Please take a moment of silence…then speak your outrage
Please take a moment of silence…then speak your outrage

Please take a moment of silence…then speak your outrage

***Warn­ing: this post con­tains ref­er­ence to Truth about res­id­en­tial schools. And swearing.***

I’m try­ing to come up with an intro, but I can­’t get the reveal of the mass grave of 215 chil­dren at the Kam­loops res­id­en­tial school out of my head.

When I was in grade 2 my teach­er was Miss Hathorne. She was a scream­er. She did­n’t scream at me, but she screamed at oth­er kids. That’s how she dealt with stu­dents that were trouble­some. Now I have only vague memor­ies of this but I know it was a huge set­back for a kid with huge social anxi­ety, who had made great strides in grade 1 because of a teach­er who knew I could sing and used that to help me gain con­fid­ence. Any­way in grade 2 I star­ted get­ting stom­ach aches, and so began a great long series of doc­tor vis­its and spe­cial­ist appoint­ments, which determ­ined that they were caused by stress and anxi­ety. I sorta learned how to deal with them, but they nev­er com­pletely went away and in fact they got worse, and I still get them on occa­sion. You’ve heard of migraine head­aches, and how debil­it­at­ing those are, well these are migraine stom­ach aches.

Now I got stress and anxi­ety-related stom­ach aches as a kid who lived with a lov­ing mum and dad, in a nice house and went to a good school and had good friends. I have a pretty good ima­gin­a­tion, but I’m sure that if I try to ima­gine what it would have been like to be taken away from my lov­ing mum and dad, and my nice house, and placed in a school with a bunch of oth­er chil­dren and told I could­n’t speak my lan­guage, and nobody loved me and they prob­ably did­n’t even know my name… If I ima­gine what that might have felt like, I’m sure I’m way off. Like way. the. fuck. off.

And I as a mum look at my chil­dren and I know that nev­er once did I ever have to worry that some per­son was going to come and take them away from me, abuse them, neg­lect them, not take them to the doc­tor if they had stom­ach aches. As it turns out not take them to the doc­tor if they had TB, or any oth­er nasty ill­ness, or injury. And if they died? Stick them in a grave without even mak­ing note of their name or their gender, and for­get about them, nev­er mind send­ing them home to me.

And that is why I can­’t get the dis­cov­ery of the mass grave of 215 chil­dren at the Kam­loops res­id­en­tial school out of my head. And that’s a good thing. It should­n’t be so easy for me to dis­miss this story, as easy it was for those chil­dren to be dis­missed by the people who were sup­posed to be caring for them. Well, in truth the people who were sup­posed to be caring for them were their par­ents, but since that option was denied them…

Please take a moment of silence for those 215 chil­dren, for the thou­sands of oth­ers found in oth­er graves across Canada, and for the fam­il­ies who are still deal­ing with the con­sequences of those inex­cus­able choices.

Thank you.