The emotional exhaustion of debating indigenous views
When a Conservative senator was in the media spotlight two months ago after making controversial comments about the positives of residential school, I tried to avoid the coverage.
My parents and their siblings were forced to attend the infamous St. Anne’s Residential School in Fort Albany, Ont. Their traumatic experiences led to addictions to cope, and some died without telling their stories. They, and their children and grandchildren, are still dealing with the effects of their residential school traumas today.
So it is difficult for me to consider the “positives” of a system designed to eradicate our cultures.
Despite my attempts, story after story would appear in my Facebook and Twitter feeds, which often included comments from supporters of the senator, serving as a constant reminder of the ignorance and racism in Canadian society directed toward indigenous people, even among our politicians and lawmakers.
I tried to suppress the pain until I finally broke down days later when my mother shared that she was celebrating 25 years of sobriety. As I sat at my desk in the middle of the workday, the news triggered memories of my childhood before my mother began her healing journey. I tried to compose myself in order to finish the workday, but I could not and went home.
Controversy surrounding these issues takes an emotional toll on indigenous people. Residential schools. Boil water advisories. Youth suicide. Lack of housing or proper schools. If we have not lived these experiences, we often know someone who has.
The most recent uproar about cultural appropriation continues to stir emotions.
Indigenous people find themselves hav- ing to engage in debates on the issues reported in the media. They contend with trolls and stubborn white settlers as they attempt to dispel racist stereotypes and misconceptions, clear up misinformation, and relay cultural contexts to people often unwilling to listen and learn.
Indigenous people are playing the role of educators to counter the failure of Canada to educate its citizens on accurate indigenous history, cultures and perspectives.
People who are not in school learn most of their information from the media. One of the most disconcerting developments of this appropriation conversation was that several senior editors and executives representing major media institutions felt comfortable — not brave or audacious — but comfortable to openly pledge seed money to support a so-called appropriation prize.
They either did not or chose not, to understand that for indigenous people, appropriation means theft — of concepts, of identities, of space for storytelling and artistic expression. By calling for such a prize, this incident is seen as a group of white people in power in media supporting the silence of indigenous voices — at a time when diversity is so needed.
But this should not come as a surprise. Working indigenous journalists have told stories of editors or producers ignoring or minimizing pitches on indigenous stories. And it continues to exist in this supposed era of “reconciliation.”
As part of my work, I present workshops to journalism students and media news- rooms on best practices when reporting on indigenous stories, a presentation that includes historical context on residential schools, treaties and the Indian Act. I often imbue the presentation with my own experiences as a journalist and as an indigenous person. Seeing the engagement and interest from some of the workshops to groups of usually young people gives me some hope.
Even so, non-indigenous journalists or students can only learn so much from a two-hour workshop. Such education should be institutionalized. Yet post-secondary schools and Canadian media outlets, and Canada at large, are slow to implement the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action.
Recommendation No. 86 specifically calls on Canadian journalism programs and media schools to require education for all students on the history and perspectives of indigenous people.
The gatekeepers are still in place. And in light of the gross ignorance on display in the past week, it is difficult to imagine they would either change or relinquish control anytime soon.
In the meantime, indigenous people will continue to try to fill those knowledge gaps through the platforms and tools at our disposal. We will continue to do so despite the emotional toll it takes on us. We do so, not out of spite or hate for contrarians, but out of love for our people and the land. We may shed tears on occasion but it gives us strength and healing.
Because we are resilient. My mother and other survivors can attest to that.
They either did not, or chose not, to understand that for indigenous people, appropriation means theft — of concepts, of identities, of space for storytelling and artistic expression
Lenny Carpenter is a member of Attawapiskat First Nation and grew up in the James Bay community of Moosonee. He is a program manager with Journalists for Human Rights and oversees the Indigenous Reporters Program.