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I have no idea how the Micmac say it. Haven't got a clue what the Haida say. What the other 600 plus First Nations in Canada use for this abomination is a mystery to me. Here in the wilds of Ojibway Country it's pronounced "Mono." I leave it to the politically correct - and to the other cultural terrorists infesting Ojibway Country - to provide the proper definition and spelling. Generally speaking, it means " let it go, keep quiet about it, let it pass, don't say nodding, eh?" It's an unholy concept that covers a multitude of sins in the daily life of a First Nations community. It's the Indian "code of silence" and it has more to do with fear than with honour. Men beat their women black and blue. Mono. Women are raped and children sexually abused. Mono. Drunkards, half-wild dogs and whatever else people consider "pets" wander the village roads, terrorizing citizens. Mono. Everybody knows who is selling alcohol and drugs to children. Mono. Indian politics add whole new dimensions to the word dirty. Mono. People are not stupid. They know what's going on in their own community. For the truly stupid, let me hastily point out that I am not saying that the only things that happen in Indian Country are wife-beatings, rape, drinking and child abuse. What I am saying is that muttering "Mono" and looking the other way is not the way to deal with our social problems. Where does "Mono" come from? Why is it being perpetuated, like the behaviour it appears to condone? Have we remained hidden in the reeds of fear so long we've lost our voices? Are we over our heads, in deep water, still worrying about rocking the frigging boat? Some people defend "Mono"by saying it's a mechanism developed over the centuries to allow people who have to live together in a small community to do so in relative peace and harmony. But whose peace and harmony are they talking about, the perpetuators or their victims? Some say it's a means whereby nobody gets hurt, but unless you discount a lot of victim pain, then a lot of people are getting hurt already. "Mono" permeates every aspect of Ojibway life. The word is institutionalized in our language. A chief feathers his own nest at the expense of the people. Mono. Brain-dead band councillors sit silently for their 2-year terms, importantly shuffling their packages, pretending to understand complex documents that confuse lawyers and accountants. Mono. The band office changes from an administrative unit into an employment agency where the only criteria for a high-paying job is a pulse and the ability to put your X in the right place come election time. Mono. Chief and Council claim full employment but it's an artificial economy that produces nothing but juicy salaries in the 7-800 dollar a week range for the chosen few. Mono. Leadership is fond of making the proper noise about the need for "better communications" but anyone trying to communicate anything is quickly labelled troublemaker, shit-disturber and silenced, put in their places, marginalized. People told off or put down in public learn fast to keep their mouths shut and to stay away from band meetings. How long do we peer fearfully out of the bushes for our enemies - when they are in the bushes with us. Indian Country is rapidly becoming its own worst enemy. We don't need the white folks to do us in; we're doing that to ourselves already. On the other hand, maybe we better not say anything about this kind of thing. There could be big trouble. Mono, don't say nodding, eh? Gilbert Oskaboose, a retired Ojibway journalist from the Serpent River First Nation in Northern Ontario wrote a weekly column here on FirstNations.com. With the permission of his family, we are privileged to continue to present Gib's words and stories, many of which are still relevant today. Gib is a residential school survivor. During his retirement, Gib was engaged in a class action law suit against the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and the federal Department of Indian Affairs for their respective contributions to a residential school lost childhood. In 2000, Gib suffered a stroke and he was no longer able to continue writing.. He his mind and spirit are still strong though his body is now weak. Gib is currently living in an nursing home in Ontario. Thanks and well wishes go out to him and his family. As Gib would say, "Write on, young native writer, write on...." His hope is that young writers will pick up their pens and use their voice to comment and describe the world we live in. The pen has been now been passed to you, the next generation.
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