Each year on September 30, people across Canada wear orange to recognize, commemorate, and raise awareness about the history and ongoing legacies of the Indian Residential School system (IRSS). Here at the Chung | Lind Gallery, we are commemorating the day with this blog post by Gallery Attendant and Exhibitions Assistant, Emily Witherow, which introduces readers to the history of Residential Schools in the Yukon, and specifically those schools which were attended by Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in children.
Warning: This story contains details about Indian Residential Schools, graves of missing Indigenous children, experiences of spiritual, sexual, physical, and emotional abuse, and suicide. Please see bottom of the page for information on resources including mental health resources.
About the Indian Residential School System
From 1867 to 1996, the Canadian government and Catholic religious institutions (specifically the Roman Catholic, Anglican, Presbyterian, United and Methodist Churches) removed over 150,000 First Nations, Inuit, and Metis children from their families and sent them away to 140 state-funded religious schools. According to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, this system was educational in name only; it was created with the intention of assimilating Indigenous peoples into “civilized” society by weakening ties to family, culture, language, religion, and by indoctrinating children into dominant Euro-Canadian culture.[1] As such, it was a key element of Canada’s “Indian policy,” which for over a century aimed to “eliminate Aboriginal governments; ignore Aboriginal rights; terminate the Treaties; and, through a process of assimilation, cause Aboriginal peoples to cease to exist as distinct legal, social, cultural, religious, and racial entities.”[2] This process is best described as “cultural genocide.”[3]
Residential schools, which were underfunded, overcrowded, and poorly maintained, were sites of neglect and abuse by supervisors. Indigenous languages and cultures were suppressed, discipline was harsh, life was highly regimented, and students’ educations were neglected in favour of manual labor. Thousands of children died at these schools without the dignity of a proper burial and without their families knowing. When they returned to their communities, survivors often felt alienated from family members, did not learn important parenting skills, and lost their pride in their culture and heritage. This trauma has had long-term intergenerational effects upon Indigenous families and communities.
Thanks to the activism of survivors like Phil Fontaine (Sagkeeng First Nation) in the 1990s, IRS survivors pursued Canada’s then-largest class action lawsuit, leading to a formal apology from Prime Minister Stephen Harper in 2008, the Indian Residential School Settlement Agreement, and the formation of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in 2009. After spending years collecting stories from nearly 7,000 survivors, documenting the history and legacy of the IRSS, and founding a national research centre, in 2015 the TRC published several documents including its Final Report, Summary Report, Ten Principles of Truth and Reconciliation, and the 94 Calls to Action.
Orange Shirt Day originates from Phyllis Webstad’s (Stswecem’c Xgat’tem First Nation) experiences at St. Joseph’s Residential School in Williams Lake, BC. On her first day of school in 1973, school staff stripped Phyllis of the new shiny orange shirt her grandmother had bought her, never to be worn again. On September 30, 2013, Phyllis spoke publicly for the first time about her experience at St. Joseph’s, founding the Orange Shirt Day movement.
“When you wear an orange shirt it’s like a little bit of justice for us Survivors in our lifetime, and recognition of a system we can never allow again.” – Phyllis Webstad [4]
In 2021, following the discovery of gravesites of missing children at Kamloops Residential School and in response to the TRC Call to Action 80, which calls the federal government to establish a statutory day to honour survivors and publicly commemorate the history and legacy of residential schools, the Canadian government designated September 30 as National Day for Truth and Reconciliation.
Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and the Klondike Gold Rush:
The Phil Lind Klondike Gold Rush Collection, currently on display at the Chung | Lind Gallery, sheds light on life in the Yukon before and after the discovery of gold in 1896, but also speaks to the longer-term changes brought about by the migration of tens of thousands of stampeders to the traditional lands of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation.
