Museum celebrates horror of First Nations Struggles
I think there is something inherently perverse about the Canadian Museum for Human Rights
The project to define much of what happened to First Nations peoples
after European contact as a genocide is, of course, much bigger than
the museum. Last July, a potent shot was fired through an op-ed column
in the Toronto Star. “It is time for Canadians to face the sad truth.
Canada engaged in a deliberate policy of attempted genocide against
First Nations people,” wrote Phil Fontaine, former national chief of the
Assembly of First Nations, along with two active leaders of the Jewish
community, Bernie Farber and Dr. Michael Dan. Their case was based on
the residential school system and the government’s unwillingness to
prevent mass deaths from tuberculosis, as well as some recently
come-to-light documentation on nutrition experiments in which
residential school children were all but starved. These, wrote Dan,
remind him of “Nazi medicine.” The authors consider it self-evident that
Canada’s treatment of First Nations peoples should be deemed
“genocide,” as defined by the United Nations in 1948. Dan says that as a
physician, he takes a clinical approach: “The UN definition is there,
so you look; something either fits the criteria or doesn’t. Many things
that happened to Native people fit the criteria.”
While this
position is shared by growing numbers in academia and media, it carries
profound implications. Such a reassessment of Canada’s history is
troubling to many, not least because it equates perpetrators such as the
Nazis, Stalin and Ottoman Turks with our own Canadian government and
its colonial predecessors — ourselves and our ancestors. Even our
churches, by running the residential schools, committed evil while
believing they were doing good.
In our world, genocide is
absolutely the worst thing you can say about an action undertaken by
individuals or groups. So atrocious, in fact, that many historic events
that carry the characteristics of genocide struggle to — or fail to —
get named as such. Behind all this is a substantial problem with the
word itself. The horrific things that have happened to peoples
throughout history went without a name until Raphael Lemkin, a
Polish-born lawyer who lost his whole family to the Holocaust, combined
the Greek word
genos, meaning “race or tribe,” and the Latin –
cide,
meaning “killing.” He coined the term “genocide” and declared that it
occurs when your group is targeted, not because of what you have done,
but because of who you are.
Though we normally think of genocide
as exterminating a people en masse within a short timeframe (and those
recognized by the Canadian government all fit this description), the UN
definition is quite a bit broader. Killing groups incrementally or
destroying their identity by deliberately demolishing their culture also
qualifies as genocide (see sidebar). But ironically, formalizing
genocide as a crime seemed to augment rather than solve problems. In
1948, after much lobbying and debate, the newly formed United Nations
passed a resolution declaring genocide as something to be both prevented
and punished. Many countries, however, resisted the treaty, including
the United States, whose Senate took nearly four decades to ratify it.
This was possibly because those who failed to prevent genocide were also
at risk of punishment.
Another problem: which events would be
allowed to claim the name? What happened to the Armenians at the hands
of the Turks in 1915 was retroactively termed a genocide — though still
much protested by Turkey. Meanwhile, whether the violent slaughter in
Rwanda in 1994 was actually genocide or simply a horrible chaos
continues to be disputed in some circles. One issue is that the term
itself has been placed on such an elevated tier of evil that its use is
both jealously guarded and jealously coveted — franchised out, if you
will, to specific victims.
In her 2002 Pulitzer Prize-winning book
A Problem From Hell: America and the Age of Genocide,
Harvard scholar Samantha Power (now U.S. ambassador to the UN)
describes how for almost the entire 100 days it took the Rwandan
catastrophe to play itself out, the UN Security Council and the various
arms of the U.S. government were locked in a semantic debate about
whether to use “the G-word.”
“Genocide” is a legal as well as a
descriptive term. It is duelled over between activists on one side and
scholars on the other. To academics, who strive to be rigorous about
history, perpetrators’ levels of intent are important, as is the notion
that no one genocide looks exactly the same as the next. William
Schabas, a Canadian-born international law scholar at Middlesex
University in the United Kingdom, told a CBC radio interviewer that the
term carries “a special stigma that distorts the debate.”
This
is a view shared by the first academic I approached for an interview, a
historian who hastened to tell me the topic has become so politicized he
didn’t wish to go on record. Like Schabas, he does not deny that awful
things happened to Native peoples in Canada. But he argues that using
the term “genocide” makes it difficult to look at the awful things with
precision: conventional wisdom and political correctness take over. The
resulting chill prevents historians from examining the implications of
these events.
Applying the term “genocide” to what happened in North America goes back four decades to the 1973 book
The Genocide Machine in Canada: The Pacification of the North, by Robert Davis and Mark Zannis. Other books came later:
American Holocaust: Columbus and the Conquest of the New World (1993), by David E. Stannard; and
Accounting for Genocide: Canada’s Bureaucratic Assault on Aboriginal People (2003), by Dean Neu and Richard Therrien.
