Skip to content

COLUMN: A reflection on relationships destroyed by genocide, and hope for reconciliation

'I don't just feel this loss for me, I feel it for you too,' writes columnist Jillian Morris in commemoration of the lives impacted by residential schools
Jillian_Morris
Jillian Morris writes a regular column called Kan’nikonhrí:io, (The Good Mind).

Jillian Morris is Kanien’kehá:ka, turtle clan and band member of Six Nations of the Grand River Territory now living in Collingwood. She will be sharing stories and experience passed down through the oral traditions of Kanien’kehá:ka culture in her regular column, entitled Kan’nikonhrí:io, (The Good Mind) published on CollingwoodToday.ca. 

*****

Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings everyone. Today I want to take a pause from the story I promised to continue.  I feel compelled at this time to commemorate all who have been impacted by residential schools.

The National Day for Truth and Reconciliation is nearly upon us. I encourage you to honour the many thousands of survivors and those whose lives were taken through the forced separation from community. Wear your orange shirt. Take time to reflect on how you might participate in moving the collective relationship forward.

It is sobering to recognize that the residential school era is longer than the existence of Canada as a nation.  Undoing 165+ years of attempted indoctrination, assimilation, and cultural genocide needs the efforts of all of us.

I often speak of my responsibilities, my commitment to continue the work that my ancestors began and sacrificed for. I vision forward and look to the teachings that allow me to have hope for the future. Hope for the seven generations coming.

I live in the reality that is now. I try not to dwell in the past. I work at letting go.

Still, occasionally I also dream of what was. And I wonder, how can I miss something that I never had? Maybe it is in my DNA, maybe it is blood memory. I don’t know, but I long for it. That knowing of self, that sense of belonging that was inherent to those raised in our communities.

A child was once observed, encouraged to be curious and explore, valued for the knowledge they still carried from the Spirit World. As their gifts emerged, their strengths, talents, interests were nurtured. Their path was determined by their own leadership.

Spiritual and emotional well-being were valued equally to physical and mental conditioning.

Men did not rule, men did not dominate. The matriarch of our communities held vital roles. The women ensured balance. Teachings of Mother Earth and the waters passed down sacred duties to our life bearers.

Land, nature, and other species protected, regarded through progressive practice. Our interdependency understood. We cannot neglect these aspects of life without exacting harm unto ourselves.

The loss of life, the abuse, the imposition of self-hatred are horrendous aspects of what residential schools inflicted on Indigenous people. What continues this tragedy is the persistent prevention of a large segment of society from a self-prescribed, community-supported existence.

We were all robbed of this worldview.

Consider the original intention of Guswhenta, The Two Row Wampum. A nation-to-nation relationship among Indigenous peoples and the European settlers. Two purple rows separated by white shells. The ship and the canoe travelling the river together. Co-existence based on peace, friendship, and respect. Neither attempting to steer the others’ vessel.

If this had been upheld, elements of the philosophies that governed our communities prior to contact may have found their way into the common culture.  

For me, it is not the disruption lifestyle per se, the tribal nature or self-sufficient, self-reliant communities, that prompts this sense of loss. It is these teachings. The ones that promote sustainability, responsibility, compassion, balance, and humility.  

I don’t just feel this loss for me, I feel it for you too.

Sken:nen, peace.

This column was first published on Sept. 27,2021.