Gwich’in Teachings Illuminate Path for Truth and Reconciliation

In the early 1920s, a significant moment unfolded on the banks of the Peel River near Fort McPherson in Canada’s Northwest Territories. Families from the Dinjii Zhuh (Gwich’in) community came together in grief as Anglican missionaries forcibly transported their children, some as young as two, to the St. Peter’s Indian Residential School in Hay River, nearly 2,000 kilometres away by water. This tragic event is remembered through the words of Elder Mary Effie Snowshoe, who described it as a “sad story” passed down through generations. At the forefront of this resistance was Chief Julius Salu, who, having lost his daughter to the school, declared, “No more. Nobody is to send their children away again.” His resolute stand against the injustice exemplified the Gwich’in principle of guut’àii, meaning “acting with one mind,” a concept that emphasizes collective strength and governance.

As the denial of the residential school system’s impact grows in Canada, the teachings of guut’àii emerge as a vital framework for confronting these challenges. The same strength that supported Gwich’in families a century ago can still guide contemporary efforts to uphold truth in the face of growing skepticism.

Understanding Strength in the Context of Residential Schools

In her book, By Strength, We Are Still Here: Indigenous Peoples and Indian Residential Schooling in Inuvik, Northwest Territories, the author emphasizes that strength goes beyond individual resilience; it is rooted in kinship, community responsibility, and the wisdom of ancestors. While it is crucial to acknowledge the violent and oppressive conditions in residential schools, recognizing the strength that emerged from these experiences is equally important.

The northern context further complicates this narrative. Children from diverse Indigenous backgrounds, including Dinjii Zhuh, Inuvialuit, and Métis, attended schools like Grollier and Stringer Halls, often traveling thousands of kilometres. Despite the physical and emotional distance from home, these children maintained connections through letters, protection of siblings, and preservation of their languages.

The multi-nation student body fostered solidarity that later contributed to pan-Indigenous political movements in the 1970s. The memoirs of Survivors, such as Stephen Kakfwi and Antoine Mountain, document these alliances, illustrating how students formed cross-cultural relationships that fueled activism across the North.

Addressing Genocide and Denialism

It is essential to frame the history of residential schools not as well-intentioned mistakes but as a deliberate attempt to dismantle Indigenous societies. The United Nations defines genocide as the “forcibly transferring children of the group to another group,” a definition that directly applies to the Canadian residential school system. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) collected testimonies from Survivors that reveal both the harm inflicted upon them and their enduring strength.

Despite the substantial evidence, denialism remains prevalent in public discourse, as highlighted by historians Sean Carleton and graduate student Benjamin Kucher. Some denialists argue that conditions in residential schools were exaggerated or that Survivors are misrepresenting their experiences. Such narratives undermine Indigenous perspectives and threaten the commitment to truth and reconciliation that many Canadians aspire to uphold.

The teachings of guut’àii provide a counter-narrative, reframing Survivors as active agents rather than passive victims. Chief Salu’s declaration exemplifies this resistance. His commitment to protect his community was an assertion of agency in the face of systemic oppression.

The Stakes of Denialism and the Path Forward

The impact of denialism is profound, particularly for families still searching for missing children. Calls for “proof” via exhumations disregard the extensive evidence that already exists and can pressure communities to act hastily. Public support for reconciliation does exist, with a 2024 Ipsos poll indicating that 75 percent of Canadians believe the government should recognize the legacy of residential schools more fully. Yet, knowledge gaps persist, as shown in a 2023 survey where 73 percent of respondents claimed familiarity with residential schools, but understanding diminished when specific questions were posed.

This lack of awareness creates a fertile ground for denialist rhetoric. Fortunately, there are numerous resources available for those wishing to learn and engage meaningfully, including the TRC’s 94 Calls to Action and initiatives from the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls.

The core principle of guut’àii urges a collective response to denialism. This involves centering Survivors’ voices, providing support for families, and recognizing the intertwined narratives of suffering and resilience. It is essential to convey that Indigenous strength is not merely about survival but also about transformative action.

In upcoming works, including a collaboration with anthropologist Sara Komarnisky, the exploration of treaties and land governance will further illustrate how collective responsibility remains central to shared futures. Treaties, much like guut’àii, embody commitments made “with one mind.”

Chief Salu’s pledge to stand with his community serves as a powerful reminder that the legacy of residential schools encompasses not only a history of harm but also a narrative of strength and resilience. By supporting Indigenous-led truth-telling and actively rejecting denialism, Canadians can work towards a future grounded in honesty, justice, and mutual respect.

Strength, therefore, transcends survival; it embodies the collective action of Indigenous Peoples in the face of oppression and will continue to guide responses to denialism in contemporary society.