A work project that became so much more

There are certain lines that just stick with you. Sometimes a quote from a movie or a poem. Other times a lyric from a song, or advice from someone you served in a job will follow you in life. For me, one of those lines came from Richard Peddie and the result has proven to be a life changing experience as I wrap up an incredible three-year project working with Indigenous Sport & Wellness Ontario.

“In order to lead, you have to smell the popcorn.”

It was a “Richardism” that the former head of MLSE preached about leadership and the duty to engage all aspects of an organization in order to learn and succeed. For me and our team that managed the North American Indigenous Games (NAIG), and subsequent legacy event called the global Masters Indigenous Games, the motivation came from a trip north, six months before the international event, and we returned home as different people.

While we didn’t have a community relations budget in the original NAIG Games plan, it was vital for the Host Society to take this rare opportunity to spread the word about the NAIG Movement, play an active role in Reconciliation and use the occasion to bond as employees by gaining a better understanding of what we were building. NAIG wasn’t just an event we were told, this was a chance to save lives. It’s not often such a profound statement can be made while working in sport.

Our northern destination … Pikangikum First Nation.

The journey itself was fascinating. When I say a northern destination, I’m not talking about Highway 7 for my GTA friends. I’m not referring to Algonquin Park or Timmins, Ontario. The City of Thunder Bay is even really south of this Indigenous community. Look up Pikangikum First Nation on a map to get a sense of its location compared to where you live. It’s more than 1,600 kilometres from where I write this post.

So we flew from Toronto to Winnipeg, rented a jeep and filled it with fresh produce before making the nine-hour drive back into Northern Ontario. Pikangikum First Nation is a fly-in community. The last two-plus hours of our journey were spent driving on either winter roads or a frozen lake. I would describe our winter road driving experience as maneuvering a jeep through a frozen forest, and the lake driving was well, advancing a two-tonne moving vehicle on a frozen body of water, with the sunroof open in February, just in case you hear a crack and get wet.

Before approaching the lake, we were stopped by local authorities to ensure we were not carrying alcohol because the location is a dry community.

Pikangikum First Nation has a population of nearly 3,000 people, a majority of whom are under the age of 18 years old. There is a police station, a small grocery store (where a stalk of celery was more than $10), a Chinese restaurant, a makeshift Tim Hortons, an airport with a gravel runway, and Eenchokay Birchstick School – a beautiful full-range educational institution with EIGHT Kindergarten classes. This school was the sight of all our programming, Team Ontario tryouts, meals we cooked and the community’s first PowWow in more than 16 years. There is one more statistic to share about this First Nation…

Pikangikum has been named the suicide capital of the world. Death is a cloud that rarely leaves this incredible community alone.

Community workers provided our team with important tips in order to prepare for the culture shock of visiting a remote First Nation. The initial behaviourial trait that hit me was the lack of eye contact by everyone. These beautiful children, when introduced to our team, would not look at us, kept their heads down and wouldn’t smile. An obvious sign of generational abuse. I was a stranger. A white male stranger. Regardless of my good intentions, I was not welcomed by some and feared by others. I never felt so unwanted before.

What is that?

With about 200 children participating in various sport camps, Team Ontario NAIG tryouts and cultural programming, we were responsible for helping manage all the events and prepare the meals – with the help of the children – for everyone to eat. While I was chopping various pieces of fruit, a young boy walked up to me, pointing at some food and asked, “What is that?”

I looked up with a na?ve chuckle, thinking the kid was joking, and informed him the fruit I was cutting was a pear. The straight-faced boy followed up with another question, asking me what it tastes like and that he has never seen one before.

It’s a pear! We are in Ontario. Not Ethiopia. Not Haiti. Not a war-stricken country. It’s our own damn province! These children have never experienced the sensation of a juicy pear hitting your taste buds. The young man reluctantly grabbed one. He took a bite, then took two, and continued down the food line with a big smile. I could hear him and others talking about the wide range of curious fruits and vegetables. My heart sunk.

A Badminton Revelation

Later that day, I helped the coaching staff with volleyball and badminton tryouts. A young girl needed a partner on the court and so I joined her in a badminton match. The teenager, despite lacking any athletic coordination, was a pretty good player. Her aggression made for terrific net play and her sheer determination prevented the birdie from hitting the floor. She wore a wool sweater, dirty and ripped jeans and no shoes on the gym floor. As our game continued and she started to feel warm, she looked around and rolled up her sleeves to reveal dozens of crusty red lines. My little badminton partner was a cutter. And she was not the only one in the gym. In fact, looking around, I observed more cutters than non-cutters. I honestly felt like I was on a different planet. For the rest of the trip, my emotions took over and the sense of despair enveloped my every thought.

Each day, when the programming schedule was complete, the children would get ready to leave. Our team wore our embroidered made-for-Arctic NAIG coats, heavy hats and gloves with thick winter boots. It was -20C. Half of the kids were leaving the school without a jacket, in the frozen Northern darkness. I prayed each night that they would return the next day.