Andrew
Woolford, a professor of criminology at the University of Manitoba
specializing in genocide studies, predicts the term’s use will continue
to grow, particularly among Canadian academics. In 2004, he was the only
Canadian scholar presenting at an international genocide conference;
nine years later, there were seven papers on Canada. “There is a
generational shift, where younger academics want to look at Canada
through the critical genocide-studies lens,” he says. Still, he worries
that people will fear being labelled denialists should they disagree
with even a part of the thesis presented. “The role of scholarship
should be to complicate rather than simplify things.”
On the
positive side, Woolford argues that should the idea of a First Nations
genocide become generally accepted, the results would be beneficial.
“For the survivors, recognition is important. From a more general
perspective, my angle is that thinking about ourselves as a nation born
out of genocide gives us a point to reinvent ourselves, to think about
how we can decolonize Canada and be different as a nation.”
In
an interview, Dan, one of the Star editorial’s authors, suggests that
using the term should be about healing. As a Jew, he says, he has spent a
lot of time thinking about genocide. “In Canada, we have trouble
processing the idea we are capable of it. It doesn’t go with our being
peacekeepers, a nice country that is apologizing all the time. But in
order to heal, we have to acknowledge that we did this.” Fontaine sees
acceptance of genocide as closing a gaping circle. “Some people say it’s
going to be just another money grab,” he allows. “Not so. It was never
intended as something that would extract more money from the government.
But there has to be a series of conversations with Canadians so
together we can write the missing chapter in Canadian history, one that
would have to include this notion of genocide.”
Something else
about genocide is the thorny question of responsibility and guilt. As
Hannah Arendt famously wrote of the Holocaust — an analysis quite
possibly appropriate for the Aboriginal situation in Canada — yes,
racist policy, though sometimes couched in the language of good
intentions, bears a basic responsibility. But the majority of
destructive actions are carried out by people (in Canada’s case, a lot
of church people) simply doing their jobs, blind (sometimes wilfully) to
the implications of their actions. This, as Arendt put it, is the
banality of evil.
Former United Church moderator Very Rev.
Stanley McKay says that the idea of a Native people’s genocide is
difficult for our society. “We are completely caught up in the Canadian
concept that somehow we were doing good; the church in particular had
the interests of the First Nations in our minds and hearts when we did
these things.” The first Aboriginal moderator of the United Church, now
retired north of Winnipeg, McKay says that though it will encounter
strong resistance, the project to identify some actions as genocide is
important.
“Years ago, those of us who lived on reserves and
went to residential schools experienced racism without having any idea
what to do,” he says. “We had no idea we had rights to have things
different.” When asked if the church has a role in the emerging
discussion, he answers quickly, “Yes, a fundamental role. The
credibility of the Christian community is on the line as this
information becomes more widely available and people can no longer claim
ignorance. The future of the church rests on its capacity to engage and
develop right relations.”
Rev. James Scott, General Council’s
officer for residential schools for the past 12 years, has observed the
term “genocide” gain traction over time, with “more Aboriginal people
now using the word.” Last fall, his staff flagged the importance of
having a discussion about the use of the term within the church. “We
need to move as a settler society to grapple with the breadth and depth
of what harm we did,” he says. Still, he advises caution. “‘Genocide’ is
a very incendiary word that sometimes might be a barrier [to] having
people talk about important things that really happened. If you scare
people away, they won’t want to hear the truth.”
Rev. Maggie
McLeod, the United Church’s executive minister for the Aboriginal
Ministries Circle, recalls the leaders of her home community using the
terminology “cultural genocide” to describe “the historical reality of
the destruction of culture and language.” But she says that such
language, when used in other circles, “to my surprise and disappointment
was considered to be carrying the impact a little too far.”
Says
Scott, “There may be gradations of how blunt we can be, but those
gradations need to move forward. We need to learn and help others
understand the profound brokenness we created.”
Everybody
struggles in this manner. In Winnipeg, museum staffers wrestle with what
they see as their proper responsibility. “If the museum were to use the
word ‘genocide,’ it would make a declaration it has no right to make,”
museum spokesperson Maureen Fitzhenry told the Winnipeg Free Press. “We
are not a court that adjudicates,” Clint Curle, head of stakeholder
relations, tells me, “but a place to hold the conversation. We believe
this is our proper and also welcome role. Education may be more
effective than adjudication in helping Canadians grapple with the human
rights issues in our past. That is also more in keeping with the
museum’s capacity.”
What should Canadians feel? Should we be
appalled by efforts to lump us in with history’s vilest regimes, or
should we welcome a blunter interpretation of our national story? Is it
important and necessary that we experience a greater shame than we
already carry with regard to the history of Canada’s relations with
First Nations peoples?