Latest news with #RedRiverMétis
CTV News
6 days ago
- General
- CTV News
Winnipeg School Division honours Indigenous graduates in the city and beyond
Parker Ledoux, 17 from Creighton, Sask. who graduating from Creighton Community School, poses for a portrait in Winnipeg on Monday, June 16, 2025 at the University of Winnipeg Duckworth Centre as part of a special celebration put on by the Winnipeg School Division to honour 2025 Indigenous graduates, as well as graduates from northern Manitoba communities who have been evacuated due to ongoing wildfires. THE CANADIAN PRESS/David Lipnowski WINNIPEG — Parker Ledoux never imagined spending the last month of her Grade 12 school year cooped up in a Winnipeg hotel room far from her home. But when an out-of-control wildfire encroached on Creighton, Sask., at the end of last month and forced its some 1,200 people to flee, that's exactly what happened. With graduation celebrations supposed to take place next week and community members still displaced, Ledoux is not sure what the quintessential teenage experience will look like for her and her classmates. The Winnipeg School Division recognized the uncertainty high school evacuees may be facing and opened up its own ceremony honouring Indigenous graduates to students forced out of their homes by the wildfires. 'I am so grateful to be here today,' said Ledoux, a Red River Métis citizen. 'Just the opportunity to do something ... I'm grateful that they thought of us evacuees.' The school division was to host its annual outdoor powwow last week, but had to postpone it due to wildfire smoke from the north impacting air quality in the province's capital. The division decided to host a smaller, scaled-back version Monday with a grand entry, drumming and singing honour songs and speeches. Officials saw the new event as an opportunity to also recognize the resilience, dedication and achievements of students beyond the school division. 'Welcoming these evacuated students is our way of honouring their hard work, extending our community and showing them that we care,' said Rob Riel, assistant superintendent of Indigenous Education, in a statement. After Creighton residents were ordered to leave, classes at the local high school were cancelled. Ledoux is hoping for a postponed graduation ceremony for her and her 40 some classmates. The 17-year-old was named valedictorian and was looking forward to reading the speech she prepared three months ago. 'It's something you look forward to growing up,' she said. 'You (make) it to Grade 12, and then last month of school, and all of the sudden, everyone had to go.' The teen considers herself one of the lucky ones. Some of her classmates who live in nearby Denare Beach lost their homes when the blaze ripped through the small village. Infernos in northern Saskatchewan and Manitoba forced tens of thousands from their homes. Recent rain and cooler temperatures have allowed some to return. In Manitoba, the roughly 2,300 people who call Tataskweyak Cree Nation home are still displaced. Keanu Kirkness, 18, has been staying with relatives in Winnipeg for two weeks. Graduation celebrations are scheduled to take place at the end of the month. Whether that happens remains to be seen. 'We were just going to do it in our school gym,' said Kirkness. 'I don't think we're going to do that.' Kirkness's principal encouraged him and some of his classmates to attend Monday's event on the chance that they can share their stories with other graduates. Coming from an isolated, close-knit community, Kirkness said he finds the city and large-scale events crowded but a good opportunity to meet new people. 'I'm feeling alright knowing that I can try to talk to somebody — just to try to get out of my bubble.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 17, 2025. Brittany Hobson, The Canadian Press
The Verge
12-05-2025
- Politics
- The Verge
Indigenous scientists are fighting to protect their data — and their culture
Every month, a group of Indigenous scientists from around the world gathers on Zoom. They never have an agenda. They meet as colleagues to catch up and commiserate about the challenges of being Indigenous in Western academia. Their February meeting, however, quickly struck a different tone. 'There was this cascade that started happening,' recalled Max Liboiron, a professor at Memorial University of Newfoundland who hosts the virtual calls. 'Everyone in the US was like, ' Holy shit. My career is over. My students' funding is screwed.'' Liboiron immediately entered triage mode. A geographer and university administrator by trade, Liboiron used to organize with Occupy Wall Street. 