Tag: #sakawiskwewart

I once attended a conference day, where I worked. The organizers invited a woman, a holocaust survivor, to come and speak. She spoke of the legacies we leave behind. She expressed the wish to honour the legacies her parents gave her. With this consideration, I wish to do the same. Her parents did not know what legacies they gifted her. I wish to acknowledge the gifts that I have received from my parents just as this woman had legacies from both her mother and her father

I believe the greatest legacy I have received from my mother is the gift of love. Not just regular love but deep abiding and unconditional love. She taught me no matter how someone behaves or speaks; you must always treat that person with love because you do not know the pain the individual carries with him or her. 

My mother always approaches everyone with the love of a family member. Even when someone mistreated her, was cruel or unkind, my mother still held a place of love and respect in her heart for that person. This was the way that my mother taught me to forgive. My mother has always said forgiveness is not about the person you are forgiving. It is about releasing you from the bond of that other person. She taught me that if I did not forgive whatever it was that happened to me; I would become an angry and resentful person. She told me that if I became unforgiving, then the person who harmed me would win, and I would always give up my personal freedom to that person. In essence, I would be controlled by that person and the hate and anger I may feel towards them. 

 My mother taught me quiet strength. She did this through her deep abiding faith. Whenever there was a crisis in our lives, whenever things seemed crazy and out of control, my mother would calm us down and pray. She would tell us God is always with us, even in the bad times. My mother’s absolute belief that we are not alone in this world has carried through in all that I do. I live my life in constant prayer. I talk to God at all times. Some people would think it’s crazy to pray about knowing the right thing to say or to feel a sense of peace, but this is one of the lessons my mum taught me. Pray often, and do not be afraid to talk to God.  

My mother exemplified kindness, always willing to share whatever she had, always willing to look out for her fellow human being. My mother did not shirk away from people that might make others uncomfortable. She believes in the power of respect, kindness and most of all love. My mum loves all of her nieces and nephews equally and is always so happy to see them. She loves her family in England endlessly and carries that love equally strongly for her family in Canada. To my mum, family is everything. It is family who carries you into this world when you are little. They are the ones who give you strength when you are sick. Family is who continues and remembers you after you are gone. Even when your family struggles with life problems, it is your family that you turn to for help when you are struggling along the way.  

My father has given me a different legacy than that of my mother. He has taught me the value of never giving up. He teaches me endurance through adversity, and most of all, he has taught me that you can overcome all that you struggle with. These are the lessons I choose to learn from him. These are lessons we learned from him as adults. The lessons we learned as children were different, as he was so wounded by his past. 

My father carried a lot of pain inside of himself. It caused him to fear, distrust, and carry anger for many years. Sometimes, those feelings still jump up and trigger him to act in ways he would rather not. He once told me “Carrying pain is a terrible thing.” He said “When you continue to carry it, it can eat you up inside and destroy your life.” He said, “Shame also builds within you and is what silences you.” He told me, “It is only in letting go and forgiving that you can be free.” He said, “If you continue to try to cover it up and not face your experiences, you hide from your truth. When you hide from your truth, then you don’t see how your choices are impacting others.” He taught me it is alright to say you’re sorry and to admit when something you have done has hurt those that you love the most. 

My dad also taught me bravery. He taught me this by continuing to try to quit drinking and by finally succeeding in his sobriety. He also taught this to my brother and I when he invited us to sit and bare witness his story of what happened to him at residential school. As I listened to his story and heard of his traumas and watched him get triggered by memories of things that happened, not only at the residential school but along the way in his life, I saw him in a different way. I saw the child in him that was hurt. I saw what it took for him to tell us ‘this is what happened to me’. I understood more about my father in that moment than I had ever before.

My father was also a contradiction. His life experiences caused him to repress who he was. It caused him to deny his heritage and to be angry with many things. He would not speak his first language, nor would he practice any traditions. He was not able to allow this part of himself to exist, so great was his shame of his own identity. A lot of things cause him pain even still.  It causes him hurt when people don’t believe we are his children because we don’t look the way we are supposed to, and that makes me sad. Yet he talks about us with pride and speaks of our accomplishments because they are an extension of his own. I am glad he is proud of us, of my kids, and the legacies I am trying to pass on.  In learning how to deal with all those previously repressed feelings, my dad had to relearn care, compassion, understanding, and kindness. He had to accept himself, his past, and his future. This is where my parents taught me that no matter what; the people you love, love you too. 

There is also a history I carry with me. It is the history of the Cree/ Nehiyawak people. It is the oppression and colonisation and the stories passed on in our family. I carry this legacy of hate with me. This is not by my choice; this is the legacy of racism. It is in the history of Canada. It is difficult for people to acknowledge that it exists. It is based on a fear that perhaps they have behaved in a racist manner. Racism, it is not really gone. It is subtle. It is in the way people talk about “others”.  I see it in the way people respond to different aspects of myself. I see it when people tell me “well you don’t look that Native” like that’s a good thing or “Wow your dad is really native” or “That’s your real dad?” I also see it when my people tell me “You look so Moniyawak but I knew you couldn’t be because I heard you speak” or “I knew, because you said you were from Saddle Lake.” These statements strip from me the self I believe I am and place me always into the category of other. I never truly belong to one group of the other. I feel the pain of it in my heart when I hear people speak with such disdain about things that they do not understand. 

When people speak with authority about “ancient history,” they fool themselves into believing there is not a problem that exists. There is no reconciliation in this. We live in a world that allows hate to fester and grow: where it’s okay to say, “They should just move forward because it’s better for them to let it go.” Sometimes I am told, “Jeeze, they should just get over it.”  No one would say that to a holocaust survivor or a survivor of genocide such as what happened in Rwanda or in Cambodia.  It’s just not “polite”. No one would tell the child witness of a murder, “Just get over it” or “It didn’t matter” to the child witness of assault, to children who experienced violent persecution, physical, sexual or emotional abuse and assaults. No, we say that as a society, we would empathise, provide understanding, and treat them with care and love. Yet this is not what really happens. If we are real and honest with ourselves, the reason we say, “it happened a long time ago”, “it wasn’t us who did that” or “I am not responsible for that” is because it is too painful for people to acknowledge the impact of our behaviour on others. This is the legacy I carry with me when I sit and bite my tongue because I don’t want to offend anyone with the truth I carry in me. An example is when people tell me racism doesn’t exist anymore, and I think back to my first real experience with that as a child with my father in St. Paul and being harassed by an RCMP. I think back to walking with my cousins, down the road in Saddle Lake to get candy as a way to have a break from a funeral we were at and having a vehicle drive past us and these young boys scream obscenities at us, calling us names. I think about how people have treated my family members with suspicion and scorn for no other reason than for how they look. I wonder how anyone can pretend that behaving like that is normal. It seems society believes that because “they” are different from us, it’s alright to be ambivalent to the way children were so cruelly treated. 

If I can provide my children with the legacies my parents have provided me, then that is half the battle. I try to give my children, my nieces, and nephews a new perspective. I try to help them treat those people with unconditional love, kindness, and respect. I strive to be forgiving and brave and to carry the truth with me. Yet I am only human. I make mistakes. I get angry and feel hurt. Since I am human, I can learn. I can learn and speak to the truth because it is how I gain freedom.  I am reminded once again of what that lady said to us. She said “This is not about all the terrible things that happened in my life. It is about learning to forgive and to teach people how to love one another.”  If I can leave that kind of legacy to my children and those people who cross my path in life, then I will know I have lived a good life.