Addressing racism in Canada

"I am white." begins an article by Baynard Woods of South Carolina in the Washington Post.  Woods makes the point that the only way race can be addressed in America is if whites stop denying racism and act to stop it.  Other American commentators, including Jon Stewart, make similar points.  Take a moment to listen to Stewart.  It's well worth your time.

Jon Stewart

Like many of you, I have been pondering the Charleston, S.C. shooting and thinking about the issues of hatred and violence.  We have had shootings in Canada.  Montréal's École Polytechnique always comes to my mind -- 14 women students were gunned down by Marc Lépine for simply being who they were, women.  In Lépine's twisted mind, women attending the school were the embodiment of feminism and he saw the women students as usurping his entitled spot.  The engineering school and its women became a target for Lépine's hatred.

Similarly the Charleston shooter, Dylann Roof, has a sense of entitlement but for Roof, it springs from deep-seated racism rather than sexism.   South Carolina is a state that reeks of racism, from the Confederate flag flying over its legislature to the streets named for Confederate Civil War generals.  It shouldn't surprise anyone that in such a society, an alienated young man would blame his troubles on blacks or that he would act out his hatred in a building that helped launch the modern Civil Rights Movement, the Emanuel AME Church.

Why do I care?  After all, you might say, this is just in America.  Well not quite.  In Canada, our racism is directed toward aboriginal people.  Our police and army go after Native people -- think Ipperwash and Oka.  Even after the federal government's apology for residential schools, the findings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and now Manitoba's apology for the "Sixties Scoop", there are many First Nations children in foster care.  According to the 2011 National Household Survey, over ten times as many aboriginal children go into foster care compared to non-aboriginal children.  The reasons for this are complex but the discriminatory lack of educational resources and social service support in aboriginal communities and on reserves plays a large role.   Listen to the words of Dr. Cindy Blackstock.

If humanity is going to survive through the climate change crisis, we have to learn to put aside our differences.  It will take all of us, all of our hard work and creativity. Here are seven suggestions from the First Nations Child & Family Caring Society of Canada to help you get started.

Earlier this week, I had an opportunity to spend some time talking with two First Nations elders.  I took away two lessons from our conversation.  One is that First Nations people have a lot to teach us about living sustainably on this earth.  We all need to listen and learn this before it is too late.  The other is that we have much in common.  We love our children.  We want a good future for them.  We want to see our grandchildren grow up to become caring, healthy and happy adults.  If you live in Ottawa, you have an opportunity to begin a similar conversation today.  Go to the Summer Solstice Aboriginal Arts Festival in Vincent Massey Park.  It's free.

I rather like this photo of Pope Francis.  It seems wholly human yet inspirational and he appears to be suggesting that we can do it.  Perhaps I'll give the last word to His Holiness who recently said in his encyclical, Laudato Si´:

His Holiness, Pope Francis

"I urgently appeal, then, for a new dialogue about how we are shaping the future of our planet.  We need a conversation which includes everyone, since the environmental challenge we are undergoing, and its human roots, concern and affect us all."

The meaning of reconciliation

There's a perverse logic to Indian residential schools.  Settlers' farming methods are incompatible with hunting tradition as farming requires that animals be kept out of the fields.  There's a need to fence land, which means that it was no longer available to wild animals or hunters, and it was probably inevitable that disagreements would develop between settler communities and First Nations over land use.  The American Indian Wars of the late 18th and 19th centuries highlighted these conflicts.  For close to 100 years, the Canadian governing elite had seen the effects of these wars.

If you are going to take over land, why not do it through those who are most vulnerable and unable to defend it?   At the request of Sir John A. Macdonald, Conservative MP Nicholas Flood Davin wrote a report on residential schools.  He had toured schools that had been designed to assimilate American Indian children. We can credit these two politicians, Sir John A. and Davin, for this brilliant strategy -- first send First Nations and Metis children to industrial (residential) schools to assimilate them to a different way of life and then claim their traditional lands while avoiding the cost of war.  I am no expert and I know I am over-simplifying the situation but the logic of this rationale seems obvious.

The stories of the survivors of residential schools are truly heart-wrenching -- beatings, physical and psychological torture, sexual abuse, starvation, general deprivation, disease, loss of language and culture, loss of love and parenting skills, and soul-numbing loneliness.  According to CBC's The National, during the early years of residential schools, 50% of the children died.  DIED!  Perhaps the original intent hadn't been to wipe out aboriginal children, but how can it not be considered an act of genocide when the number of deaths in the schools became apparent and yet the programme continued?

Perhaps the term cultural genocide is a kindness that reduces the edge.  June Callwood, a hero of mine, died eight years ago this spring.  She called kindness her religion.  I have also found kindness to be typical of the First Nations people I have come to know over the last few years.

