"I lied."

“Five feet high, six feet long, three feet wide.

That was the size of the hole in the ground where a CBC journalist was kept after being kidnapped in Afghanistan.”

So read the headline published in the GLOBE AND MAIL dated May 12, 2011 and written by a Sarah Hampson.

The article is about Mellisa Fung, a CBC journalist who was kidnapped by Afghan men while reporting in that country in 2008 and subsequently held for 28 days. Now, she has written a book about that experience in “Under an Afghan Sky.”

“ I lied.”

That phrase by her caught my attention. Perhaps, because she hits on an issue that parallels a lot of us Survivors who had attended residential school. Apparently, Mellisa had disclosed details in her book that she was reluctant to share previously in face-to-face interviews – “that she was sexually assaulted by one of the captors with a knife held to her throat. When she was debriefed in Kabul after her release, she was asked if she had suffered sexual abuse, “I said no,” she says quietly.

“ I lied.”

She didn’t want to be seen as a victim “but as a writer and journalist, it didn’t feel right not to put it in.” Lying was and still is the kind of attitude regarded as the norm of most of us who attended residential school; lying is some cases for 30 – 40 years. Now, for residential school survivors, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission perhaps is a way to share his/her story of the truth. For many then and now, we should perhaps get past that notion of  “I lied.”

Melissa spent 28 days captured in that hole, how much more of a story do we have. For me, it was 13 years captured in residential school, in that bed, three feet high, six feet long, two feet wide.

Redress? justice and common sense?

He listened to residential school victims and helped them achieve redress.

“They wanted to be heard, because in their view nobody heard them for a long, long time. No one listened.”

So read the headline in the Obituaries of the GLOBE AND MAIL dated April 19, 2011 and written by a Rod Mickleburgh.

Redress: “ to set right; reform, correct.”

Donald Brenner, 65, passed away suddenly on March 12, 2011 at his home on the Sunshine Coast in BC. Donald was a commercial pilot and a respected chief justice of the Supreme Court of BC.  How will most prominent Aboriginal leaders remember him? “We have a lot to thank him for.  Donald Brenner was a remarkable human being, as good as they come. He will have a place in our hearts, forever.”
Edward John, Grand Chief of the First Nations Summit.

Donald Brenner had accomplished a lot in his life but came into prominence when he presided over the Blackwater case where he “was instrumental in bringing one of the nations’ searing social sores to public attention – the decades of abuse that took place at native residential schools – and subsequently helping to achieve redress.”

The Blackwater case included a “civil suit by former residents of the Alberni Indian Residential School, hearing native witnesses, often in tears, bare their suffering in unrelenting detail. At the end, he awarded damages against both the United Church and the federal government. His ruling, upheld by the Supreme Court of Canada, paved the way for a slew of similar cases across the country and Ottawa’s eventual, multibillion dollar out-of-court settlement.”

Further significant redress was to follow.

Donald Brenner issued a rare, high court call for the government to apologize for the systemic abuse that occurred (across the country).

Enter June 2008,… most of you may remember the nationally televised event when Prime Minister Harper had apologized for all the harms and abuses that Survivors had experienced in the former residential school system.

In an interview after leaving the Supreme Court, Brenner said no case was more difficult or more draining during his 17 years on the bench than Blackwater. “They wanted to be heard, because in their view nobody heard them for a long, long time. No one listened.”

As usual, with any issue, the government needs to be embarrassed first to admit accountability. In this case, it took court action before the government would listen and finally forced into redress in the national apology to Survivors.

R.I.P. Justice Donald Brenner.

Nunavut: true North strong and ...?

“The promise and the perils.”

A front-page headline published in the GLOBE AND MAIL, April 5, 2011 and written by a Joe Friesen.

This article was part II in a three part series on The Trials of Nunavut.

 Most of you know, Nunavut in the Inuktitut language means, “our land.” In the quest for autonomy when Nunavut was established in 1999, the Inuit likely didn’t bank on “promises” evolving into “perils.”  Nunavut is now plagued with low high-school-completion rates and high violent-crimes. Not a good equation. Add to it another extreme, Nunavut’s population is extremely young: one third of the Nunavutmiut are under 15. The younger population will only get younger. Lord have mercy, you can bet the majority of those 15 year olds will each have at least two kids by the time they’re twenty. I know…it’s a cultural thing.

