This article is dedicated to my many friends who are Indian Residential School survivors, their families and friends, and to all who lost their lives or have been affected by what happened in those schools and who feel the effects now of the children who are being recovered across Canada. I stand with you. I commit to creating the spaces the your stories to be told. I commit to listen and learn, and to do better.
There comes a point in all our lives when we hit a wall and say to ourselves, “there must be more than this. There must be something better.” For me, it was in 2007 when I began meeting with Indigenous leaders, health directors and community members in their space on reserves across Saskatchewan. I was a new manager, quite out of my element in some ways, but committed to doing my job at a level of excellence while honouring those I was called to serve – the First Nations people of Saskatchewan.
I was very fortunate in those days. My manager was a Cree woman who grew up on a reserve in Saskatchewan. She had over twenty years of experience in government by the time I came along. She was well-respected by community members, health professionals, counsellors and Chiefs throughout and beyond our province. When I became a manager and would begin travelling to First Nations communities, she endorsed me as a good person who they could trust.
Off I went to make the world a better place. I did all the things I had been taught by the bureaucrats of the day. I dressed to the nines, as I had always seen this as a sign of respect to the people I would meet with. I had shiny new pens, notebooks, briefing material and glossy policies for referencing during the meetings. I even wore cufflinks and coordinated my ties with my glasses frames and socks. These were important things to me. It is what I had been taught. I was, after all, entering the third stage of Janet Hagberg’s stages of power – the stage of Power by Achievement. Symbols meant everything to me.
My role was laid out by my employer quite clearly. I was to meet with health professionals, leaders and others in First Nations communities and bring knowledge that could assist them in making decisions for better access to health. But I found that I spent a lot of my time responding to questions and expressed needs by nosing into government policies and saying all too often words such as “no,” “not possible,” “cannot” and “will not.” I found that my responses closed down conversations and did not result in success. This did not sit well with me. But then, one day, something happened. I grew thick skin and dug in, refusing to betray the policies and procedures I had grown to believe in.
Until one day.
I driving to a remote community at the end of a long gravel road. Some would say it was a highway. Upon arrival in the community, I discovered that I had obtained a flat tire somewhere along the way. My meeting was scheduled for two hours. I was supposed to be out and on my way by noon. The Health Director who met me when I arrived was very kind and helpful. She made a call and assured me that someone was coming to take care of my tire for me. We went inside the multi-purpose building for our meeting. I met with the Health Director and Counsellor who held the health portfolio.
As we began to talk about policies, access to health concerns for this remote community, and eligible health benefits, an Elder from the community walked in. We paused, and I was introduced to a wonderful woman who began to tell me her story. And I listened. I heard of her grief, sorrow, hardship, experiences – all in great detail. Around 11:30 a.m. some other people began to arrive. They were bringing pots of homemade soup, bannock, roast beef, and many fixings. As was the custom in their community, they routinely provided lunch for their Elders. I was invited to stay and eat. My tire was not fixed yet anyway.
The conversations over lunch carried over into the afternoon. My policy manual and notebooks stayed in the corner, and I listened. I really listened. I listened to understand, and left behind my canned responses. Quite unintentionally, I created the space for stories to be told. Community members continued to arrive, and when I finally looked around the room, I realized it was filled with people who had gathered to also listen. Elders, Knowledge Keepers, their caregivers and children, nurses and other community members, even the Chief dropped by to say hello. And here I was, the government guy who was not acting like a government guy that they were used to.
At the end of the meeting, the Counsellor shared with me the impact I had on the community that day. She thanked me for my time and genuine listening, for my integrity and caring spirit. On behalf of the Chief, she invited me to come back anytime.
On the way out of the community that day, I recognized that something had changed. I now know that I had hit the wall that exists beyond achieving for my own sake, the power by achievement and symbol with which I had become so comfortable. I had been challenged to grow beyond the role I was playing and embrace who I really was. I began a spiritual journey inward that has changed everything. But in order to embrace the true me, some things needed to change. I had listened to understand, and the people who told their stories felt heard and appreciated. I felt good about what happened that day, and wanted more of it. In order to grow, I needed to shed my thick skin.
Janet Hagberg said “The end point of leadership is not just the position of power we reach, but the continual change and deepening we experience that makes a difference in our lives, our work, our world. Our leadership journeys are only at midpoint when we have achieved a position of power.”[1] My experience in that remote First Nations community that day marked a turning point in my life. I decided to commit my time in communities to listening to the stories in order to understand how the policies could work in the favour of the Indigenous people I was supposed to be helping.
