Inuit ‘concerns’ stall Cross of Lorraine
Plan to get input from city’s Aboriginal advisory committee before forging ahead
Plans to restore the landmark Cross of Lorraine on the west Mountain brow have been put on hold pending consultation with Inuit and Indigenous representatives.
Coun. Terry Whitehead says he tabled his motion to be sensitive to “concerns” Inuit people might have about relighting the dormant cross. Whitehead hasn’t received a single Inuit complaint about the plan but decided to table it after his assistant saw a tweet suggesting there’s a “dark blemish” in the way Inuit patients were once treated at the old Mountain Sanatorium
In the spirit of “reconciliation,” Whitehead says he wants to discuss the issue with the city’s Aboriginal advisory committee and Inuit reps before forging ahead.
“If there is factual information in regards to a ‘stain’ … then I need to be respectful of the fact that there was a bit of dark history.”
For decades the cross, a symbol of the fight against tuberculosis (TB), was a prominent feature at the sanatorium where thousands received treatment for the deadly lung infection.
Between the 1950s and early 1960s, close to 1,300 Inuit from Arctic communities where TB was rampant were treated at the site, which later became Chedoke Hospital and part of Hamilton Health Sciences.
Though the sanatorium likely saved the lives of hundreds of Inuit, many patients were removed from their northern communities with little or no say and were thrust into an alien environment where they had to deal with major language, diet and cultural differences.
According to government research, many northern missionaries and civil servants were critical of the relocation to southern sanatoriums because of the emotional shock the Inuit experienced being separated from their families and homes.
Critics have also pointed out that Inuit patients were used to keep the Hamilton sanatorium a going concern after drug therapies had mostly eliminated TB as a threat to people in southern Canada.
Whitehead doesn’t believe this will derail his plan to restore the large illuminated cross, which was seen far and wide as a symbol of hope. He notes he’s seen letters from former Inuit patients thanking medical staff for their help.
“But I need to be proactive; I need to get in front of it and have that conversation.”
Aidan Johnson, a council rep on the city’s Aboriginal advisory committee, applauds Whitehead’s move. “I’m very glad that Terry’s come around to seeing it that way.”
Truth be told, Johnson approached Whitehead before Wednesday’s council meeting to find out if he had spoken to the committee or an Inuit group. When he discovered Whitehead hadn’t, Johnson warned he’d move to table the motion if Whitehead didn’t.
“But then Terry surprised me and delighted me by moving the tabling motion himself.”
However the consultation goes, context needs to be a part of it. Undoubtedly there was an insufferable degree of paternalism in the way Inuit were treated. But it’s no less true that the modern concept of informed medical consent was barely in its infancy for all Canadians back in the mid-20th century.
It wasn’t until the 1970s that the idea patients should be able to decide for themselves whether to undergo medical treatment began to be taken seriously. In Ontario the legal rights of patients to refuse treatment only became codified in 1996.
Whether the Cross of Lorraine ever glows again atop the Mountain remains to be seen. But it should be noted the Inuit patients left behind a legacy of their own that outshines any artificial light.
While receiving treatment at the sanatorium, some took to carving soapstone as a form of therapy. Many of the sculptures were inherited by Chedoke Hospital. Last year, an anonymous donor bought the whole stunning collection and gifted it to the Art Gallery of Hamilton, making it a permanent part of this city’s heritage. Meanwhile, the money from the sale, according to HHS, is being used to enhance medical care and create welcoming environments for Indigenous patients and their families.