Newsletter October

Dear CPS,

With yesterday marking National Truth and Reconciliation Day, I found myself reflecting heavily on a profound experience I had several years ago. I was in Winnipeg for a national educational leadership conference, and rather than a traditional keynote speaker, our focus for the day was the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.

For those who have never been, it is not a typical museum. Rather than showcasing artifacts, it is filled with stories and experiences of human rights issues from Canada and around the world. The building itself is purposefully designed to take you on a journey from darkness to light. You begin on the lower floors, walking through the heavy history of genocides and ethnic cleansings in Canada and worldwide. From there, you slowly move upward through the evolution, celebration, and future of human rights. It ends in a soaring tower, where I spent quite a bit of time simply reflecting while looking down over the city of Winnipeg. As you can imagine, it was a deeply difficult and thought-provoking experience for all of us.

Once we finished our tour, our group of about 80 educators gathered outside in two large circles to share our reflections on the day. Soon after we began, a young man noticed our large group and approached us. For whatever reason, our presence deeply irked him. He broke into the first circle, walking a lap and sizing people up. He loudly and aggressively asked us why we were there and what we were doing.

As educational leaders who have dealt with agitated individuals, we simply paused and waited. This strategy seemed to work temporarily, and he moved on to the second circle. There, some educators tried a different tactic, welcoming him and asking if he wanted to join us. This did not go to plan. He became increasingly agitated, and his resentment and rage boiled over. He paced faster, getting into people's faces and challenging them. For several minutes, he yelled and accosted those gathered. His words were filled with intense anger. It would have been easy to feel defensive or angry in return, but for some reason, I just felt a profound sadness.

Once we realized that the situation wasn't going to solve itself, we decided that we should dissipate rather quickly, and many began moving to our next scheduled location. The man, feeling victorious, took this opportunity to bang his chest and verbally accost those leaving. I stuck around, giving a wide enough berth of this person, and ended up walking back with the last few left, who either arrived late and were not aware, or were too tired and taken aback of the events to move quickly

A quick aside, it is interesting to see how people react to such a situation. As I mentioned, some welcomed and asked him questions, others became quite afraid. Still some others were in fight mode, ensuring that he knew what he was doing was not okay. I always seem to go into some sort of protector mode, and was looking around for those in vulnerable positions. I have said quite often that I for some reason seem to think I am 6'4 and 250lbs, because I think I can control those situations and stand up if needed. I'm not, but have dealt with my illusions. 

I tell you this story not as a cautionary tale, but for the crucial learning that happened afterward. That evening, many of us spent hours discussing what happened, wondering if we could have done anything differently to de-escalate the situation. The realization we came to was that we were witnessing the living, breathing result of the history we had just seen inside the museum. We experienced firsthand how historical trauma, systemic wrongs, and things that happened decades ago continue to deeply affect individuals today.

When we talk about building an inclusive school community, this experience always rings true for me. When we welcome people into our school, we are also welcoming the hurt, anger, and experiences of lifetimes of collective histories. True community can be messy, and things do not always go as planned. We cannot fix generational trauma quickly, but as we gather together, learn together, and support one another, we must do so with immense empathy.

That young man’s name was Billy. That brief, difficult encounter taught me more about the reality of historical trauma, and the deep need for empathy in our communities, than any book or museum tour ever could. As we move forward from Truth and Reconciliation Day, I encourage us all to keep that empathy at the forefront of how we treat one another.

Wishing you all a thoughtful rest of your week.