The path to physical and mental wellness for Indigenous Peoples is one that has long been fractured. This is especially true for Niitsitapi community members in and around Lethbridge, Alberta living without shelter or struggling with addictions.

The path to physical and mental wellness for Indigenous Peoples is one that has long been fractured. This is especially true for Niitsitapi community members in and around Lethbridge, Alberta living without shelter or struggling with addictions.

Poor health, higher rates of chronic illness, and diminished mental well-being are only a few of the barriers Indigenous Peoples face when compared to the general population of Canada. Systemic challenges stemming from poverty, limited access to nutritious food, intergenerational trauma, and barriers to culturally safe care have led to Indigenous Peoples being left behind in the healthcare space.

The world outside our doors is vast and ever-changing. It can be difficult to navigate, especially for Indigenous Peoples who have grown up removed from major urban centres or those seeking to weave traditional values with modern culture. As Indigenous Peoples make more of their mark in the world, there is a need to prepare them to navigate these realties in a safe and supportive environment, while addressing fears that systemic traumas from colonial systems have imparted on them.

For 60 years, St. Paul’s Indian Residential School operated in North Vancouver, where Indigenous children were removed from their families and forced through the gates under the guise of education. Many Squamish, Musqueam and Burrard children, along with others from communities as far away as Kyuquot on Vancouver Island, were taken. Its impact in the region was profound and its effects have been long-lasting.

In 1927, George Leask was only 14 years old when he was forcibly taken from his family and placed in a Vancouver orphanage. He would never celebrate another birthday, dying only a month later. George’s story is not uncommon. In fact, it is tale too often told by Indigenous Peoples

The Shubenacadie Indian Residential School in Nova Scotia may no longer physically exist, but the spiritual imprints, echoes and voices of Indigenous children who passed through its doors remain. Today, the grounds serve as a testament to the experiences of those who attended and a reminder of the legacy it has made across Mi'kma'ki.

The call for visible and lasting symbols of reconciliation is being made in communities across Canada. While conversations about truth and reconciliation are taking place throughout the country and on national stages, the absence of visible public monuments speaks louder than words. This lack of visibility leaves little opportunity for everyday reflection and serves as a reminder of why it is important to turn conversations into action.

The experiences and stories shared by Canadian residential school survivors are what paved the way to “reconciliation” as we know it today. More than four million records, including statements, documents, oral histories and sacred items have been entrusted to the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation (NCTR), with millions more still to come. This irreplaceable collection contains records of survivors’ most painful moments, and it gives witness to the stories of those who did not survive. And yet, this vital collection is scattered across the country.

In contrast with colonial views, gender roles in Indigenous communities have historically been fluid. Over centuries, these traditional roles have become warped by western influence, leaving many young Indigenous men in a state of disconnect and confusion as to where they belong. Many struggle daily, wondering who they are, who they should be, and what role they should play between these two diverging viewpoints.