The horror of residential schools: A diary.

[Blond_Sakura]

For those of you not familiar with the legacy of residential schools, i'll explain a bit.
Residential schools were set up in Canada as early as the 1700's to integrate the Native children into mainstream society, teaching them about other countries, how the government works, how to run a household and new technologies, etc. The effort was needed, but the Native Americans did not get what they asked for. The children (who had no choice whether to enroll or not) were subjected to extreme emotional, physical and sexual abuse by the Anglican and Roman Catholic church, and later on, the government. The children were forced out of their own culture and not allowed to speak their language. They were seperated form their parents and siblings for up to 10 months of the year. Since the first school opened, there hae been an estimated 50,000 deliberate killings of Native children. In this day and age we refer to this legacy as a 'cultural genecide'.
To this day the Roman Catholic church has not formally apologized, and the government, until very recently has swept this issue under the rug. The last residential school closed in 1996: not too long ago.
This diary depicts what it could've been like for a 12 year-old girl within a particularily bad residential school. I hope you like it.  

[Blond_Sakura]

Diary of Marian Weaver, 12 years old.
Student at an Albertan Residential school.

October 12th, 1936.

It is a bit cooler, and the leaves are falling off the trees now. It is the time for harvest: a time for feasting and celebration. But not for me. I am trapped in this place, confused, but mostly tired, like the trees. I know it isn’t winter yet, but I miss the sun already. I miss my long hair, I miss being called by my name, I missing living just one day without pain.
At suppertime I dropped a bowl of salad, and it broke. Sister Elizabeth smacked me good, and she made me squat until bedtime, without a break. People made funny faces at me, stared, and mean Josie even tried to kick me. At least I didn’t get beat that time. This morning was much worse. In Church today, I raised my hand to go to the girls’ room while the Father was reading. He looked up at me for a moment, glanced to Sister Angela, and kept reading. I thought that was it, but then Sister Angela came up the aisle and grabbed my arm. I knew right then that I was in trouble. She took me to the back, in the spare room. She told me if I screamed and made a fuss I would get no supper. So I didn’t. I was sore for the rest of the day. I wish brother was there. He always makes me feel better. The letter airplane I threw up to his window today got grabbed by someone else. I hope he gets it. I haven’t talked to him in a month, and Nadie has been in bed sick for a week. I hope she gets better. Sister Angela tells me it is just a cold, but I worry. Nurse hasn’t given her any medicine.

“The best cure for a cold is sleep,” she said to me.
Tasha shares the bed with Nadie, and I know neither of them get much sleep. Nadie’s skin is turning yellow, and her coughing fits last sometimes for a half hour. I don’t think she has a cold.

Time for bed now. Good night.

October 17th, 1936

Today was letter day. I didn’t want to write anything today, but when I said so, I got a good smack with a ruler. It is frustrating to write something I know mother and father cannot read. I cannot write the truth, either. I write lies. If I wrote the truth, if I wrote about how horrible this place is, I’m sure I’ll get it good.
The Father told us that lying was one of those ‘sins’. I don’t know how he can tell us such things and turn around and ignore it.
This new world has too many rules. The language, the way you dress, the way you speak, the way you eat.. everything is controlled. It isn’t fair. Everyone should be free: the animals outside, the birds in the sky, and the children should be outside playing with them. We should be outside. I was out there for a little while today, picking beans for supper. I could feel a little chill in the air, but the sun was still warm on my back. I had the urge to drop my bucket and run toward the hills, not stopping for anyone or anything, but I forced it back. I have had enough of this place. Last month, a boy called Thomas Thatcher tried, (it is his first year here) but some other kid ratted him out. He was chased down like dogs on the scent of a frightened rabbit. Brother said when he was caught, they whipped him, tied him up, and locked him in the closet for the whole day. Brother said he was never the same again.

People are saying something about a death in the boys’ wing, but no-one here knows who it was or how. Last night, night before bed, I did hear a horrible thudding and fall, like someone on the stairs was pushed. I hope that is not what I heard.

Nadie can’t speak anymore. Her throat is too sore to eat and drink, and how her fever is dangerously high. She looks like death itself, and I know she is in pain. I know she isn’t going to get better, but I don’t want to think about it.
I’m tired. Best go to sleep now, before I begin to hear her wheezing in her sleep.

October 18th, 1936

Today was chore day, my least favourite. At least I can get away from the dorm for a little while. I can almost taste the sickness in the room.

