Indigeneity and Education in Canada In "Go Beyond the Equity Handbook" and "Niisaachawen Never Had a Library," we learned about the educational experiences of Indigenous people in Canada: Riley Yesno told us about the exclusion she felt as student of a Canadian post-secondary institution, while Shelby Lisk introduced us to women working to create libraries for children living in First Nations communities

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Indigeneity and Education in Canada

In "Go Beyond the Equity Handbook" and "Niisaachawen Never Had a Library," we

learned about the educational experiences of Indigenous people in Canada: Riley

Yesno told us about the exclusion she felt as student of a Canadian post-secondary

institution, while Shelby Lisk introduced us to women working to create libraries for

children living in First Nations communities. Both texts suggested that Indigenous

peoples in Canada face significant obstacles to accessing education.

 

What policies would you change or create to improve access to education for

Indigenous peoples in Canada, and why is it important to do so?

Explain and support your answer with at least one reference to a text mentioned above, in addition

to your own ideas.

 

 

Go beyond the equity handbook 

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FIRST PERSON

Victories and failures on campus, from a student perspective

On my first day of university, we went over the rules of student housing. Quiet hours were as follows; guests were not allowed to keep keys; and you were not allowed to light things like candles or incense in your room. Hearing that last rule, a twinge of panic surged through me. I didn't need to light candles or incense, but I did need to smudge.

Smudging is a tradition, common to many First Nations, involving the burning of sacred medicines. I smudged almost daily and feared that the university wouldn't understand why it was so important for me.

But before our meeting, the floor leader had started with a land acknowledgement and talked about how, at this school, reconciliation and equity were important. Filled with cautious optimism, I privately approached one of the student life coordinators and introduced myself. I explained that I was a First Nation student and I needed to be able to smudge. I understood if I couldn't do it in my bedroom, but where would be a place that I could? Obviously struggling for an answer, they told me to go outside to the street or the park.

Although this was only a small instance of cultural insensitivity, it was the first of many that proved to me that there are still ever-present barriers for Indigenous students trying to earn a degree.

Sen. Murray Sinclair, chairman of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, once said, "Education got us into this mess, and education will get us out." And while I believe this to be undoubtedly true, it's hard to use education as a means to prosperity if the institutions providing the education aren't set up in a way that allows us to prosper.

Like with all institutions in Canada, the process of reconciliation within universities is slow and tedious, but necessary. At a conference for Indigenous youth, I met a talented young Cree woman who had recently turned down a spot in Ryerson University's journalism program. A non-Indigenous participant heard this and looked at her, shocked, and said, "Isn't Ryerson's journalism program one of the best in the country? If you don't mind me asking, why did you turn down your offer?" After a brief pause, the woman looked at her and said, "It was a difficult decision for me to turn down that program, but necessary. I couldn't imagine ever feeling comfortable knowing I was learning in a place named after someone who was responsible for such trauma of my people."

Egerton Ryerson, the university's namesake, was a key architect in the design of the residential school system, which violently removed approximately 150,000 Indigenous children from their communities.

The struggle I hear repeated most often by fellow Indigenous students is an inability to find community and culture in university life; two things that are often integral components of Indigenous ways of being. Some universities have created Indigenous-centred spaces providing relevant programming and a safe space on campus. These Indigenized spaces are incredibly valuable and successful, as proven through examples like First Nations House at the University of Toronto, which has been helping Indigenous students navigate the culturally specific challenges of university life for almost 26 years. But to have a space like First Nations House with its long legacy of community building is rare, and as a result, Indigenous students across the country are making this educational journey without a helping hand to guide them through the additional challenges that come with being separated from your land and culture.

Moreover, while some universities like Lakehead or Trent have increased and created Indigenous-relevant course requirements for all students, overall, changing curricula remains slow. Why is it that at some universities I have the option to learn Latin or ancient Greek, languages that are widely perceived to be dead, but I cannot learn Anishinaabemowin or the Iroquoian languages, which must be taught now in order to survive? I don't question the value in learning additional languages, but I do question why the languages of Indigenous people have not been recognized as equally valuable. It's hard to succeed when you don't see examples of you or your culture reflected in positions of success or value.

Perhaps the most daunting changes needed in universities are those non-Indigenous people must make in their words, actions and beliefs. Facing violent rhetoric is a day-to-day occurrence for Indigenous students. Too many will tell you about the feelings of discomfort endured when a professor makes a reference to some aspect of Indigeneity, and the entire class turns to look at you for a reaction or response. We came to school to get an education, not to be your education.

Some interactions for Indigenous students are not just uncomfortable, but truly emotionally violent. I think back to a conversation in one of my classes where another student expressed his opinion that residential schooling and the Indian Act were not as bad as Indigenous people made them out to be, and if we had just co-operated, things could have probably been a lot easier. No other student had either the courage or the knowledge to challenge this narrative, and the teaching assistant legitimized his stance as a radical but valid difference of opinion. I sat there, a status Indian and granddaughter of two residential school survivors, with fists clenched and tears stuck in my throat.

Correcting injustices like these require change beyond a policy rewrite or program implementation. They require a mass cultural shift and dismantling of more than 150 years of an entire society's colonial conditioning—a tremendous but critical task.