“Houston, we have a problem?”

The article goes on to ask, “Can Nunavut’s youth build the North’s growing industries, or are they too alienated?” It’s ironic that alienation is now considered and is seen to perhaps likely to perpetuate the state of affairs. After all, it was the very isolation of the Inuit that once kept them intact as a culture. One can only see the many documentaries both in film and photographs and see how healthy they once were.

Fast forward to today: Nunavut woes are huge, “the homicide rate among young people are 10 times higher than in the rest of Canada. Rates of violent crime, from domestic abuse to sexual assault and robbery, are also disproportionately high. While crime rates in the south have declined, they’ve jumped in Nunavut.” For a fulfilled existence, all human beings including the Inuit require a sense of significance and a sense of security. Something they had intact prior to colonization. Instead, within every Inuit community, you find the majority of its population in a zombie-like trance neither working or in school; feeling unworthy with no confidence.  No wonder crime is high. So, where are the Inuit leaders?

Enter Mary Simon, President, Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami., the national political organization representing all Inuit within Canada. She asks, “How can we renew confidence and hope in our Inuit youth?"

She says:

“For the next generation of Inuit, hope lies in education.”

So read the headline in the GLOBE AND MAIL, April 6, 2011.

Hope is the feeling of what is wanted can be had.  Since 1999, broken dreams of Nunavut have them still hoping. For many Inuit though, hope was lost and has resulted in the highest rate of suicide in Canada.

Like the Inuit of old, the Inuit need to regain their sense of significance and security. Unlike the old days though, it’s more of a challenge.  Like all Canadians, education is available to all Inuit but hope should lie in changing the “attitude” towards the value of education.

Mary goes on to  say, “ We need confident parents to raise confident children.” True?

With the high number of teen pregnancies in Nunavut, how much confidence does a teenager have in raising a child? Perhaps, Inuit leaders should consider social education as a precedent to academic education. “But that discussion hasn’t taken hold at any senior policy or political level. “ says a Natan Obed, Director of the department of social and cultural development at Nunavut Tunngavik.

I think that kind of discussion needs to occur first, that’s my hope.

The Eskimo..."Standing on guard for thee."

“Military to test new Arctic search-and-rescue plan.

Rapid reaction force would focus on airplane crashes, environmental incidents and shipping accidents.”

So read the headline in the GLOBE and MAIL published March 31, 2011 and written by a Bob Weber.

I guess it’s befitting the Eskimo is “standing on guard for thee.”  After all, Canada is our home on Native land.

How ‘bout this for a mouthful…The Rapid Reaction Force North.  A Lt. Colonel Gino Chretien says, “It’s a project to try and get troops up as fast as possible if an incident happens up here in the North.” The Force’s main component is obvious, utilizing local Eskimos who exist in all of Canada’s Arctic communities. It’s no secret too the Arctic throughout history has been used for military purposes. For example, in the mid 1950’s the United States (U.S.) government leased land across the Arctic from Canada and built the then Distant Early Warning Line (DEW Line). Even then, utilizing local Eskimos like my late father contributed to the construction of and worked for the U.S. at a number of those radar sites in the western arctic. The DEW Line sites have now been upgraded to what is known as the largely unmanned North Warning System. Today, any Arctic rescues are coordinated out of the Search-and-Rescue Centre in Trenton, Ontario, thousands of kilometers away and any rescues can take days for any kind of initial response.

Enter the Eskimo…now known as Inuit and “Rangers.”  Like Tonto used to say to his buddy, the Lone Ranger, the Eskimo is perhaps the new “Kimosabe” (trusted friend).

Capacity building for the Rangers is an issue though. “It isn’t clear what help the Rangers would be able to provide beyond, “…polar bear security and comfort” says Lt. Colonel Chretien.

The Rapid Reaction Force North, of course, requires further development. For now, the project known as Operation Nunalivut will deploy aircraft from Comox, BC on Vancouver Island and Greenwood, Nova Scotia on the east coast. I guess notifying the local Eskimo – Inuit – Ranger is as “rapid” as you’re going to get.  I guess too, it won’t be just up to God to keep us “glorious and free.”

