MELFORT — Hundreds gathered in Melfort to honour residential school survivors and victims during Orange Shirt Day, holding each other’s hands as they walked together in a circle for a round dance.
“The orange shirt round dance and the wearing of the orange shirt is to honour residential school survivors and those who did not make it home,” said Bobbi Gray, director of programs and services for Cumberland College. “The round dance, a dance of friendship is an opportunity to come together in the spirit of truth and reconciliation, wrapping ourselves around the message that every child matters.”
Last year was Melfort’s first Orange Shirt Day, and this year Gray estimated the event drew about 200 more participants.
“It warmed my heart to see people are wrapping themselves around the message,” Gray said.
Orange Shirt Day was held on Sept. 28.
Residential school survivor Evelyn Burns was in attendance.
“In order for people to really understand us, where we’re coming from, to be able to listen to our story and from there they can learn and maybe help us out and just learn what we’re doing with our people and our healing journey,” Burns said. “It was a hard journey. It took me nine years to be where I am today, where I can say forgive me, I forgive the ones that hurt us and I forgive the ones at home when I came home and we were little strangers.”
Burns is now 73. She became partially deaf as a result of physical abuse from teachers at the residential school she was sent to.
“You didn’t get scolded. You see my ears? I got trouble with my ears,” Burns said. “I’m wearing a hearing aid because of so many hits on the head, and I always hear humming in my ear. I’m deaf, and that’s how I came home.”
She remembers teachers putting children into burning hot showers, where they cried from the heat hitting their bodies.
“They pushed us in a shower, and we never seen a shower in our life. We used a wash pump to have a bath. And there were a bunch of girls put into the shower and we were all crying because of the hot water, and then when we come out of there they put this white powder on our hair, our body, they said we had lice ... I remember when they ripped off my clothes, my moccasins. And they put them in a box and never seen them again.”
She still remembers the sounds of other children crying in the evening.
“I tried to commit suicide. There was no love. There was nobody there to say, ‘Oh my, let me touch your boo boo,’ ‘I love you.’ There was no such thing in a residential school.”
According to Burns, residential schools didn’t just affect the youth placed there, but also their families and parents.
“I lost all my family because nine years I didn’t see them there, then I came back a strange person and I was in culture shock,” she said. “My granny, they never used to drink, and alcohol was numbness ... I want them to forgive a lot of my people too. Try and understand them because there are still a lot of people out there who haven’t dealt with their story and you have to in order to go ahead.”
Growing up, Burns grew to hate her mom, believing she threw her away.
“But she couldn’t stay home, because there were no kids, and then when alcohol came into play, it separated. So when I came home there was no mom, and she died soon after. She died here in Melfort, they found her north and stuff here. Wrapped in a blanket and run over. So I never said ‘I’m sorry’ to my mom until about 10 years, when I sat by her grave.”
Burns said growing up without parents affected her own parenting ability.
“I wasn’t a very good parent. Well, I didn’t know how to love ... I didn’t know how to hold my babies. It was all anger, anger. Then 1978 my old man and I quit drinking. We thought it was the alcohol, but it wasn’t. We kept fighting.”
In 1980 she saw a sign for an inner children workshop. Participating in it helped her recover.
For white Canadians, she asks them for acceptance and to understand where the community comes from.
“One of the things that has to be done to us is be able to accept us for what we are, and to accept that, honestly,” Burns said. “Maybe we wouldn’t be like that if everything worked out good, because a lot of these young people are fighting and killing and drugging and stealing ... A lot of them didn’t deal with what they had at home. The parents sent to residential schools, we didn’t know how to love, we didn’t know how to hug our kids. My daughter has a hard time forgiving.”
Burns recalled something her youngest son, who is now 53, said to her.
“He said, ‘Mom, you’re a good mother. I was the cleanest kid on the block and I went to bed in a clean bed. I never had a louse. You were a good mother. But you were never a mommy. I don’t remember you holding me and hugging me.’”
Burns has not applied for the Indian Resident-ial Schools Settlement Agreement payout for residential school survivors who were physically or sexually abused.
“They can’t repair what’s been done,” she said. “I lost everything. My mom, my culture, everything. That’s why I try to help other people understand us.”
Burns said if she was face-to-face with one of the teachers from the residential schools today, she would not know what to say.
“I don’t know if I would be able to say anything to them because they can’t ever repair what they done to me.”