The Children - Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc

Her hands idly toyed with the bracelet on her wrist as she told her story to us. Not a nervous movement, but an outlet for the overwhelming emotions the day had brought to her, and as her story unfolded, I couldn’t help but notice that her hands grew steadier with the telling. Surrounded by family and members of other tribes she drew strength from them, and by the conclusion of her story she was proudly holding her drum, her other hand gripped firmly by a young man who had come to pay his respects to the two hundred and fifteen souls of indigenous children torn from their families, at a residential school, just as the elder had been taken to in her youth.

“It would be the same” the young man said, “It would be the same if the children were from any nation” I spoke up, unusual for the photographer in these situations, as it’s the job of the journalist to ask the questions “Do you mind expanding on that?”

He said “It’s the job of everyone to protect the children. All of us. And we failed here. We’ve failed across the country, and we should all feel the weight of that today”

The words hung heavy in the air, as everyone sat for a moment in silence, measuring them in their own way.

The woman gripped his hand tighter and asked for help standing, between us we got her to her feet. She patted our shoulders in thanks, and with a slow shuffle made her way over to the monument, surrounded by offerings. Hands that had seen a lifetime of hardship, and years of love, reached out and touched people as she passed, offering the words of comfort that only an elder can.

Stories are told in the moments between moments. And hopefully we will all learn from the telling of this one, a story of the Tk'emlúps te Secwépemc, held in the hands of a nation.

Photo shot for the Toronto Star Newspaper.