Sins of the Past? reflections on aboriginal justice

By Mark Van Steenwyk

Image from the 2011 CPT Delegation to Grassy Narrows.

Aboriginal justice was largely a non-issue to me until two years ago. This is a sad thing for me to confess. For my entire life, I’ve lived with Native neighbors. I grew up near White Earth in Northwestern Minnesota. In my twenties, I moved to the Twin Cities, which is home to Little Earth, as well as the center of the Dakota Oyate—the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers. My city is filled with visual reminders of the past subjugation of the aboriginal peoples of this land. The place names of Minnesota—even the name of the state itself—comes from the first people of this land. Our longest-lasting state monument, Fort Snelling was built to assist in the subjugation of the Dakota. But, until recently, I didn’t have eyes to see these reminders for what they are: symbols of occupation.

Indigenous people have been “invisibilized.” Few people care. Our social consciousness has placed Native Americans in the past–people who used to live here. Many mistakenly assume that there is justice for those that remain. We’re talking about 3.5% of the population of Canada and 1.5% of the population of the United States. Since the earliest settlers landed in these shores, the aboriginal peoples have experienced a genocide that we won’t publicly acknowledge. Settlers gained vast land and resources and, in exchange, granted relatively small patches of land and a mere facsimile of self-determination and sovereignty. It simply isn’t in our national interests to have an open conversation about this. And so many of our societal myths have effectively rendered indigenous people as nostalgic images of our past.

So, in my imagination, indigenous peoples were remnants from the past. However, as I began to encounter indigenous activists and scholars who talk about oppression and struggle in the present-tense, my imagination began to fracture. What once was safely kept in textbooks began to break into my conscience as I learned about the genocidal treatment of the aboriginal peoples of North America. A catalytic moment for me was reading Waziyatawin’s What Does Justice Look Like? Later, I was able to interview her on the Iconocast. That interview changed my life. I realized that I needed to recognize (and own) the dark legacy of Christianity, while, at the same time, commit myself to being a part of seeking justice.

I had always believed that I wasn’t responsible or complicit in the sins of the past. Nevertheless, it dawned on me that, as a part of the Body of Christ, I was responsible for seeking justice for the future. No amount of time can heal the injustices of the past. And as someone who benefits so highly from these injustices, I do not have the freedom to remain neutral or silent.

We, the Church in North America, cannot silently accept the the injustices that have brought us to this point. We must begin to “name” and confess those injustices that have shaped our current realities and step by step act in faithfulness as we embody peace and justice in the midst of a violent world.

At one point in my interview with Waziyatawin, I asked her what role Christianity can play in a just future. In part, her response was “…its very difficult for me to see how Christians can proceed into the future [in a just way] while adhering to Christian principles.” This challenge, while discouraging, was also liberating. I felt challenged to embody the teachings of Christ in such a way that I could both repent of the sins of the Church, while also pointing to the peace that Jesus seeks to bring.

This was something that others at my community, Missio Dei, felt as well. As a result, we decided that a faithful step forward would be to participate in an Aboriginal Justice delegation with Christian Peacemaker Teams. While participating in a delegation at Grassy Narrows (Asubpeeschoseewagong Netum Anishinabe) would only give us one local example of injustices among one Nation of aboriginal peoples, we felt it would be a good place to start. As more people from Missio Dei participate in delegations and trainings, our goal is to form a Regional Group with CPT that would have a strong, but not exclusive, emphasis on Aboriginal Justice.

I was the third person from Missio Dei to travel to Grassy Narrows. Their traditional way of life, which has depended upon a balanced ecosystem, has been threatened by mercury poisoning and clear cutting. And their history is that of forced residential schools and genocide. If the aboriginal people couldn’t be wiped out, they could at least be “civilized” by force.

