Squamish Nation's Dale Harry says he always knew the power of an apology. Earlier this month, he stood next to his mother on Parliament Hill to hear one that was 130 years in the making. On June 11, Prime Minister Stephen Harper asked aboriginal people to forgive the government of Canada for the harm caused by Indian residential schools."Those were really good words," Dale said. "They give me three words: it's about time."Dale has watched his mother Gwen Harry reclaim a life initially numbed by the scars of residential schooling. Once an emotionally detached mother struggling with alcohol, Gwen taught herself how to be an affectionate parent and put an end to drinking by braving an all-white Al Anon program."I thought, 'This is going to straighten my husband out,' and I ended up straightening myself out," she said with a laugh.Getting past a childhood spent in an institutional setting has been a complicated process for Gwen, whose father was also raised in a residential school. While she was spared from the physical abuse many other students suffered, she returned home 12 years later feeling alienated from her community in Capilano."I just felt so uncomfortable there," she said. "I felt like I didn't belong. They were all just strangers."Gwen had been living in a residential school where boys and girls were kept separate on the island community of Alert Bay since the age of five. With a 16-hour steamboat ride between her and her family, she soon grew accustomed to a more militant way of life where she was number 368."It was just an institution. There were 96 girls. Some left, others filed in," she said. After arriving on the island in 1936, she gave up her clothes for a numbered uniform made up of a twill jumper and high boots.Anglican missionaries raised the girls, with rules and regulations standing in for love and support."Our school was so military because it was during the war years. We had to march to the beat of a drum," she recalled. "The boys carried little wooden guns when we marched to church."Her fellow classmates were unable to recreate the family atmosphere they were all missing out on. Many were too young to know any other way of life."There was no love. We did a lot of fighting."In 1945, Gwen began a two-year battle with tuberculosis. She spent the time in a hospital dedicated to natives in Sardis. When she recovered, she didn't want to return to her family. Instead she did small jobs around the hospital, making herself at home in the clinical setting. Her days in the hospital came to an end when it burned down in 1948."I didn't like going home," she said. "I would have rather been in an institution. I think had I been to jail, I would have been comfortable because it was the same thing."Even everyday cooking was a challenge for Gwen, who was used to measuring in pitchers and cups rather than cups and teaspoons.Seven years after returning home, she married Ernie Harry, who had also been through residential schooling. He had lived through a more brutal experience with the system."My Dad always despised the church," Dale said. "He told me he was slapped when he spoke his language."Fortunately, Ernie hung onto his Squamish language. While he continued to do the rosary in Latin, he didn't lose his First Nations traditions. "He hunted, fished. He survived by the land," Dale said.When they started a family, Gwen said she was especially strict and had to teach herself to give hugs to her children. The militant approach she broke free of eventually became the butt of jokes for her kids, who once gave her a T-shirt that read "Guardian of the wooden spoon."About seven years ago, Gwen said she began to face how much she had lost through residential schooling. To find out about her heritage, she had to turn to other families knowing that her own history had been all but obliterated by generations of separation."It wasn't awful to be in there but the whole concept is bad," she said. "We were segregated to be assimilated."With the help of local MP Blair Wilson, a numbers of Squamish Nation elders and family members were able to hear last week's apology from the official gallery on Parliament Hill. Gwen and Dale were joined by seven other Squamish Nation members: Shirley Toman, Bob Baker, Terry Ann Harry, Audrey Liver, Sheryl Fisher, Byron Joseph and Brenda Joseph. The room was filled with First Nations people from across the country with different backgrounds including Inuit and Métis all recovering from the same experience."It really touched me that so many went through that, even though it was different schools," said Gwen.Many people held up photos of their parents who passed away before hearing the apology. The words of politicians rung with sincerity that day, Dale said. There were three statements Harper made that he had been longing to hear. First, that the government is sorry. Second that the government is at fault. And third, that the government will do something about it."They finally realized it was wrong," he said.Dale said he hopes the government continues to help fund his community's healing. He noted that Squamish Nation culture is steadily gaining strength as its dances and customs are rediscovered."Even though it went underground, we still have it."While many survivors rarely open up about their time in residential schools, Gwen said people are beginning to speak out more about their experiences. The government's apology has made this process a little easier, she said."The truth has to come out. It's a dark side of history but it's history."
