I am going to share something very personal from my Mom. It would hurt her to see this but I want her words heard. Maybe her family will also hear it here.
My Mom was born and raised in Fort Alexander Indian Reserve, known by us as Sagkeeng (Where the River meets the Lake). My Dad the same thing, was a Sagkeeng member born and raised. The church become very important in the lives of people in our Reserve and Mom was devoted to the Catholic Church. Don't get me wrong she wasn't "holy roller crazy" but the Church was important. In the early 2000's Canada was looking at ways to quiet the growing voices about abuse from the Church. The Church operated an Indian Residential School right in our Reserve which was funded by Canada. Canada was developing a response to quiet the up coming Law suits. So lawyers started recruiting Indian folk to join the up coming lawsuits. In the end Canada settled for a non-court process for risk mitigation. Mom being a church supporter was not in support of the church being sued. It took some convincing to get Mom to agree with the action. Mom finally relented and told her Siblings to go join and hopefully get something for their grandchildren. Mom decided to provide a statement of her experience in the Indian Residential School. She did so reluctantly as she did not want to cast a bad light on the church. In her statement she didn't disclose many of the stories we heard about her experiences in the school.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My sisters call me Mildred. I was 6 years old when I went in there (to Fort Alexander Indian Residential School), and I was about 12 or 13 when I left. My mom just came and took me out of the school, because she was sick, and I got to go and help out at home.
My HEALTH - I HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED AS TERMINALLY ILL WITH CANCER. I was in the St.Boniface Hospital until a couple of days ago. They sent me home from the hospital. I had had enough of all those tests.
I HAVE PANCREATIC CANCER. I have been diagnosed with cancer of the liver, ovarian, gall bladder and kidney cancer now. And there is another one, but its all internal organs. The time frame for my time leftest is only a couple of weeks. The doctor says he is not God, so he can't predict exactly when, I don't want to know either. Its just one day at a time for me now.
WORKED AS A JANITOR. I worked in the Sagkeeng school as a janitorial for 29 years. It (my cancer) was probably caused there from that work, there was asbestos there, and chemicals, all kinds of chemicals that we had to use eh.
FAMILY HISTORY. My Mom and Dad were in res school too for their lives. And that's where our mother was chosen to be my Dad's bride. She was only 16 at the time. Her husband was picked for her by a priest and our grandparents. That was my Dad that was picked. Dad was about 10 or more years older than our Mom.
MY SISTERS. Dora H. Guimond, (DOB: June 7, 1926) - she never went to school; then Lucy Daniels (July 1 1927 - but she always lied about her age, she always told me "I am 39, you don't have to know how old I am.") - but she passed away on December 3, 1996.
Then there was Lillian Fontaine (DOB April 1928) but she died when she was 16 years old - in Selkirk Sanintorium - Denver Hospital they called it, but it was where they sent Anishnabi sick people, to keep us separate from the white people: then there was me Mildred (DOB January 12, 1934).
Then there is Evelyn Lafort (DOB September 16, 1936); then, Frances Anaquod (nee Fontaine) (DOB February 18, 1938); then there was Margaret Rose Courchene (DOB January 31, 1943); then there was Mary Madeline Courchene (DOB: February 12, 1944); then, Harold Fontaine (he was born in 1948). That was my baby!
We had 2 older brothers who served in the Second World War: Louey Paul Fontaine and Henry C. Fontaine, is actually also called Andrea Charles Fontaine.
There was about 5 Fontaine brothers there - our grandpa, Micheal Fontaine, and then Joe Fontaine, then Chale - short for Charles Fontaine, and then Alfonse' dad, then Gus Fontaine and Ephrem Fontaine. That's where all the family came from, there was about 6 brothers.
Our Dad was married twice, so we had a half brother, he was our half brother, but we never considered him our half, he was our real brother. The first marriage was to a Houston, but I forgot her name, she passed away.