Two Days...Two Golds...Two Memories

Two days…Two Golds…Two Memories

It was -36c. The organizers figured it was warm enough to hold the 1975 NWT Canada Winter Games trials. I concurred. After all, I and other Inuvik Ski Club members had spent one month training in Fort Smith, a small town in the southern part of the Northwest Territories. We felt ready no matter what the weather. Our club figured it was best to escape Inuvik, a small town further north, and the winter darkness and relentless -45c daily temperatures typically experienced there during January. I concurred.

The Canada Winter Games (CWG) were to be held in the host city of Lethbridge, in southern Alberta. That year the CWG was not my focus as I began another year of training and competing in cross-country skiing earlier that summer. I ran, hiked, and roller skied as much as I could. I had established myself as a young champion as I had won the 1973 and 1974 Canadian Junior Championships. Therefore, although still a junior, my goal in 1975 was to make the senior national team to compete overseas in Europe. My training had paid off. In early skiing trials, I had shown I was good enough as I had beaten a number of older skiers on the National Team. Still, for some reason, I was rejected but not dejected: in fact, I was a little pissed off and even more motivated.

That cold but sunny January day in Fort Smith, the roster for the 15-kilometer CWG trials race started to line up with mostly Aboriginal kids like me. My older brother Rex, the 1972 Canadian Junior champion, was lined up in front of me. I didn’t care but he seemed a little insecure, as he knew his younger brother was looking very confident. After all, unlike me, he was spending a little more time playing hockey than putting in the training hours I had.

The starter counted down his start time and he left the start-line: 30 seconds later, I pursued his tracks. I knew I could catch him if I wanted to but I stayed relaxed and set a leisurely pace. Still, within one kilometer, I saw him look behind at me and it seemed he wanted me to pass him. In the end, I “let” my older brother win and even after skiing a leisurely pace: I was second. We both made the NWT team along with two others. We were off to Lethbridge: the dreaded opening ceremonies showcased all the respective teams from the provinces and territories; everyone figured that the NWT team was highly favoured to obtain medals. We must have exuded a lot of confidence and certainly had a good track record of winning.

The cross-country and alpine ski athletes were housed in military barracks in Pincher Creek, a small town outside of Lethbridge and near our ski trails close to West Castle Mountain, now known as Castle Mountain. The weather turned on us…a snowstorm came through and blew in over a meter of snow and the temperature dropped to -25c. I guess in our favour. The next couple of days were spent skiing and getting familiar with the trails. Soon followed an epidemic of illness that hit the over-crowded barracks with a lot of athletes succumbing to a virus including one of our athletes. Somehow, three of us stayed healthy including my brother, Rex.

Race day was fast approaching.

The day started as usual: athletes with their respective team jackets jumped on the bus to the race site but we all seemed more focused as the atmosphere was not as jovial as previous days: it was time for the 15-kilometer race, lots of powder snow and cold, around -22c.  I had a good night’s sleep; good breakfast, and felt ready. It was not difficult to figure out the wax in that cold temperature so my skis had good grip and reasonable glide. The start list was confirmed yesterday with around 70 skiers to race. The organizers figured I was one of the favourites to win so I was seeded towards the end. Didn’t matter to me as I warmed up, took off my distinctive NWT parka and stepped on to the start line: not knowing I was to embark on one of my most painful but memorable races.

I started off with confidence and felt comfortable, passing as many skiers as I could with a polite utterance of  “track.” Sometimes, I did not have to utter the word as skiers simply let me pass. I obliged every time. The cold temperature had resulted in very slow snow so I, and others, had to work a lot harder to obtain some glide. My coach let me know I was doing well but it was close between me and an older skier from British Columbia. I wasn’t surprised. His name was Lauri Karjauloto, a fast Finnish immigrant in his mid-twenties. I thought: “son of a bitch” as I was beginning to feel the stress and lactic acid building in my legs. The race was on…with each other and the long hard-climbing hills of the 15-kilometer loop. At times, I was all alone with only the sounds of loud exhalations of freezing carbon dioxide and ski poles squeaking in the cold and the sandpaper like sound of skis fighting to inch forward. By the 10-kilometer mark, the pain was almost unbearable but I kept thinking, “with every f’ing stride, I’m that much closer.” I began to doubt I was in the lead. Around the 11-kilometer mark, I passed someone but he hung on to me like a dirty shirt. He was also stressed as I heard his heavy breathing and cursed him at every stride. To my relief, he dropped off. Soon, I heard noise and cheering up ahead. It was the 14-kilometer mark where my coach was waiting…anxiously too. It was on another damn uphill; more bystanders were around, cheering, yelling, and making too much noise as I was trying to hear my coach give me the low-down on my placing. I looked up and we made eye contact.