Since time immemorial, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in (meaning “the people who live at the mouth of the Klondike”) made their seasonal home at Tr’ochëk, an ancestral fishing village at the confluence of the Yukon and Tr’ondëk (Klondike) Rivers. Every summer, around sixty to eighty individuals lived, fished, hunted, and harvested on the bank of the river, relying on the annual salmon run and the caribou and moose who grazed in the swamp across the river.[5] Although the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in had encountered missionaries, fur traders, and prospectors within their traditional territories since at least the 1870s, the discovery of gold at Gakdëk (Rabbit Creek) in August 1896 catalyzed a long-term catastrophic process of colonization, assimilation, and dispossession. By 1898, the moose pastures across the river had been replaced by the new town of Dawson City, and Tr’ochëk was quickly overrun by gold seekers who dispossessed Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in of their land and cabins, renaming it Klondike City (and later, Lousetown). Fearing Dawson City’s corrupting influence, Chief Isaac moved his peoples downriver to Moosehide Creek (Jëjik Dhä Dënezhu Kek’it) while protesting miners’ destruction of the environment, overhunting, and land theft.[6] Anglican Bishop William Bompas and fellow missionaries also advocated to the Canadian government on their behalf to secure a reserve at Moosehide.[7] Reverend Benjamin Totty later established a church and mission school in Moosehide Village to convert and teach Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in children, although they continued learning the language, values, beliefs, and traditions of their people.[8]
The Moosehide Day School was an early harbinger of the Indian Residential School System and the assimilationist policies yet to come. In the decades after the Klondike Gold Rush, six Indian Residential Schools were established across the Yukon Territory; St. Paul’s Hostel in Dawson City (1920-1943, Anglican Church); Choutla Residential School in Carcross (1903-1969, Anglican Church); Yukon Hall (1960-1985, non-denominational), Coudert Hall (1960-1971, Catholic Church), Whitehorse Baptist School in Whitehorse (1947-1960, Baptist Church); and Shingle Point School in Shingle Point (1929-1936, Anglican Church).[9] From 1903 to 1969, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in children generally attended one of two schools; the St. Paul’s Hostel, and the Choutla Residential School.[10]
Please take a moment to read more about the Choutla (Carcross) Indian Residential School and St. Paul’s Hostel below. We have included several quotes from anonymous survivors cited in Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą: Finding Our Way Home, who are best situated to tell the truth about these histories, having lived through them. For UBC students, staff and faculty interested in learning more, this community scrapbook is available to check out from Xwi7xwa Library. More information about this book is included in the Impacts, Legacy, and Healing section below.
Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą: Finding Our Way Home, a community scrapbook compiled by Chris Clarke and the K’änächá Group.
Choutla (Carcross) Indian Residential School:
Disgusted with the “moral perversions” that stampeders had brought with them to the Klondike, Bishop Bompas moved his diocese headquarters and established a mission school in Carcross in 1903.[11] Following his death in 1906, the new “Carcross Indian School” (also known as Choutla/Chooutla Residential School) was built outside of Carcross in 1911.[12] From 1911 to 1969, around 1,300 First Nations children attended the school from the Yukon, the Northwest Territories, and northern British Columbia. Upon their arrival at Choutla, children were taken to the basement and told to line up and strip as staff shaved their hair and threw away their clothes. Students were forbidden from speaking Hän and were required to pray each night before bed. Any breach of school regulations, especially theft or “unauthorized socialization,” was dealt with swiftly and harshly.[13]
“I was only 4 ½ when I went. I wasn’t even in kindergarten yet. They just dragged us out. Put us on the bus. I didn’t know where I was going. They just said I was going to School. And that’s it. They didn’t say where.” – Survivor [14]
“I don’t know, soon as you get there, you’re not a child anymore… you don’t know what’s going on… Gotta get up in the morning, gotta go down and eat, do your chores, and this and that… And at night I cry, lonesome, lonesome cry, nearly every night, under blanket cause I don’t want them to see me cry… or else I’ll get punished over that.” – Survivor [15]
