I'm truly stunned some days when I look around at the society we have built. Our officials and leaders talk as if this is the best life has ever been, that we are at our best in many ways.
I'd love to be explained in detail how that is.
I mean yes we don't have black slaves in north America, we don't have segregated schools for those with black skin.
That's really great don't get me wrong. And im glad this happened for sure.
But we, the white folk, take this and call ourselves reformed from racism. We are far from it.
I am the smallest percentage native that can be possible, but it's there. 1/16 probably less of the Anishinaabe indigenous race. I have immersed myself in the culture and politics of this heritage though.
There are still reserve schools where only 100 years ago children were forcibly held down while privileged white religious folk cut their hair, a sacred part of their body. Where children were forced to eat off the the dirt floors as punishment for speaking their native tongue. Where native Canadian girls were raped, native Canadian boys killed, and their power was stripped.
These schools still exist. The very evidence of their lives being ripped away. Their power being stripped. We proudly let these schools stand. We don't help them with funding, we savagely still withhold water and food from these smaller native Canadian towns here.
We give them some money monthly and wash our hands of them. Except them to conform to our society where they are not welcome or starve and suffer.
The racism against Anishinaabe people also makes me sick. I have a hanging on my wall That is a symbols of an old story of creation that the father of my children found at a yard sale (he is basically half mohawk and half French/Scottish-Canadian). We got this hanging from the woman who said it was made by some drunk native likely just sitting at his canvas with his whiskey and just painting something abstract.
We didn't fight with this old woman though, heads held high we rescued the painting from her and for 5 years it has hung on my wall and my ex would tell our daughter about the story behind this painting before bed most nights and they would light up so happy to share this little piece of heritage.
It crushes my soul that I am meant to raise my mixed children in a world where their heritage is something that is mocked and treated so terrible.
I hope that the younger generations can find a way to raise their children with less ignorance and hate.
I don't want my children to have a childhood they need to recover from as adults.