It has not snowed yet, and the air outdoors is still bearable, so today the indoor chores were few. To start, we washed the windows. It was terrifying, being so high up. The higher the age of the child, the higher floor we are on. I am twelve, so I’m on the fourth floor. It is very high, so Tasha tied a rope to my waist and pulled to keep me from falling as I stood on the windowsill. I felt butterflies in my stomach and I felt sick the entire time. I swallowed my pride and did it anyway, not wanting another beating.

After that, we went outside to milk the cows. I tried my best not to get any on my dress. I hate the smell. I saw the boys off in the distance. They were helping to close up the barn for winter. When I was caught looking at them, Sister Mary gave me a good slap, and cursed at me. I went back to my chores without a word, the Father’s words ringing in my head:
“Love everybody. Everybody is a child of God. Treat people with kindness, and God will love you for it.”
The words of this God they have told to me are lies. They very people who love Him so much are doing this to us. Their lives are a lie, and so is mine.
I think brother got my letter now, because I got a little piece of paper in my new pair of shoes. I could tell brother had made them because he always leaves a little hole in the bottom for messages. I will wait until later to read it, because I know I will not get much sleep tonight anyway. I will write again tonight.

I have just read the letter. Brother says a child did die on the stairs. It was Thomas Thatcher, trying to get out again. Somehow he made it into the girls wing, and was heading for the back door when they caught him and threw him down the stairs. None of the boys have seen his body. He tells me the next time I work in the gardens to check around back for a grave. The thought of that makes me sick, but it is the least I can do for another poor soul. I am going to sleep now.

I just woke up to weeping. Tasha was crying and mumbling something in her home language, clearly distraught.
Nadie just died! She slipped away in her sleep.
At least she doesn’t have to spend another day here. I wonder where her spirit is going. To this place they call heaven, or back home? I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I will wait until dawn. Until then, I don’t know what will happen.  

[Adorkable Monster]

that is very good. i love how you an see everything in your mind's eye and almost feel all of the emotions. 10/10 *thumbs up*  

[KirbyVictorious]

Okay. I'm really sorry. I'm Native American myself, and I really don't think I can read this without crying. I think I'll just go spread Native American values in the modern world now....  

[Galladonsfire]

This is why I hate the christian values they have taught me all my life... Because they ARE a lie and they are more mortal than what God wanted. These laws and values they teach are contradictory and slanderous to what God would have originally wanted... It really does make me sad to know what these people have been doing all these years to others... Native Americans, Mexican Americans, African Americans. Hey wait a minute do you see a similarity here? Oh yeah! they all were deported to America where they were tortured till they received Christ? Now tell me... how exactly does one receive Christ? I certainly wouldn't think it would be on the end of a bull whip... This is why I absolutely loathe religions these days. Because they are the biggest lies and contradictions to society that have ever lived. neutral  

[Starry Path]

I never knew that happened. Thanks for opening up my eyes. sad  

[Blond_Sakura]

thanks for taking the time to respond. ^.^ this was for a social studies project. i had to give a 'written response' along with it. anywho, i`m relieved that everyone feels the same way. there are quite a few native kids where i live, and we`re not a long drive away from a former residential school site. many people think this cultural genecide never happened, like how some idiots believe the holocaust never happened. they say there is no proof. well of course there isn`t! each incident happened years ago, and the churches covered their tracks. back then, the word of a Sister or pastor would never have been questioned by an ìndian` child. there are many more horror stories from the res. schools, but there is no way i could tell all of them. if you want to see what the white man thought about the schools in the 50s, check out CBC`s website, in their video archives. search `residential schools` and click on the video with the male teacher pointing at the blackboard. i hope it will creep you out as much as it did me. the children were reciting whole pages of the bible, all at once, without being told to, not unlike a cult. its creepy and disgusting.

-sakura
(p.s: i got a new timbit up on the works in progress page. check it out if you`re bored. : D)  

[[.Disposable Dweeb.]]

I really enjoyed that. I'm from Canada as well and many people overlook the awful things that have happened here because nobody expects anything bad from Canada. I do harm reduction and diversity work throughout my town and though I'm not an expert on the res. schools I have heard of them and I feel you did very well to get into the emotion and perception of how things were then.

One small thing, though the word did not come up in your story, it's spelt 'genocide.'

Great job. heart