If you Google “stories about Canada’s Indian Residential Schools,” all you will get are negative ones.
Stories from self-proclaimed “survivors” – an inflammatory label deliberately selected to make them seem equivalent to Holocaust survivors – include reports that “The physical abuse was every day. And being assaulted verbally – if I didn’t do things the way that they wanted me to do, I was called a dirty, stupid Indian that would be good for nothing.”
Another “survivor” claims, “Poked with fingernails, pencils, pointers – they threw books, keys, broke wooden rulers over us, leaving scars. They slapped our heads, faces or ears, pulled our ears, nose, tongue. Red-hot hands puffed, cut by stiff straps. Cringe or move your hand, you get more.”
Following the example of the Indian Residential School Settlement Agreement and the testimonies it allowed as part of the Independent Assessment Process (IRSSA) for claims of abuse at the boarding schools and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings where an unrepresentative sample of some 6,500 former students spoke about the abuse and other adversities they suffered, such stories allow no cross examination and demand no witness corroboration to prove the declarations of “survivors” were truthful.
Also ignored in the unquestioned acceptance of testimonies made since 1996, the year the Royal Commission on Aboriginal People Report was released, the year before the last of the residential schools were closed, is that before that date, accusations that these schools were houses of horror were almost unheard of.
This discontinuity between present and past stories of treatment and living conditions at the schools suggests something is amiss. More particularly, how can stories recorded while the schools were in full operation be less credible than those told 30 or more years later?
This discontinuity can easily be explained by those willing to dig deeper than Google, whose Indian Residential School algorithm may favour horror stories. They can also go beyond the IRSSA-sponsored testimonies whose terms of reference encouraged thousands of eager rent-seekers to come forward, thereby exaggerating the nature and extent of school abuse.
Meanwhile, those accused of abuse are rarely named, a gross denial of their right to defend themselves.
If the good names of our parents or grandparents were falsely disparaged and disgraced, we would want to do something about it. No innocent person’s memory should be dragged through the mud of the currently flawed and one-sided narrative about Canada’s Indian residential schools.
An easy way to challenge the prevailing narrative of wicked members of previous generations abusing and exploiting the Indian Residential School students in their charge is to read the outstanding long-form piece of recent historical scholarship written by Ian Gentles and Pim Wiebel, an essay whose findings correspond to those reported below.
On July 30, 2010, the Calgary Herald published a short piece titled “Residential Schools Generate Anger But Also Pride” by Lea Meadows. It told the story of Meadows’ parents, Harry Meadows and Elsie McLaren Meadows, who worked as teachers at Indian Residential Schools in Manitoba. Elsie was also a student at the Brandon Indian Residential School, and her positive experience there inspired her to become a teacher. Meadows writes against painting everyone who worked at the schools as an abuser. She also notes that “survivor” may not be the most suitable term for all former students. She writes:
“I do not deny there were people in those schools who greatly harmed students. We all must speak out against such abuse. But to label the schools themselves and all who worked there as evil, and to describe everyone who attended a school as a “survivor” is facile — and it dishonours those who were truly abused and did have something horrific to survive.”
In response to Meadows’ letter, on August 5, 2010, Truth and Reconciliation Commission chair Murray Sinclair wrote, also to the Calgary Herald:
“We are grateful for people such as Meadows, who speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Their memories and contribution to history will be preserved. The input of former staff is of tremendous value because their number is declining. Each story lost to us represents an experience that will be missing from the public record, diminishing our ability to reflect the reality of the schools and assess their ongoing impact. While the TRC has heard many experiences of unspeakable abuse, we have been heartened by testimonies which affirm the dedication and compassion of committed educators who sought to nurture the children in their care. These experiences must also be heard.”
Lea Meadows asked:
“What was the alternative? What were we supposed to have done in that day and age? Were we to leave people by virtue of no common language, illiterate, innumerate and unable to deal with the larger society?”
In 2015, Meadows also wrote:
“… the TRC report does not honour the truth because it does not reflect all residential school students’ experience — like my mother’s and grandmother’s.
They would be incensed at being labelled a “survivor” or “exploited.” They said their opportunities were immeasurably improved by their schooling. Nobody denies that abuse occurred, but we need to also understand where good was done and acknowledge that, too. That is honouring the truth.”
To date, no Indigenous leader has answered Meadows’ basic questions. Indeed, people who ask them are vilified, attacked and called horrible names. This dishonest behaviour has prevented a proper understanding of our history, and it continues to stand in the way of the healing of our country.
We can’t have it both ways. If positive experiences “must also be heard,” why are people like Lea Meadows and a growing number of Canadians treated as pariahs at a time when they are doing their best to bring about a genuine understanding between all three founding nations of this great country?
There are countless examples of kindness and caring by residential schoolteachers but also by others who made a positive difference in the lives of Indigenous children. These included school principals, Indian agents, chiefs and — yes — even Indian Affairs bureaucrats. Letters obtained from Library and Archives Canada demonstrate that Lea Meadows is justified in wanting the record to be clear and truthful. The letters present evidence of the advocacy of Indian agents for Indigenous families; school principals protecting children, especially orphans and children who were victims of parental abuse and neglect; Indigenous chiefs asking that children be admitted to the schools; and even bureaucrats permitting the admission of many disadvantaged children.
There is clearly much more to tell than what appears in the “official” Indian Residential Schools narrative. An abundance of documented evidence of all sides of the story can be found at indianresidentialschoolrecords.com including the stories of successful leaders like former federal cabinet minister Len Marchand, composer/playwright Thomson Highway, and Order of Canada recipient Chief Dan George, all of whom have spoken highly of the “dedication, compassion and commitment” of the people who were entrusted with their nurturing and care.
This country needs more people like Lea Meadows, her parents and grandparents. The good intentions and reputations of innocent people who worked to improve the lives of Indigenous children should not be allowed to continue to be tarnished. They, their students, and their students’ children deserve better. They deserve truth.
James C. McCrae is a former attorney general of Manitoba and Canadian citizenship judge.
Hymie Rubenstein, editor of REAL Indigenous Report, is a retired professor of anthropology and a senior fellow at the Frontier Centre for Public Policy.
