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Volume 1 - Looking Forward Looking Back
PART TWO False Assumptions and a Failed Relationship
Chapter 10 - Residential Schools
10
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Residential Schools
IN THE FIRST FEW DECADES of the life of the new Canadian nation, when the government turned to address the constitutional responsibility for Indians and their lands assigned by the Constitution Act, 1867, it adopted a policy of assimilation1. As described in the previous chapter, the roots of this policy were in the pre-Confederation period. It was a policy designed to move communities, and eventually all Aboriginal peoples, from their helpless 'savage' state to one of self-reliant 'civilization' and thus to make in Canada but one community — a non-Aboriginal, Christian one.2
Of all the steps taken to achieve that goal, none was more obviously a creature of Canada's paternalism toward Aboriginal people, its civilizing strategy and its stern assimilative determination than education. In the mind of Duncan CampbellScott, the most influential senior official in the department of Indian affairs in the first three decades of the twentieth century, education was "by far the most important of the many subdivisions of the most complicated Indian problem". 3 As a potential solution to that 'problem', education held the greatest promise. It would, the minister of Indian affairs, Frank Oliver, predicted in 1908, "elevate the Indian from his condition of savagery" and "make him a self-supporting member of the state, and eventually a citizen in good staning." 4
It was not, however, just any model of education that carried such promise. In 1879, Sir John A. Macdonald's government, pressured by the Catholic and Methodist churches to fulfil the education clauses of the recently negotiated western treaties,5 had assigned Nicholas Flood Davin the task of reporting "on the working of Industrial Schools...in the United States and on the advisability of establishing similar institutions in the North-West Territories of the Dominion." Having toured U.S. schools and consulted with the U.S. commissioner of Indian affairs and "the leading men, clerical and lay who could speak with authority on the subject" in western Canada, Davin called for the "application of the principle of industrial boarding schools" — off-reserve schools that would teach the arts, crafts and industrial skills of a modern economy. Children, he advised, should be removed from their homes, as "the influence of the wigwam was stronger than that of the [day] school", and be "kept constantly within the circle of civilized conditions" — the residential school — where they would receive the "care of a mother" and an education that would fit them for a life in a modernizing Canada.6
Davin's report received the unqualified support of the churches and the department, with the latter going so far as to suggest that within the wide range of assimilative policies, it would be through residential education, more than any other method, that "the solution of that problem, designated 'the Indian question' would probably be effected...".7
Politician, civil servant and, perhaps most critically, priest and parson all felt that in developing the residential school system they were responding not only to a constitutional but to a Christian "obligation to our Indian brethren" that could be discharged only "through the medium of the children" and "therefore education must be given the foremost place".8
At the same moment, however, they were driven by more prosaic motives. Macdonald's deputy superintendent general of Indian affairs, L. Vankoughnet, assured him that Indian expenditures were "a good investment", for in due course Aboriginal people, "instead of being supported from the revenue of the country...would contribute largely to the same."9
The socializing power of education had a similarly self-serving utility. Schools were part of a network of institutions that were to minister to industrial society's need for order, lawfulness, labour and security of property.10 Scott admitted frankly that the provision of education to Indian communities was indispensable, for without it and "with neglect", they "would produce an undesirable and often dangerous element in society."11
Residential schools were more than a component in the apparatus of social construction and control. They were part of the process of nation building and the concomitant marginalization of Aboriginal communities. The department's inspector of education wrote in 1900 that the education of Aboriginal people in frontier districts was an important consideration, not only as an economical measure to be demanded for the welfare of the country and the Indians, themselves, but in order that crime may not spring up and peaceful conditions be disturbed as that element which is the forerunner and companion of civilization penetrates the country and comes into close contact with the natives. That benefit will accrue to both the industrial occupants of the country covered by treaty and to the Indians by weaning a number from the chase and inclining them to industrial pursuits is patent to those who see [that] a growing need of intelligent labour must occur as development takes place.12
The Aboriginal leader George Manuel, a residential school graduate, was rather more blunt. The schools, he wrote,
were the laboratory and production line of the colonial system...the colonial system that was designed to make room for European expansion into a vast empty wilderness needed an Indian population that it could describe as lazy and shiftless...the colonial system required such an Indian for casual labour...13
Selfless Christian duty and self-interested statecraft were the foundations of the residential school system. The edifice itself was erected by a church/government partnership that would manage the system jointly until 1969. In this task the churches — Anglican, Catholic, Methodist and Presbyterian — led the way. Indeed, their energetic proselytizing resulted in the opening of residential schools in Ontario, the north-west and British Columbia even before the Davin report was submitted in 1879. Thereafter, the system — a combination of boarding schools built close to or in reserve communities and Davin's centrally located industrial schools — was expanded rapidly, reaching a high point with 80 schools in 1931 (see Table 10.1) and growing again in the 1950s as part of the nation's post-war expansion into Inuit homelands. It was maintained until the mid-1980s. Schools were built in every province and territory except Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick and Newfoundland.14 They registered children from every Aboriginal culture — Indian, Inuit, and Métis children too — though the federal government assumed no constitutional responsibility for Métis people.15 While Métis children would be invisible, rarely mentioned in the records, they were nevertheless there and were treated the same as all the children were.