'I was a full-time activist,' they said over Zoom. With their hair buzzed and arms tattooed, Liboiron's past life isn't hard to imagine. They're Red River Métis, the Indigenous peoples of Canada's prairie provinces, and speak with a candidness that is both cool and calculated. Since Donald Trump entered office, Liboiron has put those rapid-response skills to use to support their US colleagues in need. US federal law recognizes many tribal nations as sovereign political entities, not racial or ethnic groups, but that hasn't stopped Trump from sweeping up Indigenous peoples in his attacks on diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI). From Alaska to New England, Indigenous researchers — and the communities they serve — are losing access to dollars for critical science that could help them amid the planet's changing temperatures. They're worried that the loss, theft, seizure, or privatization of their research — which often includes ancient cultural knowledge — could be next. After all, the US and Canada hold a nasty track record on Indigenous rights from centuries of theft, genocide, and ongoing oppression: 'That starts in 1492,' Liboiron said. Indigenous communities are now concerned that the government may weaponize their data against them, using it to justify the surveillance of their activities or extraction of valuable resources on their lands. 'Everyone in the US was like, ' Holy shit. My career is over. My students' funding is screwed.'' 'We have to have more control over how the settler-state represents us in data, how they collect data about us,' Liboiron said, describing discussions on Indigenous data sovereignty in the '90s. 'The movement comes out of an idea of mismanagement through bad data practices from the state.' There's a new level of uncertainty since tech billionaire Elon Musk's mysterious invasion of sensitive federal data. 'There's an unknown relationship between what Musk can touch and our data,' Liboiron said. After the disturbing February discussion, Liboiron sent out a survey to assess everyone's needs: 'Servers were immediately on that list.' These servers are repositories for anything digital, including research. Liboiron and this group are part of a decades-long movement around Indigenous data sovereignty and governance, which advocates for the rights of Indigenous peoples in determining who accesses, manages, and owns their information. Data can include anything from environmental DNA to oral history audio recordings. They're often sensitive, too. Indigenous peoples don't want this information falling into the wrong hands — or, worse, disappearing entirely — but the federal government is looking like less of an ally with each passing day. Under the first Trump presidency, scientists were concerned only about federal data, but the behavior in the second term is unprecedented. 'The rule of law and norms of governance, the norms and laws of jurisdiction, no longer apply,' Liboiron said. 'Even if your data isn't held by the federal government or funded by the federal government, it's become very clear that different parts of the federal government can reach into almost anywhere and intervene.' A possible solution has already emerged: private servers located in foreign countries. Through the IndigeLab Network Liboiron codirects, members have already identified at least three locations in Canada where Indigenous data can be securely stored. While the researchers finalize access to new servers, they have turned to cloud storage, using providers like CryptPad, a France-based alternative to Google Docs, and Sync, a Canadian-based alternative to Dropbox. 'I've gone from basically protesting and staying safe to massively mobilizing resources with the same techniques,' Liboiron said. One ally is Angie Saltman, a citizen of the Métis Nation of Alberta and founder and president of Saltmedia, a Canadian-based tech company with its own data center. Saltmedia and its sister company, IT Horizons, work with a range of clients, including private industry, government, First Nations, and Indigenous nonprofit and for-profit organizations. Saltman thinks of her client relationships similarly to that of a landlord and tenant. 'We will look after the house, but we usually set it up so that our team doesn't get to creep in the house,' she explained. Meanwhile, Big Tech companies in the US, like Google, Microsoft, Amazon, and Meta, can creep all they want. They have long collaborated with law enforcement agencies to hand over users' private data. Lately, they've been aligning themselves with Trump through donations and internal policy changes. Data storage isn't everything Indigenous data sovereignty ultimately goes deeper than servers and technology, though. It's about stewarding the cultures and autonomies of Indigenous peoples, recognizing the intellect of Indigenous peoples, and training the next generation to continue that legacy. 'Indigenous peoples have always been data experts,' said Riley Taitingfong, a postdoctoral researcher at the Collaboratory for Indigenous Data Governance who is Chamorro. She points to the historical Marshallese stick charts, made of coconut strips and cowrie shells, her ancestors used to record sea data and voyage safely. Indigenous peoples in unincorporated US territories, like Guam, Puerto Rico, and the US Virgin Islands, face unique challenges around Indigenous data sovereignty due to their lack of federal recognition. This movement is also about trust — between researchers and the communities they serve, as well as between Indigenous peoples and the federal government. But trust isn't built overnight. 