GOING TO FAIRS. On the first day the nuns deloused us - they called it. First they put powder there (it was DDT, I don't know what it stands for)... and they used coal oil, that horrible smell, to get rid of what it was they thought we had - they thought we had lice. To them nuns, were "dirty little Indians." Then they took away our (real) clothes. Taking away our clothes from home. - taking away our only connection to our parents! I got nice clothes which my sister Dora had made on her own. She sewed everything. She never went to residential school, so she was a good cook, a seamstress, and next to our mother, she was like the head of our household.
UNDER-EDUCATION. I was 6 when I started school. Our School day got shorter as we got older - it became a half day of school work (class time) and a half day of chores: clean-up the playrooms; clean up the dormitories; wash the Father's dining room (where they ate luxury food, good meals, and way better food - we used to wish for that food!); cleaning the sewing room; cleaning the chapel; scrubbing that damn filthy infirmary; scrubbing floors (all over the school and the Father's Rectory); cleaning the laundry room; (and ) the ironing room.
PHYSICAL ABUSE. The strap, rulers, and pointers were used to hit me if I didn't do what I was told to, especially that damn pointer. Sometimes before I was strapped I had to put my hands through cold water tap - because it hurt more like that.
WRONGFUL CONFINEMENT. We were put in a cubby hole as "penance" - they called it - for speaking my own language. It was very dark - pitch dark.
MENTAL ABUSE. When I used to cry they would call us names, "les savage" ..."why do you think you're here?!" - the nuns would say... "because they (your parents) didn't want you."
How do you think that made me fell when I was young.
SISTER VICTOR. She was supervisor who looked after the girls. I don't think she was a teacher, but I am not sure. She used to hit me. I got hit a lot of times from her with a big long strap. She used to carry that strap at her waist. It was either orange, or no, more brown. It was I think, it was made of tough rubber. It almost looked like a strap used to sharpen knives, but it was orangey-brown. And when I pulled my hand away from getting strapped on the hands, I would get it on the legs. These strappings used to leave bruising and burning on my hands, sometimes red marks, sometimes blue-purple from these strapping sessions. Other times, she would strap me on my forearms, between the wrists and elbows, on the underside. Those strappings often left me with welts, and red marks. It used to become pretty tender on my arms after a whipping like that!
SISTER IN-THE-ASS. Wee Ass Sans - In Ojibwway. It means little meat in our language. But it is more descriptive when you say in Ojibway language. She was short and fat, and very wicked that me. I don't remember her real name eh? Her, she used to pull my hair! She would twist their fingers into my hair and pull me by it.
SISTER MARY OF THE LORDS. She was a teacher. I don't remember her bothering me at all, I just remember her.
SISTER ROSE. HUMILIATION AND RIDICULING. She was my teacher. She used to make us all stand up before breakfast every morning. She'd talk about whoever's time of the month it was (menstrual period), or, whoever wet their beds. She made them (whoever it was) pass through that dining room - to go through to the laundry room to take their sheets there. In the meantime, she'd go on and on about wetting the bed - publicly. It would be embarrassing. You know those board pokers/board pointers, she used to use those (yardsticks) to hit me. She'd hit me on my ass, on my hands and over my back. She used to push me hard into the wall... it was probably more than 3 times she did that. I never looked on my body to see if it left marks, but it caused me bruising and sourness, ... sadness too ... sometimes for a day or 2 even. I used to faint every morning in church, and then the Sister would grab me - in a rough way - and slam me back onto a bench. They were called "pews", or something. Then, one day they started giving me iron pills, and I didn't faint anymore. Every morning they gave those pills, even if it made me sick. they still made me take it.
IN THE CHAPEL CLASSROOM. In the chapel classroom, on the second floor, when we were in mass, and it was a Father or another Priest giving the mass - Father Brachet, Father Plomondon, Father Chaput, Father Du-Micheal (or "uncle" he wanted us to call him, because our dad's name was Jo-Micheal) - and we dared to glance around, like look in the boys direction, we got hit! Or slapped. We couldn't get strapped in the Chapel, it wasn't allowed by the bible I guess. We never got strapped in the chapel. They waited until after it was over. That happened to me a few times. I must be looking at a handsome one (boy). You couldn't even glance at your own relatives either, but that was the only time you saw them. As far you remember, we prayed about 10 or more times a day. Heck, we had already prayed 3 times before we ate breakfast! And when it was Benedictions time, we had even more praying sessions. Our knees were soar around that time. Even if you were stubborn, you had to do it (kneel down). Sometimes when you punished, you had to kneel in the corner, and your knees got really sore and red - from kneeling so long, sometimes for half and hour, or around there.
