IS YOUR TWEET RACIST?

TWEET OR TO NOT TWEET

Online conversations are riddled with pitfalls because navigating provocative subjects one tweet at a time invariably brings up very strong views and misconceptions. I have blogged about some controversial topics in the past, notably this one, which I received some blowback.  I am afraid we are faced with a conundrum, a difficult choice of balancing free speech and political correctness. We have become so intolerant of differing views and we are quick to censure anyone based on a single tweet.  It is like we have lost the art of having a conversation and debating an issue.  We are becoming so polarized and quick to make judgements without pause.  How much can you honestly get from a single tweet, anyway? 

I am going to  contemplate  two recent controversial tweets because it is a subject that interest me.     

Holy Angels property, Fort Chipewyan, Alta

First, you may have heard about Sen. Beyak’s tweet on residential schools and the social media comments in response to her subsequent tweets. Full disclosure, I am Dene from Northern Alberta and spent years at Holy Angels Residential School in Fort Chipewyan, Alberta. I have blogged about my  experience here. Although not a popular position and one that I deliberated on before writing that my experience at Holy Angeles was not a bad one. I was worried that I would get hate tweets for even saying anything positive about my experience. But more importantly I didn’t want what I said to mean that the tragic and atrocious treatment didn’t occur. I want to make clear, my personal experience doesn't in any way contradict the horrific experiences of thousands of other accounts.

That said, I did take exception to Sen. Beyak’s tweet because in this climate of reconciliation I felt an extra burden is placed on a public servant to understand more profoundly the issues as they relate to indigenous people. Had she reflected on what she was going to tweet, she might have understood how her tweet could be offensive to some and maybe she would think twice before tweeting on a subject she does not fully understand.  She was consequently removed from the Conservative Caucus because she refuse to see her error.

Secondly, a tweet from Rick Mehta began circulating. The National Post interviewed him on January 15, 2018.

“I fear that if I say something, I’ll be labelled as a racist,” Mehta said in an interview Monday, referring to the Indigenous residential school system in Canada. “If you dare question the orthodoxy, you’re automatically a racist and labelled a colonialist who somehow endorses what happen in the past.”

In my opinion, this simple quote is a disturbing sign of the times because he clearly felt the need to clarify his view.  However, judging by a petition that was started to remove him from his position at University of Acadia, my guess, is that his subsequent tweets only enflamed the issue further.

Once a twitter argument gets started there is a no winning, trolls come out, and it explodes into heated diatribe.    By that I mean since the eruption of social media people have an outlet to express their every whim and thought. And with this deluge of information we have become selective in what we read and more critical of what does not resonate with our own sensibilities. The social media platform is ideal for this because it is easier to read each tweet as faceless. Sadly, it has become common to read strongly worded comments that include violence against a person just based on thier tweet.
  

In particular, indigenous controversial issues always appears to invoke a more spirited emotional response. Comments on controversial indigenous stories tend to be harsh. Are some of these comments racist? it sure appears to be.  However, to be sure, some are taken to be racist even if they are not intended as such.  Indeed, miscommunication occurs often and easily online.

The more important question for me, becomes shouldn’t we have the right to voice an opinion separated from our professional opinion like Rick Mehta’s tweets.  It is obvious that he was tweeting from his personal profile and not under that of his university.  Is he not allowed free speech without risking his job? Are any of us?

Simply put, the issue of free speech is becoming an intricate and difficult problem in this environment of intolerance. I believe our bias continues to shut each other down. If continued, we are courting a disastrous outcome to our individual right to free speech and it will happen gradually.  We should be able to be tolerant of others point of view no matter how abhorrent it is to our own beliefs.

In an extreme situation, in the 1979 case of Stokie, a march that tested the intolerance of religious and freedom of speech in a historical legal battle ensued.  A small group of neo-Nazis (National Socialist Party of America) challenged in court for the right to march in a predominately Jewish community wearing swastikas.  The community, many of them former concentration camp members argued that it was like being victimized again.

 “The Supreme Court rejected that argument, ruling that display of the swastika is a symbolic form of free speech entitled to First Amendment protections and determined that the swastika itself did not constitute "fighting words."^[10] Its ruling allowed the National Socialist Party of America to march.” Wikipedia

At the end of the day, the march never took place.   Interestingly, a Jewish lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union had represented the neo-Nazis in court, seeing their rights of free speech as more important than suppressing the hateful content of that speech.

