Ottawa's Festival of Ideas Since 1997




I’ve seen the photos


Black and white

No end in sight


They say the children had to pay

So far from family you’re swept away


For seven long years When you return


Your hair is cut short

Your eyes are unseeing


Speaking only in the white man’s tongue

You can no longer pronounce Nokomis


Colonized by white man’s tongue

The erasure of culture can come as swift as season change


Once August, full of courage, colours and laughter and joy.


Now, December, bitter and barren


I’ve seen the the photos