TABLE 10.1
Residential Schools, 1931
Nova Scotia Shubenacadie (RC)
Ontario Albany Mission (RC) Cecilia Jeffrey (PR) Chapleau (CE)
Fort Frances (RC) Fort William (RC) Kenora (RC)
McIntosh (RC) Mohawk (CE) Moose Fort (CE)
Mount Elgin (UC) Shingwauk Home (CE) Sioux Lookout (CE)
Spanish (RC)
Manitoba Birtle (PR) Brandon (UC) Cross Lake (RC)
Elkhorn (CE) Fort Alexander (RC) MacKay (CE)
Norway House (UC) Pine Creek (RC) Portage la Prairie (UC)
Sandy Bay (RC)
Saskatchewan Beauval (RC) Cowessess (RC) Duck Lake (RC)
File Hills (UC) Gordon's (CE) Guy (RC)
Lac La Ronge (CE) Muscowequan (RC) Onion Lake (CE)
Onion Lake (RC) Qu'Appelle (RC) Round Lake (UC)
St. Phillips (RC) Thunderchild (RC)
Alberta Blood (RC) Blue Quills (RC) Crowfoot (RC)
Edmonton (UC) Ermineskins (RC) Holy Angels (RC)
Lesser Slave Lake (CE) Morley (UC) Old Sun's (CE)
St. Albert (RC) St. Bernard (RC) St. Bruno (RC)
St. Cyprian (CE) St. Paul's (CE) Sacred Heart (RC)
Sturgeon Lake (RC) Vermilion (RC) Wabasca (CE)
Wabasca (RC) Whitefish Lake (CE)
Northwest Territories Aklavik (RC) Fort Resolution (RC) Hay River (CE))
Providence Mission (RC)
British Columbia Ahousaht (UC) Alberni (UC) Alert Bay (CE)
Cariboo (RC) Christie (RC) Coqualeetza (UC)
Kamloops (RC) Kitamaat (UC) Kootenay (RC)
Kuper Island (RC) Lejac (RC) Port Simpson (UC)
St. George's (CE) St. Mary's Mission (RC) Sechelt (RC)
Squamish (RC)
Yukon Carcross (CE) St. Paul's Hostel (CE)
In 1931 there were 44 Roman Catholic (RC), 21 Church of England (CE), 13 United Church (UC) and 2 Presbyterian (PR) schools. These proportions among the denominations were constant throughout the history of the system.
In Quebec two schools, Fort George (RC) and Fort George (CE), were opened before the Second World War. Four more were added after the war: Amos, Pointe Bleue, Sept-ëles and La Tuque.
Put simply, the residential school system was an attempt by successive governments to determine the fate of Aboriginal people in Canada by appropriating and reshaping their future in the form of thousands of children who were removed from their homes and communities and placed in the care of strangers. Those strangers, the teachers and staff, were, according to Hayter Reed, a senior member of the department in the 1890s, to employ "every effort...against anything calculated to keep fresh in the memories of the children habits and associations which it is one of the main objects of industrial education to obliterate."16 Marching out from the schools, the children, effectively re-socialized, imbued with the values of European culture, would be the vanguard of a magnificent metamorphosis: the 'savage' was to be made 'civilized', made fit to take up the privileges and responsibilities of citizenship.