Similarly, the white supremacist marchers in Charlottesville last year by the alt right, as disgusting as their message was, were able to demonstrate because of their constitutional right to freedom of expression. We might not like it but we can’t pick and choose who gets to exercise their freedom of expression.

In our world of social media we have tools to make free speech easy – maybe too easy -- but we are losing what must go along with free speech, namely the ability to express nuanced positions in an environment where respectful consideration and response can be expected.

In our diverse and complicated society, we should be becoming more tolerant not less tolerant of each other. Reconciliation.  What does that mean?   As a first nation person, what reconciliation means to me, is the intent to reconcile what was done in the past by educating ourselves on indigenous history. It means creating a future for first nations that is not based on guilt or shame.  Sen. Beyak’s tweets is the complete opposite of reconciliation. At some point the tweets became so contentious she lost all credibility.   We have to stop tweeting "fighting words” because these fighting words come off as racist more times than not.

Another point is that someone with controversial or hateful views will only become more hardened in their position if the only response to those views is suppression or emotional invective.  We can’t hope to change people’s minds on Twitter. It is better to leave the conversation.

Finally, true reconciliation cannot happen in absence of complete truths. Which means acknowledging truths no matter how uncomfortable it is. On this point, I agree with professor Mehta as quoted in the National Post;

“He believes former residential school attendees that claim the schools did good in some cases should be heard as well, as part of the overall conversation…”

Here too, I caution you to guard against going too far to the other side as to distort history. 

"Every story has three sides, yours, mine, and the facts." R. Fumoleau, OMI

The treatment of Residential school students in Canada differed from province to province and from decade to decade. However, there is plenty of evidence that residential school did far greater harm than good. Perspective is important (My friend's account.) There are many, many, more similar accounts! In order for true RECONCILIATION Canada needs to accept their role in our history and to accept that these horrific stories from students as truths instead of trying to minimize these accounts because of the humanity shown to some.

Navigating Stories

Reading stories from residential school survivors made me feel uncomfortable about my own story.  The survivors’ stories are heartbreaking and filled with unbearable pain and sorrow. 

I have also been following stories on Charles Camsell Hospital in Edmonton, Alberta, and these too made me uncomfortable.  On October 4^th a documentary film on the Hospital screened in Edmonton. Again, the shocking treatment of Indigenous people who were admitted to the Indian hospital, sometimes for years, is equally horrific.

 

These stories must be told and they must be heard.  It is an important Canadian historical legacy.  Furthermore, both the telling and the listening to these stories are critical for the truth and reconciliation process.

 

So why am I feeling uncomfortable?  Because my personal experience was very unalike most of the stories I’ve heard or read about. My story was never told because I feel it is not something that people want to hear.

Holy Angels Residence 

Recently I posted a residential school picture on facebook. It portrayed a celebration of sorts; I was sitting with three of my brothers at the dinning room table with other children. Three nuns were standing in the background.  Someone posted in the comments, “ID like to kill them nuns and burn that place down.”   This is not someone who went here or any other residential school.  This person never asked me about my experience, he just assumed it was bad.     How do we heal when there is so much anger from people who didn’t experience residential school or are not willing to listen to all the stories?

It is interesting that even in the same family, experiences of accounts can be vastly different.  This is certainly the case in my own family. 

I am one of the youngest of 16 children.  We were raised in abject poverty. We had no running water or electricity.  Although the hamlet where we lived was a “dry” town, meaning that alcohol was not allowed, this didn’t mean it didn’t exist there.  In fact, there was alcohol in our home because my parents were bootleggers.  They made and sold home-brew and shipped in liquor by plane, this to supplement their income from trapping and seasonal work in order to feed the lot of us.  As a child I witnessed violence in my home due to alcohol abuse.

 

To complicate matters, when I was a toddler, I was stricken with a serious illness and I almost died.  I was sent to Charles Camsell Hospital frequently. 

Many Indigenous people from the area where I grew up also lived in poverty, and were sent to Holy Angels Residence.  Some of them also were admitted to Charles Camsell Hospital, like me.  

I am hesitant to tell my story because I know some people would dismiss it on the basis that I am so colonized that I am not even aware of how colonized I am.  Or because I am brainwashed.  In any event how can I say, after all the horrific stories about Indian Residential Schools, by the way, I don't think it was so bad,in my experience. It sounds callous and empty.  

My experience in residential school from the first day was a good experience. There, I said it! 

I will always remember the afternoon my older sister Dora said, “Do you want to go to school?” I said, “Yes,” with a big smile. “Ok,” she said, “Go get into your snowsuit.” We walked to residential school. It was getting dark and the snow sparkled like diamonds. 