“We weren’t allowed to speak our language. And we wondered why.” – Survivor [16]
Following a “half-day” schedule, students at Choutla were taught reading, writing, and basic math in the morning, and trade skills in the afternoon. In reality, however, students’ educations suffered as they worked to keep the school open, sewed, gardened, harvested crops, hauled wood, and cut and bailed hay for animals. This work was so difficult and dangerous that in 1941, the Department of Indian Affairs investigated the cases of seven boys who were hospitalized from September 1939 to August 1941 as a result of accidents caused by their work of cutting and transporting wood.[17]
“It was more like a work camp than a school.” – Survivor from Champagne, YT [18]
Although some parents initially supported their children being educated at these schools, many later appealed to authorities to have them return home, their pleas falling on deaf ears.[19] Because the riverboat trip between Dawson City and Carcross was expensive, children generally did not go home for holidays and had minimal contact with their families throughout the year.[20] Some children tried to run away, although most were unsuccessful.[21]
“My brothers and sisters, we were separated in school… can’t even talk to each other once in awhile.” – Survivor [22]
“I don’t remember very much about going home in the summer… My mom and dad, every time I went home they’re just like strangers to me…” – Survivor [23]
On April 17, 1939, the Choutla Residential School burned to the ground. While the old school had had a reputation for poor health, harsh discipline, bad food, and unpleasant living quarters, after the fire, conditions worsened. In 1942, a doctor wrote to J.E. Gibben, the Indian Agent at Dawson, reporting that overcrowding, unprotected water supply, and inadequate toilets had led to a high incidence of communicable diseases like measles, “in which every child was affected with but one exception,” causing at least one death.[24] During this time, there were several incidents of physical abuse such as strapping, cutting hair, and corporal punishment – the school’s principal even admitted to strapping students so severely that they had to be held down.[25] Despite these investigations and rampant abuses, a new school building was completed in 1954 and ran until 1969.
While the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation lists twenty students who died at Choutla, independent researchers have found that at least sixty students died either at the school, in hospital after injury at the school, or during school-related activities.[26] In September 2023, the discovery of fifteen potential gravesites near Choutla appear to confirm the accounts of survivors and witnesses.[27]
St. Paul’s Hostel:
In 1920, St. Paul’s Hostel in Dawson City opened to house mixed-heritage children who were not eligible to attend Choutla. Like at Choutla, St. Paul’s students carried the burden of underfunding, and were expected to do chores like cleaning, chopping and stacking wood, and cooking. Food supplies were insufficient and of poor quality, and as the students lived off the products of the school’s garden, they regularly went hungry.[28] One student says that the school “knew how to just barely keep you alive, you know, as far as groceries was concerned.”[29] Survivors particularly remember the atrocious abuse they suffered at the hands of their principal, Charles F. Johnson, and his wife, Margaret Johnson.[30]
“My experience in the hostel was not good. The caretaker was an extremely hatred-filled man. We’d get brutal beatings for no good reason. We were starving, which affected our learning. We couldn’t concentrate, which hampered me in later years with jobs and such. Humiliation and fear were a daily occurrence.” – Survivor [31]
“For any little reason at all, they would beat you to death. So that come from Mr. Johnson himself. He’s the only one that ruled with an iron hand… and Mrs. Johnson was just as bad… When the girls got into trouble or something and needed discipline, she’d take them upstairs and… just give them a flannel nightgown to wear. Then she’d call Johnson in to beat them. He’s a savage, you know.” – Survivor [32]
In 1954, two years after the territorial capital moved to Whitehorse, St. Pauls’ Hostel was closed and eligible students were sent to the newly re-built Choutla Residential School.
Impacts, Legacy, and Healing:
Some children did not come home from Choutla. For those who did return to their communities, they often felt disconnected/alienated from their families and ashamed about their own cultures and experiences at residential school. (long-term intergenerational effects) Many had never learned important life skills, like how to parent, how to speak their language, or how to live off the land.
