Laws of Matriarch

I received an email from Jordan's principal letting me know that Angel's dental work will be covered. I am incredibly thankful for this support. However, I am still disappointed that First Nations children often lack status in Canada and the dental coverage that comes with it, mainly due to the lengthy and burdensome process of registering with the Department of Indian Affairs. First Nations communities urgently need programs like SOS, which provide immigrants with opportunities for housing and business support. On a positive note, my boy received his Indian Status Card after he turned 5 years old.

To those who doubt my words, I don't need any proof. As I’ve said, we live daily with threats and retribution. Fear is intentionally instilled to deter us from fighting for the freedom of Indigenous peoples. For the past 13 years, I have written countless letters, with the support of Hereditary Chiefs advocating for the return of my grandchildren. When I’m in court, I speak up to correct any inaccuracies presented by the Director's counsel. Yet, this approach is no longer effective, and our Hereditary Chiefs are often ignored. Judges can be swayed in their decisions, influenced by their own understanding of systemic racism. On March 6th, there will be a presentation hearing for my granddaughter. I ask that you please pray for Dax’gyet. Sharing government-approved articles has never brought about change. Most often, the news perpetuates fear, controlling society by highlighting another tragic story of a Native child harmed by a family member or a placement gone wrong. They rarel...

I don't even understand how it can be that Canada continues to take so many of our children—so many of our Indigenous children—into foster care every single day. It baffles me that so many Canadian citizens remain silent while this happens. Like anyone else, I enjoy a good movie; I love watching Netflix and going out to the theatre every so often. I relish getting popcorn and a nice cold Coca-Cola. I adore traveling whenever I can, and I appreciate all the things that come with privilege—like makeup, dressing up, nice clothes, and good food. Despite the stereotypes that exist about us as Indigenous people, the truth is that we share the same joys and experiences as everyone else. We love our children—our little Indigenous ones, who are being taken from us every day. You might not realize it because of the stereotypes and racism, but we are loving parents. We have aunties, uncles, grandmothers, and grandfathers who care deeply for our kids.  Yes, the legacy of Indian residential sch...

My beautiful granddaughter celebrated her second birthday this week. She has been in the care of the ministry for an extended period, and I was informed that my nephew (not her father) decided to give up his rights in November. This prompted me to begin the application process in December 2018 to try to bring her home and out of care. Like many of our children, she has been separated from her family and community, which complicates efforts to reconnect her with her roots and the extended family who love her.  Below is my letter to the political parties regarding the urgent need to address this issue: --- I am writing to express my deep concern regarding the ongoing removal of our Indigenous children from their families and communities and the role of delegated agencies in this process. As a Gitxsan person, I understand the profound impact that these separations have on our children, families, and culture. Our children belong with us, surrounded by their families and the traditions...

I’ve moved back home a few times, and each time I found myself back in Vancouver. I think a lot of people trying to make it here in Vancouver face similar struggles with transitioning. I’m thinking about starting a project that mirrors those immigrant settlement programs, the ones that offer help with temporary housing, financial support, and access to social services. Transitioning can be tough for everyone, and sometimes we need those opportunities to help us get by and thrive. We all deserve support as we navigate these changes in our lives. In addition to the challenges faced by immigrants, it's important to recognize the unique and often dire circumstances that refugees endure. Many refugees arrive in Canada fleeing from regions where they have experienced or witnessed horrific acts of violence, oppression, and even genocide. They escape persecution, conflict, and systemic atrocities in search of safety and a chance to rebuild their lives.  For instance, the ongoing conflict ...

I just had my last lesson come through, and it’s hitting me hard. It sounds so obvious, but it’s one of those clichés that I’ve never liked; things like "they see themselves in you," "they’re just jealous," "bullies are controlling," and "good and evil are the same." But now, the dots are finally connecting. I’ve faced bullying from my own siblings, and I know I’ve said some pretty hurtful things to my loved ones when I’m in that fight mode. When I’m in fight or flight, fear takes over, usually triggered by anger or hatred. I’m overly sensitive to everything around me; I can feel everyone’s emotions, even their first thoughts, and sometimes I can sense what substances they might be using. We mirror ourselves in others, and when we see ourselves in someone else, sometimes it brings up fear. Growing up, I witnessed a lot of horror and terror in my community and at home. I learned to become invisible, or else risk facing violence myself. But this mo...