Tragically, the future that was created is now a lamentable heritage for those children and the generations that came after, for Aboriginal communities and, indeed, for all Canadians. The school system's concerted campaign "to obliterate" those "habits and associations", Aboriginal languages, traditions and beliefs, and its vision of radical re-socialization, were compounded by mismanagement and underfunding, the provision of inferior educational services and the woeful mistreatment, neglect and abuse of many children — facts that were known to the department and the churches throughout the history of the school system.
In the course of that history there were those who understood that such a terrible legacy was being created. In 1943, R. Hoey, the department's superintendent of welfare and training, on receiving from the principal of St. George's School (located on the Fraser River, just north of Lyttons, B.C.) a set of shackles that had been used routinely "to chain runaways to the bed" and reports of other abuses at the school, wrote, "I can understand now why there appears to be such a widespread prejudice on the part of the Indians against residential schools. Such memories do not fade out of the human consciousness very rapidly."17 Nevertheless, with very few exceptions, neither senior departmental officials nor churchmen nor members of Parliament raised their voices against the assumptions that underlay the system or its abusive character. And, of course, the memory did not and has not faded. It has persisted, festered and become a sorrowful monument, still casting a deep shadow over the lives of many Aboriginal people and communities and over the possibility of a new relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Canadians.
1. The Vision and Policies of Residential School Education
1.1 The Vision
...it is to the young that we must look for a complete change of condition.18
The tragic legacy of residential education began in the late nineteenth century with a three-part vision of education in the service of assimilation. It included, first, a justification for removing children from their communities and disrupting Aboriginal families; second, a precise pedagogy for re-socializing children in the schools; and third, schemes for integrating graduates into the non-Aboriginal world.
The vision sprang from and was shaped and sustained by the representations of departmental officials and churchmen of the character, circumstances and destiny of the nation's Aboriginal population. For such social reformers in Canada, and indeed throughout the world of European empires, the contact between expansive and 'mature' non-Aboriginal culture and indigenous cultures in their 'infancy' imperilled the survival of Aboriginal peoples. According to an 1886 report from the department's inspector of schools for the north-west, for example, resource development and settlement had prevented Indian communities from following that course of evolution which has produced from the barbarian of the past the civilized man of today. It is not possible for him to be allowed slowly to pass through successive stages, from pastoral to an agricultural life and from an agricultural one, to one of manufacturing, commerce or trade as we have done. He has been called upon suddenly and without warning to enter upon a new existence.19
The need for government intervention to liberate these savage people from the retrograde influence of a culture that could not cope with rapidly changing circumstances was pressing and obvious. Without it, the inspector continued, the Indian "must have failed and perished miserably and he would have died hard entailing expense and disgrace upon the Country." The exact point of intervention that would "force a change in [the Indian's] condition" was equally clear — "it is to the young that we must look for a complete change of condition."
Only in the children could hope for the future reside, for only children could undergo "the transformation from the natural condition to that of civilization".20 Adults could not join the march of progress. They could not be emancipated from their "present state of ignorance, superstition and helplessness";21 they were "physically, mentally and morally...unfitted to bear such a complete metamorphosis".22 Under departmental tutelage, adults might make some slight advance. They could, Davin suggested, "be taught to do a little at farming and at stock raising and to dress in a more civilized fashion, but that is all."23 They were, in the words of the Reverend E.F. Wilson, founder of the Shingwauk residential school, "the old unimprovable people."24
The central difficulty in this analysis was not that adults were lost to civilization, but that they were an impediment to it. While they could not learn, they could, as parents, teach their children. Through them to their children and on through successive generations ran the "influence of the wigwam". If the children's potential was to be realized, it could only be outside the family. As E. Dewdney, superintendent general of Indian affairs in Macdonald's second government, reasoned, children therefore had to be removed from "deleterious home influences";25 they must be, the Archbishop of St. Boniface added, "caught young to be saved from what is on the whole the degenerating influence of their home environment."26 Their parents were, by the light of the vision's compelling logic, unfit. Only Frank Oliver demurred, pointing out the essentially un-Christian implication of this formative conclusion:
I hope you will excuse me for so speaking but one of the most important commandments laid upon the human by the divine is love and respect by children for parents. It seems strange that in the name of religion a system of education should have been instituted, the foundation principle of which not only ignored but contradicted this command.27
No one took any notice of the minister, however, for no one involved in Indian affairs doubted for a moment that separation was justified and necessary and that residential schools were therefore indispensable. Such institutions would, Parliament had been informed in 1889, undoubtedly reclaim the child "from the uncivilized state in which he has been brought up" by bringing "him into contact from day to day with all that tends to effect a change in his views and habits of life."28 In its enthusiasm for the schools, the department went so far as to suggest that it would be "highly desirable, if it were practicable, to obtain entire possession of all Indian children after they attain to the age of seven or eight years, and keep them at
schools...until they have had a thorough course of instruction".29
The common wisdom of the day that animated the educational plans of church and state was that Aboriginal children had to be rescued from their "evil surroundings", isolated from parents, family and community,30 and "kept constantly within the circle of civilized conditions".31 There, through a purposeful course of instruction that Vankoughnet described as "persistent" tuition,32 a great transformation would be wrought in the children. By a curriculum aimed at radical cultural change — the second critical element of the vision — the 'savage' child would surely be re-made into the 'civilized' adult.