It was in December, and I had just returned from Charles Camsell Hospital, having missed the first part of the school year.  I wasn’t scared because my sister was a cook at the Holy Angels - I was excited! I took quickly to learning and only spent one week in grade one before I was moved into grade two. 

Holy Angeles Residence, Fort Chipewyan, Alberta

I particularly loved reading and spent many hours in the study hall.  I didn’t mind work, like polishing the hardwood floors and the wooden banisters, because I was used to doing housework at home.  In a large family like ours we all had to pitch in to help.  I also learned beading, embroidery and how to darn socks and mitts.  There was also playtime. The older girls never picked on me. Once a week we had movie night.  Because we lived in town we got to go home for the weekend and when we returned Sunday afternoon, that evening we would watch a movie. All the other boys and girls came to our room to watch the movie.  Occasionally we played bingo.   I remember going camping too; we were allowed to run into the hills for hours until we were called for dinner. 

A number of the priest spoke Denesuline (Chipewyan) and Cree. Also, Sister Brady, a Metis nun spoke Cree.  We sometimes laughed behind their backs at how they sounded when they spoke our language. It must be said here that neither the nuns nor the priests ever mistreated me, physically or emotionally.  In fact, I corresponded regularly with one of the priests until his death in 2003.  He even visited my home in Ottawa several times and met my husband and son.

Indeed, I still have many fond memories of being at Holy Angel Residence. 

That said, I also remember fights between girls in the schoolyard.  I remember students running away and being brought back in tears.  I remember that one time an older girl slugged a nun.  I remember whispers about a certain “brother” who would fix bikes for the boys. So yeah, for sure there were critical concerns during my time at Holy Angels.

Like I mentioned earlier I split my time between Holy Angels and Charles Camsell Hospital.  I always looked forward to going to the hospital, the pain from numerous operations notwithstanding.  I would find money in my folded clothes on the bed, left by Sister Nadeau for canteen treats while I was at the hospital.  I didn’t worry about falling behind in my studies because I attended classes there.  I was in the hospital so often I developed personal relationships with the nurses and doctors, which I maintained through correspondence when I was back at Holy Angels.  I was encouraged to have pen pals and the nuns took my letters to be posted in town. 

Indeed my story is different, maybe it was because the era was the late sixties and seventies, and times and attitudes were changing.  I don’t know why my experience was different, was I the only one with these good memories?

The story of residential schools is a challenging and complicated one.  We don't serve the truth if we don’t tell the whole truth, and reconciliation can't be based on half-truths.  

My story doesn’t take anything from those  unfortunate students who suffered abuse, or who died to be placed in unmarked graves.  The fact that I was lucky to meet people who were caring does not contradict the truth of those who were abusive, or the misguided policy that sought to kill the Indian in Indian children.  it was a policy designed to  kill the Indian in the child because the government saw us as savages that could not be redeemed to live in society. 

Even with the extended times away from my family, I never forgot who I was. I never forgot my first language, Denesuline.  I never forgot the smell of drying pelts, drying meat, and the taste of caribou.  I never forgot our songs, our culture, and my ancestors. I never blame anyone for anything that happened to me as a child. And, I am most proud of the fact that alcohol or drugs never became a narrative in my story.  I am proud to be breaking the cycle of destruction.

How you tell your story, how you interpret these past events become you. The more you tell your story the more you strengthen that image of yourself.  Your story IS you. I don’t want to, and I shouldn't have to, feel shame because my story is different.

I may be a product of residential school, but I am not a "survivor"of residential school.  Residential school increased my resilience and confidence in who I am as a Dene Woman. 

UPDATE

June 2021 215  Remains of children as young as three  discovered in the grounds around the Kamloops residential school. 

 

This horrific  finding brings into evidence the tragedy of residential schools legacy.  

For years we have known about it however, when evidence resurfaces it brings up the trauma for the survivors even for me.  Inasmuch as my story is different because my experience in residential school was in the 70s by then attitudes  were changing. However there is no denying that the atrocities committed on children happened, and for the survivors the continued emotional trauma is transferred to their children and grandchildren.  I am fortunate to be the last generation of residential school.  

 

 In my family of 16 children the only ones who attended residential school were the younger ones like me,  Patrick, ,Ronnie, Roger, Donna, Donald, Beatrice. Rose, Christopher, Max.   

Fortunately,  Dora, Liz, Freddie, Jimmy,  Peter,  didn't attend Holy Angels. 

