Scoop of Ice Cream?! Nope, Scoop of Babies

In the summer, our team participated in Aboriginal Awareness Training which will soon be an annual opportunity for us to learn about the impact of generations of discriminatory government legislation, Traditional Knowledge that reveals important cultural norms and practice, and the richness and beauty within Aboriginal culture that we can embrace when working with our women.  More than 80% of the women who access our services are Aboriginal; this training is not only socially responsible, but very important for our team as a whole so that we can enhance our capacity to make a difference, to dispel myths, and to walk beside our women on their journeys.

While discussing history, many of us are aware of the atrocities of the Residential School era, and understand the impact on the loss of Aboriginal culture. However, this cultural genocide did not end when the last Residential school closed its doors. It seems to me that there is a general lack of awareness of the era that began in the 1960s referred to as the ‘60s Scoop’. I was at a conference recently and one of the attendees playfully asked if it was ‘when Aboriginal people ate so much ice cream (hence the scoop) that diabetes became a problem…’  No…. nothing to do with ice cream …

I have been asked a few times why is it that history seems to never go away with respect to Aboriginal communities’ not healing and moving on from the horrors of the past. This is so complicated but perhaps it can best be understood by realizing that 'history’ is not so long ago at all. In fact ‘history’ is so very much in the present. This is never more evident than with the realization of the true impact of ‘the 60s Scoop’.

The term ‘60s Scoop’ was coined by Patrick Johnston who in 1983 wrote Native Children and the Child Welfare System and refers to the mass removal of Aboriginal children (particularly babies – newborn babies, even) from their families and communities. These children were placed into non-aboriginal foster care homes in most cases without the consent of their parents or Band council. Imagine the newborn babies very literally being ‘scooped’ out of the arms of their mothers.

To put this into perspective, in the 1950s and 60s, our government began to recognize the horrid nature of the residential school system and began to ‘intervene’ (many would argue against this point.) However, at this time, the Indian Act enabled each province the jurisdiction to provide services to Aboriginal people where none were previously provided federally. ‘Child Welfare’ became one of these jurisdictions. Herein lies the beginning of the over-representation of Aboriginal children in the child welfare system (a trend which continues today), and the eventual 60s Scoop era.

During this time, the predominant thought was that a non-Aboriginal home would be a better placement for these children. Clearly this thought pattern was based on ignorance and discrimination. Many Social Workers viewed the tradition of living off the land as unsafe or unsanitary conditions for a child. There are documented cases where the Social Workers would visit the homes, and see raw meat and animal hide and immediately be concerned about the sanitary conditions of the home.  This is just a small example of the abhorrent misunderstandings and misgivings about Aboriginal culture that lead to this notion that these beautiful babies would be ‘better off’ in a Non-Aboriginal home.

As if ‘scooping’ babies and therefore destroying family structure was not enough damage, the practice of sterilization of Aboriginal women during this time was equally as atrocious.  I lose my appetite even thinking of this horrible act of genocide. In 1928, our province enacted the Sexual Sterilization Act which was meant to protect the gene pool and prevent the passing down of ‘unfavorable’ traits to offspring. Eugenicists believed that these traits (mental deficiencies, mental illnesses, alcoholism, poverty, prostitution, sexual perversion, etc) where inherited. As a result, more than 2800 women in our province where sterilized, many of whom were Aboriginal. In 1937, our Provincial government took this Act one step further and decided that it was too restrictive, and as such, consent was no longer required. In 1942, following the disgusting lead of the Nazis in Germany, our government forged ahead, further broadening the category of patients who would undergo sterilization, and our Alberta Eugenics Board increased the pace of sterilization in our province. It wasn’t until our late Premier Peter Lougheed examined this Bill in its entirety that steps were taken to repeal the Act. The Sexual Sterilization Act remained in effect in Alberta until 1972. (source: http://eugenicsarchive.ca/) 

In Edmonton, there is sufficient documentation that connects a few local hospitals to the 60s Scooping of babies and the act of sterilization. Most notably, Edmonton’s Charles Camsell Hospital, which was often used to treat Aboriginal people, was operated by the Federal government and did not close its doors until 1996. There are current Class Action law suits involving Aboriginal individuals who were placed in foster care between the years of 1960 and 1996 (not that long ago!) and also those involving women who were sterilized against their will; these law suits state that Canada did not intervene to prevent these horrible acts and consequently participated in (rather than protecting against) the destruction of Aboriginal culture. 