Much to my surprise, I heard him say,

“You’re number one!...45 seconds ahead! Go!”

The news was such a relief, I started crying…unbelievable, how could I be first, I was hurting so bad. Near the finish line, there was a downhill; I coasted without pushing off letting my skis take me closer to the finish line finally in sight. In my mind, I had done it. I was the 1975 CWG 15-kilometer champ…50 seconds ahead of Lauri Karjauloto. That evening, on a black and white TV, with the recap of the days CWG events, the host announcer had mentioned a young Eskimo from the NWT had won a cross-country ski race. It was not over though; we still had to compete in the 3 x 10 kilometer relay event in two days. As a team, were we to live up to being the “favorites?” I had my doubts but little did I know then, I was to embark on an even more memorable event.

The day of the 3 x 10 relay started as usual. The pain of winning the 15-kilometer was long forgotten. I felt fully recovered. Thank God too, Rex, Kevin King, and I were still healthy and had not caught the dreaded virus that infected athletes in the barracks. Kevin King was the only white male skier to make the NWT team. He was not as talented as Rex and I but through hard work, he had made it. Our other and better native skier had caught the virus. Through experience, we did not have to discuss strategy as our coach had submitted the order on who would start the first lap, second lap, and final lap.

The ski conditions were still the same: more powder snow and around -20c. The Canadian military had done an excellent job grooming the trails and set up a public address (PA) system with a main announcer at the start-finish area who communicated with a spotter located at every kilometer along the 10-kilometer loop. I could feel the other teams had brought their A-game and it showed very early in the relay.

Rex had started the first-leg mass start. I watched him with uncertain hope and the other 11 teams’ members disappear into the forest. Very quickly, our sense of hearing became acute. The PA announcer reported every kilometer the name of every skier who passed by. Rex started out well but his lack of conditioning caught up to him. He led the group for a while but ended up coming in third behind Nova Scotia and British Columbia. He tagged off Kevin with more skiers following him into the forest. Kevin was skiing very well; in fact, he was having his best race ever. Still, he dropped back to fifth by the nine-kilometer mark. The final leg skiers were being tagged off as I waited calmly at the stadium. The lead pack was being announced. While still waiting at the stadium, Pierre Vezina, the second ranked junior skier in Canada and skiing for Quebec had already passed the one-kilometer mark. Finally, I saw Kevin approaching. A huge deep breath eased a sigh of relief. The race was on… but still with an uncertain hope as it all began.

To my surprise, finally racing felt easy, skis were good and most of all, I felt relaxed. Very quickly, I passed Ontario, Nova Scotia, and British Columbia: all without having to say, “track.” Where and how far ahead was Quebec? Throughout all this, everyone back at the stadium was updated on my progress: liking it or not.

By the 4-kilometer mark, silence ruled, again only broken with sounds of squeaky poles, sand paper-like screeching of skis gliding but I was breathing easy. Suddenly, I couldn’t see anything but I heard cheering up ahead at the six-kilometer mark: was that Quebec? Now the uncertain hope felt more certain.

Like the 15-kilometer course, Clarence Servold, the 1958 Canadian Olympian from Alberta, designed the 10-kilometer course. I guess he knew how to challenge us skiers with long steady climbs especially between the six and seven kilometer mark. Back at the stadium, the PA announcer mentioned Pierre had passed the six-kilometer mark. According to skiers back at the stadium, 15 seconds later, he announced that Angus Cockney of the NWT had passed the six-kilometer mark. Later, Kevin had said his eyes had lit up and wondered, “Was it real?”

Nearing the top of the long climb up to the seven-kilometer mark, I saw Pierre up ahead. At that point, I was beginning to feel the struggle but I sensed and saw that Pierre was hurting even more. At the top of the hill, Pierre slowly stepped aside. Like all day, there was no need to call, “track.” For the first time too, I slipped and fell to one knee and stayed there for one second: just enough time as Pierre and I glanced at each other. Seemed he had acknowledged defeat. Back at the stadium, the announcer revealed that Angus Cockney of NWT had passed the seven-kilometer mark; two seconds later he announced that Pierre Vezina of Quebec had passed the seven-kilometer mark. Later, everyone felt that the race was over and won. Still, I had three kilometers to the finish line.