“We were happy to be home, but… to me I was coming out of prison and in a different world. I felt like that, you know… ‘cause I don’t know what my life was. I didn’t feel happy. I didn’t feel happy to be home.” – Survivor [33]
“Fifteen years of residential school… You know by the time I left there I didn’t have a clue about nothing. Like I never knew about those different types of foods, different types of clothes.” – Survivor [34]
“Didn’t hug my parents when I got off the bus… Blamed them for sending me away.” – Survivor [35]
The intergenerational legacy of residential schools is complex, and has contributed to ongoing issues within Indigenous communities. These include the dramatic overrepresentation of Aboriginal people in Canadian prisons, high rates of alcohol and drug use within Indigenous communities, and mental health disorders like PTSD, depression, and addictive and suicidal behaviours.[36]
“A lot of parents were forced to drink then. Well, not really forced. That’s what they turned to. That was the only thing they could do ‘cause they couldn’t go to the welfare, they couldn’t go to the cops and ask for help.” – Survivor [37]
“I used to feel like giving up on life and join the ones I miss and love. The ones that I’ve just gotten to know were taken away from me again. I sit and try to figure out why I’ve always had these suicidal thoughts. Then found out I wasn’t the only one feeling this way.” – Survivor [38]
For many years, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in survivors were unable to share their stories with others. Inspired by the kindness and empathy of friend Dorothy (“Dot”) Roberts, who, with her daughter Krystal, created a safe space to talk about their experiences, and with the help of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Council, community members, and the Aboriginal Healing Foundation, survivors were able to hire a support worker and establish a weekly support circle named K’änächá (“Taking Care of Ourselves”). They used this space to support one another emotionally, file claims for abuse at school, and share pictures and memories of life at Choutla and St. Paul’s in a community scrapbook. In 2006, the scrapbook was placed on display at Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in an exhibit on residential schools, and was later published as Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą: Finding Our Way Home. At the exhibit’s opening, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in held a Welcome Home ceremony to honour and acknowledge the children who had left Dawson to attend residential school.
“The whole community of Dawson came out and others, too, from around the territory. For many of us, this was the first time anyone said ‘Welcome Home.’” – Survivor [39]
When people in Canada participate in Orange Shirt Day/National Day for Truth and Reconciliation on September 30, it is an opportunity to recognize the injustice and brutality of the Indian Residential School system, honour survivors and intergenerational survivors, recognize ongoing impacts on Indigenous people, families, and communities, and to remember the children who never came home. As the TRC Summary Report states: “Reconciliation is not an Aboriginal problem; it is a Canadian one.”[40]
Resources:
If you have information on a child who did not return home from an IRS, please contact the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation at nctr@umanitoba.ca or 1-855-415-4534.
For additional information on the IRSS, please consult the Indian Residential School History and Dialogue Centre, the Orange Shirt Society, the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, and the Truth and Reconciliation Final Report.
For additional information about Tr’ondek Hwech’in survivors’ experiences, explore the K’änächá Group scrapbook at X̱wi7x̱wa Library: Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą: Finding Our Way Home.
Mental Health Resources:
- 24-hour National Residential School Crisis Line – 1-866-925-4419 or 604-985-4464
- UBC Employee and Family Assistance Program – 1-800-424-0770
- KUU-US Crisis Line Society (crisis services for Indigenous people in BC) – 1-800-588-8717
- Tsow-Tun-Le Lum Society (toll-free support line) – 1-888-403-3123
- Hope for Wellness Help Line (crisis services for all Indigenous people across Canada) – 1-855-242-3310 or by online chat (https://www.hopeforwellness.ca/)
- Metis Crisis Line (BC) – 1-833-638-4722
[1] Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future: Summary of the Final Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (Kingston/Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2015), v. https://ehprnh2mwo3.exactdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Executive_Summary_English_Web.pdf
[2] Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future, 1.
[3] Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future, 1.
[4] “September 30, 2024: Orange Shirt Day | National Day for Truth and Reconciliation,” UBC Department of Medicine, September 18, 2024, https://medicine.med.ubc.ca/september-30-2024-orange-shirt-day-national-day-for-truth-and-reconciliation/.
