The Very Rev. David Giuliano

Monday, June 16, 2008

This Moderator's Blog originally appeared on WonderCafe.*

In Clowning in Rome (1979), Henri Nouwen wrote that it wasn’t the red cardinals or the Red Brigade that most affected him during his visit to the city, but “the little things which took place between the great scenes.”

By now, most of you know about the “great scenes” in Ottawa last week. Scenes of the Prime Minister of Canada, the Honourable Stephen Harper, apologizing on our behalf for the horrific legacy of the residential school system. A system that was a manifestation of misguided colonial ideas about the superiority of Western culture and religion. A system that was designed “to kill the Indian in the child.”

As Duncan Campbell Scott, Deputy Superintendent of the Department of Indian Affairs, wrote in 1920: “I want to get rid of the Indian problem…. Our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed...and there is no Indian question.”

On Tuesday night, before the apology, the Assembly of First Nations hosted a grand and hopeful reception at the Westin Hotel. The next day, the galleries in the House of Commons were packed. Many who had travelled hundreds of miles to witness the apology were dressed in traditional regalia. There was drumming, eruptions of applause and encouraging shouts, speeches, honour songs, dancing. TV cameras rolled. Shaggy microphones were hoisted to mop up sound bites. Digital cameras clicked and whirred. It was a day of “great scenes”—and so it should have been.

For me, though, as for Nouwen, it was the “little things which took place between the great scenes” that balled in my throat and stung my eyes. Small events between the grand scenes, like when I phoned my beloved, Pearl, from the Assembly of First Nations reception. She had been in the grocery store earlier in the day. She ran into “Amy,” a friend from nearby Pic River First Nation. I imagined them by the spring strawberry display. Amy spilled over with hope and anticipation about the apology. She spoke of her plans to watch it all on TV. “I love you. I love David, too,” she told Pearl, tears wetting her cheeks.

Also, at the AFN reception, Jackie, a young Chinese woman, introduced herself to me. She had just immigrated to Canada and didn’t know anyone else at the reception. I asked her how she came to be among the crowd of survivors, Aboriginal leaders, church folk, and sundry politicians. “I heard about these schools and thought I should come if I am going to live in Canada,” she reasoned.

Wednesday morning, our United Church Residential Schools Steering Committee met together before going to Parliament Hill. We held hands and prayed together—survivors, Aboriginal leaders, family members, and national church staff. We prayed for healing. We prayed that it would be a good day, one that would help us toward right relations. We prayed for the Prime Minister to be given the words and compassion to speak truth with humility. We gave thanks for the gift of hope.

There was a lot of crush and confusion on “the Hill.” In the rotunda outside the House of Commons, I spoke with one of the security officers. I joked that he might be glad when the day was over, given the chaos and crowds. He responded, “No, this is such an important day. This morning we got all the officers together and let them know that we needed to do everything we could to make sure our guests felt welcome. This is a historic day.” There were moments, I heard later, when some officers were less convivial. Nonetheless, I was impressed by their hospitality and genuine pride in being part of the event.

Back at the hotel, I watched the news. The clips that brought tears to my eyes did not take me back to Parliament Hill. It was the video collage of tiny First Nations gatherings in community halls all across Canada. All across the nation, they watched on big-screen TVs and wept. I thought about Amy and her community watching in the Pic River Community Hall. I found myself hoping that non-Aboriginals were watching and weeping too.

Thursday morning we debriefed the previous day. One of the steering committee members, a survivor, said, “Well, it’s like having a baby.” She explained, there is all that waiting, and then pushing and then “the screaming and crying and then there it is, it’s out.” Now we have to take care of it, raise it, and nurture it. It is a moving and prophetic image. The apology has been a long time coming and the result of persistent work by many. Now, we need to raise this newborn apology into maturity. Many are waiting to see how it will grow up.

For more on Canada’s national apology, see After the Apology of June 11, 2008: A Prayer and A Committee Reflects on an Apology Received.