Laws of Matriarch

I don't want to feel scared of being the next murdered women .   I Don’t Want to Be a Statistic I don’t want to feel the chill of fear,   Waking in the night, haunted by the whispers—   The cries of our sisters, the missing and murdered,   Echoing through the shadows, lingering in the air.   You may see the #MMIW tag,   Scrolling past it like a forgotten story,   But for us, it’s not just a hashtag;   It’s a reality, a reminder of lives lost,   Of dreams shattered,   Of women taken,   Their voices silenced.   For years, I’ve watched the arguments unfold,   Organizations and communities debating how to protect,   But where is the action? Where is the change?   Women plead for fairness and safety,   Yet the world turns a blind eye.   If murderers only targeted white men,   At the same rate we lose our Aboriginal women,   Would that spark outrage? Would that be fair?   If just as many w...

I am writing to share my experience of having my grandson in the care of MCFD. I hope my story provides some insight and helps you understand the process better. As you may know, my grandson has been apprehended by the ministry and is currently in temporary foster care. This is a reality that many Aboriginal children face, and it’s a painful experience for families like mine. I currently have my older grandson living with me under MCFD coverage, labeled as "child in home of a relative." I am subject to random home checks and Criminal Record Checks every few years, the last one being about seven months ago. Despite this arrangement, every child must go through the same "Out of Care Options Assessment." Unfortunately, this assessment can take a long time—anywhere from six months to two years—depending on the availability of the social worker. Right now, the social worker assigned to me has 71 files to manage. I met with my new social worker, Betty C., on November 19,...

Here’s the article of the day: "All Indians Are Dead" - Indian Country. For a long time, I didn’t think much about it. I kept hearing stories about Indians who once existed, as if they were just figures in the past. I never knew anything different until I left the Indian Reserve for Vancouver.  My son’s dad opened my eyes to the truth—we are still here, and we are still practicing our laws and traditions.  At first, I learned about the smudge, a powerful ritual for cleansing and connection. Then, I was taken to a sweat lodge. I was shocked! This is it! This is happening! We still do this!  The sweat lodge I attended was different from how the Gitxsan use them. For us, the lodge was a place for emotional healing; in our tradition, we would use it to remove the human scent before going out to hunt. We don’t just go somewhere to pray; we believe that the Creator is within us and with us always. Every thought is a prayer. We would also fast in the mountains to learn respect f...

If this were written from a white man’s perspective, it might look something like this: I’m not sure if we discussed the electronics. I’ve been trying to call my granddaughter D’s cellphone, the one I bought her as per court order, but every time I call, it goes straight to voicemail. D says it’s because they never charge it, and it just sits in a drawer. I would like to have the Samsung tablet and Motorola cellphone returned, since D will never be allowed to use them to contact her biological family—me, her brother E, and her relatives. Instead, I hear her stepmother and stepsister use the tablet most of the time. These devices cost a lot, and I’m now stuck in a cellphone plan that I thought would be respected. I believed the judge when he said this court order would actually mean something.  It feels like D’s stepdad has gotten away with kidnapping my granddaughter. He’s lied to the court, his family, and the community. Only my family knows the truth because we know who my daug...

Last night, I dreamt of a new cousin, young and handsome, full of life. He came to visit as we were settling down for the night, and he asked if we had any fish for supper.  In that moment, I remembered my grandfather and his teachings about respecting all spirits. He would share stories with me, always speaking in a way that connected our past to the present. My elders are always there, guiding me with their wisdom, reminding me of our traditions and the importance of our connections. My grandfather, Auto Moto, always had soup simmering on the stove, and he would feed his huskies first, for they were the protectors of our family. Many think that Aboriginal spirituality requires Fire and Lightning, but the truth is, it is woven into our very being, passed down through generations. It flows in our blood, teaching us to respect all spirits, all forms of life, and especially our Mothers. I took a moment to reflect, and then I remembered I had oolichans in the freezer. I rushed to get...

What would you do if your daughter’s boyfriend took your grandchild, the one you have court-ordered guardianship over? Imagine that child being alienated, lost in a world where no amount of reasoning or court process could bring them back to their biological family.   With the new Family Law Act, the biological family seems to have no rights. A stepfather can take a child and cut them off from their true family, claiming parentage without any bloodline connection. This is the reality we face. The abductor, the one the child has come to know as a parent, suddenly holds all the rights, while we, the biological family, are left powerless.   From what I've seen in courtrooms in Vancouver and Terrace, this practice is rampant, even if the definition of 'parent' doesn’t align with what we know to be true. It’s happening now, and it feels like a storm is brewing.   Even when I’ve had a lawyer, my arguments—backed by evidence—have not been enough to regain custody. Without privil...

I love myself, deep and true,   Though you may not see it just by view.   As strong as any, I stand my ground,   A warrior's spirit in my heart is found.   Crafted by trials, we rise and survive,   From the shadows of genocide, we strive.   In Vancouver's streets, I learned to blend,   Guided by programs, with support to lend.   Navigating a world that often feels strange,   I embraced my identity, refusing to change.   Through it all, I’ve found my grace,   A reflection of strength, in every space.   I urge you to see the beauty in us,   In acceptance and love, let there be trust.   Together we rise, our stories ignite,   In unity and power, we shine so bright.  I love myself deeply, though you might not see it just by looking at me. I’m as strong and resilient as any other Indigenous person. We were crafted by the trials of our ancestors, survivors of genocide, and that strength runs through my veins. I sp...