Indigenous Plant Diva. Directed by Kamala Todd. National Film Board of Canada, 2008. 9 minutes.

Nowhere Land. Directed by Rosie Bonnie Ammaaq. National Film Board of Canada, 2015. 14 minutes.

Stories Are in Our Bones. Directed by Janine Windolph. National Film Board of Canada, 2019. 11 minutes.

Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio: This Is the Way We Rise. Directed by Ciara Lacy. PBS American Masters, 2020. 12 minutes.

Home: Films by and About Indigenous Women

“A sense of place is an emotional investment. It is part of Belonging, being part of a community that determines self and identity. . . . Displacement has been a cultural reality for aboriginal peoples on this land.”
-Marjorie Beaucage (Métis), 214

Displacement, the forced removal from one’s home, is the cornerstone of colonization. Indigenous peoples around the world have been driven from their homes through coercion and violence, resulting in decades of intergenerational trauma. Their land, their livelihoods, and their cultures have been destroyed by brutal expansionist and extraction practices.

Official history has excised these events and normalized colonial power imbalances, despite attempts to eradicate the Indigenous population, Indigenous people and cultures persist. Around the world, Indigenous languages, spiritual practices, traditions, and values are being revitalized as Indigenous people share their stories.

Indigenous women bear an important responsibility in this cultural resurgence. Laguna Pueblo/Lakota Sioux writer Paula Gunn Allen has highlighted the centrality of women to the social and spiritual well-being of Indigenous cultures: “Through all the centuries of war and death and cultural and psychic destruction have endured the women who raise the children and tend the fires, who weep and bury the dead, who are the dead, and who never forget” (1986, 50). As oral cultures adopt new modes of telling stories, film has become an important tool for communicating information. Despite the dire predictions for Indigenous cultures who embrace “modern” technology, anthropologist Faye Ginsburg suggests that “Indigenous people are using screen media not to mask, but to recuperate their own collective histories and stories—some of them traumatic—that have been erased in the national narratives of the dominant culture and are in danger of being forgotten within local worlds as well” (2002, 40). Using the medium of film allows Indigenous media makers to “enhance the survival of their own communities” as well as “rethink history from native viewpoints, and offer their national cultures the opportunity to recognize their own cultural plurality” (Weatherford 1990, 58).

Here I highlight four short films made by Indigenous women filmmakers that address the displacement, loss of culture, violence, and alienation that Indigenous people have experienced. To counter centuries of displacement, these filmmakers enact a re-placement, foregrounding the healing power of home as it is connected to land and demonstrating the significance of place in confronting intergenerational trauma. These films center home and its connections to history, memory, identity, and culture; they suggest that the act of reclaiming home, of re-placing yourself where you belong, is a personal and political act of postcolonial resistance.

For Indigenous women filmmakers, taking the camera into their own hands is a radical act of self-expression. Historically, Indigenous women have been objectified by commercial cinema, reduced to a limited set of tropes and rarely given agency to propel a narrative (Kaplan 1997). In contrast, as creators these women offer a view of the world from their perspectives, as subjects of the gaze, rather than as objects. According to Māori filmmaker Barry Barclay, this strategy describes a distinct Indigenous film practice, which he labels “fourth cinema” (2003). The films I focus on here can be placed more specifically in the tradition of what I have called “feminist fourth cinema” (2009), a form of Indigenous media seen through a gendered lens. Métis filmmaker Loretta Todd and First Nations filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin (Abenaki) were pioneers of feminist fourth cinema, drawing from their embodied knowledge to inform their documentary practice and telling stories of their lives to challenge official histories. According to Santa Clara Pueblo/Diné scholar Beverly Singer, the opportunity for Native peoples to tell their own stories is part of the quest for self-determination (2001). Michele Raheja (Seneca) suggests that Indigenous media enacts a kind of “visual sovereignty”; Indigenous filmmakers use film to revisit, contribute to, borrow from, critique, and reconfigure dominant narratives about their cultures (2010, 194).