I’m feeling like I’m losing myself to the hatred and racism that society throws at us. It’s hard to find support for Aboriginal people who are brown and have accents, and often, it’s not even coming from our own community. You ever notice how you hardly hear Indigenous accents in local workplaces? Up here on the North West Coast, our accents are deep and rich, carrying the weight of our culture. In this society, the preference is clear—white skin is the standard. There’s a long history of hiring practices that favor white skin and Euro accents, and it continues today. You see Indigenous folks being hired, but many of them don’t have the same lived experiences or connections to our traditions. A lot of them are self-identified as Aboriginal, Métis, or classified under Canada’s Indian Act, but they don’t always embody what it means to be truly Indigenous. Our traditional laws follow the Laws of the Matriarch; if your mother is Aboriginal, then you are too. It’s a law based on respect fo...

When I was younger, I didn’t really feel God. I saw everyone around me struggling with their beliefs, some hating God, some sticking to strict religions or rituals like it was a badge of honor. My family tried out all kinds of spiritual paths over the years—Buddhism, Christianity, Seventh-Day Adventists, Jehovah's Witnesses, and even atheism—but they always found their way back to our Indigenous ways. I was baptized Anglican and went to church as a kid. It scared me, and I thought God was sending everyone to hell. In my teenage years, I felt lost and alone. I turned to street drugs for a bit of happiness, but it came at a heavy price. I thought, if I’m going to hell, I might as well go out with a bang. Then in my 20s, I went to treatment at Round Lake and realized that we, as Indigenous people, are still here. I learned about the rituals, prayers, and medicines of the prairies. I thought, this is the fire and lightning I’ve been searching for, the magic I saw in movies about shaman...

Hey there, It’s been a tough week for me, that’s for sure. The day I dreaded has come; I’m back in a struggle with the ministry to get my youngest granddaughter back home where she belongs. I got a call from the social worker, and honestly, it felt like an attack. She was pretty aggressive. She said we can’t even start the home assessment until my oldest grandson gets a Criminal Record Check (CRC). She mentioned there’s a report out there about him having some charges, and because of that, my granddaughter can’t be alone with her brother until that CRC comes back clean. Let me tell you, my grandson faced a lot of hate last year—bullying that spiraled into a dark place for him. He fell into depression and even tried to take his life because of the rumors flying around at school. Some parents went and made a police report based on those rumors, which now shows up on his CRC. Even though there was no truth to it, that report is going to haunt him, and now every child he has could be taken...

I've been thinking a lot about karma this week. It really makes me wonder, what has a child done to deserve abuse? It feels like a cruel belief that some people throw around to scare others into behaving, but honestly, it just feels empty. Where is the justice in all this?  What I see is people in power doing nothing to protect those who are vulnerable. I see men, weak in spirit, taking it out on women and children, and they don’t even try to face their own issues. It’s heartbreaking to see women stuck in abusive relationships because they’re scared of the pain that comes with letting go, yet again.  And then there’s our government, which seems to be more corrupt than ever. They support and encourage criminal acts that keep our nations from fighting for our human rights. They use propaganda and laws to distract us, while money keeps flowing into Indian Affairs to “fix” the so-called Indian problem. Today, I’m feeling a lot of energy after being weighed down by the heav...

We’ve moved five times since September 2018 🤕 I got a new job and was really looking forward to starting a peaceful life up north 😂  But our office wasn’t ready, so we ended up in temporary housing and a hotel in October.  In November, we moved in with my mom, but it was hard for her to have my grandson there with us. Plus, I was missing work, and my little one needed a better daycare that could handle his hours and wouldn’t keep sending him home just because he wasn’t fully potty trained at 3 years old. Then, in December, my girl had a stroke in Vancouver. On top of that, all four of my grandkids were struggling with their own challenges. I made a quick trip to Vancouver to see Kaila at Saint Paul’s Hospital, then came back for family court to sort things out for my grandson. I’ve finally got primary parental responsibilities for him now. In January, we moved to Smithers into a two-bedroom place 🙏🏽. There’s not much housing in Smithers, so I thought maybe this was a sign...

My daughters Eagle fan will be kept at the Parents Legal Center in Smithers BC. Kaila's Eagle Fan In a world where magic intertwines with hardship, there was an eagle fan, a powerful symbol of faith and courage, gifted to Kaila Morrison by her dear friend, Keefer Foote, during the Sun Dance in Montana, led by the wise medicine man, Melvin Graybear. Kaila, a proud member of the Fireweed clan, grew up amidst the vibrant energy of Vancouver and in the embrace of Gitanmaax with her GG, Chief Woo Sim'Lax'Ha. From her earliest days, she carried a spirited heart, effortlessly making connections with friends of all ages and lighting up their lives like the sun breaking through the clouds. At the tender age of seven, Kaila embarked on a remarkable journey, joining a group of Sun Dancers traveling to Montana. With determination etched into her very being, she sought the support of her Mother and the dancers, gathering the strength to participate in the sacred dance—a powerful act of...

