Seeds of Reconciliation

Reconciliation is a big idea, and no one in public life in Canada can fail to make a commitment to reconciliation with the country’s original inhabitants. They have been, and in ways continue to be, treated abysmally. Between 2009 and 2015, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission logged thousands of hours hearing the stories of indigenous people whose lives were up-ended by the residential school system. At the conclusion of its hearings, it published a massive report that ends with 94 calls to action. 

All of this leapt vividly into the public consciousness in the spring of 2021 when the bodies of buried children were found on the grounds of an Indian Residential School in British Columbia. In the following months, one by one, similar discoveries were made on the grounds of other residential schools across the country. The search for the bodies of unnamed children is ongoing, giving rise to a National Day of Reconciliation and the Every Child Matters movement. I posted my response to the events almost two years ago here:

Atonement

So, we are all being exposed to the truth, and we know about the need for reconciliation. The government has apologized, and none too soon. I can’t list the 94 calls to action, but they focus on addressing the personal and social legacy of forced assimilation in residential schools, and on a process of reconciliation that will improve the lives of indigenous people in Canada. 

There’s a lot of talk now about “settler culture”, which is me and probably you, and it makes me feel vaguely uncomfortable about being who I am, even though I think I’m basically okay. That’s probably fair, since an entire bureaucracy was committed for more than a century to making our indigenous people uncomfortable about—nay, more, ashamed of—being who they were. 

Why am I writing about this today? 

A couple of months ago, my book club met to discuss Five Little Indians by Michelle Good. It’s a novel, but based in large part on the experiences of real residential school survivors. It left us feeling deeply disturbed and needing to understand more about the residential school that was in our own community—the Shingwauk School that didn’t close until 1970, when it became the home of Algoma University. (That’s a story I wrote about in the post cited above.) 

Last evening, I joined other members of the book club to meet with a couple of women—sisters—who are active in local and national initiatives to reclaim and honour indigenous tradition. As we listened to their stories, and asked our own questions about their lives and experiences, reconciliation ceased to be about a report and a series of calls to action—though our guests were passionate about the need for government action. It became about a group of women sharing stories and trying to understand.

These two women are long-time activists committed to reclaiming their culture—without rejecting anyone else’s. About that they are clear. They shared their own experiences at the Shingwauk School in Sault Ste. Marie, where they were sent as children from their home community, separated by gender and age from their own siblings in the same school, forced to live a regimented life completely at odds with the culture they came from. 

They were among the “lucky ones”, allowed to return home for the summers. Many were not. But even those who did return found themselves increasingly distanced emotionally from their families, confused about who they were and where they fit into the world, and about whose cultural stories to believe.

They talked about their parents’ pain. While recognition of the harm done has largely focused on the children themselves and the following generations, we (I, at least) have paid less attention to the impact on the families left behind, living in communities without children, struggling with loss and guilt. The novel opened that window for me, and the stories we heard last evening brought home the terrible anguish that overtook the families and stayed with them long after the children were scooped up and taken away against their will.

Far away. We had assumed that nearby First Nations children were sent to the Shingwauk School. Not so, we were told. It was government policy to send children to far-flung locations in order to prevent parental visits and attempts to escape. The children attending Shingwauk were from more distant locations in the province, while local children were sent farther away.

In Five Little Indians, the teachers and staff of the residential school were stereotypically heartless. In the real world, where people are more complex, were there any who showed kindness? Yes, they said, confirming my belief that there must have been those who rose above the harshness of the system itself. They did experience kindness and compassion from some of the teachers and staff—a teacher who shared her love of classical music, a cook who gifted quarters in secret. I don’t know why it was so important to know that, but it was—even though a few kind actions can hardly begin to compensate for the loss of a family life.

We also learned about the work being done to create of an exhibition entitled Reclaiming Shingwauk Hall, the first of its kind in Canada. https://reclaimingshingwaukhall.ca

I’m not sure how much I learned that I didn’t already know on some level, but I absorbed it differently. And my mind is now buzzing with things I’d still like to know (although, as usual, I probably took up more than my share of the time we had to ask questions). One big question that haunts us all, I think, is “how much responsibility do I shoulder?” We never broached that. I don’t think we needed to. In spite of the obvious culpability of “my” culture, the tone wasn’t one of judgment or self-pity, but of the practical business of listening, understanding, coming to terms, and moving on with mutual respect. To that end, I think we all came away from the gathering feeling a little more sensitive to the ways in which our country has left a legacy of pain on its first peoples, but also impressed by their resilience and their commitment to the future.

These two women are spokespeople for their culture. They are also funny, smart, and people I’d love to know better. Of course I know that reconciliation is a much bigger project than a group of women learning to relax together in a northern Ontario living room. I know that there are differences of opinion about exactly how to move forward. But it felt like the seeds of reconciliation to me. 

The evening ended too soon, with hugs, and after the usual book club yummies.