Preface

Richard W. Hill, Sr.

The brick-covered building that still stands in Brantford, Ontario, housed the third version of the Mohawk Institute. It is a place of traumatic memory for many of the survivors. Behind the bricks of this former residential school rest many personal stories about life in the school, most of which are not to be found in the written record. There are also many stories from the nearly two-hundred-year history of the Mohawk Institute, including the years that it operated as a school, and its subsequent years when it had an ongoing impact on the people who went there. We cannot share all the stories of this place. That would take several books. Of those we do share, we hope that you will continue to learn from them.

The story of the Mohawk Institute includes the writings of school officials, government agents, and church authorities. It is found in government policy and dusty records of the New England Company, as well as within the records of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy Council of Chiefs. The story is found in newspaper articles, handwritten notes, academic research, and dinner table conversations around the Six Nations community. It is also found in the informal documentation of some of the teachers and principals. In addition, there are those stories that, up until quite recently, have remained locked up in the hearts and minds of the survivors. Some were too ashamed to tell their stories. Some tried to forget. Some even pretended that they had no stories to tell. Some never survived to tell their stories. However, some have been brave enough to share their stories so that, for once, we can get a real glimpse behind the bricks of the Mohawk Institute.

One survivor, Doug George, from Akwesasne said, “We left our DNA in that building.” Their stories became the DNA of school, a twisted matrix of facts, reports, memories, rumours, and fears. For some people that DNA also reflects good times, some great opportunities, and many personal successes. Some memories are found in what students stuffed behind the walls or under the floorboards. Some were scratched into the red bricks on the back side of the building. Some children did so as inmates of the school; others left their names when they returned to this place of memory, many years after they walked out the front door.

These red bricks have become our version of the Wailing Wall. People have stood before the bricks in honour of the victims of the school, shedding tears and praying for the souls of classmates or family members. Reading the names or initials etched on the bricks was a way of reclaiming a connection to the students. The officers of the school stripped them of their names and gave them numbers instead. They took away their clothing and forced them to wear handmade uniforms. They took away their hair. They tried to remake their minds, to transform their identities and beliefs. The brick wall continues to stand, offering a way for students to speak back to those in power and to leave evidence of their existence.

One young girl turned to the red bricks as a plea for help. She was being repeatedly molested by the officers of the Institute. Every time she was alone after swimming in the pool, she scratched the word “HELP” in the bricks. At first, her message was quite faint. Each time she did it, the word became bolder and bolder. Her one word was also a prayer that, somehow, something or someone would intervene to stop those who were hurting her. She survived her experiences at the school and returned to tell her story. She was not unscathed, and once we hear the story of the Mohawk Institute, we, too, will become marked by the power of this place.

As we were writing this book, the news came of the suspected graves of 215 students that were uncovered at the Kamloops Indian Residential School. It caused a national pause that forced Canadians to realize that, yes, it was real children who experienced this trauma. Yes, religious people reacted in a very cold and secular manner. Some children died, but their spirits have reached us from beyond the unmarked grave. Another voice to get our attention.

My ancestors say that we cannot carry the burden of grief into our future lives. We had ceremony by which that burden was lifted from our minds. We had to have someone step forward to remove the tears from our eyes to restore our vision so we can see hope more clearly. We had to have someone clear our ears so that we could restore our hearing so that the voices of the past would not be lost. Someone had to offer us a refreshing drink to wash away the dust of trauma that clogs our throats and stifles our speech. We need all of this to recover our humanity.

The purpose of this book is to better comprehend the reality of this place. Facing the people who operated the school and facing the students who once lived behind the bricks is our way of wiping away our collective tears so we can see the truth of what actually happened. The words and the historical photographs will help to clear our ears from the historical dust that have interfered with our understanding. The refreshing part is more difficult. As we search for hope, listen carefully to what the survivors have had to say, read carefully what the scholars have written, and then make up your own mind about the legacy of the Mohawk Institute, Canada’s oldest and longest-running Indian Residential School. What does this place tell us about ourselves? How does this book help us better understand why reconciliation is necessary? It is something we just can’t get over that easily. For reconciliation to happen, we first need to hear the truth of the Mohawk Institute. This is our effort to share truth as we have come to know it.