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For years, First Nations families, organizations and leaders have called on the federal government to hold a national inquiry into missing and murdered First Nations women and girls in Canada.

Since the 1960s, over 700 First Nations women and girls have gone missing or died of violence.

Bridget Tolley believes the number of cases is actually over one thousand. She’s the co-creator of Families of Sisters in Spirit, a grassroots organization that helps the relatives of victims.

Despite public outcry over these numbers, Prime Minister Stephen Harper has given no indication Canada will begin any inquiry process.

This comes as no surprise to the newly elected president of the Native Women’s Association of Canada, Michelle Audette.

“There’s the financial aspect of a national inquiry and a denial aspect that I see from them,” she says. “They’re afraid that if we do have a national inquiry it will reveal the immediate needs of Aboriginal women.”

Hayden King is an assistant professor at Toronto’s Ryerson University. He believes there are other reasons. “[It is] for the same reasons police don’t investigate the disappearances, and the media doesn’t cover violence against Native women,” says King. “A stereotype-inspired apathy that perpetuates the problem and ensures it isn’t properly addressed.”

Among the loudest voices calling for an inquiry is NDP MP Niki Ashton. She finds the government’s resistance perplexing.

“This government talks a lot about victims,” she says. But, according to Ashton, when it comes to First Nation victims, “they (the government) are nowhere to be found. If the government is not willing to be part of the solution, then they are part of the problem.”

But according to the Department of Justice, the government is doing all that it can.

In a statement, the Department says the “government attaches great importance and urgency to addressing the issue of missing and murdered Aboriginal women.” The Department goes on to say it has committed $25 million over the last five years to the issue. It is also currently taking action to prevent and reduce violence and improve community safety.

Audette, meanwhile, intends to crank it up a notch.

“I’ll be planning for something more official between NWAC and the Assembly of First Nations,” says Audette. Both organizations are planning a two-day summit on the issue of violence against women, to be held early next year.

NWAC also intends to complete a “national plan of action,” one it launched in 2010 with Status of Women Canada in order to address violence against women and girls. The Association also just released an online petition calling for a national inquiry, which will be presented to the federal government.

Canada “not the best place” to live for Aboriginal women

“The reality is, if you’re an Aboriginal woman in Canada, it is not the best place in the world to live in,” says Cheryl Maloney, president of the Nova Scotia Native Women’s Association. “I think we need a national inquiry because what we have now is not helping or making an impact.”

According to the Inquiries Act — the federal legislation which regulates inquiries — in order for a national inquiry to take place, it needs the blessing of the federal cabinet or Canadian government.

But Katherine Hensel, a Sewecpemc lawyer and former Assistant Commission Counsel for the Ipperwash Inquiry, doesn’t think that will happen anytime soon. “Once you start a public inquiry, it’s going to be expensive, it’s going to be time-consuming, and maybe an embarrassment to police and government.”

Hensel says the Canadian public still don’t know enough about the growing number of Aboriginal women and girls disappearing and being killed.

“Canadians have to push for it and make it clear to the government that it’s in the government’s political best interest to take this really drastic and very expensive step to prevent further tragedy.”

But even if a national inquiry were held, what would be the ultimate outcome?

“The findings of public inquiries are not binding. Nobody is held liable, either civil or criminally,” explains Hensel. “But I think Canada has a long history with inquiries and Royal Commissions, having tremendous effects through that process. The downside is, sometimes no matter how good the recommendations are, they might not be followed by the government.”

The same conclusion could be applied to the current United Nations inquiry (launched last year) into the issue of missing and murdered Aboriginal women and girls.

“Canada has a long tradition of ignoring UN recommendations, declarations, edicts and its own binding obligations within the UN when it comes to Indigenous peoples,” says Hensel. “UN processes haven’t had a tremendous impact here.”

Photos courtesy of Aaron Pierre: www.aaronpierre.com

It’s a colourless, odourless and tasteless gas that can be deadly. Now imagine your children playing in it, or community Elders sitting and visiting in it.

That gas is radon, and, unbeknownst to the residents of the Tobique First Nation, a Maliseet community located in northwestern New Brunswick, some of them had been exposed to it.

Of Tobique’s approximately 2,000 members, close to 1,500 live on-reserve. As part of Health Canada’s National Radon Program testing, six public buildings on the First Nation community were tested for indoor radon gas a year ago. Five of them – including the community’s daycare, healing lodge and wellness centre – showed elevated levels of radon.

Health Canada and Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada worked with the community to address the high radon exposure in the buildings. Given the anxiety residents felt over Health Canada’s test results, a survey of homes was also initiated (home testing is not part of the National Strategy). According to the Tobique First Nation Residential Radon Report (posted below), many homes had high radon levels.

[documentcloud url=https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/420892-residential-radon-measurement-report-tobique.html format=normal sidebar=false ]

Debra Bear-Brideau’s home had Tobique’s highest level of indoor radon gas. Although her home got the work needed to fix the radon levels, she continues to worry about her family’s safety.