The school, as department and church officials conceived it, was a circle, an all-encompassing environment of re-socialization with a curriculum that comprised not only academic and practical training but the whole life of the child in the school. This constituted the basic design of the schools and was maintained, with little variation, for most of the history of the system.
The classroom work of the teachers and students was to be guided by the standard provincial curriculum. To this was added equally important training in practical skills. The department held firm to Davin's industrial model, convinced that
no system of Indian training is right that does not endeavour to develop all the abilities, remove prejudice against labour, and give courage to compete with the rest of the world. The Indian problem exists owing to the fact that the Indian is untrained to take his place in the world. Once teach him to do this, and the solution is had.33
In every school, therefore, the children were to receive instruction in a range of subjects, including, for the boys, agriculture, carpentry, shoemaking, blacksmithing, tinsmithing and printing and, for the girls, sewing, shirt making, knitting, cooking, laundry, dairying, ironing and general household duties. As the curriculum was delivered in a half-day system until after the Second World War, with students spending half the day in the classroom and the other half in practical activities, trades training took place both in shops and in learn-by-doing chores. These chores had the additional benefit for the school of providing labour — on the farm and in the residences, bakehouse, laundry and dairy that made operation of the institution
possible.34
Although these academic and practical courses might clothe the children in the skills and experience they needed to survive and prosper, the department and the churches realized that the children would have to undergo much more profound socialization. Skills would be useless unless accompanied by the values of the society the children were destined to join. The seeds of those values were, of course, embedded in each and every academic subject, in the literature they read, the poetry they recited, and the songs they were taught to sing. As well, however, in its 1896 program of study, the department directed that an ethics course be taught in each grade. In the first year, the students were to be taught the "practice of cleanliness, obedience, respect, order, neatness", followed in subsequent years by "Right and wrong", "Independence. Self-respect", "Industry. Honesty. Thrift", and "Patriotism....Self-maintenance. Charity." In the final year, they were confronted by the "Evils of Indian Isolation", "Labour the Law of Life" and "Home and public duties".35
Cardinal among these virtues was moral training for, as a memorandum from the Catholic principals explained, "all true civilization must be based on moral law." Christianity had to supplant the children's Aboriginal spirituality, which was nothing more than "pagan superstition" that "could not suffice" to make them "practise the virtues of our civilization and avoid its attendant vices." In the schools, as well as in the communities, there could be no compromise, no countenancing Aboriginal beliefs and rituals, which, "being the result of a free and easy mode of life, cannot conform to the intense struggle for life which our social conditions require."36
The children were not only to imbibe those values, and a new faith, they were to live them. The school was to be a home — a Canadian one. On crossing its threshold, the children were entering a non-Aboriginal world where, with their hair shorn and dressed in European clothes, they would leave behind the 'savage' seasonal round of hunting and gathering for a life ordered by the hourly precision of clocks and bells and an annual calendar of rituals, the festivals of church and state — Christmas, Victoria Day, Dominion Day and St. Jean Baptiste Day — that were the rapid, steady pulse of the industrial world. According to Dewdney, students had to be taught that "there should be an object for the employment of every moment", and thus the "routine...the recurrence of the hours for meals, classwork, outside duties...are all of great importance in the training and education, with a view to future usefulness".37
In school, in chapel, at work and even at play the children were to learn the Canadian way. Recreation was re-creation. Games and activities would not be the "boisterous and unorganized games" of "savage" youth. Rather they were to have brass bands, football, cricket, baseball and above all hockey "with the well regulated and...strict rules that govern our modern games", prompting "obedience to discipline" and thus contributing to the process of moving the children along the path to civilization.38
None of the foregoing would be achieved, however, unless the children were first released from the shackles that tied them to their parents, communities and cultures. The civilizers in the churches and the department understood this and, moreover, that it would not be accomplished simply by bringing the children into the school. Rather it required a concerted attack on the ontology, on the basic cultural patterning of the children and on their world view. They had to be taught to see and understand the world as a European place within which only European values and beliefs had meaning; thus the wisdom of their cultures would seem to them only savage superstition. A wedge had to be driven not only physically between parent and child but also culturally and spiritually. Such children would then be separated forever from their communities, for even if they went home they would, in the words of George Manuel, bring "the generation gap with them".39 Only in such a profound fashion could the separation from savagery and the re-orientation as civilized be assured.