The Indigenous women filmmakers I highlight here are warriors with a camera. Carol Kalafatic’s article on filmmakers Christine Welsh, Loretta Todd, and Shelley Niro suggests that “As keepers of stories that can resonate for the community, these filmmakers take their place among the generations of women warriors who have held the front lines of battle for their ancestral territories and for the right to live with dignity” (1999, 116). When Indigenous filmmakers take the camera into their own hands, they decolonize mainstream media, wielding the camera as a weapon to agitate for change. In a 2014 interview about her film Hi Ho Mistahey! Alanis Obomsawin told the interviewer that “documentary… is the best gun that exists” (Power 2014, 11:40).

Voice

In all four films, the subjects, quite literally, tell their own stories. Indigenous Plant Diva, Cease Wyss, introduces herself as the film opens using her Squamish name, T’Uy’Tanat, which means “woman who travels by canoe to gather medicines for all people” (1:08). Through the film, Wyss tells the viewer about her work as a medicine woman and how she is bringing her daughter up to continue her work. Filmmaker Kamala Todd is silent, letting the subject speak for herself. Ciara Lacy also lets her subject, poet and activist Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio, tell her story in her own words. The film presents Osorio’s voice in various forms: her narrative account of her life and creative process, her oral presentation of her poetry, and the poetry text that appears on the screen, as if scrawled there by the poet herself. This multilayered expression of voice helps forge a deep connection between the viewer and Osorio. Both Todd and Lacy utilize text on the screen as a method of communicating information about their subjects. In addition to visual interest, this strategy suggests the permanence of writing and the importance of preserving documents, whether recipes or poems, for the benefit of future generations.

Rosie Bonnie Ammaaq and Janine Windolph are both the filmmakers and subjects of their films. Ammaaq’s story in Nowhere Land is one of forced removal from her home, and she recounts the tragic events in a voiceover marked by deep sadness and vulnerability. Her narrative is simple, her delivery is frank, but the words she uses vividly convey the depths of her despair. Windolph’s voice opens her film, describing the return to her homeland with her sons: “I’ve brought you back North every year since you were babies” (0:46). Most of Windolph’s narration in Stories Are in Our Bones is a direct address to her children. Both Nowhere Land and Stories Are in Our Bones are full of emotion, but Ammaaq evokes a sense of loss, whereas Windolph portrays the joy of return.

Land

All four films highlight the powerful role that land plays in the lives of Indigenous people. Indigenous Plant Diva, Nowhere Land, and Stories Are in Our Bones document a contrast between urban and natural environments. Todd’s film is set in Vancouver, where Wyss finds nature in unexpected places, moving throughout the city as she gathers herbs. The cinematography mimics what Wyss might see during her walks: shots of Vancouver’s skyline, sidewalks, and buildings are intercut with close-ups of plants that have insinuated themselves into the cityscape. In these sequences, the built environment and the natural environment converge to become the Indigenous Plant Diva’s secret world. We also see Wyss inside her home, sitting at her kitchen table, where she prepares the herbs that she collects. This is her sanctuary within the city.

In contrast, the city is a place of loneliness and desolation for Ammaaq. Her family was forced to leave their summer outpost on the land and live in Igloolik. She describes how her life changed when she moved off the land: she became depressed and turned to alcohol and drugs to dull her pain. In an interview with her parents, they too describe similar feelings due to the forced removal from their home in the tundra. Ammaaq’s cinematography captures the stark differences between her life in nature and in the city. Shots of the clear, vast, white landscape evoke a sense of freedom, in contrast to the sequences filmed in the more developed Igloolik, which are crowded, fuzzy, and disorienting. In the tundra scenes, Ammaaq is part of nature; she blends into the landscape, versus being at odds with it in the city. One shot finds her standing on the porch of a house (which is for her a liminal space, since it does not feel like home), while a child inside puts a hand up to the window. Here Ammaaq portrays the sense of alienation and isolation she feels in the city. Her title, Nowhere Land, succinctly conveys how she feels about her place in the world.