(source: http://sixtiesscoop.wordpress.com/2010/11/22/hello-world/)

Charles Camsell Hospital 

What does all of this mean in moving forward? Well, I would hope that we can agree that history was not so long ago, that the detrimental effects of these attempts at cultural genocide are still ever present today. Understanding that history is still in the present can hopefully put us in the right frame of mind to talk about the future in a way that focuses on hope rather than blame. We MUST make sure that we do not allow history to repeat itself. In particular, we should be very concerned that Aboriginal children are still vastly overrepresented in the Foster Care system and that this is perpetuated by the current direction of the Criminal Justice System. In fact, the imprisonment of Aboriginal people has taken over where the Residential school system left off. Aboriginal culture will continue to deteriorate in our country until we are able to address the root causes of crime, and the over-representation of Aboriginal people in our prisons. We MUST focus on crime prevention, and a large part of this solution should involve efforts that enhance culture and traditions, not promote fear and detract from their practices.  A summary of my opinions:

1. Interventions. Can we do more to intervene when an Aboriginal child is being placed into a non-Aboriginal home? How can we be a part of the solution? Can we do more to intervene when an Aboriginal mother is being incarcerated for crimes related to protecting her children, when that incarceration will only further damage her family and her children? Is this justice? What is needed in our community and in our province so that more of us feel equipped to intervene?
2. Prevention. We cannot emphasize enough the importance of prevention. There needs to be more emphasis on holistic preventative action that promotes healthy families and individuals, healing from trauma, and developing skills for the future. There are pots of funding for prevention; unfortunately there is not enough money to go around. How unfortunate is it that grassroots agencies must all vie for the same pots of money just so that we can develop a sustainable program to make a difference.  If there was more money on prevention (perhaps redirecting from the millions spent on incarceration, for example) we could all work in closer collaboration and wouldn’t have to struggle so hard just to make ends meet. Isn’t it further ironic that “Corrections” cannot say no to anyone (the revolving door is ever present, and even when our prisons are busting at the seams, they must find a way to accommodate even more individuals), yet Agencies wanting to pursue prevention programming can be told ‘no’. … Shows where our priorities are!
3. Education and Awareness. I started this blog post by stating that I don’t believe enough people know about the 60s Scoop and what it means locally. Understanding these effects and having us all on the same page is important. Then, we can work together to dispel myths and start important conversations where they matter the most.

Were you well aware of these events already? Or is this relatively new information to you? What will you do with this information now that you are aware? How does this make you feel? I confess that it has taken me over a week to write this blog post, in part because I am busy, but also because it is a very uncomfortable topic to write about. I hope, though, that we can all talk about the things that make us the most uncomfortable because often those are the topics that should be emphasized… How do we truly know in what direction we need to travel (and on a practical note, how EFry should move forward as an Agency) if we don’t understand the complete history? I look at the beautiful faces of the women who access our services and I know that so many of them have been directly or indirectly affected by discrimination every day of their lives. Has it directly or indirectly impacted you? And if not, does it feel right that discrimination should impact anyone?!

Maybe then, I can ask a favor of you? Can you ask just 1 person if they’ve heard of the 60s Scoop? And if they say no, why not fill them in and educate whenever possible. That way there can be more of us on the same page about these histories and current realities today.

All My Relations,

Toni Sinclair

Executive Director



Jo-Ann's Story

                         JO-ANN’S  STORY   

            My Mom was an alcoholic and my Dad had extreme anger problems. I grew up without boundaries and without many feelings of love. I was kicked out of the house at the age of fifteen. I was fortunate in getting a job, though, and by the time I was sixteen I was working full-time as a nurse’s assistant at a facility for seniors.

