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| Convergence |
Colton Boushie of the Red Pheasant
Reserve died of a gunshot wound to the head, a gun a jury decided had
discharged accidentally. Gerald Stanley was holding the gun; the
presence of drunk teens invading his farm would logically have
aroused his anger and he was probably right in saying that under the
circumstances, he wasn’t thinking straight and may have had no
intention of killing anyone when he got out and loaded the handgun.
Perhaps his overriding impulse was simply to protect his wife, son
and his property from danger. I could understand that.
Like most people who followed this
story, I can’t possibly know exactly what the teenagers’ or
Gerald Stanley’s motivations were, theirs in invading
Stanley’s farm property, his in taking out and loading the gun and
pointing it at Colton Boushie’s head. Too drunk to remember
perfectly, the teenagers’ testimony could hardly be relied on to
recreate the tragic chain of events objectively. The Stanley family
would obviously have super-strong motivation to frame the events in a
manner that would lead to the result that finally obtained, and so
their testimony is equally suspect.
There are plenty of people who purport
to know what went down, but elevating what I think
and stating it as fact
isn’t helpful. What is knowable is the degree to which tensions
have arisen in many times and many places between indigenous and
settler neighbours. What is also knowable is that a handgun is a
lethal weapon, and as a spoon is primarily made for ladling food, a
handgun is manufactured for the purpose of taking life. What is
further knowable is that settler/indigenous conflict is the product
of a history and that prejudice and stereotyping go back to early
settlement, residential schools, treaty failures and the form of
apartheid we came to call the reserve system.
In a
way, Colton Boushie was murdered in 1492 when Columbus stepped off
the Santa Maria and the colonial theft of the Americas was set in
motion. In a way, Colton Boushie was murdered by the policy geared to
clearing land for settlement by making treaties and then failing to
fulfill the conditions agreed to. In a way, Colton Boushie was
murdered by the many, many conversations about “useless, thieving
Indians” carried on over settler fences and across tables in coffee
shops in settler towns for years now.
It’s something most of us never experience:
that look in a stranger’s or neighbour’s eye when you meet and
their look signals so clearly that you are despised for who you are,
even if you’re not known. How much those looks—over and over
again—contributed to the behaviour of the teenagers in the car with
Colton Boushie that night can’t be measured by me. How much the
community history of animosity and suspicion contributed to Gerald
Stanley’s loading a handgun and firing it can’t be known by me
either.
I’ve
lived on a reserve racked by poverty, I’ve paid attention to the
working of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, I’ve heard a
stream of news on the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls
inquiry and like you, the unbelievable statistics regarding suicide
on reserves have appalled me. We have neighbours whose despair and
disappointment is so deep that many can’t see any possibility of a
better life.
That
should spur us to action, if for no other reason than that the
prevention
of tragic events like Colton Boushie’s death is far, far better for
all of us than the fruitless debating of who’s to blame, and court cases that resolve nothing.
If I don’t care enough to pay attention, to make my voice heard on
the side of reconciliation, then I’m as much to blame, probably, as
. . . well, as Gerald Stanley?
Just
sayin’.
God
forgive us all . . . we apparently don’t know what the hell we’re
doing!