On Monday, I volunteered at the Commission's student activity day and I'm pleased to say that thousands of students participated.  The lunches were packed in brown bags decorated with drawings made by First Nations children. It's one example of a simple act of kindness.  My lunch bag said, "My mom, aunts and uncles are residential school survivors."  I get teary each time I look at it.  It moves me that survivors and their children made the effort to reach out to us through this very human gesture.

In an earlier post, A rabbit on the doorstep, I told the story of my mother's grandmother and her hardships in homesteading in Saskatchewan.  It was based on a history written by my great-grandmother that recounted how the kindness of nearby First Nations people kept her family alive.  But my great-grandmother's story was likely not unusual.  Perhaps you are here today because of the generosity of your ancestors' aboriginal neighbours?

My father's side is of Irish descent.  My grandfather carried coal to wealthier homes on Montreal's Mount Royal to help support his younger siblings.  And my father told me about signs in Montreal restaurant windows that stated, "No dogs or Irish here." I'm sure many of you identify with my story; life wasn't easy for immigrant families who came to Canada, still they could make a living.  Was it simply hard work that allowed my relatives and yours to prosper?   Hard work was a part of it but they had worked hard in the old country too.  What was different here?

The land on this side of the Atlantic was very fertile and not depleted by continuous cultivation. It had not been logged or mined and it was plentiful in resources.  The wealth of this land gave our ancestors an edge.  Much of it has not been ceded by treaty. Ethically perhaps even legally, it still belongs to the First Nations.  Our relatives may not have played a direct role in creating residential schools or in taking First Nations lands but they profited unknowingly from the proceeds of crime.  We have benefitted from this system of stolen land.

Unknowing no more!  I wept in the safe, comfortable confines of my home as I watched Justice Murray Sinclair present the Commission's recommendations.  I cannot choose to forget the pain I heard from residential school survivors.  Reconciliation is not something we do to simply make amends for residential schools. It's a gift we give ourselves, our children and future generations.  It's the opportunity to live together in common understanding and harmony.  It's not only the right thing to do, it's simply smart to look toward a common future by acknowledging both the history of wrongdoing and the many kindnesses given to our ancestors in times past.

Goodbye to Ecuador

I'm reaching the end of my travels with a word of caution.  If you want excitement in your life, travel in a Latin American country during Carnival!  It's a big holiday here. There are parades, bands and horses in the street. All the kids have squirt guns and you're bound to get a little wet, which isn't a bad thing on a hot day. Schools and many businesses are closed and people get together with family and friends ... and the buses are packed.

I set off from Baños early on Saturday morning. The first bus was full and I had to wait for another.  This should have been my first clue. In the meantime, I became friends with a great couple from Ohio. We had so much in common and we were all heading to Cuenca. Cuenca is a beautiful city towards the south.  It is Ecuador's third largest city and for good reason, it is called the Paris of Ecuador.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In Riobamba, we had to change buses. The only seats available to Cuenca that day would have had us arrive at 1:30 am.  Needless to say, we weren't too keen on that arrangement. My new friend, Carmen, came up with an excellent Plan B; we'd take a taxi to Cuenca and split it three ways. It cost me $45 to travel the 254 km of rugged mountains and beautiful valleys, less than what I pay to go to the airport in Ottawa. 

An older house in Cuenca

We travelled past the snow-covered peak of Chimborazo, Ecuador's highest mountain. Because of the earth's bulge at the equator, people who climb Chimborazo are closer to the sun than those who scale Everest. We travelled over foggy mountains passes, barely able to see more than ten feet. We drove past a blue-domed monastery perched precariously on a mountainside, and past roasting guinea pigs and roasted hanging pigs, in raincoats to protect them from the dampness.

After five hours on the road, my amicable companions and I reached our destination. Because of a mix-up in their reservation and because it was Carnival, my friends had nowhere to stay. Well as luck would have it, I had booked a room for three because it was one of the few rooms still available.  After a lovely dinner and a stroll around the lively central square, the three of us bedded down for the night.

Ecuadorian doll

The next morning, I went on a bus tour of the city. My seat mate was a lovely young woman from Guayaquil, Angel, who was visiting Cuenca with her family for the holiday. We enjoyed chatting and each other's company during the tour and toward the end, Angel gave me the cute doll in the photo.  I came back to the hotel to find that Carmen and her husband, Michael, had dropped off these gorgeous glads. For someone who isn't religious, I surely felt blessed.

Over the next couple of days, I walked the city and fell in love with Cuenca. I bumped into Carmen and Michael occasionally and on our last night together, we ate with two Norwegian women and a couple from Vermont.  There is something about travel that opens up the mind and our conversation was spirited and interesting.

