49. A politically incorrect rant about Canada's First Nations

A highly inappropriate rant about our First Nations community

I can’t believe I haven’t blogged this rant before, because I have it in my head, with myself all the time. I shared it with my therapist, who kindly assured me I am not unkind. Well, maybe I gave her a spinned-out version where I could be seen as kind.

The report about the death of Tina Fontaine came out today. The reporting said it triggered national outrage. Well I don’t know about that.

As the reporting came on (yes, I still listen to CBC radio), my mind did the blurry fogging over thing it does when a story has to do with First Nations.

My experience has been that First Nations people blame me (personally), for stealing their land. I am not sure when their land was stolen exactly, but I do know that I was born on a Caribbean Island, my parents were born there too; and I think the land stealing happened before then. So I don’t feel personally guilty and accountable, but I prefer not to engage in discussions with them, just in case it comes up, and I find myself in need of a lawyer.

My experience is of First Nations making it very very clear that they are different from us. Their culture is different, their experiences are different. I think we are supposed to learn about them (it is only polite, after all). But then if we put on a headdress, it is called cultural appropriation (this is bad), and we are shamed for being insensitive. Hence, I would rather not engage in their culture, in case I get it wrong. I don’t like being shamed.

My experience is of hearing First Nations leaders telling the rest of us we have got it wrong.  What I hear, is, whatever we do, however much we give, it will never be right and it will never be enough. While I don’t think we deserve or are entitled to a thank you, trying to help and getting chastized in return at is a hard pill to swallow. I just won’t engage.

When Judy Wilson Raybould (Google that, what drama!) cast aspersions on the Canadian political system, I was amazed. First Nations politics are known for being scandalously corrupt, incestuous, and ineffective. When I ask my First Nations friends about this, they say the negative stereotype is beyond belief truer than true. I am tempted to say something here about the Judy W-R pot calling the kettle black, but am pretty sure I would be called racist.

Not engaging is easy. We create committees, hold national hearings, promote consultations, write reports, conduct audits, develop recommendations. And when we get to the end of the process, we hit repeat and start again. For the collective of Canadians, I think it is enough to allow us blur the camera lens on the issues (do you know the suicide rate in the North? Shocking. How can we blur that lens? And yet we do). We carry on with our days. Unperturbed.

I believe the First Nations posturing is driven by anger which is driven by desperation. Behind it all, I think they are saying, “we need help”.

But the cumulative effect of the “othering” they do to us, is for the ‘others’ like me, to say okay then. And our mind blurs, we tune them out, and carry on. There are lots of other people we can help in our community.

 I wish the story could be about the tragic death of one of “our” children. I would never stand for that.

…my mind did the blurry fogging over thing it does when it has to do with First Nations.

48. Bleak

Positive and wishful thinking can take one a good ways. But by the middle of March one must face the facts of this Canadian winter. Bleak. Pictures below from a long walk home today.

This is it. This is winter. Bleached out bleak.

Looking up to the sky, a pop of red. Red helps. But it is still bleak.

Before Skyblog, I hardly ever looked up. I probably missed a lot. A movie set. Maybe a remake of Bleak House?!

47. Heading home

The sky as seen from the sunroof of my car, on a rainy winter night. Bronson Avenue North on my usual route home.

46. The Train Again

I am travelling on the train between Ottawa and Toronto and Toronto and Ottawa twice a week. 11 hours a week on the train. And I am addicted. Addicted.

I spend every week counting the sleeps until my next train ride. On travel days, it is the best part of my day.

The low lights.

The pulling away from the station, with no fanfare, no announcement, no strapping into your seat and bracing for take-off. Sometimes I don’t even notice we have started moving.

The fun of thinking we are moving, only to discover it’s the train beside us that is moving and we are still stock still. A magic trick.

The clink of the drinks cart as it comes down the aisle. Yes, drinks.

The sway of the car.

The sway of the car.

LATER: Watching The Girl on the Train. Emily Blunt, unemployed, spends her days riding the train. I totally get that! And am happy to know I am one of the cool girls. As uncool as she is as a character in the movie, it is Emily Blunt after all - you can’t shake that kind of cool!

45. Hands up. Police!

I love my happy blogs about good days. Most of my days are good.

Today I did my annual reading-week Mental Health First Aid volunteer teaching for Algonquin College's police foundations program. It is annual in theory only, since it has been two years since I have done it, and this year I almost canceled because my schedule is something something.
 
I do it for many reasons. My son graduated from that program, and he  enjoyed it and found a place for himself there. I am worried about our next wave of police officers who do not receive training on Mental Health, and we have had incidents in Ottawa where people have acted out because of a mental health problem and a police officer has mistaken it for aggression and has shot them dead.   

I also do it because after spending most of my days teaching grown-ups, I love the energy of the students. I of course have a very biased sample of students. These are students who are willing to spend two days in class during reading week, instead of sleeping in and eating pizza and watching Netflix and YouTube, which would have been my choice at their age.

These students are interested and engaged, and when they asked questions, it's to seek understanding, it's not to challenge my information or cast aspersions.
 
This was an excellent group! In the midst of a super Wild Work Week,  perhaps one of the worst of my career, these two days have left me feeling  wonderful.
 
After the course, students came up to thank me for volunteering my time, to thank me for the course. There was one student who told me she had driven three hours each way just to attend the course. Another had to juggle his work schedule so that he could take it. Others told me that they can't afford the regular course fee, so they very much appreciate it being able to take it for just the cost of the participant manual.

Speaking of the participant manuals, they pay in cash. I sit at a table with the class list, and they all line up and drop their crushed and tattered $35 bills on the desk. I feel like a drug lord. A conciliary.

And it's a funny class. I asked them to brainstorm on techniques for reducing mental stress, and they came up with great suggestions. A couple of groups included sexual release either with or without someone else, masturbation, on their lists. They said this out loud! In front of the whole class! Times have changed since I was in school. I did well. I nodded very casually as if I hear that answer all the time.

Another strategy that they put on their list, which also gave me pause at  first, was the stress reducing activity of going to the shooting range. 

Yes, guns. Of course. These students are about to become police officers, and shooting guns is just part of a relaxing job required activity!

I loved the enthusiasm with which they engaged in the activities, I loved how they asked me to do a guided meditation with them, something I have not done with any other class. Probably because I don't think other participants would be open to it. 

I love how when I asked if they want an activity and then a break, or a break and then an activity, they always chose to continue working.

I decided to raffle off my $20 Starbucks gift card honorarium, for one of the class activities that I turned into a competition, because they were having so much fun. The group that won the gift card, went to Starbucks during the break and came back with coffee and donuts for the whole class. Oh my God! Grown-up participants, are you paying attention? You could learn something from these kids. Generosity of spirit.
  
I will come back to this post next year, when I have another Wild Work Week schedule, and I'm thinking that there's no way I can fit in two days. I will remember that the joy of this particular class will be remembered and felt, long after all the other reports, interviews, data analysis, policy development work that fills the rest of my time.
 

The quaint sky as seen from my car, where I wrote this blog. This slice of Ottawa reminds me of a Maritime neighbourhood.