'You have to reckon with all the stuff you've done as an institution and also as an individual,' said Stephanie Russo Carroll, director of the Collaboratory for Indigenous Data Governance who helped author the CARE Principles that guide conversations on Indigenous data sovereignty. 'Even as an Indigenous individual, you have to reckon with how your mind has been colonized.' 'I've gone from basically protesting and staying safe to massively mobilizing resources with the same techniques.' At Memorial University, Liboiron created a contract template between the university and Indigenous communities in 2019 whose language cements that Indigenous partners own and benefit from a particular research project. The University of Maine similarly signs memoranda of understanding with the Wabanaki Nations researchers with whom it regularly collaborates. 'The solutions to this are not just digital tech solutions,' said Carroll, who is Ahtna, a citizen of the Native Village of Kluti-Kaah in Alaska. 'We're talking about real shifts in power and real shifts in authority and real depth of relational work.' Relationships push progress forward: The Trump administration hasn't stopped the National Institutes of Health from finalizing a policy that would require federal researchers to seek permission from tribes to access their data in the agency's databases, according to NIH Tribal Health Research Office Director Karina Walters. Elsewhere in the federal government, however, Indigenous leaders are losing their contacts as the Trump administration fires staff. Now, advocates are increasingly looking to state governments, which also harbor health and environmental data Indigenous peoples need. Climate crisis adds urgency In Washington, for example, the Tulalip Tribes and Department of Health recently signed an agreement — the state's first — that gives tribes direct access to lab reports and disease updates that will help safeguard their communities' well-being. As climate change contributes to more public health emergencies, Indigenous peoples also urgently need access to data from weather satellites, medicinal plants, and nonhuman relatives, like salmon and alewives. After all, every Indigenous community is different, but a common thread unites them: their connections to the earth and the flora and fauna with whom they share it. In many cultures, animals, plants, waterways, and the cosmos are seen as relatives. 'The health of the land is the health of the people,' said Christina E. Oré, an associate director at Seven Directions, an Indigenous public health institute at the University of Washington. She is an Andean descendant of Peru. 'The health of the land is the health of the people.' Back at the University of Maine, anthropology professor Darren Ranco, who is a citizen of the Penobscot Nation, wrapped up a project in December where his team gathered audio recordings from Wabanaki knowledge holders (elders enshrined with caretaking duties to guard and share Indigenous knowledge) who lived through previous disasters. The researchers analyzed the oral histories and cultural expertise alongside climate change data, like precipitation patterns and air and water temperatures, to identify earlier adaptation strategies that may be helpful in responding to current climate impacts. 'The data was related to tribal perspectives on past, current, and future environmental and climate change,' Ranco explained. 'This isn't the first time we've adapted to a changing climate.' The data was jointly controlled by the scientists and the tribal communities during the research, but instead of following the standard protocol of deleting the human subject data upon project completion, the team released all the information to the tribes. Now, the relevant communities have access to the information as long as they like without having to seek permission or jump through hoops. Desi Small-Rodriguez, executive director of the Data Warriors Lab and UCLA sociology professor, has been working with her leaders at the Northern Cheyenne Nation to eliminate those hoops entirely by drafting a tribal law to protect their ancestral knowledge. The hope is to pass it later this year. Right now, tribal leaders struggle to access necessary information about fisheries and air and water quality. In some cases, the government is already collecting this data. Tribes just aren't let in. 'How do we get the data that's already out there back into our hands? And how do we also rebuild data that we haven't had in our communities for a very, very long time?' Small-Rodriguez said. 'We're moving forward to figure out how we use the white man's law to protect Cheyenne data.' Small-Rodriguez is worried about who is currently running the US federal government. She can't trust Trump — and definitely not Musk — with her people's cultural knowledge. She trusts her Indigenous relatives in the US and beyond. In March, she visited her Māori peers who invited her to New Zealand to collaborate on solutions to the crisis US Indigenous researchers face. In April, Small-Rodriguez was in Australia for a Global Indigenous Data Governance conference.
