‘A memorial to the children taken and the families left behind’

Wawahte is a recently published book, as told to author Robert P. Wells by Indian Residential School Survivors. Written in two parts; the story of three representative survivors, Wawahte also mines Canadian history, bringing the reader to know how colonial “Indian” forced integration has affected so many lives.
The book has been published by Trafford Publishing.
Wells said he hopes the book ends up in every Canadian high school to help educate the country on the effects of residential schools.
“History is full of stories of how one culture, overpowers a different culture or set of ideas,” he said. “Wawahte deals with one form of injustice visited upon the native peoples of Canada. Canada should know its own history and live in truth about it. We could all learn from it.”
The following excerpts were written by Wells based on stories from the book.
They Call Me Bunnie
Bunnie Gavin (Kries/Tenniscoe)
Thunder Bay, Ontario
McIntosh Indian Residential School
Bunnie at two years of age
“I am told that my mother nicknamed me Bunnie. I have also been told that it was the Nuns at the Roman Catholic McIntosh Indian Residential School that began calling me Bunnie because I was so small and darted about like a baby rabbit. My parents named me Mary Elizabeth but at the residential school they had no record of my having been baptized and they baptized me for the second time, giving me the name Marie Louise. I answer to Bunnie!
When Bunnie was one-year-old, her father placed her and two year old sister in the care of the McIntosh Indian Residential School. He never came back for them. There, she felt loved and was well cared for. Upon leaving the school at age 14 she spoke, English, French and Anishinabek (Ojibwa) as the children were allowed to speak “Indian” while at play and in their dormitory. Bunnie was one of the lucky few!
Esther Speaks
Esther Love (Feries)
Constance Lake First Nation
Watchea (Hello)
I am Esther. Bob, an old friend, called me one day and said, “Esther, you are a very special person, you have a story that needs to be written”. His call was as if the Great Spirit had answered my prayers. I do not naturally seek recognition or exposure, however, I have worried that soon there would be no one left to tell about how life was for many “Indian” people living in the boreal forest regions of Canada.
Wawahte is a non-fiction book. Although this is the story about me, Bunnie and Stanley, it is not unique to the three of us. It was much the same for more than 150,000 “Indian” children who, between 1883 and 1996, were forced to attend 130 residential schools in Canada.
As a child, my home was Mammamattawa Village, called English River Village/Indian Reserve. That was until one day when a man came and took me and other children, to live at Pelican Lake Indian Residential School near Sioux Lookout, Ontario. I credit my sanity at this terrible place to the strength of cultural traditions. I will never forget how we kids would all gather around and watch ‘Wawahte’ (northern lights). When alone and no one else could hear us, we would speak in our beautiful Cree language telling each other things like; “There, see that one is the spirit of my Mama who died when I was little. She has come to dance for me. She is telling me to be strong and that she loves me.” We asked the spirit angels to take dream messages to our parents and grandparents and to bring their dream letters back to us.
All mail to and from children was censored. Any mail, written in “Indian” was destroyed. The only letters allowed to be sent to our parents were the lies that the teacher wrote on the blackboard and we copied as our own. There was no limit to our misery yet in our own very special way we found moments of peace–Wawahte.
Although this was a very long time ago, I remember the tranquil feelings that came over me as I stood before my heavenly altar. I went to bed those nights with a smile on my face and I slept well. The spirit angels had lifted me to my feet when my wings had trouble remembering how to fly.
Anti-Sealing killed our way of life
Elder Stanley Stephens
Constance Lake First Nation
I still hold a license to a registered trap line but now only trap as a hobby and to show young people how we once lived and earned a living. Over the centuries our native culture evolved into a respectful relationship with wildlife and nature. I was taught from an early age that upon taking the life of an animal to reverently pause and thank the Creator as well as the animal for giving its life so our people could live. To disrespect nature would result in terrible consequences.
 In 1969, the International Fund for Animal Welfare began to mobilize public opinion against the annual hunt of baby harp seals off Canada’s east coast. Like many well-meaning people, I supported the animal welfare movement of whose aim it was to end the seal hunt. It was not the killing of the baby seal that troubled me but the disrespectful way in which it was done. In the end, our well-meaning intentions and the deceptive business practices of animal rights organizations ended in another setback to our way of life.
What began as the ‘kill the seal hunt movement’ very quickly generated enormous amounts of money and soon it became a successful advocate to end the wearing of all natural furs. Government and professional wildlife management were powerless in the face of the parade of “cleavage scientists” who found their way to European rule makers and the western fashion industry. The consequence was that people who once earned their living fur trapping went from middle class to demoralizing poverty. For a great many “Indians”, as well as white trappers the effects went well beyond economic loss. It was difficult to believe how quickly the change came. People went from economic middle class to a life of dependence on social assistance. Gone were the family building blocks of personal pride, the teaching tools of a strong work ethic that for centuries measured and made us who we were.