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Daniella Zalcman Hosts @NewYorkerPhoto's Instagram

August 29, 2015 | The New Yorker
By
Daniella Zalcman

This is Mike Pinay, who attended the Qu'Appelle Indian Residential School from 1953-1963. "It was the worst ten years of my life. I was away from my family from the age of 6 to 16. How do you learn about relationships, how do you learn about family? I didn't know what love was. We weren't even known by names back then, I was a number." "Do you remember your number?" "73." Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Jaime Rockthunder, who went to the Qu'Appelle Indian Residential School from 1990-1994. She was sexually assaulted during her time there, and her younger brother was raped by a classmate. Jaime said, “He finally told me about it, almost 20 years later, and he blamed me. All he could say is, ‘Why didn’t you protect me?’” One of the most haunting legacies of the residential school system is how much of the trauma transitioned into lateral violence — entire generations of indigenous children grew up without their families and frequently were subjected to unspeakable physical and sexual violence. That anger and hurt was often channelled into lashing out at each other, and, when they eventually had children of their own, the next generation as well. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Valerie Ewenin, who went to Muskowekwan Indian Residential School from 1965-1971. “I was brought up believing in the nature ways, burning sweetgrass, speaking Cree. And then I went to residential school and all that was taken away from me. And then later on I forgot it, too, and that was even worse.” Throughout Canada, it was standard procedure for the teachers, priests, nuns, and administrators who ran residential schools to punish students for speaking their own languages or trying to practice their own faith. For indigenous children who were taken away from their families as young as 3 or 4 and sometimes wouldn’t get to see their families again for as long as a decade, that meant a complete forced disassociation from their own cultures and identities. Imagine finally getting home to your reserve as a 14-year-old and realizing you can’t communicate with your parents anymore because they only speak Dene and you only speak English. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Jimmy Kevin Sayer, who went to Muskowekwan Indian Residential School from 1983-1984. Like so many others, he was sexually abused while a student. Both of his parents also went to Musekowekwan as children, and struggled with alcoholism throughout their adult lives. According to Jimmy, "I've spent half my life incarcerated, and I blame residential school for that. But I also know I have to give up my hate because I'm responsible for myself. I have three adult daughters and I was in jail for the duration of their childhoods — I have a 2-year-old son now and I need to be there for him. I have to be different." Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Marcel Ellery, who went to Marieval Indian Residential School from 1987-1990. "I ran away 27 times. But the RCMP always found us eventually. When I got out, I turned to booze because of the abuse. I drank to suppress what had happened to me, to deal with my anger, to deal with my pain, to forget. Ending up in jail was easy, because I'd already been there." Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Gary Edwards. He attended three residential schools in Saskatchewan between 1970-1978. He first told me about his memories from school when I met him last November, and they remain some of the most terrifying stories I've ever heard. One in particular has stayed with me -- Gary remembers that routinely, after mass, the priest and two assistants would lock the church doors, don gas masks (the old-fashioned canister kind), and open clear, seemingly empty mason jars. Minutes later, some students would begin to vomit, or seize, or to develop severe nosebleeds. To this day, he has not been able to figure out what was happening during those weekly sessions, but he believes that someone was using him and his schoolmates to test nerve gas. While that's hard to prove, for now, there are many documented cases of medical testing and forced sterilization of indigenous children while they were at residential school. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Grant Severight, who went to St. Phillips Indian Residential School in Kamsack, Saskatchewan from 1955-1964. He has spent decades working as a counsellor, helping other residential school survivors cope with their experiences. While the physical and sexual abuse that almost every indigenous child encountered is often the focus of the residential school experience, it's important to note that the act of forced assimilation is just as sinister and psychologically damaging. Students were punished if they spoke their native languages or tried to practice any indigenous customs. Their hair was cut, their clothes were taken away. At best, little children saw their parents two months of the year. At worst, they wouldn't see their families for a decade. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Edward Badger, who went to the Gordon Indian Residential School from 1975-1977. Gordon’s was the last residential school to close in Canada — it didn’t shut down until 1996. The Canadian government didn’t issue a formal apology until 2008. The title of this project, Signs of Your Identity, comes from an apology issued by the Anglican Church (much earlier, in 1993): “I accept and I confess before God and you, our failures in the residential schools. We failed you. We failed ourselves. We failed God. I am sorry, more than I can say, that we were part of a system which took you and your children from home and family. I am sorry, more than I can say, that we tried to remake you in our image, taking from you your language and the signs of your identity.” Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Rick Pelletier, who attended the Qu'Appelle Indian Residential School from 1965-1966. He was 7 years old. He was being beaten so badly -- both by the nuns and by older students who themselves had been subjected to extreme physical violence -- that when his parents went to take him back for his second year, he ran away. Later, his parents enrolled him at a local public school in Regina, but the experience was just as bad. Being one of the only First Nations students at school meant he was the object of bullying and racism. "I still don't know which was worse." Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Angela Rose, who went to Gordon Indian Residential School from 1980-1986. “I used to be able to speak my language when I was little. But now, because of residential school, I only know how to say hello and count to ten. I turn on the native radio station and I just like to sit and listen. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but every once in a while a word will pop out at me and it’ll jog some small memory. I’ve lost a lot of things, but I think that’s one of the ones I miss most.” Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Brian Shannacappo, who went to the Gordon Indian Residential School for one week in 1995, when he was 14 years old. A year later, Gordon’s was the last residential school to close in Canada. Brian’s tenure at the school was so brief because he was caught smoking outside during his first few days there. He was given detention and ordered to scrub the toilets and floors with a toothbrush. When he refused, Gordon’s expelled him and sent him back to Regina. No other schools would take him, so he went to work as a roofer instead. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Deedee Lerat, whom I met while spending the day at Regina Drug Court. She went to Marieval Residential School from 1967-1970, though she went as a day school student, not a boarder. The Canadian government has yet to recognize day school students when it comes to reparations, even though many of those children suffered through similar physical and psychological abuses. “When I was 8, Mormons swept across Saskatchewan. So I was taken out of residential school and sent to a Mormon foster home for 5 years. I’ve been told I’m going to hell so many times and in so many ways… now I’m just scared of God.” Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Janet Dufour, who went to Marieval Indian Residential School from 1952-1960. “A priest molested me because I was ugly and shy and I think he picked the most vulnerable of us. I couldn’t tell my parents because I was so ashamed. I only got to see them two months a year for our summer holidays – to this day, I don’t like fall because it brings back that ugly feeling, that terror of having to go back. … I did grade 9 and some of grade 10 and then I ran away. I didn’t know who I was – I was ashamed to be native, and I was ashamed to be brown, so I ran to the darkest part of the city where I thought I belonged. We all just want to belong.” Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Stuart Bitternose. He went to Gordon Indian Residential School from 1946-1954. “After I’d had enough of that place, one day I jumped the 8 foot high fence and I took off down the highway. I found a farm, and I asked if I could work, and I stayed there for two and a half years on a salary of a dollar a day. I learned how to look after cattle, cut firewood, mend fences, thresh. I did it all. I told the farmer I’d run away, and he said he didn’t care – and if anyone came looking for me he’d chase them off for trespassing. I still keep in touch with his sons. He saved me.” Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Victor Mispounas, who attended Beauval Indian Residential School from 1955-1964. Like so many of the 130 residential schools that operated throughout Canada, Beauval had its share of tragedies. A fire in 1927 claimed the lives of 19 boys, aged 7 to 12. A flu epidemic in 1936 took another 20 students. So far, the Canadian government estimates that about 4,000 children died while attending residential schools, but as ongoing efforts to investigate reports of mass graves and unmarked burial sites continue, it seems likely that the figure is actually much, much higher. The causes are varied — disease and starvation claimed many lives, as did extreme physical punishment, suicide, and failed escape attempts. I heard several stories of families who weren’t told that their sons and daughters had died until months or even years later. That’s how much parents were allowed to communicate with their own children. Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015.

This is Daniella Zalcman @dzalcman and I’m back to share some images from my latest @pulitzercenter trip to Saskatchewan, Canada where I was reporting on the legacy of the Indian Residential School system just last week.

These forced assimilation boarding schools for indigenous children were federally funded and ran from the 1830s until 1996.

I will be sharing multiple exposure portraits of survivors from my project, as well as their stories, snippets of our conversations, and some historical context about Canada's painful relationship with its First Nations population.

For more images, head on over to @newyorkerphoto where I’m also taking over their account for the week! Thank you for following along!