At their annual meeting in Whitehorse last week, the Assembly of First Nations addressed the report that from 1942 to 1952, the Canadian government experimented on more than 1,300 First Nations people (many of whom were children) without obtaining consent. These experiments were conducted on reserves in Manitoba, as well as several residential schools across the country, including the Alberni Indian Residential School on Vancouver Island.
The reaction 鈥� both among native groups and in the press at large 鈥� has been of shock, horror and anger.
The details are well known by this point: When officials became aware that these First Nations groups were living in poverty, they decided to use them as guinea pigs for nutritional studies, rather than providing them with support and assistance. Their poverty was understood as an inherent racial trait, rather than as a product of socio-economic conditions, such as the decline of the fur trade or changes in traditional modes of life.
Individuals were subsequently denied vitamins and minerals and dental services, so that healthier teeth and gums wouldn鈥檛 鈥渟kew the results鈥� of the tests. For the sake of experimentation, children in Alberni were given eight ounces of milk a day, rather than the recommended 24.
So we have a few things going on here: a government policy designed to exploit rather than to assist, a scientific project that used people without their consent and results that have only recently been unearthed, indicating an official desire to hush the whole thing up, rather than engage in voluntary disclosure.
Grand Chief Stewart Phillip, president of the Union of sa国际传媒 Indian Chiefs, has accused the Canadian government of deliberately attempting to suppress the records of these atrocities, to use his words.
I like to focus on discourse in this column 鈥� that is, the way we talk about what we talk about.
One of the hallmarks of any conversation about historical injustices for First Nations people is the 鈥渋t鈥檚 all in the past鈥� stance. Some are already pointing to the Harper government鈥檚 2008 apology for residential schools as an indication that the federal government has already discharged its responsibility for these experiments.
The defenders鈥� argument doesn鈥檛 feel above-board to me, because how can you apologize for something you haven鈥檛 acknowledged?
The assembly鈥檚 response has been firm. They declare they 鈥渨ill not accept the apology as catch-all recognition for all federal policy past, present and ongoing which have and continue to negatively impact Indigenous peoples,鈥� because that鈥檚 not the way this conversation needs to work.
An apology is an admission of wrongdoing and a step toward repair; it isn鈥檛 a get-out-of-jail-free card.
Just as we always need to keep an eye on the past when we talk about the present, we can鈥檛 look at our past without contextualizing it firmly in the present, and in sa国际传媒, this is never so true as when we鈥檙e talking about First Nations history.
Residential schools, for example, are recent history, not ancient history, and their effects are still present in peoples鈥� lives. Many of the men and women who were affected by these experiments have been telling their stories this week.
鈥淚t鈥檚 in the past鈥� is comforting, even for me. Sometimes it鈥檚 easier to talk about the past than the present, because problems in the present mean there鈥檚 still work to do.
Last month, the CBC reported that half of First Nations children live in poverty. Half. The Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives and Save the Children sa国际传媒 argue that this number is entirely preventable.
That report presents us with a problem that鈥檚 harder to solve than simply acknowledging past errors, because we might actually have to engage.
Apologies aren鈥檛 solutions. Those who argue that the 2008 apology should be enough want it to be the end of the discussion, rather than what it should be 鈥� which is simply the next step in a centuries-long conversation.