On Friday, I'll come home to a very cold Ottawa with a very warm heart.  Tonight I am sitting in front of a roaring fire in the home of the great Latin American liberator, Simon Bolivar.  Travelling solo is not for everyone and I had my share of mishaps. But I never felt alone.  I encountered the most patient and kind Ecuadorians and met many wonderful people from around the globe. I have walked in the footsteps of history and know the human spirit endures.  It is alive and well in Ecuador.

The politics of Ecuador

The waterfall at Baños

Let's talk politics. Politics is important and I lament the cynicism that permeates much of our political discourse. Good government can make a difference in people's lives particularly for those who don't have much.  Ecuador is a democratic country and Rafael Correa was elected its president in 2006. His government has been re-elected twice.

The Correa government has brought economic stability to a situation that had been spiralling out of control. It has also focused on policies to improve health, education and the country's infrastructure. According to the World Bank, infant mortality has dropped in Ecuador at a rate faster than other countries in recent years, from 28 (per 1000 live births) in 2000 to 19 in 2013. The government has invested heavily in education including the creation of early childhood education/daycare centres that provide education and care to all Ecuadorian children. And everywhere I go, I see infrastructure construction.

Wall art in Cotacachi

There's something else -- people I talk to are optimistic about the future. Many of the people I've met are upbeat. From what I've seen, I support the Correa government. This must appear inconsistent given my views on fracking and Alberta oil sands development but I believe that there are factors that differentiate the Correa government from other governments such as, let's say Alberta's.

The Correa government tried to avoid oil development. A few years back, it asked the world to contribute to a fund so that it might forego oil extraction. The fund raised only $13M. They had hoped to raise $3.6B.

Of greater importance, oil revenues here have been used to raise up society as a whole. The Correa government has created the means through its support of education and infrastructure to move the country away from oil dependence and towards economic diversification.  This will give Ecuador greater economic stability while improving the prospects for the average Ecuadorian.

Even though I may be far away,  I can still pick up The National on my tablet. The CBC recently claimed that the rest of us are suffering from schadenfreude (taking pleasure from another's pain) when it comes to Alberta. I don't know about you but I'm feeling that Alberta missed a great opportunity to use its oil revenues to diversify its economy. During that period, Alberta also decreased its education budget. So short sighted!

The Ecuadorians I've met are friendly and understated, much like Canadians.  Let's hope they don't make our mistakes.

On the road to Cotacachi

I can't imagine how the European heaven of white clouds and white-winged angels could have won over Ecuador's Incan inhabitants. I'm at breakfast enjoying sweet locally-grown fruit while watching shimmering hummingbirds flit from feeder to feeder at Sachatamia Lodge, which I highly recommend, just east of Mindo.  The front desk sells a poster portraying 35 local species of hummingbirds. I was tempted to buy one until I looked at it closely.  Instead of sparkling emerald hummingbird foreheads, I see dull green.  Thick black lines are poor substitutes for graceful cobalt tails that are longer than bodies. I'll have to look elsewhere. Heaven's real angels should be properly portrayed!

Gardens in Mindo

The lodge rests in the Choco Andino biogeographical zone, an area of cloud forest that stretches from southern Colombia through a wide swath of western Ecuador. It is considered the most biodiverse region in the world.  It's not just the temperate climate and the amount of sunlight that does it, but the daily rain. Living in a cloud forest is like nothing else. Mirrors remain foggy all day. Paths are never dry even when covered with stones. And raindrops fall from tree leaves on sunny days.

On the bus back to Quito, a young boy and his mother sit in front.  A wooden ball rolls along the windowsill resting at my elbow, then rolls back.  This continues a few times until I give it a flick to make it roll little faster.  My young friend speeds it up too and we are off to the races until I grab it for a moment.  A sweet face peers at me in the window's reflection and I grin back.  We continue the game for sometime until I hand the ball to his mother who smiles at me.

There is something special about being an older woman travelling by yourself. You are not a threat to anyone and the guys leave you alone. I offer the seat next to me when the bus becomes crowded. An older woman sits down and talks to me like I'm a native Spanish speaker. I just catch the occasional word so I mostly nod in support and smile; bartender on a bus. Bring me your woes. Your secrets are most assuredly safe with me.

Cotacachi Mountain, Ecuador

I am allergic to mould and sensitive to its smell.  In a climate this wet, I expect to find it. But in the three days I was in Mindo, I didn't detect it anywhere. This became a bit of a quest and I started to look for it. Behind the drapes? No mould. Along the baseboards? Nope, no mould. In the bathrooms?  No mould at all!  Everything everywhere in the lodge is made from the same beautiful deep brown wood and all I can surmise is that it is resistant to mould. I mean anything that grows here would have to be. Still it's interesting and one can only wonder at the other marvellous secrets this forest holds.  Humanity's future cures awaiting our children's discovery ... provided the cloud forest remains.

My young friend and his mother have left the bus but one of the balls remains.  I hear it rattling around on the floor of the bus but I can't find it. It would have made a good souvenir. 