The end point of leadership is not just the position of power we reach, but the continual change and deepening we experience that makes a difference in our lives, our work, our world. Our leadership journeys are only at midpoint when we have achieved a position of power. – Janet Hagberg
Part of my nature is that people feel they can trust me even though they may barely know me. In the years to come, I found that when I traveled to First Nations communities, Knowledge Keepers and Elders would share their stories and wisdom with me. They were attracted to my desire to listen and learn. They knew I was someone they could trust. As I listened, I learned that beyond my fundamental Christian religious beliefs and understandings, there existed a spiritual understanding at the foundation of all things, connecting all things including we as humans. As I continued to let go of my own preconceived notions, I continued to shed my skin and grow, further understanding the deeper wisdom that is found at the core of Indigenous spirituality, beyond the reach of any religion. But I am still in the middle of the journey and have much to learn.
My practice is to now shed my skin before I step into these opportunities to listen and learn. I have been referred to as a skinless person over these years by more than one person I have encountered on my journey to deeper understanding. I once sat with a community Elder to shared his reflection that he has seen me quite deeply feel the emotions being expressed in a room, both said and unsaid. This has been a difficult and painful part of my learning, but I will not give it up – ever.
In the process of shedding my skin in this way, I realized one day that my new skin had changed. Somewhere along the way, I shed my old skin and embraced my value as a human created to be in a supportive community with other humans, and to faithfully know and follow my core values. My skin is no longer thick and hard, but pliable and healthy. I am no longer up against the wall I experienced years ago as I was driving home on that dusty northern dirt highway. I have given up my canned responses and embraced the fact that I really do not know.
I do not know what it is like to live on a First Nations reserve in Canada.
I do not know what it is like to attend an Indian Residential School in Canada.
I do not know what it is like to be taken away from my parents as a child. I do not know what it is like as a parent to have my children taken away from me. I do not know what it is like for my child to never come home again because she died at the hands of those who were supposed to care for and nurture these young lives.
There are many things I do not know and will not experience. Yet I feel compelled today to understand. Mother Earth calls me to listen to the stories she is allowing to come forth, and to respond not with canned answers like, “you’re in my thoughts and prayers.” I must commit to doing better, loving more, respecting more intentionally, and assuming less.
I am acutely aware today that in the early 20th century my grandparents came across the ocean to Canada as settlers, and settle they did. The land they care for today is land that the government took and sold as a possession. I take some solace in knowing that my family cares for the land honourably, and I am also learning to walk in these ways. My journey is far from complete. I am somewhere in the middle.
As an Edgewalker, the events unfolding in Cowessess and other First Nations communities across the landscape in these days remind me that I must continue to grow. It is time once again, for me, for all of us, to shed our skin in order to make room for more. More wisdom, knowledge, understanding, compassion and willingness to stand with my friends and colleagues who have been grieving for far too long.
I am reminded today of the lyrics in Rich Mullin’s Calling Out Your Name. I believe these words are true for us in these days.
From the place where morning gathers
You can look sometimes forever ’til you see
What time may never know
What time may never know
How the Lord takes by its corners this old world
And shakes us forward and shakes us free
To run wild with the hope
To run wild with the hopeThe hope that this thirst will not last long
Rich Mullins (1991). From the Album “The World As Best As I Remember It, Volume 1.
That it will soon drown in the song not sung in vain
And feel the thunder in the sky
I see the sky about to rain
And I hear the prairies calling out Your name
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaNwTYJrYtA
It is time once again for all of us to shed our skin. Creation today calls for mercy and healing. The earth has swallowed enough children, the sky has bled enough orange. The sky and earth, and all creation are watching and waiting for these young ones to be laid to rest in traditional ways, for their spirits to be set free after so many years. I stand with my friends. I stand and watch and wait. The four key words of leadership are “How can I help?” It’s time to listen to the answer, understand and respond to the need.
I am indebted to Lara Dawn Photography for the featured image in this blog, and for the sculpture photo. I am indebted to William Staudt for the sculpture appearing in the sculpture photo.
Donovan Mutschler, MA, MC
[1] Janet O. Hagberg (2002). “Real Power: Stages of Personal Power in Organizations, Third Edition”, p.273, Sheffield Publishing
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