That the department and churches understood the central challenge they faced in civilizing the children as that of overturning Aboriginal ontology is seen in their identification of language as the most critical issue in the curriculum. It was through language that children received their cultural heritage from parents and community. It was the vital connection that civilizers knew had to be cut if progress was to be made. E.F. Wilson informed the department that at Shingwauk school, "We make a great point of insisting on the boys talking English, as, for their advancement in civilization, this is, of all things, the most necessary."40 Aboriginal languages could not carry the burden of civilization; they could not "impart ideas which, being entirely outside the experience and environment of the pupils and their parents, have no equivalent expression in their native language."41 Those ideas were the core concepts of European culture — its ontology, theology and values. Without the English language, the department announced in its annual report of 1895, the Aboriginal person is "permanently disabled" and beyond the pale of assimilation for, "So long as he keeps his native tongue, so long will he remain a community apart."42
The only effective road to English or French, however, and thus a necessary pre-condition for moving forward with the multi-faceted civilizing strategy, was to stamp out Aboriginal languages in the schools and in the children. The importance of this to the department and the churches cannot be overstated. In fact, the entire residential school project was balanced on the proposition that the gate to assimilation was unlocked only by the progressive destruction of Aboriginal languages. With that growing silence would come the dying whisper of Aboriginal cultures. To that end, the department ordered that "the use of English in preference to the Indian dialect must be insisted upon."43
It was left to school principals to implement that directive, to teach the languages of 'civilization' — French in Quebec and English in all other parts of Canada, including Francophone areas, and to prevent the language of 'savagery' from being spoken in the school. Some instituted imaginative systems of positive reinforcement through rewards, prizes or privileges for the exclusive use of English. More often than not, however, the common method was punishment. Children throughout the history of the system were beaten for speaking their language.44
The third and final part of the vision was devoted to the graduates, their future life and their contribution to the civilization of their communities. It was this aspect of the vision that underwent the greatest change. While the ideology of the curriculum and its goal of extensive cultural replacement remained constant, the perceived utility of the schools to the overall strategy of assimilation and their relationship to Aboriginal communities underwent substantial revision. There were, in fact, two residential school policies. The first, in the long period before the Second World War, placed the school at the heart of the strategy to disestablish communities through assimilation. In the subsequent period, the residential school system served a secondary role in support of the integration of children into the provincial education system and the modernization of communities.
Initially, the schools were seen as a bridge from the Aboriginal world into non-Aboriginal communities. That passage was marked out in clear stages: separation, socialization and, finally, assimilation through enfranchisement. By this last step, the male graduate could avail himself of the enfranchisement provisions of the Indian Act, leaving behind his Indian status and taking on the privileges and responsibilities of citizenship.