Mindo's Magic

The most wondrous sight greeted me this morning -- 20 different species of hummingbirds gathered around a feeder. Some are quite large, the size of sparrows. Others are smaller than ours, almost butterflies. Some are jet black, some are a mixture of blue and turquoise, and others are multi-hued.  I watch the hummingbird equivalent of a supermarket checkout, all waiting in line for a turn, wings outstretched and hovering. 

A few hummingbirds in Mindo

My son gave me some excellent advice, "Mom, stay outside town, in the cloud forest." There are some quaint, alpine-style hotels in town. I had coffee at one and it would have been nice to stay there. But sleeping in the cloud forest is *magical*.  There are the different cries of scores of birds.  One has the distinct sound of a gym teacher's whistle and I kept on looking for a running meet about to begin. As I was about to sleep, there was the peaceful sound of gentle rain on the roof.  And I awoke transfixed to gaze upon giant ferns,  the size of apple trees, dripping morning raindrops. There's a state of Zen that permeates this life and time drops away. 

After getting off the bus in Mindo yesterday, I spent an hour in a lovely coffeehouse/live music venue chatting with the owner, Luis, and a sweet young Danish couple.  Luis grew up in Quito, spent some of his adult years in Chicago, and decided to retire here. I can understand the attraction. He says that having the coffeehouse brings the world to him. 

I decided to go for a walk down to the river. Wearing pink pants was a real mistake and they were half-covered in orange and black mud before my return. The many beautiful flowers and birds are also a real distraction along the way but even if one's attention is focused, the path turns to soft mud closer to the river and it becomes difficult to remain upright on it's steep slopes. I fell twice. While the mud caused my spills, it also provided for soft landings and I noticed the evidence of many similar tumbles on my ascent. 

So the rain is lifting and I have had a nice breakfast. Off to explore a bit more of this tropical paradise ... in black pants!

Ecuador -- a land of diverse terrain and warm hearts

It's Wednesday and our third day at the childcare centre. Before I tell you about today, allow me to recount last night's adventure.  After a hard day's work, there's nothing like a little fun to recharge the batteries and so we set off to see Old Quito by night.

Quito, "Heritage of Mankind"

I was awestruck by its brilliant and majestic architecture. Quito is filled with beautiful cathedrals and public buildings, some dating back to the 16th century, and it was the first city to be declared an UNESCO World Heritage site. It has a very Parisian feel with replicas of the Notre Dame Basilica and the Arc de Triomphe gracing downtown squares but its narrow cobble-stoned streets and wrought iron balconies also give Quito a distinctly Spanish feel. The cloudiness of the night added to the ambiance by shrouding the top of El Panecillo and the statue of the Virgen de Quito. Still the twinkling of the lights on the mountainside completed the scene of graceful beauty that is Quito at night.

Volunteering offers an opportunity to go beyond the superficiality of fast-paced travel. It provides the chance to delve further and begin to appreciate the richness of cultures, histories and peoples of other lands ... as does working in a childcare centre.

Most of us have now worked in 2 or 3 classrooms. On the first day, I was with one of the classes of two-year-olds. On the second, it was with eight babies of 12 - 24 months. Today I think I worked with a class of 12 children. It was hard to keep track of the numbers for the blur of movement that characterizes healthy three-year-olds.

The children of this daycare live in a poorer neighbourhood but this is not apparent from their appearance. The staff, all lovingly called by the Spanish title of Tia or auntie, clearly love the children and are very knowledgeable. I am impressed by the good food served throughout the day as I am with the staff's dedication to practices of hygiene. Through providing good nutrition and by teaching hand washing and oral hygiene, these children will grow into healthy adults.

I could go on to describe the many small pleasures that filled today. There are moments with small hands reaching out for comfort, big eyes and wide smiles gazing upward, and there is a demonstration of the craft of masapan bread dough sculpting, but I will take just a moment to describe the English class instead.

As the day ends, some of the Tias sit down with us to learn English. We have broken up into three groups with a more formal lesson for the first 30 minutes followed by half an hour to learn a song. The Tias now know "The Hokey Pokey" and we hope to move on to "Old Macdonald" next week.

I am working with a lovely young woman on the English words for members of the family and on how to introduce people. We started out by using worksheets but today I pulled out my cell phone and showed her pictures of my family. My new friend reciprocated and we had a great time talking about our children, siblings, mothers and about where they live and what they do. I find myself looking forward to our classes and in the back of my mind, I toy with the idea of teaching English as a second language.

While you may think that volunteering is about giving, it is often much more about receiving. I am learning a lot in this beautiful land of Ecuador and for this I am truly grateful.

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This is the first of a series of letters I wrote while travelling a month in Ecuador.  I spent the first two weeks volunteering in a daycare centre in Caldéron, a suburb north of Quito, and the last two weeks touring the countryside.