After the long climb, we headed downhill. Incredibly, after some 30 seconds of relative ease, I recovered quickly and began to sprint the last three kilometers. Later, Pierre said he could not believe how fast I took off after that downhill reprieve and eased passed the eight and nine-kilometer marks. I appeared out of the forest coming down into the stadium, a crowd of various other team members and officials had gathered: waiting. I stood up out of my tuck with both arms up and glided across the finish line: Rex and Kevin were there: hugs of joy ensued. An incredible team effort.

An incredible two days, two golds, two memories.

The "Metis Problem"

“Ottawa tries to calm Métis identity furor.

Government denies consumer safety standards group chosen to decide who is and is not Métis.”

The above noted headline appeared in the THE GLOBE AND MAIL, dated Friday, February 11, 2011 and written by a Joe Friesen.

A while back in Canada’s history, in fact, in the 1860’s, the government realized they had an “Indian problem.” Throughout time the term, “Indian” has evolved from including all of Canada’s indigenous people to what has now been defined in the Constitution Act, Section 35, "…aboriginal peoples of Canada includes the Indian, Inuit, and Métis peoples of Canada.”

Case closed? Apparently not.

Throughout the world, defining whom you belong to is very contentious: the Middle East is a good example and is still on going. Here, in Canada?

 “We will never let anyone outside our home decide who we are.”  David Chratrand, President of the Manitoba Métis Federation had responded to the federal government as it contracted the Canadian Standards Association (CSA) “to rule on whether Métis membership systems are satisfactory.”

“The issue of identity is particularly controversial with the Métis, who are the descendents of fur-trade marriages of Europeans and natives and who struggled for many years to be recognized by Ottawa.”

This fact gives credence to some who say, the white man was here first and then came the Métis: So, are the Metis really indigenous to Canada like the First Nations and Inuit? Nevertheless, according to the Constitution Act, Ottawa has recognized them as Aboriginal.

“Indian Affairs says it never intended to try to define who is Métis. It simply wants to guarantee a high level of consistency and credibility in the process, a spokeswoman said. That includes making sure decisions are well documented and that an appeal system is in place, she said.”

David Chartrand goes on to say, “…you want to have a war with the Métis nation…”

Seems the federal government now has a “Métis problem.”

Olive Branch?... gas for cash?

“Enbridge offers billion-dollar olive branch to natives.

Company seeks to win favour with communities along the proposed route of Northern Gateway pipeline with 10-per-cent stake.”

The above noted headline appeared in the GLOBE AND MAIL published February 10, 2011 and written by a Nathan Vanderklippe.

“Olive Branch?...

A symbol of peace, an offering of good will, as in They feuded for years, but finally the Hatfields came over bearing an olive branch. This term is alluded to in the Bible (Genesis 8:11), where the dove comes to Noah after the flood with an olive leaf in its mouth.

Money?...an olive branch? So, what’s new?

Two centuries ago, Judas accepted some silver in exchange for information on the whereabouts of Jesus; a friend of mine accepted financial compensation from a local school board as she threatened to sue the board for wrongful acts. Mahar Arar accepted 12 million dollars from the federal government after alleged abuse by the Syrian government.  Recently, in 2008, Prime Minister Harper apologized to all former Aboriginal students who attended the residential schools and offered an olive branch...in other words?    MONEY!

Now, Enbridge has extended an olive branch in order to build their pipeline…one billion dollars… a symbol of peace?  Seems too, through out time, money does talk, or does it?

“Some first nations say they won’t support the Enbridge pipeline, no matter the financial benefits.”

“au contraire,”


Enbridge says, “We would like to show that there are a lot of first nations that are supportive of this project when we get to the hearings.” “Eight of forty native communities have signed commercial memorandums of understanding with Enbridge, which spell out local construction benefits.”

Based on experience, the National Energy Board will approve Enbridge’s application to build their pipeline. After all, the “olive branch” is nothing new, it’s a sign of peace...especially when it involves money.  Seems, the olive branch will allow gas for cash.