years of post-secondary education will do that to you. Unfortunately, this can be rather difficult for contemporary Indigenous life. Lifestyle blogs aren’t much of a thing in Anishinaabewaki, Indigenous academic research tends to focus on the past or more “important” subjects, and I don’t know of an Anishinaabe social media personality to ever talk about Valentine’s Day (if you do know of any such posts, please send them).

Then, last week, my tribe’s Anishinaabemowin program posted this video and handout, themed for the upcoming holiday. Once again, my tribe’s cultural programs have rescued me. Running Bead & Powwow Supply is not my only job; I also work at a research university. There’s been more than a few reports, presentations, chapter proposals that cited one of my tribe’s handouts as a source for a cultural practice. If any scholars want to debate me on the validity of such sources, skoden.

This video (at the bottom of this post) features Anishinaabemowin vocabulary. You can learn how to compliment someone’s looks, call them kind and special, ask for a hug. Gzaagin has replaced its English version as common parlance in my community. Note the other phrases: gzaaginigo (we love yous), gzaagin ngashi, noos, ngwis, ndaanis. Parents and children and aunties and uncles.

Gzaagin Anishinaabeg.

I love us and our love of love of all types. I love our resistance to settler society’s relentless marketing that implicitly tells us to prioritize romance over other forms of affection. Despite decades of pressure to assimilate, we’re just like, “nah.”

When I think about these newer (post-treaty, reservation era) cultural practices, I always imagine some frustrated Indian agent or missionary trying to explain settler ways to a Nishnaab, who’s having a good inner laugh at the chimookmaan. What follows is a fictional representation of what I think such a scene might’ve looked like. It’s purely a product of my imagination.

“This is a Christian holiday to celebrate love,” says the Indian agent.

The Nishnaab nods.

“You give gifts to the person you love.”

The Nishnaab furrows his brow, pondering this statement. Then he lifts his chin, once and says, “I see. I love my children. I’ll give them a gift.”

“No, that’s not-“

“I’ll butcher that cow you gave us,” says the Nishnaab.

“No,” says the settler. “You’re supposed to keep it for the milk. You’re supposed to farm!”

The Nishnaab shrugs. “That milk just makes us booget anyway. My wife’ll tan the hide and make moccasins.”

The Indian agent holds his head in his hands, his frustration palpable. His blood pressure rising, he’s beginning to regret taking this job. He thought he could save the Indians but they just won’t comply.

The Nishnaab leaves, grinning.


Mii’wi.