Like Ammaaq, Windolph views land away from urbanization as a refuge in Stories Are in Our Bones. Although Windolph lives in the city, it is important to her to bring her sons back to the land and give them the opportunity to connect to the natural world. Their experiences on the land, learning to fish and to sustain themselves, echo Ammaq’s childhood in the outpost camp, where the family was happy and content living on the land.

Lacy’s film focuses on a single place—the sacred mountain of Mauna Kea, where Kānaka Maoli people (Indigenous Hawaiians) connect with their ancestors and traditions. When she began her film, it was intended to be a documentary portrait of Osorio and her work as a spoken-word poet. During filming, Indigenous peoples mobilized a protest at Mauna Kea to block the construction of a thirty-meter telescope (TMT) on its summit. Osorio felt called to participate in the protest and Lacy went along to film it. Lacy captures the intimate connections between the Kānaka Maoli people and the mauna (“mountain”), as they perform various rituals and dances to celebrate its power. In one scene, Osorio and others chain themselves to the cattle guard on the road leading up to the summit. The camera gets down on their level, shooting close-ups of Osorio’s face, which register her determination and fear. We can see each tear as it flows down her cheeks. Lacy’s intimate camera work connects the viewer to Osorio and to her love for Mauna Kea.

Sovereignty

Either explicitly or implicitly, each film touches upon issues of sovereignty and the ways that it intertwines with the battle for Indigenous control over the land. In varying degrees, all of the filmmakers address the loss of home, the destruction of nature, and continuing colonization by nation-states or by industry, and make reference to the challenges of protecting the natural world, not only for its organic benefits but also as a sacred site of connection and tradition. Cease Wyss and her daughter live in Vancouver, which is built on unceded Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh land. Distant shots of the cityscape contrast with close-ups of the plants, suggesting the enduring power of the land despite attempts to stamp out its lifeforce. This serves as a metaphor for the lives of Indigenous peoples on colonized land. Wyss takes control of the land for healing purposes, reclaiming it from its conquerors and, in the process, discovering her place in the world: “I always know in my heart and in my mind, that I’m connected to this land for many centuries” (4:50).

Ammaaq’s film directly addresses the voracious appetites of the Canadian nation-state, which displaced Inuit people from their homes and corralled them into cities in order to control land and resources. As a child, Ammaaq and her family spent their summers out on the land, reconnecting with their culture. When the Canadian government coerced Inuit people to move into the cities, they were forced to change their lives and practices, including giving up their dogs (qimmiit) and outpost camps (see Qikiqtani Truth Commission 2013). Ammaaq describes herself as a “homeless, landless, rich bitch inside the garbage can, full of money but cannot eat what I used to eat” (12:06). Near the end of the film, Ammaaq recounts that Baffin Island, where she lives, is being drilled by Baffinland Mining (11:35) and describes how the extraction of iron will impact the air and human and animal life (see Davin 2024). Despite the money that Inuit people will be paid, it will not prevent the destruction of their lives.

Windolph’s film, Stories Are in Our Bones, opens with text that situates the action in a specific location: La Ronge, Northern Saskatchewan, Treaty 6 territory. It is as if the filmmaker has dropped a pin to indicate, “You are here.” Including the treaty designation calls attention to questions of sovereignty and the ongoing battle with the nation-state of Canada over Indigenous lands. Because their lands were taken from them, Indigenous people were forced into reserves/reservations or into cities. Canadian census data in 2011 showed that off-reserve Indigenous peoples were the fastest-growing segment of Canadian society (Government of Canada 2016). In 2021, urban Indigeneity in Canada had increased 11.5 percent since 2016 (Statistics Canada 2022). Indigenous people living in urban centers face ongoing discrimination and are often perceived as being less connected to their culture than those who live on reserves/reservations (see Crichton n.d.). Moreover, government policies in Canada legislate who does and does not have “status” as Indigenous, and thus who is allowed access to resources (see Crichton n.d.). Although she lives in the city, Windolph actively connects her family to the land and maintains their ties to Indigenous culture and practices, challenging the authority of the nation-state to determine Indigenous identity.

