Behind the Barricade

In the summer of 1990, sunlight filtered through the tranquil Pines near Oka, Quebec, as a barricade of logs, tires, and wire cut across the forest floor. On one side, soldiers and police in riot gear stood beside armoured vehicles in the shade of the pines. On the other, Mohawk community members gathered — faces tense, voices determined — defending ground hallowed by generations but so often misrepresented in the nation’s gaze. In Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance, filmmaker Alanis Obomsawin challenges the official narrative by documenting the standoff from within. Through her eyes, we are drawn into the sights, sounds, and emotions of those holding the line behind the barricades.

Obomsawin’s documentary focuses on the 1990 Oka Crisis, which began when the municipality of Oka approved the expansion of a private golf course and a luxury housing project onto traditional Mohawk land. In protest, Mohawk community members blocked the road leading to the site. Tensions rose quickly when Quebec police raided the blockade, resulting in violence and the death of Corporal Lemay. Following this escalation, the Canadian Army was brought in to replace the provincial police. Under mounting military pressure, the Mohawk Warriors and other community members withdrew to the Treatment Centre, where they were surrounded and under siege for the rest of the 78-day standoff. With journalists pushed out and food and medical supplies restricted, the people behind the barricades were isolated from the outside world. However, the film’s title reminds us that this crisis didn’t begin in 1990. It was just the latest in a long history of land dispossession.

Obomsawin, an experienced Abenaki filmmaker, was among the few who remained behind the barricades during the military-enforced media blackout. Her camera was a form of resistance against the military’s efforts to control the narrative. One journalist warns, “We’re your eyes and they’re trying to blind us by getting the press out of here.” Another remarks that the army was deciding “what can be published in our newspapers.” Obomsawin’s footage is raw and unfiltered. Her camera stays close as people are shoved and handcuffed, captures the panic of parents searching for their children, records accounts of bodies beaten, dragged, and bayoneted, and lingers on the aftermath of a Mohawk Warrior being “beaten beyond almost all recognition.” Although Obomsawin was powerless to stop the violence, her camera served as a form of accountability, ensuring that what happened behind the barricades could not be overlooked or forgotten.

Obomsawin’s filmmaking style is quiet and deliberate. She rarely appears on screen and avoids cluttering the documentary with narration. Instead, her footage lets people’s actions speak for themselves. Every exchange between warriors and soldiers at the barricade, every spiritual ceremony in the Treatment Centre, and every tense negotiation for medical care was carefully documented and meticulously pieced together. This minimalist approach is brilliantly executed. By arranging these moments into a cohesive narrative, Obomsawin places the audience alongside those behind the barricades, inviting us to witness their daily struggles and feel the intensity of each moment.

Because Obomsawin gives every moment room to breathe, the people behind the barricades are not simply reduced to symbols of resistance. Her attentive style brings out the complexity of their humanity: principled, frightened, exhausted, angry, and doing their best to hold themselves together. One Mohawk warrior declares, “I didn’t come here to kill people… I just came here to protect the land.” Another reflects that the warriors have shown “strong integrity,” holding back even after being fired upon. However, Obomsawin doesn’t shy away from depicting their vulnerability either. Her camera also captures moments of panic, frustration, and uncontrolled outbursts of profanity behind the barricade. It is precisely this honest portrayal of both strength and fragility that brings the people in her documentary to life.

Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance does not strive to emulate the polished, conventional look of many modern documentaries. It is long, often chaotic, and emotionally exhausting. However, the film’s roughness is not a flaw but a deliberate choice. Its pacing allows the audience to experience the tension of being watched, restricted, and surrounded. For young Canadians, this proximity to discomfort matters. We inherit this history whether or not we asked for it, and we are responsible for how honestly we choose to face it now. The documentary refuses to let the Oka Crisis fade into just another headline or chapter in our history books. It insists that land dispossession is not a relic of the past — what began 270 years ago continues to shape the country we live in. This documentary is essential viewing for anyone who wants to understand how history continues to echo in the present. The barricades came down 36 years ago, but the question the film leaves still persists: What must we do to prevent this story from repeating itself?