In a world full of “Pretendians”, it’s a necessity to be able to prove your ethnicity. Wild that this is not a prerequisite for any other ethnicities, but I digress.
I had been so excited to meet Buffy Sainte-Marie! Growing up as a Métis child in a white family, it meant so much to me to see her on Sesame Street. It broke my heart to learn she was actually Italian and had benefited so much by identifying as Indigenous throughout her decades-long career.
Personally, I don’t care if you want to identify as Indigenous. Many white allies follow this way of life and are supported by Indigenous communities. The issue is in assuming an identity that is taking away opportunities and funding for actual Indigenous people who are often marginalized due to colonial racism.
In fact, it really hasn’t been safe to be Indigenous of any sort, First Nations, Inuk, or Métis in Canada, and still isn’t. My Grandfather, Arthur Goulet, was a trapper in northern Saskatchewan. He identified as French, so he wouldn’t lose business as a hunting guide.
Decolonizing Healthcare
In my role as a researcher in healthcare, I often see racism even today. It was reported that ER staff would guess the alcohol level of Indigenous patients. Brian Sinclair, Joyce Echaquan, and Keegan Combes are the tip of the iceberg as to why we need to decolonize healthcare. They literally died due to racism.
Because I spent a lot of time in ERs from 2011 to 2019, I made sure I dressed up to go to the hospital. I was treated better when my white businessman husband was with me. In fact, on my 3rd sepsis infection from the flu, I was made to fill out a drug and alcohol survey. Why? I was a teetotaler at the time, and drugs and alcohol played no part in my illness. So if I am treated this poorly, imagine how my dark skinned indigenous relations are treated.
Reclaiming My Indigeneity
I was adopted out of my Métis family as a baby. I essentially grew up white, as I was fair-skinned and could pass as Caucasian for the most part. I learned early on to hide my ethnicity. I didn’t like being called half-breed, squaw, chug, and being told my mother left me on the doorstep because she didn’t want me. So I hid in my indigenousness.
It wasn’t until joining an Indigenous band that I embraced my heritage. Learning the atrocities of the attempted genocide, residential school system, the unclaimed bodies of children at these schools, the 60s scoop, forced sterilization, the current child welfare system, the unlawful taking of lands worldwide supported by the crown and church, the murdered and missing indigenous women and girls, the killing of all the buffalo so Indigenous people would starve to death, the killing of the Indian in the Child so we would assimilate to the colonial way of life, and the remaining racism that exists today because we are still seen as savages. Indigenous people weren’t even allowed to vote until 1960 because we were not seen as human? That is not that long ago!
My Tree Has Some Roots
Now I’m on a journey to learn my culture and history. I’m often in awe of how I end up in places where my ancestors were. For example, when I was in the dormitory at St. Boniface Nursing School, I used to study at what is now Elzear Goulet Park. He is my 2nd cousin, 4x removed. Elzear was a Louis Riel supporter, with whom I share a birthday, and was murdered while trying to swim across the Red River from downtown Winnipeg to St. Boniface. Here is the full story from the Canadian Museum of Human Rights.
The Red River Métis is the mecca of my people. In Winnipeg, Goulet Street and Carriere Avenue are named after my relatives. The Métis symbol is the infinity sign, and my husband and I have adopted it to signify our relationship.
Finding My Home
I was watching This Is Us, and the episode when Sterling K Brown realizes the impact of living bi-racial in a white family hit me. It’s no wonder I have a deep-seated insecurity about not fitting in. It was impossible for me to. Not only was I adopted and therefore didn’t share the genetic sensibilities of my adopted family, but I was a different race. A looked down upon race. I wasn’t white enough to be white, yet not Indigenous enough to be Indian. That left me alone. In a world full of clans, I believed I was the lone wolf, destined to roam the world alone forever.
In 2001, I moved to Vancouver to reinvent myself. I was 29 and hopeful that this would be the last adventure before I had dependents. Again, I learned that a lot of my biological family had done the same. My favorite place in the Okanagan is Penticton. My Aunt currently lives there, and my Mother worked at the beauty counter at The Bay. That was the position I accepted to move to BC, except I was at the Vancouver store.
My love/hate relationship with The Bay is real. This company sustained or maybe even exploited my ancestors. There is an HBC outpost in most remote areas in northern Canada, and my family were trappers. However, the iconic HBC blanket is rumored to be part of the genocide attempted on Indigenous people. While it can’t be confirmed, it is believed the blanket was infected with smallpox and used as biological warfare by the British against the Indigenous colonies. Stephanie Cram wrote a story about it for CBC, and you can read it here. This is why I have mixed feelings about HBC stores closing across Canada. That’s some major real estate sitting empty across the country when it used to be the anchor of communities.
Infinity
My short-lived career with HBC at least gave me the opportunity to meet the love of my life. I met him, and he became my magnet. I used to love traveling the world to the point that I hated coming home. Then I hated leaving because I missed him so much. Now we explore the world together. It’s an amazing feeling to be complete!
Receiving my Métis status is another piece of the puzzle. I’ve heard losing your culture is comparable to a soul wound. Like I mentioned previously, I felt alone in a world without a place to belong. However, that changed today.
It’s a good day to be Métis!