Each stage in the passage had its difficulties, and the department was fully aware that its task was not completed with the training that led to graduation. Indeed, it declared in its annual report of 1887, "it is after its completion that the greatest care...needs to be exercised, in order to prevent retrogression." Retrogression — cultural backsliding — was the great fear. Once the connection between child and community had been broken it should not be re-established; the child should never again fall under the influence of Indian "prejudices and traditions" or the "degradations of savage life."45 To prevent this unhappy occurrence, the department reported in 1887, it would be best "to prevent those whose education at an industrial institution...has been completed from returning to the reserves". They were instead to be placed in the non-Aboriginal world and secured there by employment in the trade they had learned at the school, "so as to cause them to reside in towns, or, in the case of farmers, in settlements of white people, and thus become amalgamated with the general community."46 By implication, the future was not only one of amalgamating growing numbers of employable graduates but also the progressive decay and final disappearance of reserve communities.
Reality intervened in this strategy, however, and, indeed, the department and the churches did not exercise the "greatest care" of graduates. There was no placement program, and even if there had been, situations were not available in towns or "settlements of white people". "Race prejudice", an Indian agent informed the department, "is against them and I am afraid that it will take time, under the circumstances, before they can compete with their white brothers in the trades."47 By 1896, the department had to face the fact that "for the majority [of graduates], for the present at least, there appears to be no alternative" but to return to the reserves.48 That present became the future; there were always but few openings for graduates. With the exception of temporary labour shortages during the war, it was obvious that "no appreciable number of graduates of the Schools will be in a position to earn a livelihood by working as a craftsman among whites."49
The second fact that had to be faced was that in returning to their communities, as Reed predicted, "there will be a much stronger tendency for the few to merge into the many than to elevate them."50 A great proportion of the graduates would go "back to the ways of the old teepee life",51 to the "nomadic habits of his ancestors."52 They could not, one principal reported "stand firm" or "overcome this tendency to drift with the current that carries so many of their own people."53
The department and the churches recognized the problem — one that cut to the very heart of their strategy, blunting the usefulness of the schools and in fact so calling into question the industrial school model that, in 1922, it was abandoned in favour of the simpler boarding school, thereafter called a residential school. They recognized it but, as would be the case so often in the history of the system when it faced difficulties, they did very little apart from discuss it and formulate proposals.54
In 1898, the deputy superintendent general, James Smart, recognizing the impossibility of countering the drift back to reserves, decided to make a virtue out of necessity. He redesigned the system, supplementing its original emphasis on the enfranchisement of individual graduates with the additional goal of developing the communities to which the graduate returned. It would now be the object "to have each pupil impart what he has gained to his less fortunate fellows, and in fact become a centre of improving influence for the elevation of his race".55 The graduates could be, the principal of the Regina industrial school predicted, a "great moral force in the uplift of the life of the reserve", providing "an object lesson" in farming, gardening, housekeeping, the care of the sick and "maintaining sanitary conditions about their homes."56
By 1901, the department had initiated an experiment, the File Hills colony on the Peepeekeesis reserve, designed to release the graduates' uplifting developmental potential. The colony, under the close supervision of the agent W.M. Graham, was a model settlement of 15 former pupils, each allocated an 80-acre lot, horses, farming equipment, lumber and hardware for houses. Departmental expenses were to be recouped from the young farmers when they achieved an adequate income and the funds transferred to "help others make a like start."57
Reports on the colony were promising in 1902 but in ensuing years they were much less so,58 with the graduates described as being "all the way from 'lazy and indifferent' to 'making favourable or satisfactory progress'".59 Reflecting these assessments, or perhaps because the experiment was, as the historian Olive Dickason has suggested, "too costly for the budget-minded department",60 Duncan Campbell Scott chose not to extend it. Instead, he merely called upon principals and agents to co-ordinate the return of graduates to reserves and, so that they should not be thrown "entirely upon [their] own resources", he announced a modest start-up program — offering graduates "a gift of oxen and implements...and the granting of a loan which must be repaid within a certain time, and for which an agreement is signed by the pupil."61
These loans substituted for what could have been a more ambitious attempt to resolve the problem of the graduates.62 As the United Church's Association of Indian Workers in Saskatchewan pointed out in 1930, there continued to be "a missing link that should be forged into the present system along the line of 'Follow up work'."63 Without such a link, without any effective "control over the graduates",64 they were destined to return to the reserves, where rather than being that "great moral force",65 they would fall under "the depressing influence of those whose habits still largely pertain to savage life".66 For those ex-pupils and for the communities, assimilation would remain an ever-distant departmental goal.
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