This Is the Way We Rise documents one of many battles that Indigenous people have fought (and continue to fight) to protect the land and its inhabitants: human, plant, and animal. Following Osorio to Mauna Kea, Lacy is on the front lines of a battle over sovereignty as it is being fought. The sacred mountain of Mauna Kea stands over 13,000 feet above sea level on the island of Hawai’i. Home to several deities revered by the Kānaka Maoli people, it has been the site of struggle for years. On July 17, 2019, thirty-four kiaʻi mauna (protectors/caretakers of Mauna Kea) were arrested while trying to stop the construction of the TMT on top of the mountain. The TMT would be the fourteenth telescope built on Mauna Kea, which scientists say is uniquely situated to provide valuable data about the solar system (see Nicholls and Ito 2024). Lacy captures key moments in this struggle when Osorio’s poetry and activism converge to inspire the protectors, such as in the scene depicting Osorio walking at the head of the protest when someone asks for a poem, and she recites one.

Family

Family connections play an important role in all of the films, highlighting the power of intergenerational knowledge passed down through stories, memories, and traditions. The title of Windolph’s film, Stories Are in Our Bones, comes from a line in the film: “Kokum told me that stories are in our bones. Not just our stories, but the stories of our ancestors. What we do helps unlock those stories” (8:40). In the Cree language, kokum means “grandmother,” and here refers to Windolph’s mother/her children’s grandmother in a way that describes the intergenerational connections that flow through knowledge passed down from elders to youth. She links this knowledge to the land, saying “Being with the land helps us see the world the way our ancestors once did” (2:16). Kokum is the conduit through which Windolph and her family reconnect with the land and with the ancestors. Intimate cinematography makes the viewer feel like we are part of the family. In one scene, the camera is placed on a small boat with her sons as they learn to fish. Tight shots capture the closeness (both physical and emotional) between Windolph and her boys, as they stand together watching kokum prepare the fish. The film ends by reiterating the connections between family, knowledge, and the land: “I want this land to give you good memories, to add to the stories of our people. You will decide the stories you want to share and once you share them, they’re not just yours anymore, they’re for everyone” (10:06). The stories help Windolph make connections to her sons and help her sons connect to their kokum, and by sharing her stories with viewers, Windolph makes connections that extend beyond her family.

Family also plays a significant role in Nowhere Land. Ammaaq films her parents as they reflect on their own feelings about the forced displacement. Her father doesn’t speak English, so her mother translates. They share their fond memories of being together in the outpost camp; they say that it wasn’t difficult to be out there for long periods of time because they brought the resources they would need and “it wasn’t boring” (5:14). It is clear that they are a close family, and they nurture each other. But even when they are together in Igloolik, the city does not feel like home. For both Ammaaq and her parents, reflecting on the loss of their home is difficult; they share feelings of disorientation and sadness. The nurturing role of family is echoed by the nurturing role of the land. For Ammaaq and her parents, family + land = home.

The interconnections between family and land are also evident in the films by Ciara Lacy and Kamala Todd. In This Is the Way We Rise, Osorio notes that the mauna is like family to Kānaka Maoli people—they draw strength and wisdom from it. Elders gather at the protest with their daughters and granddaughters to protect the land for future generations, as you would protect a member of the family. For Cease Wyss, connections with plants are a link to her ancestors: “Plants are the second oldest beings on the planet, the grandmothers” (4:17). Her work as a medicine woman puts her in touch with literal and figurative roots. Todd documents Wyss as she shares her knowledge of plants with her twelve-year-old daughter. Her daughter then passes along this wisdom, acting as teacher to her peers. Intergenerational connections are also integral to the production of Indigenous Plant Diva, as director Kamala Todd is the daughter of pioneering Métis filmmaker, Loretta Todd. The younger Todd follows in her mother’s footsteps as a documentarian and preserver of Indigenous culture, just as Wyss’s daughter has taken up her mother’s role as an Indigenous plant diva.

