THE REALITY OF Native life in this country is not expressed by our politicians. It’s not articulated by radicals or militants. Neither have our elders, teachers and healers adequately captured it, though they have come closest. Instead, the most significant expression lies in the voices of our youth. The majority of our population is younger than thirty, and these young people have suffered because of our failed efforts and our unhealed pain.
Canada took an important step along the healing path in 2008. The members of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission have a mandate to cross the country and listen to the stories of Indian residential-school survivors. Through the courage of survivors to lift the veil of secrecy, all Canadians will learn something of the pain and heartbreak that is the legacy of those schools. Those stories will be compelling and they will lead to healing. But the commissioners and the country need to heed the clamouring of our youth, too. The burden of our collective future is on their shoulders.
I was in Saskatoon recently for the Anskohk Aboriginal Literary Festival, a celebration of artistic expression. Native people in Canada have not disappeared. We have become creators of note, and that festival was an inspiring and entertaining place to be. The third night was devoted to an open mic stage for emerging Native writers. As an established author, it was my honour to watch those young people perform.
One by one they took the stage, and one by one they exploited misconceptions about Aboriginal realities today. They rapped, for the most part. They drew on the argot and poetries of the black American experience to cuss, detail and shout out the incredible baggage of hurt they carry. Their words and rhythms left no doubt about what their lives are like.
They rapped about suicides of those far too young to die. They dissed a world in which young girls are duped into prostitution. They rhymed about the angst of homes rocked by violence, neglect, addiction and abuse. They expressed the anger and resentment of young people tired of the alcohol, drugs and gang culture that have usurped the ceremony, ritual, language and philosophy they ought to be able to claim as their own. They raged about displacement. They unloaded blame at the adults who have forsaken tribal teachings for materialism. They seethed and they hurt and they let it go, and I was proud of them. Some say our tribalism can’t find voice in another form of music that’s not our own, but the room that night was filled with electronic drum heartbeats and honour songs rapped in vitriolic honesty. It was an awesome spectacle.
We owe these kids more. We owe them our truths. We owe them our apologies. We owe them a commitment to our own healing, however hard and bleak the journey may be. We owe it to them to become an empowered people who have learned the importance of forgiveness. Truth and reconciliation are not, as former Assembly of First Nations leader Phil Fontaine so righteously proclaimed, “all about the survivors. ” They are about the descendents of those survivors, too. The brunt of the residential school experience is being borne by the younger generation. That’s the straight truth, and it needs to be acknowledged. For every dollar paid out to the original survivors, an equal amount should go to initiatives geared towards empowering our kids: education, employment, healing. That’s how we’ll achieve real reconciliation.
People who have been hurt often go on to hurt others, and our unhealed pain as Native people has deeply affected the lives of our children. If we want self-government, we must accept that we are responsible for governing the development of this young generation, for nurturing them and aiding them towards the fullest possible expression of themselves. The words of our young writers shouldn’t be penned in isolation and loneliness. They should be heard in a circle of those who share the pain and yearn for the same peace. We seek truth and reconciliation to build a better country for those who follow. If that isn’t our aim, all our efforts will be for naught.