Unfathomable

First, as an Indigenous writer, I want to acknowledge that I live on the traditional and unceeded territory of the Syilx Okanagan People.

I want to say that life is fair and easy. I tell my kids everyday to be proud of who they are. I tell them to be proud they are Southern Tutchone and Mexica. There are some days they are proud and other days they’re proud, angry, and scared. I’m a big believer in telling kids the truth. Especially because if I don't, social media definitely will. All this jumbled thought to say: how do I prepare them for the truth of this magnitude? How do I prevent the trauma of that truth? What is the truth? Well, I’m glad you asked, and if you didn’t, you might wanna take a seat. Shit’s about to get honest.

This last week 215 bodies of Indigenous children were found in a mass grave at a residential school in Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada. Some of the children were as young as three. This is just one school. There are many more, in fact it is estimated that 6,000+ Indigenous children were killed while attending residential schools. The school closed in 1978, but the very last residential school in Canada closed in 1996. These “schools”/missions certainly left a wake of unfathomable trauma. They weren’t the only means of genocide but they were definitely part of the process. Children were taken at gunpoint and parents were put in jail if they did not forfeit their child for assimilation. 

Mothers are the knowledge imparters of culture. To separate Mother from child you take away the two vessels to impart this knowledge; language and ceremony. And this is what they did. Oftentimes when a child returned home they couldn’t speak or understand their Mother because they were taught, via abuse, to not speak their language, and they didn’t. An unfathomable amount of culture was lost, many oral traditions lost. 

It continues. Land is still being stolen for capitalistic ventures and minerals, Indigenous Children are still being scooped by social services and put in with families who are not Indigenous, women are forced into sterilization after giving birth, the police system picking us off one by one at every opportunity...I mean the list goes on and on. 

So, here I am an Indigenous mother of three Indigenous kids, trying to figure out how to keep their cultural identity intact, their pride intact, all while raising them to be amazing humans who advocate for the land and the oppressed who have no voice. 

It’s taught through everyday lessons, traditional stories, art, representation, dance, beading, star gazing. Everything can teach these lessons. These lessons of resilience and resistance no matter how much this system tries to erase them take on new forms and continue to spur us forward to rediscover ourselves and what we are capable of as a people. 

It’s a traumatizing first step given the nature of generational trauma and the continuing trauma we experience. Reclamation is hard as hell, but something in us doesn’t quit. It’s the spirit that connects us all, that recognizable frequency of earth, water, air, and fire. Our ancestors fought to keep our pride alive, and while we grieve we fight to find hope. We seek out the creator, we smudge, and hope for a willingness to keep fighting. Our oppressed nations stand on a common ground and when we drum together, the ground will vibrate with justice. Not revenge, but long awaited justice. 

My deepest love and prayers for the Tk'emlúps te Secwépemc community for their tremendous loss. We stand with you and grieve with you. 

Tlazocamati (thank you) to the allies that fight alongside us. 

Much love,

Athilea Etla Lucem

"The Seer"