2012 to examine the impact of residential schooling on Indigenous people in Canada. The findings of Canada’s TRC were published in 2015, and span six volumes. The TRC’s final report summary, “Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future,” includes 94 Calls to Action that outline the concrete steps that the Canadian government and Indigenous leaders must take in order to bridge the gap between idealistic language and meaningful action. The 94 Calls to Action are separated into two categories. The first is Legacy, which makes recommendations on the basis of eradicating the legacy of residential schools in the areas of child welfare, education, language and culture, health, and justice. The second is Reconciliation, which includes guidelines to address this legacy. It tackles issues such as: equity for Indigenous people in the legal system, professional development and training for public servants, youth programs, church apologies, and education for reconciliation, among other things. Murray Sinclair, chair of the TRC, cautions that the process will not happen overnight. Generations of systemic abuses towards Indigenous cultures mean that, “it’s going to take us at least a few generations to be able to say that we are making progress.”
Part of the solution To unpack the issue of colonialism and the settler’s ongoing legacy on Canada’s Indigenous people, we must first shed light on this dark chapter of Canadian history. The scope of public misunderstanding around Indigenous issues is vast, and education is the first step towards healing. Hence the “Truth” which comes before “Reconciliation.” I’m sure most of us have heard ignorant remarks aimed at or 18
about Indigenous peoples, often based on stereotypes and inherited prejudices. What I’ve found to be equally chilling are the blank stares that often meet me when I mention Reconciliation. Many are unable to define what it is; others simply have nothing to say. Indigenous Rights issues in Canada encompass such a vast territory — the legacy of residential schools and the ‘60s scoop (see sidebar), missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls, Saskatoon’s “starlight tours,” treaty rights, disproportionately high incarceration and homelessness rates, suicide among Indigenous youth, living conditions on reserves, food and water sovereignty, pipeline debates… It’s daunting to list, let alone live. While writing this article, I had to confront what it means for a white woman to write about Indigenous people. Was this a further extension of colonialism? It’s a sensitive and complex issue, but I felt compelled to relay the message. Every uninformed remark I encounter by my fellow Canadians is a reminder that more eyes need to be opened. Turns out there is a word for those who want to join in and spread the conversation of reconciliation by challenging the historical, cultural, and racial injustices: allies. I came across the framework for allyship in my readings as I prepared this article. The “Ally Bill of Responsibilities,” penned by Dr. Lynn Gehl, an Algonquin Anishinaabe-kwe woman and long time Indigenous rights advocate, establishes the guidelines for acting as a responsible ally to Indigenous people. Allies are defined on the website becominganally.ca as: “people who recognize the unearned privilege they receive from society’s patterns of injustice and take responsibility for changing these patterns.” Dr. Gehl’s first principle states that responsible allies “do not act out of guilt, but rather out of a genuine interest in challenging the larger oppressive
power structures.” If you feel guilty about your culture’s complicity in wrongdoing, acknowledge that feeling, understand it, but don’t let it rule your decisions. You will tire of your work and grow to resent that which you are trying to uphold. Meaningful change must come from a foundation of positivity, from the heart. Another key principle in becoming a responsible ally is to be aware of one’s own privilege, and be open to discussing it. I am a daughter of settlers: Ninth generation mixed European. I come from a long line of white farmers. I wonder about what reactions my ancestors had to the cultural genocide that was going on in their backyards, hand-in-hand with their churches. I wonder whether my greatgrandmothers ever experienced a pang of shared pain with the Indigenous mothers whose children were torn away from them. If they ever held their children closer, imagining life in their shoes. I wonder about the stories they told themselves to justify this disconnect. But even in wondering this, I still stand in privilege — to know my ancestry, to be free to practice my culture, to speak the language of my people, to know the values of my parents and grandparents, to have been taught directly by them — unlike so many generations of Indigenous children. It is a privilege I can not imagine living without, and yet so many do.
BCIT’s role I wanted to know more about how our campus facilitates and empowers the Indigenous portion of our student body, so I met up with a Métis student, Justin Perry, to talk about his work with the Indigenous Services Centre (aka The Aboriginal Gathering Place) at BCIT. Justin is Métis: Ojibway on his grandmother’s side. Yet, Justin never experienced his own culture first-hand until he came to BCIT and got involved in The Gathering Place. He is now