To be honest, after watching We Were Children, and reading Knockwood’s article entitled: Everyday Life at School, I did not know where to start, or let alone, how to write a piece that would successfully convey the deep emotions I feel when I read and/or watch a work discussing the Indian Residential School System. The IRS is, as I know it, Canada’s dark secret, and is labelled rightfully so because it is only in recent years that allegations against the IRS began to surface when survivors came forwards to speak about their horrible, and truly disgusting experiences that took place inside these church-ran institutions. While it could easily be argued that the Knockwood chapter is more sensitised and aware of potential trigger warnings, We Were Children, does not try to conceal the facts, rather it presents a real-life scenario and does not shy away from presenting to the public the truth behind the Indian Residential School System. The legacy of forces assimilative education for indigenous people, as per the title of Battiste’s article is deeply rooted in Canadian identity, and while many efforts towards reconciliation have been made by the Canadian Government and the Truth and Reconciliation Council of Canada, building bridges towards tolerance, understanding, and inclusion is one of the many efforts we can make, as a nation, citizens and future teachers, to promote healing in Aboriginal communities.
The film We Were Children, and Knockwood’s chapter offer three personal accounts of Residential school, and, while Knockwood’s chapter is more sensitized, the experiences of all three individual are quite similar. As explained by Knockwood: “right off, Sister Mary Leonard began to explain that speaking Mi'kmaq was not permitted in the school because it held children back in the classroom in reading, pronouncing and writing English” (33). The idea of forbidding a child from speaking their native tongue was not uncommon in Residential School, in fact, as held in the previous statement, church officials believed that a child speaking their native tongue would impede their efforts to “kill the indian; save the child.” The residential school system was a direct violation to human rights considering that children experienced corporal punishment, humiliation, starvation, emotional, cultural, and sexual abuse. Although not explicitly mentioned in Knockwood’s article, both Lyna and Glen, who are featured in We Were Children, witnessed and experienced sexual abuse at the hands priests and nuns. Even at young age, all three individuals claim to be sickened by the fact of calling nuns “sister” or calling the priests “father” (37). The children recognized that these people were abusing their supposed position of power over more physically inferior individuals. In her article, Battiste opens her second chapter asking readers to image yourself, personally experiencing a moment as an Aboriginal person in Canada. This can be quite challenging if we consider the years forced assimilation inflicted upon First Nation peoples. As claimed by Brant, “most Indigenous readers do not have to imagine this, as Battiste’s description captures our realities along with the experiences of our parents, grandparents, and great grandparents. It is a reality that we know intimately” (118). Although the last residential school closed its doors nearly two decades ago, as noted by Battiste, the intergenerational impacts of the IRS are a present reality in my community, and communities across Canada. In terms of language, as I noted in my Digital Portrait, my mother did not teach my sister and I our traditional language. Often, I have wondered why she did not pass on this important part of culture, but as through Battiste’s article, we come to understand that “our language was repressed and forbidden” (118). This is why some have labelled the IRS system as cultural genocide because, our language is our culture and without our language we have nothing. Briefly, it is important to remember that the Indian Residential School System was a violation of trust that was done to thousands of aboriginal children across Canada, they suffered the greatest betrayal, and we should acknowledge these experiences, and work to create a more inclusive Canada. So how exactly do we these build these bridges? I believe the first step is through education. We should think of ourselves as Sal from chapter 4 of Ayers’ novel. As mentioned in the chapter, “Sal herself is a bridge from the margin towards the center, from the powerless to power” (65). In this context, it is important to integrate Indigenous studies into our curriculum. As per claimed by Pamela Rose Toulouse, in her article entitled: Bringing First Nations, Metis and Inuit Contributions to the World into the K-12 Curriculum, “the self-esteem and success of First Nations, Metis and Inuit students in our schools depends upon this pedagogic change and the fostering of stronger relations between non-FNMI and FNMI (First Nations, Metis and Inuit) peoples requires that this part of a greater truthful narrative be told” (20). As future teachers, we have the power to integrate such pedagogic changes in our curriculum to empower students. It has been noted, “FNMI students’ self-esteem is grounded in classroom where they recognize themselves in the curriculum through the inclusion of various resources, teachings, strategies, histories and knowledge exchanges” (21).
1 Comment
Linda Radford
11/27/2015 03:00:12 am
I think you have hit the nail on the head here when noting that we need to think of ourselves as Sal and like a bridge. The Toulouse piece is really important. Thanks for quoting it!
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