Back in 2008, I was touring with a film I made called Ground Noise & Static, and one of the stops was in Kingston, Ontario. After the screening, some comrades handed me a burned DVD — a pirated copy of Alanis Obomsawin’s Kanehsatà:ke: 270 Years of Resistance. I tossed it in my car, where it floated around for a while. And then one day, stuck somewhere without internet and with nothing to watch, I popped it into my laptop — back when laptops still had DVD drives, remember those?

And holy shit… that film completely blew my mind.

It didn’t just open my eyes — it cemented my understanding of the power that film can have in a moment of struggle. Kanehsatà:ke: 270 Years of Resistance remains one of the most important documents of resistance in Turtle Island’s recent history. It tells the story of the Mohawk resistance at Kanehsatà:ke — where community members stood their ground to stop the expansion of a golf course that would have desecrated their burial grounds. Against militarized police and overwhelming odds, they held the line. And they won. The cemetery still stands.

For anyone who has ever driven into Kanehsatà:ke and approached that hill — the scenes from that film live in your mind. They’re etched into our collective memory. This was the kind of film I dreamed of making when I began working on Yintah — something that would stand the test of time, that people could return to and use to inspire themselves and their communities.

That film also shaped my approach to filmmaking itself. It pushed me to stop waiting years to release perfectly polished documentaries, and instead focus on creating media for the movement, in the moment. That became the heart of my work with subMedia — from supporting the Wet’suwet’en struggle, to documenting resistance to the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver, the 2010 G20 in Toronto, and the 2008 protests at the RNC and DNC, Elsipogtog. Always rooted in the now, always amplifying the voices on the front lines.

And today, in 2025, I still see that legacy everywhere I go. Whether it’s at blockades, occupations, or solidarity rallies — the Mohawk Warrior Flag is flying. That symbol, that story, that fight from 1990 still resonates around the world.

Tonight, as I type this, we’re screening Kanehsatà:ke: 270 Years of Resistance at an anti-logging blockade. And I wanted to share it here too — alongside a few other films we’ve made over the years to commemorate and reflect on the so-called Oka Crisis:

🎬 Gord Hill on the Oka Crisis (2009) - see above
A short clip where artist and warrior historian Gord Hill breaks down the events of 1990 in just five minutes — one of subMedia’s most-viewed videos, with over half a million views on Facebook alone.

🎬 The Story of the Warrior Flag (2025)
An explainer on where the Mohawk Warrior Flag comes from — and why it still carries meaning for Indigenous land defenders today.

Why Do Warriors Wear Masks? (2025)
Narrated by Clifton Nicholas, this short video explores the reasons warriors wore masks during the 1990 Oka Crisis — from resisting state surveillance to emphasizing unity and collective identity over individual recognition. Within the context of Kanehsatà:ke, masking up became both a tactical decision and a powerful symbol of defiance.

This anniversary is not just about the past. It’s about the ongoing fight for Indigenous land, autonomy, and power — struggles that continue in every direction. It’s about remembering, honoring, and learning from those who stood before us — and carrying that fire forward.

Solidarity always,
Franklin

Ellen Gabriel Interview (2020)
An in-depth conversation with Ellen Gabriel on the 30th anniversary of the standoff, where she shares her memories and reflections from that powerful moment in history.