The term “genocide” is bandied about quite a bit to describe what happened in residential schools in Canada.
Some say what happened to indigenous children in those big, dark brick buildings was genocide, and others say technically it wasn’t.
I make things up for a living, tell funny stories and personally have never attended such an institution as a student. But I, like practically all aboriginal people, have been touched by what happened there.
For those who are fond of procedural correctness, genocide is defined as the deliberate killing of a large group of people, especially those of a particular ethnic group or nation.
Most Canadians are familiar with some of the repercussions of genocide. This country, the settler part anyway, is constantly welcoming those fleeing genocide, whether they be Jews, Rwandans, Cambodians, Armenians or others.
But there is another definition of genocide, one both slightly broader and more specific: a coordinated plan of action aimed at annihilating an entire group. The objectives of such a plan would be disintegration of the political and social institutions, culture, language, national feelings, religion and economic existence of a national group, not to mention the destruction of the personal security, liberty, health, dignity and even the lives of the individuals belonging to such groups. So complicated, yet so simple.
This latter definition is one that Canada’s First Nations know all too well. There are libraries full of books about it. Detailing the abuse forced upon Canada’s native people has almost become a cottage industry. Thank god there’s something out there to help feed the families of all those impoverished academics and lawyers. But to me, this definition is, at its core, what residential schools attempted to accomplish.
The end result of these institutions was cultural genocide, the destruction of the aboriginal population of Canada in one of the most insidious manners possible: the abuse and brainwashing of its children.
What is it the Catholic Church used to say? Something akin to “Give me your children till they are 10 or 12 and they will be ours for life.” It made a lot of us wonder about the real meaning of the terms “civilization” and “Christian love.”
What is it with some people who feel the necessity to change other people into their people? To sweep aside thousands of years of social and cultural development with the stroke of a pen and scarcely a backward glance, confident in their superiority. It’s tragically puzzling.
If there were a memorial T-shirt for residential school survivors, I would suggest “In order to save the child, we must destroy the Indian.” What a diabolically great phrase, right up there with “One Jew is too many” and “Segregation now. Segregation tomorrow. Segregation forever.”
But you have to admit, this killing-of-the-Indian plan was pretty well coordinated. Yet the thing these people of God and government didn’t understand was that destroying a people and their ways is supremely difficult.
The Romans tried to crush Christianity with just about as much zeal and effectiveness. In my travels, I have bumped into two or three Christians the Romans managed to miss. But Christianity didn’t get its own message. Or in this case, the oppressed became the oppressor.
But it would take more than 100 years of residential schools to kill these Indians. We are a people of the ages. A people of time immemorial. And time immemorial doesn’t recognize genocide. It laughs at it.
So here we are in 2016, post-prime-ministerial apology, post-Truth and Reconciliation Commission, with Canadian society exploring the heart of that six-syllable word: reconciliation. Amidst the doom and gloom, a ray of hope.
That’s good. That’s a beginning. But it is not over. One hundred fifty thousand abused people can’t just call the cops and move out of their home into a Motel 6. One side has apologized, and let’s face it, Canada is known internationally for its people saying sorry. So will the abuse stop now? Will the acknowledgement and apology initiate the healing?
There’s a quote in the introduction to Tomson Highway’s published play The Rez Sisters: “Before the healing can take place, the poison must be exposed.” We have an obligation to remember and pass on to the next generation all that has happened, both good and bad. 3
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