Pictures can be Deceiving

Holy Angeles Residence

This is a letter I wrote to the National Post on January 12, 2014 in response to their article on January 11, on residential schools. January 20, 2014 my letter, with others, was published in the letters to the editor section of the paper.

January 12, 2014

Dear Editor of the National Post:

Re:   Could it be that residential schools were not so bad? January 11, 2014, Page A15

A clear evening with the snow glittering like tiny fragments of diamonds, we walked to the residential school in silence.  I could hardly contain my excitement. 

Because I had been hospitalized, my first day at the Holy Angels Residential School, in Alberta, was in December.  A student ran outside to tell my sister we had arrived.  Outside, one of the other girls gave me a piece of dry-meat as they pulled me around the playground on a sled. Children’s laughter echoed in the darkness. An idyllic picture, maybe. 

I was lucky and was not abused, but I now know abuses were occurring.  I remember the smiling faces, but only now I also see pain behind the smiles.

After Vatican II, positive changes were being made.  But at the same time terrible things continued, not always at the hands of the nuns, but certainly under their watch.Incidents recounted by some of my family bring tears to my eyes. I see how their lives were shattered before they even had a chance to live them. I fully appreciate that they really didn’t stand a chance for any normalcy. Their innocence was lost, or rather, taken, inside that school. Their deep scars are invisible to those of us who didn’t experience what they went through.

There is no justification for what happened certainly not saying: “They received an education that enabled them to cope with life.”  The truth is, their school experience destroyed their ability to cope.

E. A. Pratt

Dunrobin Ontario

Student at Holy Angels Residential School, Fort Chipewyan, Alberta

NOT AS IT APPEARS   

I am top 2nd to the right

A few years ago I could not have written the above letter.  In my mind, I thought it was a blessing that I went to residential school. I enjoyed school, and Holy Angels had a nice library where I spent my time reading.

I recall many happy events, we had movie night, games night, went camping in the summer at Dorey Lake. At Christmas we received gifts before we went home for the holidays.  And my older sister, Dora, was working down the hall, as a cook, cooking our meals. 

But most of all, I treasure the lifelong bond I formed with the other students. We have an intimate connection through a shared experience, which very few can appreciate. 

Perhaps, I was one of the few lucky ones who was unscathed by this experience. I mistakenly thought that because we were one of the last students in Holy Angels Residential School before it was closed in the early 80's, and things were changing for the positive, that the other students had the same experience I had.  I could have not been more mistaken.

As it happened, I wrongly assumed because of these changes, being there was not as bad as what older generations went through. Under the earlier directive of DuncanCampbell Scott, an early 20^th century Indian Affairs official said;
      
“our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not     been absorbed into the body politic and there is no Indian question, and no Indian       department.” 

Fortunately, by the time I was in residential school we were no longer prevented from speaking our native language, we were allowed to keep our long hair, we were also allowed to go home on weekends and accepted visitors in the pallor.  Times were changing and in large part for the better.  However, under that fabric of change, there still existed the notion that by our charges that we were still less human in the eyes of our guardians.    

As I learnt more about the horrific experiences of some of the students. These stories broke my heart, especially those in my own immediate family, it became clear to me that no good came from being in residential schools. 

As I reflect back, I remember, students running away only to be returned to the school crying. Until hearing some of the accounts by former students, I could not begin to imagine the horrible things they had to endure.  I was there, and didn’t know what was happening.  And what happened, cannot be denied or justified. To do that is to dishonour the experiences of many, many, many, children. 

Canadian Residential Schools in fact has ruined the lives of generations of First Nations peoples in Canada. Under no viewpoint can this destruction be rationalized. It was horrific and left in its wake many broken children. 

You know you're from Fort Chipewyan, Alberta when...

Fort Chipewyan, Alberta

•       No matter how serious the situation, you find something to laugh about
•       You can point with your lips pursed and moving your chin up and down in the direction of            Sesame Street
•       Dog Head has nothing to do with dogs or their head 
•       You know someone who grew up on Bannock and Lard Avenue     
•       You say, “maaaaah”, or know people who say “maaaaah”
•       May have lost money playing cards with Kim
•       You know that in front of the Northern store is a gathering place 
•       Cherry Hill... made you smile
•       You got to make one more trip south, even if water is flowing over the winter road
•       You went to Holy Angels Residence or know some who did
•       You heard the saying, "Too late, they are fighting with knifes!"
•       Love to have a tee shirt that says; 

When you get in? 

Who you come with? 

When you leaving?"