I can offer no advice to universities other than to listen to the Indigenous staff, students, activists, elders and allies who have already been telling you what needs to be done for years. Remember that real reconciliation means a commitment to truth, and is a process of constant learning and unlearning. Strive to go beyond the land acknowledgement and equity handbooks and do the work that is less convenient but more impactful and meaningful. Provide resources, create more seats for Indigenous people at decision-making tables, and develop culturally relevant spaces so we don't have to smudge in the park. And for the everyday person, do your part to educate yourself so you're better equipped to support your Indigenous peers and advocate for positive changes. At the heart of it, a university is a community like any other, and strong communities are born out of individuals being the best version of themselves.

Right now, an Indigenous person is starting their first day as a teacher, and with education as their tool, they will ensure that the next generation of students grow up armed with knowledge that so many of us were not afforded, knowledge that's needed to effect positive change. This is how we build strong nations. Sen. Sinclair is right: education will get us out of this mess. We all just have to believe in it and do our part to get there.

For years, Bernice Major had to drive 30 minutes to Kenora to pick up library books for her children. "It was tiring, especially when you're at work all day, then you get home and you've got to race to the library to get the book before it closes," says Major, a councillor in Niisaachewan Anishinaabe Nation and mother to 10-year-old twins who love to read.

Major had always wanted a library for her community. In 2018, she met Terri Meekis, a councillor in Wabauskang First Nation, 200 kilometres northeast, and heard about the library it had opened there in 2017 thanks to a partnership with a charity called SchoolBOX.

The Almonte-based SchoolBOX was founded in 2006 to support education for children in Nicaragua. To date, the organization has built 85 libraries across that country, with help from Canadian volunteers and donations. In 2012, Meekis travelled to Nicaragua with the group for a build. In 2017, she went back, this time bringing along her nine-year-old daughter.

 

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"When we were there, the community shared a lot," says Meekis. "They shared their food and their culture, and we did a cultural exchange ... I actually did a round dance at the end."

On the 2017 trip, Meekis told SchoolBOX director Sarah Kerr that she wished her own community could have such an opportunity: only 46 of the 133 First Nations communities in Ontario have public libraries, and Wabauskang wasn't one of them. Funding can be a major obstacle: municipal tax revenue, which First Nations don't have access to, is the most significant source of funding for public libraries in Ontario. According to Sarah Roberts, a researcher at the Ontario Library Association, tax revenue accounts for 95 per cent of public-library budgets; First Nations libraries, though, rely solely on provincial grants administered by the Ministry of Tourism, Culture and Sport (on average about $2,600 annually) and federal money allocated for on-reserve education. As of 2017, only 22 of 45 First Nations libraries reported receiving operating funding from the band council.

So Kerr decided to expand the program's reach. "It's kind of an awakening for Canadians," she says. "It's great that we can be global citizens and empower kids all around the world, but we also need to be looking in our communities and our neighbours here and collaborating."

The result was SchoolBOX North, a project that aims to establish libraries in First Nations communities in Canada. The Wabuaskang First Nation library, housed in the community's youth centre, was its first project.

Major believed the concept could work in Niisaachewan, too. Meekis connected her with Kerr; in November, the community started transforming an unused bay in the local fire hall into its first library. Officially opened last month, the facility currently offers more than 1,000 books.

"The funds for the Niisaachewan Learning Centre came from generous families and companies from Almonte, Ottawa, Toronto, Victoria, and Vancouver who all believe that education is the key to break the cycle of poverty and empower kids," Kerr says. "A small grant from the ETFO Humanity Fund helped, as well as donated scholastic points from retired teachers. It was truly a grassroots effort."

In communities, such as Wabuaskang nor Niisaachewan, that don't have an elementary or high school, the library can become a hub for learning. "It's about the books, and it's about the language, and it's about the education," says Kerr. "But it's also just about connecting the community: creating a space where kids can come in and elders can tell their stories in an oral format."

The library in Niisaachewan is home to the Seven Generations continuing-education program, which is designed to help people receive their high-school diplomas, and to the family well-being program, which provides supports for Indigenous children and youth in child welfare or youth-justice systems and their families.

In Wabauskang, SchoolBOX supplied more than 500 books, along with furniture, iPads, e-readers, and artwork. In Niisaachewan, as well as the books, they provided furniture, a laptop, a printer, and toys and children's resources. As the library is now registered with the Ontario Library Association, it can access funding to update its collection and pay for a librarian.

The Niisaachewan team stocked the library with Indigenous authors, including some from their own community. "It's not everywhere that you have Indigenous authors and illustrators, and these books, available to you," says Major. "When I was growing up there was nothing close to that in any of the libraries that I could find, and it never even occurred to me that there were Indigenous authors or illustrators."

"We just listened to Bernice and the vision that she had for her community," says Kerr, who notes that SchoolBOX is in the consultation phase with a few communities for upcoming projects. "We're not trying to invent something out of thin air. It's just building off of the local capacity and these amazing women who are working so hard for their own kids."

Major says there's already an interested candidate for the librarian position and that youth in the community have asked whether they can volunteer.

In the meantime, she and others take turns running the space. "It's my night to keep the library open later tonight," says Major. "And we're going to play board games. We're going to try Taboo. I play Taboo with my girl and her friends at home, and they think it's so much fun, so I told her to bring her friends down to the library tonight."

This is one of a series of stories about Indigenous issues brought to you in partnership with Carleton University's School of Journalism and Communication.

Ontario Hubs are made possible by the Barry and Laurie Green Family Charitable Trust & Goldie Feldman.