“We live in such an area with so much radon, that there’s always the possibility of it building back up again during winter,” says Bear-Brideau. “It’s kinda scary this invisible gas can come in your house and hurt your kids and family.”

Radon is formed by the breakdown of uranium in rocks and soil. “Within the province, areas that have certain types of rock (shale and granite) and soil can have higher levels of uranium in the ground, leading to more radon,” says Dr. Mariane Paquet, medical officer of health for northern New Brunswick.

Radon gas is measured in becquerels per cubic metre (Bq/m3). Higher numbers of becquerels mean higher levels of radon gas in the air.

“Since it is a gas, it can move freely through the soil enabling it to escape into the atmosphere or seep into buildings,” says Dr. Paquet.

Health Canada says remedial measures should be taken in a home or building when the radon concentration exceeds 200 Bq/m3.

Bear-Brideau’s home – like so many others in New Brunswick – had among the highest indoor radon concentrations in the country.

A cross-Canada project by the National Radon Program surveyed 14,000 homes over a two-year period (2009-2011). Among those New Brunswick homes tested, 18.7 per cent had between 200-600 Bq/m3 of radon, 6.1 per cent had levels above 600 Bq/m3.

Nova Scotia had the second highest percentages of indoor radon, followed by Newfoundland and Labrador and PEI.

When broken down by health region, Tobique First Nation — which is located within the Fredericton area (Health Region 3) — had a whopping 16.5 per cent of houses with radon levels above 600Bq/m3.

Despite work being done to raise awareness about radon and radon testing, it seems there still a long way to go. “I don’t think a lot of First Nations communities do radon testing,” says Sterling Perley, executive director of programs for the Tobique First Nation.

Simon Osmond, senior policy analyst with the Atlantic Policy Congress of First Nation Chiefs agrees. “I know Health Canada and CMHC at different times have provided some information,” says Osmond. “The thing is, information can only go so far, especially for cash stricken communities already trying to address other issues.”

Through an environmental survey, Statistics Canada asked Canadians how aware they were of radon and radon testing. In New Brunswick, most knew radon was a health hazard and could describe the radioactive gas, but ninety-five per cent had not tested for radon.

Bear-Brideau says she knew what radon was, but never knew it was in her house.

“My mother Pauline Bear asked a specialist about radon in the early 1980′s, but was told there wasn’t any radon around this area,” she says. “When I was in university I also inquired about radon in this area and was told the same thing. I had an inkling there was more to my fatigue and feeling unwell.”

Bear-Brideau explains that she often has sinus problems while her daughter has had pneumonia several times – leaving her to now wonder if it is related to the radon.

She is curious about another potential radon link. Recently, Health Canada reported that more than 3000 lung cancer deaths may be linked to indoor radon exposure. That doesn’t sit well with Bear-Brideau, whose family lost their ferret to lung cancer.

“It hit her really quick,” says Bear-Brideau. “All of a sudden she was coughing funny. I took her to the vet and the vet said she died of lung cancer. I’m concerned eventually I’ll go to the hospital one of these days and they’ll say ‘You have lung cancer.’”

To reduce radon gas in Bear-Brideau’s home, a radon mitigation system was installed.  A vent pipe system and fan were placed within her home to pull the radon out of her house, and all cracks and other openings were properly sealed. 

Kelley Bush, head of radon education and awareness for Health Canada, says the federal government is doing everything it can to raise awareness about radon and radon testing. “In the Atlantic region, we’re have partners with the Lung Association. They sell test kits for thirty-five dollars that includes the analysis too,” says Bush.

Roshini Kassie, manager at the New Brunswick Lung Association, has even gone as far as mailing test kits across the country. “It doesn’t prevent someone calling from PEI to call the New Brunswick Association to order a test kit,” says Kassie. “Or they can go on our Facebook page and order them.”

Although close to 200 radon tests are waiting to be collected for analysis at the Tobique First Nation, the community is taking the lead on raising awareness about radon and radon testing.

Health Canada is currently testing federal workplaces until the end of March 2013. A report is expected to be released at this time.

But in the meantime, Bear-Brideau says she will continue to leave her windows open as a precaution – even in winter.

As kids prepare to head back to school this week, I’m gathering up my PDFs and stocking up on coffee as I enter into the final year of my PhD. And yet, firmly entrenched as I am within academia, I still find myself asking just what the heck it is I’m doing here.

As it is for many native people, education has always been contested terrain for me. I’ve both loved the process of learning and loathed the many oppressive conditions in which education often takes place. Canadian classrooms were never designed for Indigenous kids to succeed, and although changes continue to be made, statistics tell us that most native youth never make it to graduation. It’s easy to see why: the still-recent legacy of residential schools lives on in Canadian classrooms through curricula that effectively force kids to think and act ‘mainstream’ if they want to succeed. So why be part of this system at all? This is something I continue to ask myself regularly, even as I push forward with this degree.