            Looking back, I can see my first introduction to the world of addictions came when I was working as a nurse’s assistant. I had a patient who passed away on me and that hit me pretty hard. At the same time I was having a lot of problems with headaches and stress. One of my co-workers gave me some Tylenol 1 to deal with the pain. I may have started off taking them for the pain, but before too long, I was taking them for the buzz. The codeine in Tylenol 1 acts as an opiate - and I spent almost thirty years taking them regularly. At one point, I was taking up to ten pills a day. I often told myself I was only taking them for the pain of arthritis and sciatica, but I know now that I was also taking them to deal with stress.

           

            I got married in 1994.  I always managed to find myself in abusive relationships. I didn’t have a lot of self-esteem, so I didn’t think I deserved anyone nice. I didn’t do much better when I was married. I always felt that my husband (ex-husband now) was more interested in having a baby than in having a wife, and we seemed to drift apart.

            About this time, I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, a condition where my moods went from extreme depression to extreme mania.. I started taking medication to deal with my illness - and it didn’t help that I was also using a lot of Tylenol 1. They probably kept my prescribed medications from working as well as they could have.

            When my daughter was five-and-a-half and was old enough to go to school, I wandered into a lounge one day and found myself playing a VLT machine. These machines have a very voracious appetite for people like me, and I was hooked from the first moment. It didn’t help that I ended up winning $500.00 off the machine the first day. It created unrealistic expectations about how easy it was to win. When I sat down at the VLTs, I didn’t have to worry about any of the problems in my life. It was like I had tunnel vision, all I could see was the machine. I didn’t worry about my marriage, I didn’t worry about bills I had to pay - all I focused on was the machine. I thought to myself ‘If this isn’t fun, I don’t know what is!’

            I gambled heavily for about two-and-a-half years, and probably ended up losing over $28,000 dollars over that time period. I couldn’t believe how addictive the experience was. When I sat down at the machines, I wouldn’t even get up to go to the washroom.  Every once in a while I’d look around at the other people playing VLTs in the lounge. Nobody was smiling, and nobody was talking to anybody else. They were completely caught up in the same kind of tunnel vision as me.  I always went to bars where I didn’t expect to see family or friends because of the shame I felt over what I was doing.

            On rare occasions when I would win, I always told myself I would spend the money wisely. I won $1900.00 one day. **I went home and broke the money up into different piles. One pile was going to go to rent, another pile was going to go to groceries, another pile to pay off bills, and the last pile I would take with me to the bar the next day to see if I could win big again on the Lucky Seven machine. Well, I went through the money I set aside for gambling, then I gambled the money I set aside for groceries, rent and bills. By the end of the day, there was nothing left. I just didn’t have the willpower to stop. Now I know that addiction has nothing to do with willpower. It is a disease of brain.

            One day when I finished losing money at the VLTs, I realized I didn’t even have enough money to pay the babysitter I hired to look after my daughter. I was absolutely desperate. I walked to a nearby grocery store and attempted to rob it by pretending I had a gun in my pocket. The clerk wasn’t falling for it, though, and he didn’t give me any money. I felt terrible when I walked away from the store. I thought to myself that maybe if I went back to the clerk and apologized, he would let bygones be bygones. When I got back to the store, the RCMP were there taking the clerk’s statement, and they immediately put me in custody. I came up with a ridiculous story about how I had been kidnapped and forced to rob the place, but the police simply weren’t buying my story. They assumed I had a serious gambling problem but they treated me quite well, though, and arranged it so that if I went to the clerk and apologized for my actions, they would drop the charges as long as I stayed out of trouble.

            You might think that would have been enough to scare me straight, but it wasn’t. A week later, I was gambling again, and once again I found myself broke and desperate. I stole a lady’s purse from the back of her chair and ran into the bathroom. Once again, the police were called - but this time they weren’t going to let me off easy. They charged me with the purse theft, and also charged me with the attempted robbery a week earlier. I was sentenced to two and a half years, conditional sentence, plus six months of house arrest, two years of probation, and 100 hours of community service. I then admitted myself into an addiction recovery centre in Lloydminster.

