In the face of darkness

A man stops me on the street and says
"Don't be worried that I'm an old Indian"
and I am stunned
to feel the prejudices
I thought I didn't have
being thrown in my face        

I wrote this poem a long time ago, after an unexpected encounter with an Aboriginal man.?He really did say “don’t be worried that I’m an old Indian,” and I really was stunned to recognize that in the moments before he spoke, I carried a racist view of him. ?I don’t recall why he stopped me that day, perhaps it was to ask the time or to seek directions.?Regardless, it remains vividly imprinted in memory.

Before this experience, I believed I viewed and treated all people equally. What this encounter illuminated for me was this: even though I had deeply held values related to equity, diversity and inclusion, there was still a part of me that made assumptions based on an individual’s appearance, and my perception of their background and history. This is what disturbed me so much about the interaction; this is what surprised me.?It was a highly personal and very important learning moment.?

I understand, conceptually speaking, individual, institutional, and systemic racism, and I am heartened my daughter has learned these terms and talks about these issues in school.?I recognize leaders and others with privilege have power and authority, and I know these are important tools of change for combatting racism. At the same time, and with great respect for the critical institutional and systemic work that needs to be done, I also believe real and lasting change depends on the actions of individuals, one encounter at a time.?

It is this belief that has guided my interactions ever since the day I wrote the poem above.?It is this belief that led to me taking more risks with my teaching, as I listened to and learned from the Aboriginal students in a social studies teacher education course I taught at the University of Winnipeg many years ago.

I knew some of the Aboriginal students in the course had had very difficult K-12 school experiences.?I also knew they would leave the university teacher education program and take up the critical work of education, and I had a deep desire to bridge the traditional university environment with the lived experience and world views of these students. But I had no idea how. My teacher education training had not prepared me for this moment, and I was afraid of doing it wrong.

Part way through the term, an Aboriginal student asked to perform an honour song to complete an assignment.?I had been under pressure from university administration to adopt more traditional assessment methods such as multiple choice exams, but this was a social studies methods course, and the sharing of culture through song fit with the learning outcomes. ?I agreed, believing in my mind, heart and gut it was a risk worth taking - despite the critique I might receive from administration.?The day the student confidently and courageously shared the song, and spoke of its meaning, was a powerful day of learning for me, and for the non-Aboriginal students in the room.?

All of this leads me to today.?I have been spending a great deal of time pondering how to respond to the ongoing and tragic legacy of Canada’s residential school system, and the discoveries of mass grave sites and unmarked graves.

It is difficult to know what to say and what to do in the face of such darkness. This is an uncomfortable place to be.?Like my teaching experience so many years ago, I don’t want to do it wrong, and my education and experience has not prepared me for this moment.?But I know discomfort can be a powerful teacher if one is willing to stay still and listen.?And so, I am staying still, and listening.?

On this journey, I am guided by many teachers, including the wise, courageous, and caring leader of NAIT’s N?s?hkamatotan Centre, Derek Thunder.?It is Derek who first talked to me of the patience required to create meaningful and lasting change.?It is Derek who encouraged me to seek out a spirit animal, for me, the deer, who teaches one to walk softly, listen intently, and nudge gently, lessons I return to repeatedly.

My learning, and the learning of the broader community, continues. I am committed to using my power and authority, along with my personal voice and my stories, to support meaningful and lasting change for Aboriginal people. In this work, I will walk softly, listen intently, and nudge gently.?And, when required, I will speak up and lead firmly.?

I opened this writing with an acknowledgement of a truth: despite my best intentions, I carried a racist view of another. Since that time, I have been doing the personal work of reconciliation, one interaction at a time.?I humbly invite others to do the same, so we may create a brighter future, together.

Sue Fitzsimmons is an experienced executive leader, writer and artist who has spent her career cultivating excellence in leadership, strategy, and communication.