One of them did not.

A young soul took his own life shortly before we were boarding a small plane to Deer Lake First Nation – a day trip 100km north of Pikangikum for a school assembly.

Our OPP-assigned community consultant ran to our plane as the five of us colleagues were walking up its stairs. She was emotionally devastated but wanted to make sure we knew that the work everyone was doing was saving lives, even as we lost another child. Were we really helping at all? We sat silent together on the plane for a few minutes, trying to gather our thoughts and put on a welcoming look before presenting to hundreds of kids at the assembly. It was a morning I will never forget until the day I die.

Many times on the trip I would catch myself thinking about my own youth. I spent much of my childhood living in government-assisted housing in Fort Erie, Ontario. I walked 2.2 kilometres to school each day after delivering three dozen Toronto Star newspapers in various types of Lake-effect weather. Living in dozens of homes before the age of 14, I thought I had it tough because I ate a lot of Kraft dinner and canned food, and occasionally drank powdered milk. After returning from Pikangikum, I travelled back to my place of upbringing and thanked God for a blessed childhood.

As we were leaving the school to begin our long journey home to southern Ontario, the children gathered around us at the doors and sang us an Honour Song. With smiles on their faces, this time they proudly looked us in the eyes singing in their Native tongue. A final gift from these precious kids, who had already given us more than we could ever have imagined. We couldn’t be more different, but our combined love for sport and earned mutual respect created an unbreakable bond.

It was these four days in Pikangikum that defined the rest of our Games mission. The sleepless nights and pre-Games stress was managed as we reminded each other of the trip we took together.

• Because of Pikangikum, the Toronto edition of the NAIG was the most successful in history.
• Because of Pikangikum, just 14 full-time staff and 2,000 volunteers staged a world-class event for 5,000 participants with only 370 days to prepare.
• Because of Pikangikum, we delivered the largest Games Legacy fund.
• Because of Pikangikum, we earned historic media coverage for the event and the #Team88 legacy campaign – aimed at raising awareness of the TRC through the power of sport – was part of the national dialogue.
• Because of Pikangikum, an adult-based Masters Games was created with regional events to be scheduled in remote communities.
• Because of Pikangikum, lives were changed, for the good.

Building Beyond a Games

I am very grateful for the opportunity to learn from so many incredible Indigenous leaders throughout Turtle Island, to play a small role, in bringing forward the conversation about Reconciliation and for hosting an event on par with any other non-Olympic Games staged in Canada.

Make no mistake, being a white male helping lead the first NAIG managed by both Indigenous and non-Indigenous people was incredibly challenging. Despite thinking I was being very respectful, and possessed a genuine desire to learn, I was not welcomed in some settings, and it was difficult at first for me to understand. There were some Indigenous people who were plotting to try and make our Games fail and referred to the Toronto event as the “White Games” because of our involvement. It angered me. The only thing that mattered was that 5,000 athletes were safe and provided an environment to succeed. While we tried to avoid the politics, it was nearly impossible.

I am never going to fully grasp the tragedies of the past. Nor will I fully understand the complexities of politics between Indigenous communities and the Government of Canada, or the politics within First Nations, Metis and Inuit councils. However, all of us Canadians need to be better educated on our horrific past and pledge to work together in a respectful manner.

Rarely are you provided an opportunity to work on implementing a legacy plan you create. For the past 18 months, I was fortunate to lead the initiation of the NAIG Legacy Plan with Indigenous Sport and Wellness Ontario. This plan included the launch of a global Masters Indigenous Games (MIG), cementing a five-year broadcast deal with CBC (thanks Greg Stremlaw), and completing a multi-year agreement with the City of Ottawa and Ottawa Tourism to host 2021 and 2023 MIG, in addition to the 2021 Ontario Indigenous Summer Games, and implement an Urban Indigenous Sport Strategy. I’m excited to see the great ISWO team take these legacy initiatives to the next level.

Miigwech

The day before the Closing Ceremony of NAIG in Toronto, there was a group suicide back in Pikangikum. While were we planning the end of the Games, running ourselves on adrenaline only, the community was burying five more children. We struggled coming to grips with the reality. Our chairman called the Chief and asked permission to honour the fallen youth in a respectful manner. The result was naming the three athletes and one manager from Pikangikum as flag bearers for the final event of the Games. We all cried. There was nothing left in the tank.

A week after the Games, one of our board members received a note from the Chief who wanted to let us know that those four flag bearers returned home to a community celebration. Usually they are honoured only during their funeral, he said. These kids, were now local heroes. Mission Accomplished.

A project that started as an opportunity to lead a major multi-sport Games, turned into more than I can ever describe. Whatever role I decide to embrace next, I hope it provides me with even a fraction of the personal transformation Indigenous Sport & Wellness provided me. To my amazing colleagues, community and corporate partners, Government liaisons, and mostly, those incredible kids ... Miigwech.

Sport really can change lives. I just didn’t know it would be mine.