            I stayed at the recovery centre for three weeks, and it did give me some coping mechanisms and insights into the nature of my addiction - but it wasn’t long enough or in-depth enough to really stop my gambling problems. As a matter of fact, I stopped off at the first roadside lounge I saw when I was released from the centre and started playing the VLTs.

When I got back home to Edmonton later that day, my soon to be ex-husband had changed the locks on our doors and told me I was kicked out. This led to quite an argument, and the police were called out. Once the circumstances were explained to them, they basically told me that since we obviously didn’t get along, we couldn’t stay in the same household. Since I already had my bags packed with luggage I had taken with me to rehab, they told me that it only made sense that I should be the one to leave. I moved back into my Mom’s place for a few weeks. I talked to a psychiatrist and a psychologist who were helping me deal with my mental health and also with the issues in my life. I told them I wanted custody of my daughter - but they convinced me it probably wasn’t in her best interest. She was in a stable home with a father who really loved her and cared for her - I simply couldn’t offer her that kind of stability. I still kept in contact with her, though. I spoke to her every day and had her stay with me every other weekend.

            I ended up moving into a basement suite with a guy who had introduced me to more serious drugs. We were mostly using pot to start off with, but eventually we moved to harder stuff. I stayed with him for a couple of years, and I started smoking a lot of crack. I didn’t feel I had anything else to lose, or any lower that I could sink, so I didn’t see any reason not to use drugs. I used crack regularly for about three years. My family basically disowned me. They realized I couldn’t be trusted.

            I was on social assistance at this time, and that didn’t pay enough for me to afford the crack I was taking, so I started working as a prostitute through an on-line dating service. I ended up working as a prostitute for 2 years, and that brought me up to about the year 2006. By that point, I had managed to give up gambling - but I was still smoking crack and working as a prostitute. I simply exchanged one addiction for another.  I was in bed one day after a 2-day binge and it dawned on me that “I have sold my soul. There is no lower I can go. I’m going to die if I keep this up.” I gave up working as a prostitute and taking crack that very day.

            I had one slip a couple of months later when I wanted to use crack again. I got in my car to go buy the drugs when I got into a car accident. The police responded to the accident, and I was given a $2500.00 fine for not having insurance. I didn’t have the money to pay the fine, so I was told I could go to jail or be sentenced to 365 hours of community service.  I chose to do the 365 hours, then, once again I was given another choice. I could either go on work crews or take part in the Changing Paths program at Elizabeth Fry. I chose the Changing Paths program, and what a difference it has made in my life.

            When I first got to the program, I had an attitude and I was very abrupt with people. It was all about me.  I thought to myself “maybe I’ll just do the twenty days in jail rather than sit here and listen to these people.” Florence was in charge of the program, and she was extremely patient with me. We had a lot of one-on-one time where she was able to listen me.

            I felt a little bit like an onion the way she was able to peel back layers of my life and look at all the issues - starting with my childhood. I realized that I engaged in a lot of those negative activities largely because of a lack of self-esteem. I never learned any good values, and I never thought much of myself. I was still carrying all this pain from my childhood and had never dealt with it.

            I had started off in Changing Paths quite grudgingly, but eventually I realized I need to be here. I started listening to a lot more of what Florence and the other people around me had to say. I came to realize that I am a good person and I have a good heart.

            While I was doing my hours in Changing Paths, I went to a pain clinic and learned how to manage my pain without resorting to drugs like Tylenol 1. I take pills prescribed by my doctor to help me deal with my depression - but that is all I take anymore. Florence was very supportive of me throughout this ordeal, and this made the whole thing a lot easier to bear.

            I had 365 hours to spend in the program, and as that time drew to a close I actually got pretty scared. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to count on her support anymore. Florence reassured me and told me I would be okay. She said you can always come down to the Elizabeth Fry building and have something to do on a daily basis.

            Florence was very much of a mentor for me. When I finished my hours, I realized I needed to have something to do with my life, and she said ‘the world unfolds as it should - something will come along for you.’ Florence helped me find a volunteer position at the courthouse, but that didn’t work out for me.  A few weeks later, a volunteer position came up at the clothing room at the Elizabeth Fry Society, and I jumped at the chance to help out there. I’ve been working in the clothing room and doing odd jobs around the office for the last two-and-a-half years.