To be sure, education is a hot topic in native communities these days. Currently, the federal government is working with bands to bring reserve schools up to the same standards as other schools in Canada. In January 2012, the federal government promised to fund reserve or First Nations-run schools in BC at rates equal to other schools in the province, starting this month. But that additional $100 million – intended to improve basic literacy and math skills nationally over 3 years – continues to go largely unallocated. Which means the promise has been made, but its impact won’t be felt in classrooms this academic year.

Such dollars are on top of the $1.5 billion already spent by the feds on First Nations education annually. Yet that money is not translating into improved graduation rates: among all native students, fewer than half graduate with a grade 12 diploma. According to a 2010 speech by Canada’s Auditor General, native graduation rates have barely moved, if at all, over the years: in fact, the gap between First Nations graduation rates and those of Canadians at large has only grown. Clearly, efforts thus far to improve education for the majority of native communities have failed miserably.

Although efforts are being made to “indigenize” post-secondary institutions, what remains largely unchanged in mainstream schools are the broader educational systems and ways of conceptualizing “learning” and “success.”  Because the current Indian Act still includes references to residential schools, the federal government has now committed to creating a ‘First Nations Education Act.’ And while it is hoped that the new act would focus on improving schools rather than forcing children to fit into existing educational structures, little has been done so far (No follow-through once again? Surprise, surprise).

So here’s an idea, and an almost-PhD educated one at that. Rather than throw money at the problem, or wait around for the feds to create a new act that only they would get to govern, why don’t we focus on the possibilities for individuals within our kids’ schools to engage in daily acts of decolonization? What about changing the curriculum to integrate ‘de-colonial’ and Indigenous perspectives? Indigenous counselors are already present in many schools, providing important support for native kids and programming that focuses on helping them to succeed.

But what else can teachers, principals and school board staff do to make these changes? Instead of slipping in that lone, isolated section on ‘native issues’ into the existing social studies course, students could learn a lot from how Indigenous peoples pass on knowledge, such as hands-on involvement and working with elders. Changes in teaching methods like these would not only give Indigenous kids a greater possibility of success, and a chance to learn in new environments (such as working on the land or in the community), it might also give non-native kids a greater chance at a more meaningful education.

And, of course, how can kids succeed at school when they’re lacking other quality-of-life essentials? When our kids are going hungry or lacking stable housing, writing that paper for class isn’t necessarily going to be much of a priority. Schools are also violent spaces for those students — native and non-native — who face bullying from their classmates, in the form of homophobia, racism, and the many ways of targeting kids who are just ‘different.’ The day to day realm of education has to be considered alongside other systems shaping the intimate lives of native kids and families.

At the same time, we might consider what jobs are available for people for whom the confines of the education system are just too stifling. If we truly value traditional knowledge – hunting, fishing, plants and medicines, storytelling, our artforms and ceremonies – communities need to commit to supporting individuals with an education that doesn’t just end with a certificate. The strength of our futures lies beyond merely economic solutions to community development.

When I was in high school, I was one of the few native students in my classes who excelled academically. And I was also one of the handful of native students who made it to grade 12. The good grades I got were more due to the support I received at home than the skills I learned in my classes. As a bookworm, I learned to write through my love of reading, and I am thankful that my mom instilled this love of books in me at a young age.

But even with this background, the post-secondary educational environment has presented challenges that have pushed me close to dropping out of school, and it was only due to the encouragement of individual professors that I persevered. Each time, I vowed never to return to academia, because I didn’t want to contribute to these oppressive systems that value only certain kinds of knowledge and certain kinds of students. I have now come to believe that these systems need Indigenous voices and ways of learning in order to change them from within. But operating in educational institutions comes at a great personal cost to those of us who fight our way through the systems that historically excluded us through policy, and continue to exclude us through oppressive practices.

Meanwhile, I have tried, in my own small ways, to support native kids with their challenges in school by helping out as a tutor, editing papers, speaking in classrooms, helping fill out forms (oh so many forms!), and sharing tips on how to make it through to graduation. This may not be offering much, but, to me, it seems more helpful than waiting for the government to do something that in the end will only reinforce their power over our learning.

So as we see all the kids packing up their knapsacks and heading off to school this week, let’s think about how many of them will still be there next June on the last week of school — and, sadly, how many of them won’t be. Apart from appealing for money or big government changes, I think we can do a lot as individuals to support Indigenous children to succeed. But we need to rethink what success might look like — on their terms, in ways that are also meaningful to their communities and family histories.

As for me, I’ll be dividing my days between talking to people and sitting at my computer, as I attempt to bring community knowledge out and on to the pages of my dissertation. Yes, it is once again time to put on that pot of coffee and get to work.

[ Photo: AANDC ]