Vision of Sasquatch I had a dream where I was heading to my friend’s place for dinner. She told me that eight Sasquatch would be there, and I said I thought I knew them. When I arrived, I saw my niece in her room, tucked away in a corner of a big, open space. Clothes were scattered everywhere, a clear sign of the struggle we all face. Our community is hurting; we are starving and living in poverty. The sadness hangs in the air like a thick fog, weighing down our spirits as we fight against each day. Outside, I saw the Sasquatch, and to my shock, they were preparing to sacrifice one of their own to feed us. It was a horrifying sight; I watched as they pulled meat from the unfortunate creature. My heart sank at the thought of taking part in this meal, knowing how desperate our situation is. Then, a young Sasquatch came into the room to play with the kids, bringing a moment of lightness amid our heaviness. My friend was grateful for the meat and made soup from it. I felt torn about not ...

Sunday Morning Dream ❤️ In my dream, I found myself in a mystical realm that felt like ‘heaven’, a place where the air shimmered with warmth and light, a familiar embrace that wrapped around me like a beloved blanket. Here, I was guiding a group of new ‘angels’ in the art of healing, much like I do in the world I know. I crafted a schedule and gathered workers to share their wisdom with these fresh spirits, teaching them how to nurture and mend the wounds of the heart and soul. The angels were innocent, unaware of their true nature, like babies just learning to walk. It wasn’t about rank or hierarchy; it felt more like stepping into a sacred role where the currency was love, not money, and the responsibilities were boundless. As my time in this radiant place came to a close, a wave of sorrow washed over me, anchored by the turmoil I felt on earth. My heart ached, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn’t feel a sense of loss in leaving. It was more like moving to a space just next d...

Content Warning: Potentially Disturbing content  I was just a little kid, still using a bottle and sleeping in a crib. My mom and dad would throw dinners and parties with my aunties and uncles. But as the night went on, things would always take a turn. When the fun was over and the drinks flowed too much, fights would break out.  It got really scary. There was blood everywhere, and my dad just kept going. One time, he hit my mom in the head hard enough to knock her out cold. I didn't know if she was dead or alive, but I remember her being taken to the hospital more than once, where they brought her back. After that, one of my siblings brought me into the room. When my dad drank, he became a different person—angry and violent. He turned into a monster, and nothing seemed to fix it. In Canada, they don’t give enough help to Indigenous people who struggle with PTSD or the effects of what happened in Indian Residential Schools. I have a few blurry memories from that time, but not...

Echoes of Gitxsan Spirit When I was just a little one, between the ages of three and six, I would hear the sweet sounds of the Gitxsan language drifting through the air in the Hall at Gitwangak. But strangely, it always fell silent when the Indian Agent came around. Those moments felt heavy, as if the very walls held our stories, yet we had to hide them like precious treasures. Even after the laws changed, life carried on the same for the Indian Agents. It reminds me of how things are today, when the RCMP still come to charge our people for practicing our traditions and honoring our culture on our unceded lands. During the Christian celebrations, our gatherings would transform into secret Potlatches—what we called Bit’latzch—though outsiders would refer to them as “feasts,” a term more palatable to their ears. I remember winter nights filled with warmth and laughter, where one tribe would serve soup, and a Santa would visit, though gifts were scarce and only given to some. My cou...

In the realm of dreams, I found myself adorned with the spirit of the shapeshifter, a sacred gift passed through the blood of my ancestors. My kin and I danced in the shadows, akin to the werewolves of legend, but the weight of our destiny hung heavy upon my heart. Fear gripped me, for the act of taking life felt like a dark cloud overshadowing my spirit. I ached to protect, not to harm, and the thought of facing the wrath of the unseen forces filled me with dread. In this vision, I beheld my family, faces blurred by the mists of time, transforming before my eyes, their primal instincts awakened as they hunted in the night. We roamed a land that felt both familiar and foreign—a resort where the spirits of humans wandered along winding trails, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows. My purpose was clear; I was called to strike down a soul who had strayed too far from the safety of the crowd. But the memory of my actions remains elusive, shrouded in a veil of uncert...

My dad used to share a story from his time at Indian Residential School. He told it to me a few times, and it always stuck with me. At night, he would sneak away to gamble. The Cree folks would play bone games a few miles away, and he loved to go watch and join in. One night, as he was sneaking out, he spotted an elder friend coming down the path, heading home. As they got closer, my dad realized his friend wasn’t wearing any clothes. He couldn’t help but burst out laughing and asked, “Bad night?” His friend just replied, “Yep, bad night,” and kept on walking, completely unfazed. From my dad's story, it didn’t seem so terrible at the time. But deep down, I knew it was a different story. The Edmonton Residential School was a harsh place, and kids were often sent far away from their homes and families. It was hard for them, even if they tried to find some humor in the darkness.