Catholic Church must clarify deals surrounding Bell of Batoche

Keeping Metis cultural icon hidden serves none of the parties, writes D.W. Langford.

Over the last four years, the Bell of Batoche has gone from an important Metis cultural icon, to a historical artifact now in dispute between the Metis and Plains Cree, to a 20-kilogram chunk of contraband now kept hidden like an awkward dead body.

Cloak-and-dagger intrigue now surrounds the bell, its exact whereabouts is unknown, and the Roman Catholic bishop of Prince Albert — the true owner — is nowhere to be found.

Last month, Maclean’s reported that Monsignor Albert Thevenot had transferred full legal ownership of the bell to a Metis woman in Alberta as a private citizen.

Under the purported terms of a November 2015 written agreement, Audrey Poitras, who is also the longtime leader of the Alberta Metis, would assume full personal responsibility for all future legal costs involving the bell.

And while Poitras was willing to confirm her new legal ownership, she was unwilling to share a copy of this agreement.

Repeated calls to Thevenot, who was unable or unwilling to provide comment for the Maclean’s story, however, were directed to a spokesperson, who simply directed all questions back to Poitras: “All I can say is that you have to talk to her.”

But, truth be told, the time for talk is now over — as the Bell of Batoche is now beginning to develop a somewhat sordid and unsavoury feel.

Stolen from a Batoche church in 1885 by rampaging, thieving Orangemen and later displayed in a Royal Canadian Legion pub as a war trophy.

Restolen in 1991, along with

■ three war medals, by two Metis activists who also swiped cigarettes and booze for good measure.

And then kept hidden for 22

■ years because said activists feared criminal prosecution.

And the return of the bell to the church in 2013 has also done little to dispel this sordid and unsavoury taint — and ridiculous, ham-handed fumbles by the bishop have actually increased it.

For the bell’s return came with conditions — and a 2013 written agreement between the bishop and a Metis activist, which was also never made public.

Under the purported terms of this agreement, according to Billyjo Delaronde, who helped resteal the artifact, he was made “the Keeper of the Bell,” and allowed to retain partial control of it.

In April 2014, however, the bell’s authenticity came into question after a CBC documentary presented compelling historical evidence that the bell stolen from the Millbrook Legion in 1991 was really the Bell of Frog Lake, also stolen in 1885. And that the real Bell of Batoche, given to another church in 1937, was later destroyed in a 1990 fire.

To further complicate matters, in March 2015, Thevenot met with a Frog Lake group to discuss the possible transfer of the bell, and agreed that it would be housed in a “neutral location” until a decision was made.

But in November 2015, for some unexplained, bewildering reason, the bishop supposedly “gave” the bell to a private Metis citizen — instead of a museum, instead of a recognized Metis or First Nations organization.

Again, there was a secret written agreement that was never made public. And again Delaronde was allowed to retain partial control.

And the Bell of Batoche has once again vanished from all public view. And all Delaronde and Poitras will now say is that it is being kept “in a secure location.”

This now ridiculous, bizarre and sordid state of affairs, however, has been the unintentional handiwork of the bishop of Prince Albert.

But he still has one last chance to salvage the integrity of his office.

He can now either make public these two secret agreements — or he can simply take back the bell and finally do the right thing.

Namely, he can put this bell in Metis museums across the Prairies, such as the Gabriel Dumont Institute in Saskatoon. And he can also arrange for this bell to be displayed on a part-time basis in Frog Lake.

D.W. Langford is a member of the Kahkewistahaw First Nation of Saskatchewan and former director of communications for the

First Nations Resource Council (FNRC) in Edmonton.