The Raven

Finding peace through forgiveness and the power to heal

- RJ Belcourt

Mom was only seven years old when she experienced her first taste of hatred and prejudice for simply being born Haida. It was her first day in Grade 2 at the local Native day school. That morning she was sitting at her desk chatting with a friend next to her. The teacher had just walked into the classroom and was writing her name on the blackboard. Mom and her friend were so excited about their first day in Grade 2 that they began singing and clapping a traditional Haida cradle song:

Gûs lîñ kûdjû'diañ, gûs lîñ kûdjû'diañ?

What | are you for, | what | are you for?

Sgâ'na lî'ñga-i kûdjû'diañ.

Supernatural power | you are going to have | (you) are there for

The teacher whirled on them, infuriated, grasped a wooden yardstick form her desk and lashed out at my mother. The blow struck her across the face and sent her sprawling across the classroom floor. Standing over her with the stick held high, the teacher yelled down, “How dare you? You dirty little savage. Don’t you ever chant that pagan nonsense in my classroom again! Did you not learn the rules of the school yet? Well? Answer me, half-breed. Answer me!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Trembling and terrified, Mom cowered under her desk, covering the welt on her face with her hand. The teacher dragged her to the front of the room and made her stand with her back to the class. Pulling a whip from her desk, she exclaimed, “There is only one way to civilize Natives and it’s to beat the Indian out of them once and for all.” She proceeded to lash my mother like a dog.