            I love my life now, and I love what I’m doing. I’ve got a sense of self-esteem now, and I realize I have a lot to offer. I’m very friendly, I love working with people, and I have a great sense of humor. People often come into the building down and depressed and I can have them laughing and smiling, sometimes, when they leave.

I am giving back to society and I have a reason to get up in the morning. I’ve also managed to re-establish ties with my friends, my family and my daughter. I don’t need gambling or drugs to be happy. I am living proof that good things can happen.

            I live my life by the motto that ‘if you’ve got one foot in yesterday, and one foot in tomorrow, you’re peeing on today!’ I don’t ever forget where I came from, but I will never go back there again.

_______________________________________

We are honoured to have Jo-Ann as a part of our team, and are touched that she would share her story!

Fond EFry Memories

I have many fond EFry memories, most involve our women and plenty of laughter. There is one in particular that remains with me to this day:

In September 2004, I was rushing to get myself organized to head to the Edmonton Remand Centre. Our Prison Liaison Program visits women who are incarcerated there; we bridge the gap between prison and the community, we offer resources and supports and help them to prepare for release. I was still a student at this time and was worried about an upcoming school deadline; plus, I was facilitating what was then our ‘Teen Stoplifting’ program and I was worried about how I was going to recruit girls to participate. In a nutshell – lots on my mind. I was breezing past our drop-in centre getting ready to head out and I stopped in my tracks. You could hear a pin drop in our drop-in, yet it was full of women. …

Our Aboriginal Women’s Program Coordinator at the time had all of our women so thoroughly engaged in traditional beading that the room was so silent it was eerie. The focus was tremendous. I’ve been in rooms with scientists and scholars whose focus couldn’t compare to that of these women. Then, the Coordinator stood up and started talking about the beads and what their traditional meanings were as she was taught by her Elder. The women continued to bead, but you could tell that not a single word was left dangling. They absorbed everything. Their focus remained this way for hours. Yes, I eventually did go to the Remand, but I stood there watching for quite a while. It was an incredible moment for me.

I suppose what was so meaningful about this moment was that, even though I consider myself to be non-judgmental, perhaps I still carried a few generalizations about our women, and this very moment dispelled many of them. Our women can often lack patience: if they want a bus ticket, they pretty much mean that they would like it right now, please and thank you. Due to mental illnesses, and general lifestyle experiences, they often lack the ability to see, “oh, she’s helping another woman right now, I should wait my turn.” Therefore, we often spend a fair amount of time (especially on our busy days), helping to role model these behaviors and we interweave these life skills into the services we offer.  So, I suppose that one of the generalizations I had made is that perhaps our women can always work on their patience. But really, can’t we all?!

I have tried beading before. I am horrible at it. I have no….patience…. for it. Yet our women not only found patience to partake in a beading workshop that day, but they also cultivated it along with this peaceful serenity that enveloped the room. It was amazing.

One woman who I was assisting to find a lawyer, who was at her wits end paying for her bills, and who was crying hysterically in our office the day before, was completely transfixed and totally focused on her beading task at hand. Another woman who the day before attempted to access our services but was turned away as she was intoxicated, was clearly sober and entirely attentive at that moment. Each woman around the table had a story like this.

Truthfully, our drop-in, at times can be a bit chaotic. When it’s busy, with 12 or more women present, as was the case this day, I might often describe the drop in as the opposite of quiet. I certainly would not normally use the words serene and calm to describe it on a busy day. So to witness the peacefulness and the attention to detail that our women demonstrated was truly remarkable.

I felt so proud of them. I felt so honoured to be in that room at that moment. These women are amazing, and they teach me lessons like this everyday. Our women have gifts and talents that, when fostered, can blossom into skills that are meaningful to themselves, and to our community. They deserve a chance to foster these skills, though, and they deserve a chance to prove us all wrong! If we are willing to have our eyes opened, as mine were that day in 2004, I know we can see them in a different light, and our community can do more to foster their dignity and worth.

Thank you for reading!

Toni