Residential School Memorial
By Jessica Ross, Nughejagh Founder
During my journey back to Alaska, I had a long layover in Calgary, Alberta. I checked
in my luggage and took a cab to downtown Calgary to take in some sights and stretch
my legs. The city was bustling with live music and street venders. People adorned
with red and white clothing were happy and carefree as they celebrated "Canada Day".
I walked around the streets, grabbed a bite to eat and stumbled upon a municipality building with orange tape lining a metal barrier. My heart sunk as I immediately knew what lied ahead. I was about to take in the sights of a Residential School Memorial.
Thousands of shoes, toys and stuffed animals lined the steps of the Municipality office. Each pair representing a child who was forcibly taken from their homes to attend residential schools, schools that would beat, rape and essentially "Murder the Indian." Abusive behaviors, including medical experimentation would often go too far, resulting in the child dying. Unmarked graves are now being revealed throughout Canada and the United States where lost children died at the hands of Christians claiming to do God's work.
I climbed the steps and rested my hands on the metal fence as tears streamed down my face. The blatant injustices that my people have endured and survived remain largely hidden from the public's eye. Suddenly looking around at all of the celebrations of Canada Day did not sit as well with me. My only condolence was that at least from what I have seen, Canada made attempts to acknowledge that these injustices occurred, while back home I have to work hard to convince my students and peers that this history had happened, and not long ago as my own Grandmother carried physical and emotional scars from her own time in school.
I needed to see this. I needed to feel this. I needed to be reminded of why it is important I venture beyond my own comfort to seek new skill sets and abilities to advocate for my people. To ensure that their stories are heard, their pain is acknowledged, and so that they are seen as people deserving to be seen, deserving to be heard.
Although the trip had proven to be so informative, I had some moments towards the end of the trip where I felt overwhelmed, for there were so many injustices but also so many efforts. My mind was in a whirlwind as I ruminated over every encounter, every conversation, every historical plaque. The stirring of my own trauma had definitely occurred as I struggled to hold back the inner voice telling me, "You do not know what you are doing," and "This is too much. Even if you tried your best, you will never make a difference."
I felt myself giving in to this negativity, longing to go back to comfort and simpler work. But seeing those shoes reminded me that so many voices had been silenced. So many hands had been bound and buried simply for desiring to exist. They had no comfort to return to. As heart-wrenching as it was to think of all those sweet children who suffered, the reminder of that pain was much needed at that moment to add fuel to my embers, to help me understand my work goes beyond me, beyond even my tribe in Eklutna, my work is needed to ensure that this type of history is never repeated.
