Editor’s note: This column contains details that some readers may find disturbing.
I left Winnipeg in 1974 to move to Yellowknife to find work and to escape a dangerous city in terms of violence towards Indigenous women, including a day spent with a man who I talked and laughed with when he stopped to ask what I was reading at the Manitoba Legislature enjoying the sunny day on the grass.
He went for dinner, stopped by his shop and went to his place not far from the University of Winnipeg where I was studying. After a while, the subject of a night together came up and I demurred, stating that I wanted to have sex when I was ready to make my own mind up. Moments after the gun came out and was placed at my forehead. I gave him what he wanted. While he slept, I snuck out and walked back to residence. It was two or three in the morning and I carefully avoided the late-night walking drunks and drug-users. I slept in the next day, not being able to leave the safety of my bed, stuck inside my head and still feeling him crawl over my body.
I did not see the police, knowing their attitude would deal with my decision-making and whether I was drunk or not. It was typical of the mentality then and to this day – blame the victim for sexual violence, not the perpetrator. Indigenous women were given the blame for simply existing.
Not long after, I was walking past The Bay mid-afternoon on a beautiful, sunny fall day. Two men, in an alcove of a storefront asked, “Hey squaw, wanna f**k?” I gave them the middle finger salute. The next second I was flat on the ground with a boot aimed at my head. One had yanked my long black hair so hard that I fell on my back. They laughed as they continued to threaten my safety. The street was crowded. No one intervened. People just kept on with their business, stepping over and around me. I might add that I was not in jeans and a T-shirt but a little red suit. I was dressed for a job interview.
Winnipeg remains the same. Last week, it’s believed that two women’s bodies were dumped at a local land-fill. It was announced by the Winnipeg Police chief that no search would be made for their remains. It was a callous announcement for the Indigenous community, knowing full-well a search would have been undertaken had the women been white. Manitoba’s premier and Winnipeg’s had been silent. The visceral reaction to the announcement has now taken some second-thought. The families of the women want closure, they want a body to bury and mourn over. Now they cry in rage for the lack of police action and not in the direction of the serial killer who took their family members.
It doesn’t matter how well an Indigenous woman does in life with responsible jobs, position and families — the attitude remains the same. What did you do to deserve this treatment? As if we have to do anything but be! We are seen as disposable and killable.
Only the actions of Indigenous women’s groups have altered this constant inequity of care and concern. They have lobbied in anger and frustration over inaction by police and government. Marching, protesting, lobbying and fearlessness has brought this issue to the public domain.
Marie Speakman has been working with families missing loved ones. She has provided solace and guidance to them and aided concerned groups over the years. Marie, in particular, brought the community together by organizing marches from Yellowknife to Behchoko. I felt fortunate to take the St. John Ambulance van to provide rest for walkers and carry water and food for participants.
On the second walk, a lineup of cars met the walkers closer to Behchoko. As we approached, vehicle doors opened and new walkers flooded the Yellowknife walkers with men, women and children in the final march into Behchoko. We were all welcomed to the Tlicho Assembly and thanked for our concern and determination. From a singular women’s safety issue, the focus became a community issue involving all residents.
Mahsi!