Healing/Creativity

These films not only share a focus on the healing power of home, but they also highlight the power of creativity and the creative process. Indigenous Plant Diva and This Is the Way We Rise emphasize the connections between creativity, healing, and the land. Medicine preparation, poetry, and filmmaking function as healing practices in the films; they nurture the soul, as the land does, as home does. For Wyss, nature is her medium and Vancouver is her toolbox as she practices the art of medicine in Indigenous Plant Diva. She introduces the viewer to various plants and the ailments they relieve. Text on the screen reinforces the narration, like a recipe. She links knowledge of plants to knowledge of the body, as the shape, color, and texture of the herbs offer clues to their healing properties. In This is the Way We Rise, being on the front lines of the battle to protect Mauna Kea revitalizes and amplifies Osorio’s creative voice. The close connection to the spiritual heart of Kānaka Maoli culture strengthens her creativity, and home serves as an inspiration for her poetry.

Windolph’s and Ammaaq’s films demonstrate the healing power of the land, as their protagonists work to maintain connections to a place despite the obstacles government and corporate forces have created. Stories Are in Our Bones documents Windolph on an outing with her family in La Ronge Provincial Park. Her sons learn how to tie a fisherman’s knot, how to catch a fish, and then how to skin it and prepare it. As they sit at the picnic table eating the fish caught by her son, the filmmaker says that it reminds her of her childhood, before the government displaced them. Being with her family on the land connects her to the past—her own past as well as her ancestors who also lived on the land. The practices that take place on the land function as a form of healing, a balm for the soul. Making the film is also an act of family bonding, a celebration of togetherness, and a gift to her sons. In Nowhere Land Ammaaq takes up the camera in a seemingly therapeutic gesture, as well. Revealing her most intimate feelings on the screen, perhaps she feels a sort of catharsis, particularly at the close of the film, when she utters powerful lines about the destruction of her home by the Baffinland Mining Company. Though the company will pay the Inuit for their land, she is appalled by the lack of care for animals and humans. Here Ammaaq’s personal process of healing through the film becomes political, as she uses her work to reveal the neocolonialist practices of the mining industry.

Conclusion

Through their focus on four unique Indigenous women, these filmmakers document the significance of home—a place where you belong and where you feel loved. Home is where you are connected to your roots, to those who have lived in that place before you, and to the knowledge that they pass down. These films also capture the power of home to heal, as Wyss uses the nature that surrounds her urban home as a remedy and Windolph takes her sons to the land that nurtured her as a child. For Ammaaq, like Windolph, home is the place that held you and taught you as you grew up. When removed from that home, Ammaaq experiences the separation as a loss of herself. Osorio connects to the land through her poetry, celebrating the power of home to unite and sustain communities, but also highlighting the struggle to protect Indigenous homelands from powerful neocolonial interests.

As Indigenous women filmmakers, Todd, Ammaaq, Windolph, and Lacy use the medium of film to reclaim their role as keepers of the flame, as those who pass on knowledge, safeguard traditions, and link generations past and future. With their varied but interconnected themes, these four films offer opportunities to engage students across several disciplinary areas beyond Indigenous studies, including American history, gender studies, environmental studies, sociology, and media studies. These short nonfiction films might also spark discussion about the creative process and the ethics of documentary production. Focusing on films by Indigenous women can also prompt lessons about colonialism and Indigenous sovereignty. As they take up the camera to tell their stories, these women filmmakers act strategically to rewrite history and reclaim autonomy for themselves and their people.

Jennifer L. Gauthier is Charles A. Dana Professor of media and culture at Randolph College in
Southwestern Virginia. Her research on Indigenous media and cultural policy has appeared in journals such as Feminist Media Studies, International Journal of Cultural Studies, Quarterly Review of Film and Video, International Journal of Media and Cultural Politics, and in edited collections. She is a two-time Fulbright Canada award winner and taught media studies as a Fulbright Scholar in Romania. She lives in Virginia with her husband and son.