[5] Helene Dobrowolsky, Hammerstones: A History of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, 2nd ed. (Dawson City: Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, 2014), xii.
[6] Dobrowolsky, Hammerstones, 28.
[7] Chris Clarke and the K’änächá Group, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą: Finding Our Way Home (Dawson City, YT: Tr’ondek Hwech’in Publication, 2009), 10.
[8] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 10-13.
[9] “Carcross IRS School Narrative,” National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, University of Manitoba, June 22, 2004, last updated August 19, 2004, https://t-r-c.ca/nctr/school_narratives/carcross.pdf#:~:text=This%20narrative%20history%20of%20a%20Residential
[10] From 1903 to 1969, Carcross, Chooutla, and Choutla are used interchangeably to refer to this residential school.
[11] The original school site chosen was two miles from Carcross on 160 acres of land, and cost around $16,000 to build. This building could accommodate forty students, whereas the 1954 building had a capacity of 120.; “Carcross IRS School Narrative,” https://t-r-c.ca/nctr/school_narratives/carcross.pdf#:~:text=This%20narrative%20history%20of%20a%20Residential
[12] (https://www.explorenorth.com/library/history/choutla-NCTR.pdf)
[13] Kenneth Coates, “’Betwixt and Between’: The Anglican Church and the Children of the Carcross (Chooutla) Residential School, 1911-1954,” BC Studies 64, (Winter 1984-85): 35.
[14] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 60.
[15] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 63.
[16] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 65.
[17] Quoted in Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 26.
[18] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 26.
[19] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 33.
[20] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 44.
[21] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 75.
[22] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 66.
[23] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 67.
[24] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 41.
[25] “Carcross (Choutla),” National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, University of Manitoba, accessed September 29, 2024, https://nctr.ca/residential-schools/northern/carcross-choutla/.
[26] Juanita Taylor, “First Nations in Yukon hope search for unmarked graves of missing children can ‘bring peace’,” CBC News, June 18, 2023, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/ground-search-chooutla-residential-school-yukon-1.6874540
[27] Sara Connors, “Search of former Yukon residential school locates 15 potential unmarked graves,” APTN News, September 27, 2023, https://www.aptnnews.ca/national-news/search-of-former-yukon-residential-school-locates-15-potential-unmarked-graves/
[28] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 50.
[29] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 50.
[30] Charles F. Johnson was trained as an engineer and mechanic and travelled to the Klondike in 1897 as a prospector, but in 1898 he became an assistant teacher at the St. Peter’s mission school in Hay River, NWT. From 1910-1920, he worked as the manager of the Choutla Residential School, and from 1920-1927 he was the principal of St. Paul’s Hostel. Survivor Richard Dixon recalls that he and his brother Ollie “had the hell beat out of us” by Johnson; Ollie later needed a wheelchair. In 1933, Johnson was ordained as deacon. ; “Fonds glen-1332- Charles F. Johnson fonds,” Alberta on Record, Archives Society of Alberta, accessed September 29, 2024, https://edit.albertaonrecord.ca/charles-f-johnson-fonds#:~:text=Fonds%20glen-1332%20-%20Charles%20F.%20Johnson.; Genesee Keevil, “Dawson residential school finally recognized by feds,” Yukon News, June 30, 2007, https://www.yukon-news.com/news/dawson-residential-school-finally-recognized-by-feds-6974231.
[31] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 51.
[32] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 51.
[33] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 83.
[34] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 82.
[35] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 82.
[36] Piotr Wilk, Alana Maltby and Martin Cooke, “Residential Schools and the Effects on Indigenous Health and Well-Being in Canada – A Scoping Review,” Public Health Reviews 38, no. 8 (2017): 1-23. https://papers.ucalgary.ca/paediatrics/assets/residenial-schools.pdf
[37] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 86.
[38] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 89.
[39] Clarke and K’änächá, Tr’ëhuhch’in Näwtr’udäh’ą, 98.
[40] Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future, vi.
