Far Away From Home

The few women who are convicted of serious crime in Northern Canada are made to pay a double penalty.

In most cases, their sentences must be served in the South, far away from family, friends, and community—possibly at a federal correctional institution where no one speaks their language.

As Canada grapples with the over-incarceration of Indigenous women, there are other issues—including those specific to the First Nations, Métis, and Inuit living in northern territories or Labrador— that reinforce the arguments of critics who say it is time to rethink the way correctional services are delivered in this country.

Emilie Coyle, the Executive Director of the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies (CAEFS), says there are few cultural supports offered to Inuit women, Two-Spirit, transgender, and genderdiverse people in southern correctional institutions, including those incarcerated people who have been sent there from the North. But the CAEFS faces a dilemma in demanding more.

“We struggle with this balance because, the more services that you put into a prison, the more you solidify the role of a prison in our

IF YOU’RE AN INDIGENOUS PERSON IN A COMMUNITY IN THE YUKON OR NORTHWEST TERRITORIES, YOU ARE TYPICALLY SENT TO B.C. OR EDMONTON, TO THE FEDERAL INSTITUTIONS THERE. YOU’RE DISCONNECTED FROM YOUR FAMILY, YOUR CULTURE.”

- BRIANNA BOURASSA

society,” Ms. Coyle said in a recent interview. “And our vision as an organization is that we are all working to shrink prisons out of existence through a variety of interventions. That’s going to be the only way that the solutions that we’re looking for—which are cultural supports—will happen in community in a way that is culturally appropriate.”

In 2019, Jody Blake, an Inuk woman living in Happy Valley–Goose Bay, Labrador, spent six weeks at the Correctional Centre for Women in Clarenville, Newfoundland and Labrador, about 1,400 kilometres from her home. It is the only detention centre for women in that province.

“I don’t know anybody in Newfoundland, and my kids can’t come and see me … they don’t have money,” Ms. Blake said in an interview with

- EMILIE COYLE

the Canadian Press after her release. “There (were) other people there from Labrador when I was in there, and they were having hard times, too. Other people (were) getting visitors and people from Labrador never had anyone.”

Similar situations occur all across the North when Indigenous women, TwoSpirit, transgender, and gender-diverse people are sentenced to spend time in jail.

“In my experiences, folks who receive a federal sentence who live in one of the territories are sent to a federal institution in the southern provinces,” says Brianna Bourassa, CAEFS’s lead advocate for the northern and pacific regional teams. “So, if you’re an Indigenous person in a community in the Yukon or Northwest Territories, you are typically sent to B.C. or Edmonton, to the federal institutions there. You’re disconnected from your family, your culture. Access to children is an ongoing issue. A major dislocation happens.”

In the eastern part of the Arctic, women convicted of crimes are often sent to the Joliette Institution for Women in Quebec, which, says Ms. Coyle, struggles to find supports for any Indigenous prisoners, let alone those who are Inuit. And the language barrier poses real problems. “Not only do many Inuit women and gender-diverse folks not speak English,” she says, “they also don’t speak French, so they will be extremely isolated.”

And, after they have adapted to life at a particular prison, the women are likely to be moved to another correctional facility, and then another. “They will be moved around from institution to institution, often moving further and further away from their families over the course of their time served,” says Ms. Bourassa.

Sometimes, when the CAEFS calls attention to certain cases of extreme hardship, the Correctional Service of Canada (CSC) will try to make accommodation for female prisoners who are being detained far from their home community, says Ms. Coyle. “They might be willing to look at how they can potentially assist with family support, or family reunification, or family visits, or something like that. But it’s not a program. It’s not something that people can rely on consistently.”

Even telephoning home can be difficult for Northerners in southern penitentiaries. The few phones in federal prisons are not located in places where conversations can take place in privacy. And prisoners must pay for their calls, which is difficult for convicted people who are being paid a dollar an hour—if they can get a job in the prison. “When you don’t have any money already, it’s going to be very prohibitive for you to call home,” says Ms. Coyle.

On top of that, Indigenous women are more likely to spend time in maximum security, where they have fewer opportunities for visitation, phone calls, and rehabilitative programs. Ms. Bourassa says the rating scale employed by the CSC to determine a prisoner’s security level (minimum, medium, or maximum) was developed three decades ago for white men. “It doesn’t make any special accommodations for intersectionality. It doesn’t acknowledge any Indigenous social history. It really positions Indigenous folks at a disadvantage,” she says.

Such is the fate of Inuit women who are convicted of serious crime. But, even before conviction, there are inequities. Most of the people housed in territorial jails are awaiting trial. This means they may ultimately be found not guilty. But those with fewer economic resources are more likely to wait behind bars until their trial has reached its conclusion. According to the Northern Market Basket Measure, 20.2% of the people living in the three territories were below the poverty line in 2021, compared to 7.4% of the people living in one of the 10 provinces.

“Indigenous folks, poor folks, trans folks, all of the intersectional identities that are already criminalized, are the people who don’t have access to bail for a variety of reasons, including that they don’t have a home or a surety,” says Ms. Coyle.

For those reasons and many others, prisoners’ advocates, including the CAEFS, say it’s time for new options for convicted people, and especially for convicted Indigenous people, whose rate of incarceration is grossly disproportionate to their percentage of the general population of Canada.

“Generally speaking, I would say that we have to be innovative and also creative,” says Ms. Coyle. “And we have to be curious. Because we have communities that have their own justice histories that don’t look like corrections the way we see it. We need to find ways to learn about those justice histories, but also to be creative and innovative in how we can implement them currently.”

Ms. Bourassa says the self-governing First Nations of the Yukon have already introduced some creative justice initiatives. For example, Carcross/Tagish First Nation in southern Yukon offers a peacemaking class, in which community members are taught how to resolve conflict at the lowest possible level and in a restorative way.

Ms. Coyle points out that Section 81 of the Corrections and Conditional Release Act says sentences can be served in a community. “It doesn’t have to be in a facility. It can be anywhere. It can be a person’s home. It can be an apartment building. It can be a community centre, as long as the (Correctional Service) is satisfied that the safety and security aspect has been considered. But that hasn’t happened in the North.”

Adequate government investments would allow the implementation of those sorts of changes to the criminal justice system, reducing or even eliminating the need to send Northern convicted people to southern institutions. “But, I also think that we need to figure out not just restorative but transformative solutions,” says Ms. Coyle. “Our whole focus should always be to prevent harm from happening in the first place.”