Given this horrific history, I am amazed by the perseverance of some of the people to resist. The people there have very little control over what happens. They have been “given” a very small area to live on as a reserve and have been “granted” access to traditional lands. Governance is complex. Democracy doesn’t really exist for native North Americans. Federal and provincial (or, in our case, state) governments can basically control the outcomes based upon their own economic interests. That was why, in 2002, women like Chrissy Swain began blockading logging roads. CPT has been a presence in that work since the beginning, accompanying and bearing witness with those who have decided to take a stand against an unjust system.

Many tend to mistakenly assume that violence against indigenous people is a thing of the past. But not only do systems continue to muffle the voices of so many, but fear tactics and intimidation continue. The police in Kenora can often become abusive as local natives are abused or hassled. One night in Kenora, our delegation was encouraged to document the police presence outside of a bar—where many were celebrating after an Aboriginal hokey tournament.

The police paid a lot of attention to one bar. At least 8 police vehicles and 16 officers were present at any given time. We made our presence known to the police and they became uncomfortable. They positioned themselves away from the bar. By the end of the evening, there were no incidents. We heard from local folks that, usually, the police would forcibly disperse the crowd at a certain point in the evening and that there would be several cases of police brutality. By all accounts, our presence limited police intimidation. This was ominously reinforced as we drove home for sleep after a long night and realized that a police cruiser was following us.  We were staring down the dark street in disbelief when the officer suddenly and almost aggressively sped off past us.

This occurrence, and many like it, would have been invisible to me before. It is painful to come to terms with the fact that injustices happen all around me and I simply do not have eyes to see them.

If we are going to be a part of a just future (after all, the Church is sadly all-too-complicit in the injustices of the past), we need to do more than feel bad. We need new eyes. And we need to act.

But now that I can see the injustices for what they are, now what? What happens when we realize that the USA and Canada are occupiers? What happens when we realize that our governments have failed to keep what few promises they’ve made to the First Nations? What do we do when we realize that the Church—with scandalously few exceptions—has not only been complicit, but has also fueled, injustices both past and present? What does repentance look like?

Here are a few thoughts about how we might consider moving more deeply into that repentance:

1. We can participate in something like an Aboriginal Justice Delegation, where we can learn about a community and its struggles from their own perspective.
2. We can begin to learn the histories of the places where we live and tell the truth to our communities. When I visit Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis with my son, Jonas, I tell him what the place is supposed to be—that it was a special place to the Dakota people and that it was taken from them—rather than simply telling him that it is a park. We must tell truer stories that don’t gloss over realities with the hazy mist of the American Dream.
3. We can ask our local denominations to move beyond simply apologies by seeking to meet with local indigenous leaders to honestly explore “what justice looks like” without us assuming we already know the answer. The call of Jesus to the wealthy man in his day was to “sell everything” and give it to the poor. Our denominations have acquired wealth, in part, through the deprivation of Aboriginal peoples. We must explore with them what justice looks like even if it comes at great risk to our institutions.
4. We can respect existing Aboriginal sovereignty by boycotting those companies that continue to exploit lands protected by treaties. It is a mistake to assume that the damage has already been done when it comes to Aboriginal sovereignty. Governments and corporations continue to exploit lands that were already granted to indigenous communities. In other words, the governments of the US and Canada (as well as state and provincial governments) aren’t content to exploit the lands that have already been taken, they’re trying to peck away at traditional and reservation lands as well. We need to challenge our governments and boycott those companies (like Weyerhaeuser) that add insult to injury by extracting natural resources from indigenous lands.
5. We can stand with native peoples in their struggles, as supporters. There aren’t many indigenous people left. By standing with them and telling their stories, we can help amplify their voices. It is awkward work, learning to be an ally. But it is a necessary step towards justice.

Many within the U.S. and Canada experience violence and oppression. The US government doesn’t limit its oppressive violence to those outside our borders. Oppressive violence is still a common experience for aboriginal peoples and others in these lands.

This, of course, is just a beginning. But if we can humble ourselves and turn from injustice, God can bring some healing to the deep wounds of the past.