Hamilton Spectator
08-05-2025
- Hamilton Spectator
Willowbank honours Canada's missing and murdered Indigenous women
Residents and visitors gathered at Willowbank on Monday to reflect on stories of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls and two-spirit people (MMIWG2S+). The School of Restoration Arts hosted a red dress exhibit and unveiled what organizers say is Canada's first MMIWG2S+ teardrop cairn during a two-day event held May 4 and 5. The retreat was organized in partnership with Kakekalanicks, De dwa da dehs nye Aboriginal Health Centre, Willowbank and the Love Garden, and aimed to provide space for community gathering, remembrance and cultural truth-telling. The exhibition, titled 'If Only These Dresses Could Tell Their Story,' features 13 red dresses and/or installations contributed by Indigenous peoples from Niagara and western New York. Curated by Michele-Elise Burnett, the exhibition made its debut at Willowbank and will travel across Canada next year, with its first stop at Black Creek Village in Toronto. 'The vision for these is they will travel across Turtle Island and spread their messages and awareness,' Burnett said. 'Hopefully, whenever we go to a new place, we invite another family to join the collective.' Fallon Farinacci, a Red River Métis woman, contributed a dress to the exhibition in memory of her father, Maurice Paul, her nine-year-old self, and the thousands of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. 'The dress itself is my daughter's first communion dress,' Farinacci told The Lake Report. Raised in a Roman Catholic community in Manitoba, Farinacci now refers to herself as a 'recovering Catholic.' 'As I grew up, I learned more about the Catholic Church's role in residential schools, colonization, discrimination and racism towards Indigenous people,' she said. Attached to her dress are the calls for justice from the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, as well as her daughter's first sash. The hem of the dress is stained with dirt mailed from her home community. 'That is the dirt and soil of my ancestors,' she said. The wheat featured at the bottom of the dress pays tribute to the Prairies, while the red paint symbolizes both the red dresses and the bloodshed caused by violence against Indigenous people. 'The red dress exhibit is called 'If Only These Dresses Could Tell Their Story,' and now they are telling their story. It's a call to action,' Burnett said. A new teardrop-shaped cairn was also unveiled near the Love Garden at Willowbank. Built by Dean McLellan with the support of Willowbank students, the structure features a crystal on top and contains gifts and offerings inside. 'Our community wanted to create a memorial, and we thought — what better place to do it?' said Marie-Louise Bowering, an Indigenous community consultant and coach who also serves as secretary on Willowbank's board. 'It's going to help this land, it's going to help with the history and the trauma that has happened here throughout the thousands of years that our people have been here,' she said. The cairn was funded through community donations, while the stone was donated by Perry Hartwick of Upper Canada Stone Company. Admission to the exhibit was pay-what-you-may, with proceeds supporting the MMIW Cairn Reflection Area and future awareness and healing initiatives. MMIWG2S+ shirts are available at . juliasacco@
CBC
09-04-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
REDress edited by Jaime Black-Morsette
A powerful anthology reflecting on the REDress exhibit and its impact A powerful anthology uniting the voices of Indigenous women, Elders, grassroots community activists, artists, academics, and family members affected by the tragedy of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit people from across Turtle Island. In 2010, Métis artist Jaime Black-Morsette created the REDress Project—an art installation consisting of placing red dresses in public spaces as a call for justice for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit people (MMIWG2S). Symbolizing both absence and presence, the red dresses ignite a reclamation of voice and place for MMIWG2S. Fifteen years later, the symbol of the empty red dress endures as families continue to call for action. In this anthology, Jaime Black-Morsette shares her own intimate stories and memories of the REDress Project along with the voices of Indigenous women, Elders, grassroots community activists, artists, academics, and family members affected by this tragedy. Together they use the power of their collective voice to not only call for justice for MMIWG2S, but honour Indigenous women as keepers and protectors of land, culture, and community across Turtle Island. Jaime Black-Morsette is a Red River Métis artist and activist. Founder of The REDress project in 2010, Jaime has used their art to foster community and drive change against the epidemic of violence against Indigenous women and girls across Turtle Island for over a decade. Their interdisciplinary art practice spans immersive film, video, installation, photography, and performance, exploring themes of memory, identity, place, and resistance.
CBC
03-04-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
Procession by katherena vermette
Procession: a line of people moving in the same direction; a formal ceremony or celebration, as in a wedding, a funeral, a religious parade. Bestseller and Governor General's Awardwinner Katherena Vermette's third collection presents a series of poems reaching into what it means to be at once a descendant and a future ancestor, exploring the connections we have with one another and ourselves, amongst friends, and within families and Nations. In frank, heartfelt poems that move through body sovereignty and ancestral dreams, and from '80s childhood nostalgia to welcoming one's own babies, Vermette unreels the story of a child, a parent, and soon, an elder, living in a prairie place that has always existed, though looks much different to her now. This book is about being one small part of a large genealogy. A lineage is a line, and the procession, whether in celebration or in mourning, is ongoing. Procession delves into what it means to make poems and to be an artist, to be born into a body, to carry it all, and, if you're very lucky, age. (From House of Anansi Press) katherena vermette is a Michif (Red River Métis) writer from Winnipeg. Her books include the novels real ones, The Break, The Strangers and The Circle, poetry collections North End Love Songs and river woman and the four-book graphic novel series A Girl Called Echo. North End Love Songs won the Governor General's Literary Award for poetry. The Break was a finalist for the Rogers Writers' Trust Fiction Prize and the Governor General's Literary Award for fiction. It was defended by Candy Palmater on Canada Reads 2017. The Strangers won the 2021 Atwood Gibson Writers' Trust Fiction Prize and was longlisted for the 2021 Scotiabank Giller Prize. real ones was also longlisted for the 2024 Giller Prize. She is also a senior editor at Simon & Schuster Canada.
