Think of the Children

Every child matters.


This is a special week among Canadians, that represents the anniversary of a day the government encouraged and committed to model an increased awareness of pain, and wrongs that were committed to our First Nations (as well as Inuit and Métis). They have named September 30th as Truth and Reconciliation Day.

As invited by the First Nations in my own community, I wish to honour their desire to be seen and better understood, to not leave them alone in facing the harsh truths of their shared trauma, and the perpetual injustice they have and do experience. 

It was shocking to me, to learn that about 70% of the homeless in Canada are First Nation; Whereas, the First Nations People make up only 4.5% of the total population of Canada.

Suicide rates are three times greater for the indigenous of Canada, than for Canadians of settler ethnicity. 

“We don’t just need sympathy, we need empathy,” a young First Nations members shared at a fireside I attended last night on this very topic.

In attendance were individuals who attended or had family members who attended residential schools or who experienced similar trauma in a program our church performed of placing First Nations children in settler homes during their school years.

It was heartbreaking, although not surprising for me to learn that most indigenous members of my local faith community struggle on a regular basis with trauma being triggered and perpetuated at church. I long to be a safe place and help create a safe place for my brothers and sisters who share this soul-crushing experience.

Before I jump to a settler mentality of wanting to fix or to blame or to justify or to minimize, I want to honour their experience. I wish to let go of my ego, and put aside my discomfort and the shame I might experience from knowing as a settler, I represent this trauma to them. And I want to be a safe place, like I want to be a safe place for my sensitive daughter, or my dying grandmother, or anyone else who I deeply care for and call my own.

I’ve previously written more on my own self-location as a Canadian with British heritage, in a another post. There, I also shared experience from my mission in the Canadian Prairies and at other times in my life, when I had the privilege to connect with and hear the stories of indigenous people.

Another aspect of my own heritage is my Argentinian father. It has only been very recently, through recovery work that I have recognized a shame that I carried all my life that simply arose from not appearing “white”. 

I was eating lunch in a public place with my wife, doing my regular rounds of eaves dropping and people watching. There was a table of coaches who were discussing a tournament. These were tall, athletic men who appeared to be having fun and have off an air of confidence. 

I had some kind of a flashback to different times in my life when I compared myself to other boys my own age, with envy.

I was well liked in all circles growing up, even the light abuse I experienced here and there from bullies in locker rooms and on the playground were always temporary discomforts. I always seemed to manage to win over the respect of the abusers, and their behaviour stopped (sometimes I had help in this area by teachers or other friends). I was good looking (looking back at some of my high school pictures, I’m like “dang, I looked like superman, what the heck was I down about?”). I was witty and funny, and well known mostly because of my heart for service, helping out and caring for others. But…

But I recall this feeling. This looking at other people, it happened at university and it was happening that day at that table. Some of these guys I feel like I can run circles around intellectually, I’m in much better shape than some, others I outshine with charm or creativity, and some are kind of weird looking. Why the heck am I jealous? Why do I feel disadvantaged and left out? Well, that day at that table with my blond-haired, green-eyed wife, it clicked. They were all white, and I wasn’t. Somewhere along the line I received the message that white girls wanted to have white babies, with blond hair and blue eyes. I didn’t think that was something I was capable of doing (although somehow I do have nieces and nephews that look like this). I felt unwanted and unworthy, because I wasn’t white. This is something I was unaware of and can now unpack and move on. It doesn’t effect me like it used to because of the personal work I’ve done, but becoming aware of it was eye-opening and heartbreaking, considering my younger self.

We live in a world that has and contributes to be harsh, and children suffer. I’ve been listening to the book, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care, to learn how to better care for my daughter who is growing in independence (sometimes defiantly), and to better understand me, and humans and our development and needs. 

Children were on my mind a lot, and the tragedies they experience. Every Child truly does matter. I wrote this poem as I felt for them.


Taken Too Far

By Elias Orrego


Children

         Stealing children

              cheating childhood

stunting GROWTH growth hormones

Not

working

out

of

home

not

working 

out

out.     Out

                                             brief candle.

So                              many        children

                   lost                                              stolen

      Away                     never                never

land                           ungrounded 

      home —         less                     less       home

more crime                       more       hate

       more sickness             ill

    equipped              for       the       future

                                                                   it’s over

            so fast                                    Not

         so fast             STEALING        stolen    Children

                 stolen           stow                 away         away

      drifting                                     gone

                                Stone throw          in the pond

sinking deeper

                                                             ripples go on


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