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.
Healing begins when we pause, reflect and take responsibility for the harms that have been done to others. For generations, the wounds of the residential school system have remained unhealed and unaddressed by those who perpetrated them. This has left Indigenous Peoples disconnected and lacking access to critical support systems needed to heal.
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.
Indigenous cultures have been preserved and passed down for generations through oral history and traditions. Storytelling is the fibre that connects us all to one another, and for many survivors of the residential school system, healing begins with storytelling. That’s why more than 15 years ago, survivors from Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Nation in Dawson City, Yukon, came together as K’änächá (Taking Care of Ourselves) to document their memories and experiences.
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.
For nearly two centuries, St. Laurent in Manitoba has woven the foundation of its identity together through Catholic faith and Métis heritage. This community, long established in the region, is sacred to its people. However, like many communities today, its traditional stories, teachings and spaces where people have gathered for prayer and cultural expression, are at risk of fading. Without preservation these ties risk being weakened, further disconnecting Métis youth from their heritage.
There is no single action that can erase the pain felt by residential school survivors. There is no amount of time that can heal families who had a child that never returned home. Healing is a long, multifaceted process that requires empathetic listening, relationships built on trust and respect, and collaborative efforts to create strong and resilient foundations. Many Indigenous communities have turned to their sacred traditions to facilitate the process.
The wisdom held by Elders and shared with the youngest generations is the bridge between past and present, the tether tying together ancient traditions and modern culture. This wisdom is vital to preserving generational knowledge, yet too often is lost before it can be passed down. Cowessess First Nation has lost much of its history, leaving a painful gap in the record of community traditions, culture and identity. Today, the stories and memories of seniors, or kêhtê-ayak, offer a vital link to ancestors whose teachings still guide the Nation.