MY PARENTS WENT TO RES SCHOOL - BOTH OF THEM.
Sister Saint Hyacinthe (spelling unknown). She worked around the school. She was a teacher of mine.
Sister Damian. She used to pull my ears and yank my hair. She was wicked eh, and she had a pointed nose, a sharp pointed nose. She never smiled, it probably would have hurt her face if she ever smiled.
Sister Mary Deresolvier? Sister Mary Desolvier (spelling unknown). She was mean, just very very mean. I hated her. I remember her vividly. And that's for a lot of reasons eh. I got strapped by her a lot of times. It was all over my body. I got strapped more than other little girls because I wouldn't cry ... I just wouldn't, I was stubborn (so I got hit more than my friends". Often, if I said something wrong, I would be grabbed by the scruff of the necked and pushed. It hurt... the neck is tender. I tired to be a good kid and I didn't talk unless I was spoken to. But, I always tried to protect somebody else - especially my younger sisters. Oh, I got beat for that. And, I was stubborn. I wouldn't cry to give them the satisfaction, but my friend cried, so they quit (hitting her). Some memories you suppress, and you can't bring them out, but they are still someplace in the back of your mind, but you can't bring them back. She strapped me a lot of times for going to the outside toilets but the toilets by our playroom were all plugged up ... so we went outside ... by a row of outside toilets ... she was waiting for us by the laundry room door, and she didn't explain why exactly, but she said we were trying to run away, and she strapped me - on the bare bum, it was till we cried, but I never cried, so she strapped me more... my friend, Theressa Courchene, she cried... I probably got hit about 10 times. I also got my hair cut off for that one - because they thought we were running way, and we weren't (we were just using outside toilets). We couldn't speak our language, we got called "savages", and then we'd be in penance - we had to sit somewhere for a long time. I used to get in trouble when my younger sister got sick. She was always sick, I don't know what was wrong with her - but in later years, she told me she a touch of TB.
Sister Isadore. She used to threaten to "smash me into a spot of grease." She pushed on the chair really hard for penance. It was a threat, like there be nothing left of me except a spot of grease.
Sister Teresse. She was a cook in the kitchen. She never bothered me. I was always trying to protect my little sister, and I got hit for that. Like one time when I was getting rid of her milk, I got caught and punished. To this day, I hate milk... because I took my sister's Evelyn's milk to get rid of it - in the sink. And, when I got caught, I had to drink 4 cups of it. It wasn't sour, but it was blue, blue milk!
SEXUAL ABUSE. There wasn't any of this. I didn't have it, it was Father DuMicheal/Domichelle that I heard was bothering other little girls. That the one we didn't like (he never bothered me though). When he came mourn, he'd grab us ... I don't know what constitutes, but I didn't like it. We always tried to hide when he came in the playground. I used to hear the girls talking about Father Chaput, but I did not have that experience. I was a Church-going person all my life, that's why I don't want to say too much about Father Chaput...
I went home early because my mom needed my help - when Lillian, my older sister at the time, she died- of TB. And then we'd always used to get these big needles to check us for TB, and we always had to have that needle before we got our treaty money, for TB. And, we always had a bad reaction from this needle. They told us we had to have a touch of it - as a cure.
CONSEQUENCES. I couldn't ever speak up for myself, all my life ... because you learnt to speak only when spoken to! I want to make this process before I go to my resting place. It's the principle of it. I suffered, my family suffered (as a result of my res school) and I want the government to know about it. I want to tell my story before I die.
March 15, 2005.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My Mom died March 16, 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment