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Whenever anyone slips the words "white privilege" into a conversation, it immediately builds an impenetrable wall. For some white people, the words elicit an uneasy feeling because, for them, the term is accusatory without being specific. It is a nebulous concept that seemingly reduces the complex mishmash of history, racism and social phenomena to a nonspecific groupthink phrase.

But white privilege is real.

Instead of using it as a touchy-feely phrase that gives white people the heebie-jeebies because it conjures up images of Caucasians sitting on plantation porches drinking mint juleps while they watch the Negroes toil in the Southern sun, we should use it as a proper noun, with a clear definition. White privilege does not mean that any white person who achieved anything didn't work hard for it. It is an irrefutable, concrete phenomenon that manifests itself in real, measurable values, and we should use it as such.

Imagine the entire history of the United States as a 500-year-old relay race, where whites began running as soon as the gun sounded, but blacks had to stay in the starting blocks until they were allowed to run. If the finish line is the same for everyone, then the time and distance advantage between the two runners is white privilege. Not only can we see it, but we can actually measure it. If we begin viewing it as an economic term-the same way we use "trickle-down economics"-then it might be debatable, but it becomes a real, definable thing that we can acknowledge, explain and work toward eliminating. Race might be a social construct, but white privilege is an economic theory that we should define as such:

White privilege: n. The quantitative advantage of whiteness

Here are four examples that explain white privilege in economic terms.

Education

If education is the key to success, then there is no debate that whites have the advantage in America. In 2012, the U. S. Department of Education reported that about 33 percent of all white students attend a low-poverty school, while only 6 percent attend high-poverty schools. In comparison, only 10 percent of black students attend a low-poverty school, while more than 40 percent of black students attend high-poverty schools.

This means that black students are more than six times more likely than white students to attend a high-poverty school, while white students are more than three times more likely than black students to attend a low-poverty school.

The logical response to this is for whites to explain the disparity away with statistics of black unemployment and the minority wage gap, but that might not be true. In 2015, a research scientist named David Mosenkis examined 500 school districts in Pennsylvania and found that-regardless of the level of income-the more black students, the less money a school received. While this may not be true for every single school, people who study education funding say that they can predict a school's level of funding by the percentage of minority students it has. Even though this is a complex issue that reveals how redlining and segregation decreased the property tax base in areas where blacks live-therefore decreasing funding-it underscores a simple fact:

White children get better educations, and that is a calculable advantage.

Employment

Even when black students manage to overcome the hurdles of unequal education, they still don't get equal treatment when it comes to jobs. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, as of Friday, April 7, the unemployment rate for African Americans was nearly double that of whites ( 8.1 percent for blacks, 4.3 percent for whites).

There are some who will say blacks should study harder, but this phenomenon can't be explained by simple educational disparities. A 2015 study by the Center for Economic and Policy Research shows that whites with the exact same résumés as their black counterparts are hired at double the rate. In fact, a white man with a criminal history is more likely to be hired than an African American with no criminal past.

A similarly named, but different, organization- the Economic Policy Institute-examined 2015 data and discovered that at every level of education, whites were twice as likely to have jobs as blacks.

If it is statistically easier for whites to get a better education, and better jobs, then being born white must be an advantage in and of itself.

Income

But let's say a black man somehow gets a great education and finds a job; surely that means the playing field is level, right?

Not so fast.

Researchers at EPI found that black men with 11-20 years of work experience earned 23.5 percent less than their white counterparts, and black women with 11-20 years of experience were paid 12.6 percent less than white women with the same experience. This disparity is not getting smaller. The wage gap between black and white workers was 18.1 percent in 1979, and steadily increased to 26.7 percent in 2015. When Pew Research controlled for education and just looked at income data, white men still surpassed every other group.

These income inequalities persist to create the disparities in wealth between races, manifesting in generational disadvantages. A black person with the same education and experience as a similar Caucasian, over the span of their lives, will earn significantly less.

Spending

It is a little-known fact that the average black person pays more for almost every item he or she purchases. While there is no discount Groupon that comes whit white skin, there might as well be. A John Hopkins study (pdf) showed that supermarkets were less prevalent in poor black neighborhoods than in white neighborhoods with the same average income, leading to increased food costs. News organization ProPublica recently found that car-insurance companies charge people who live in black neighborhoods higher rates than people in predominantly white areas with the same risk.

When it comes to credit, it is even worse. According to the National Bureau of Economic Research, The Atlantic reports, " even after controlling for general risk considerations, such as credit score, loan-to-value ratio, subordinate liens, and debt-to-income ratios, Hispanic Americans are 78 percent more likely to be given a high-cost mortgage, and black Americans are 105 percent more likely." Even banks as large as Wells Fargo have lost cases for up-charging minorities.

According to the Wall Street Journal, large auto lenders have paid more than $200 million since 2013 to settle lawsuits for charging minorities higher rates, but in November, both Democrats and Republicans voted to reduce regulations on the financial institutions that offer auto loans. The National Consumer Law Center filed a 2007 lawsuit that exposed how "finance companies and banks put in place policies that allowed car dealers to mark up the interest rates on auto loans to minorities based on subjective criteria unrelated to their credit risk."

Instead of hurling the term "white privilege" around as an imprecise catch-all to describe everything from police brutality to Pepsi commercials, perhaps its use as a definable phrase will make people less resistant. Maybe if they saw the numbers, they could acknowledge its existence. It is neither an insult nor an accusation; it is simply a measurable gap with real-world implications. It is the fiscal and economic disparity of black vs. white.

In America's four-and-a-half-centuries-old relay race, the phrase "white privilege" does not mean that Caucasians can't run fast; it is just a matter-of-fact acknowledgment that they got a head start.

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Whenever anyone slips the words "white privilege" into a conversation, it immediately builds an impenetrable wall. For some white people, the words elicit an uneasy feeling because, for them, the term is accusatory without being specific. It is a nebulous concept that seemingly reduces the complex mishmash of history, racism and social phenomena to a nonspecific groupthink phrase.

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lino is an online web sticky note service that can be used to post memos, to-do lists, ideas, and photos anywhere on an online web canvas. lino is a completely free service that runs on all popular web browsers.

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The province's duty to consult Mi'kmaq communities about controversial industrial projects is more about form than substance.

That's the opinion of lawyer Naiomi Metallic, who for a decade practised law focused on indigenous issues and is now a faculty member at Dalhousie University's Schulich School of Law.

Metallic told a forum on the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples last week at the Burke Building Auditorium in Halifax that free, prior and informed consent is a right to a result.

"The duty to consult is only a right to a process, a process of consultation."

Duty to consult is what the Mi'kmaq communities of Nova Scotia are constitutionally entitled to when it comes to industrial projects like Alton Gas that could affect aboriginal or treaty rights.

"The court has been really clear that it is only a right to a process," Metallic said. "The court has said repeatedly that there is no duty to agree and there is no veto by aboriginal people."

Courts can, however, rule that government has not met its duty to consult.

In January, the Sipekne'katik band claimed a legal victory when a Supreme Court of Nova Scotia judge overturned the environment minister's April 2016 denial of a band appeal regarding the approval of the Alton Gas project.

Justice Suzanne Hood sent the appeal back to Environment Minister Margaret Miller with the order that the band be given an opportunity to respond to a report submitted by a department official that the minister's decision was largely based upon.

Alton Natural Gas Storage LP, a subsidiary of AltaGas, plans to flush out two massive underground gas storage caverns at Brentwood, Colchester County, by extracting water from the Shubenacadie River estuary near Fort Ellis.

The industrial approval issued Jan. 20, 2016, by the Environment Department gave Alton Gas the OK to operate a brine storage pond at the river site. The Sipekne'katik band and five other groups appealed the approval.

The court case centred on the government's duty to consult the band on the project that the Mi'kmaq community says will affect the waters that they have traditionally fished. Hood did not rule on the duty to consult, ordering instead that the government revisit the band's appeal of the brining approval before the case would potentially move on to consideration of the duty to consult.

A spokeswoman said Friday that the Environment Department is reviewing the judge's decision and is working with the Sipekne'katik First Nation to comply with Hood's ruling. The company can, in the meantime, continue its operations, the department said.

Metallic said the duty-to-consult playing field is slanted toward government.

"I am not going to suggest that all governments who engage in consultation do so in bad faith, but it is a situation that lawyers have asked, 'What is the obligation on government?' They can just meet, start off by thinking, 'I'm not going to change the project one way or another, but I'll have all the meetings and go through all the steps.' It is kind of like form over substance or it can be."

Metallic said reams of scientific and technical information and consultation requests are just dropped on First Nations without allowing time to review and address them properly.

"I just generally find that the position under Canadian law around the duty to consult is pretty unequal. We are not equal partners in this. The Crown, essentially the government, gets to decide what the level of consultation and what the process is. The First Nation can have input on it, but generally it's the government that gets to call the shots and the courts, when they look at it, generally defer to what the government has decided on for a process."

Metallic said there is no option to say no to the process. If First Nations don't participate in a consultation and later challenge a project in the courts, the court will tell them that they had an obligation to participate.

"There is no veto. There is no way to say no. You're bound to a government-designed process that you have to participate in but that you can't say no to."

This is where Metallic sees the UN declaration coming into play. The declaration was adopted by the UN General Assembly in 2007 and endorsed by Canada three years later. Last May, the federal minister of indigenous and northern affairs announced that Canada is a full supporter of the declaration.

Unlike a treaty or a covenant, a declaration is not legally binding, but Metallic is hopeful that the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples will lead to positive change.

"There is a lot to be desired in terms of the current process," she said of government's consultation duty. "Consent and informed consent can be very helpful in moving to a better place. We need to be focused on results instead of process. I think UNDRIP (Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples) will get us there."

Patti Doyle-Bedwell, a Mi'kmaq lawyer and writer who teaches native studies at Dalhousie, told the forum that she firmly believes the Mi'kmaq form a sovereign nation, a sovereignty that is not limited by the Constitution.

"This is our territory," Doyle-Bedwell said. "When you look at Alton Gas, for instance, I say very strongly that we have a right to say no to that project."

Doyle-Bedwell pointed to myths that have been propagated about the rights of indigenous peoples.

"There is a narrative about Canada and the narrative is that there was this empty land, the settlers came, they provided civilization. Indigenous peoples - we were the problem even though we helped the settlers when they came.

"The narrative is that First Nations peoples were conquered by the settlers, that our territory is limited to the reserve."

The "conquered peoples" argument was used by government lawyer Alex Cameron during the Sipekne'katik appeal of the minister's decision. When it was publicized that Cameron argued that conquered people did not have to be consulted, he was removed from the file. His replacement told the court that the government would no longer rely on the "conquered people" argument.

"I argue that our rights include that of self-determination," Doyle-Bedwell said. "Our right to title has not really been abandoned. It's a legal fiction."

She said the concept that indigenous people have no title to the land is akin to someone saying they are entitled to occupy your cottage because you are not using it right now.

"It's our territory that we wanted to share. We wanted to share, that's part of our principles, but we didn't want to be taken over."

Doyle-Bedwell said the declaration goes hand in hand with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's call to action.

"It's about changing the narrative, about looking at our laws in Canada and making sure that our national interests as Mi'kmaq people are recognized. ... We have to sit down and look at creating a new treaty of understanding that takes our responsibilities as a Mi'kmaq people to protect the land, the water, our animals, to protect our language and our culture as seriously as we feel those responsibilities."

Doyle-Bedwell said governments are leaning in a direction that would turn individual reserves into municipalities that would be capable of creating and enforcing laws but would be subordinate to the province. She said the 13 reserves in Nova Scotia must band together and join all indigenous groups across the country as a sovereign nation.

"UNDRIP can bring that closer to reality."

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'Duty to consult' slanted in government's favour, law prof argues

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The province's duty to consult Mi'kmaq communities about controversial industrial projects is more about form than substance. That's the opinion of lawyer Naiomi Metallic, who for a decade practised law focused on indigenous issues and is now a faculty member at Dalhousie University's Schulich School of Law.

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Cindy Blackstock is friendly and full of energy. She is a gifted speaker - clear, smart, a captivating story teller. But she is no diplomat. She believes Canadians are good people, but she also believes that we are complicit in racially discriminating against First Nations children.

There are more First Nations kids in out-of-home care today than there were at the height of the residential school system. They make up nearly half the children in foster care, according to Statistics Canada, while only making up seven percent of children in total. And yet they receive much less funding for child welfare services than the rest of Canadian children - 22 percent less, according to a joint review done by First Nations groups and the government of Canada in 2000.

Blackstock has devoted her life to righting this wrong. Ten years ago, the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society, where Blackstock is executive director, together with the Assembly of First Nations, brought a complaint to the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal, arguing that the government of Canada racially discriminates against First Nations children. The government pushed back with multiple legal challenges but in January 2016, the Tribunal agreed with Blackstock and ordered Canada to end its discrimination immediately.

A year and change later, Blackstock is not satisfied with the government's progress. The Caring Society and the AFN have filed motions to the Tribunal arguing that Canada is not complying with the order, and the parties will return to the Tribunal this week (March 22-24) for a hearing on the matter.

I met with Blackstock in February, when she was in Toronto to receive the Law Society of Upper Canada's 2016 Human Rights Award.

How do you feel about where things are at now with your fight for First Nations kids?
The past 10 years have felt surreal to me. I started this whole endeavour 20 years ago, and I was so naïve. I thought all that needed to be done was to demonstrate these dramatic inequalities that First Nations children experience, develop evidence-based, economically tested solutions - with the government, so that they agree with them - and then they would do the right thing. We did that twice - two different studies - before we even filed the case. I've got letters on file from the ministers of those days, letters of commendation about the great work we'd done. But they didn't implement [changes] for kids, which is why we filed the case.

It was a big decision.
I've always believed that you have to live your life in concert with you values. And I knew that involved sacrifice. [The day we filed the complaint] we were up at Parliament, it was a beautiful day - clear blue skies in February - and I was stunned we had to file it all. We were talking about the government of Canada racially discriminating against 163,000 children to try and save money. Like, what could be more egregious to Canadians than that? And yet there was nobody there. I saw people taking pictures at the Eternal Flame, and I thought back to protests on other issues that didn't seem quite as important, and I thought, where is everybody? Canadians are caring people who believe in fairness and justice - where are they?

So how do you understand that - where are they?
Well, I believe it gets back to Gord Downie, he had it right. He said that people have been trained their entire lives to look away. When we look at the average Canadian today, they learn very little about First Nations people. They are often fed a steady diet of stereotypes - First Nations people are getting more than everybody else; they simply aren't grateful, nothing will satisfy them; they aren't getting off their rear ends and doing what needs to be done to improve their lot. And so we have to somehow pierce through that. When it came to refugees, Canadians' first reaction wasn't judgment, it was compassion. And yet when talking about the racial discrimination of 163,000 children, the children of the residential school survivors, too often the reflex is judgment.

Why do you think that is?
Because we don't want to think of our government doing that. We don't want to think about our responsibility in this whole undertaking. Our responsibility either in being complicit with it, or in not speaking up. And I think there's some racism in there.

You've said Canadians need to feel racism toward First Nations people as "fingernails on the blackboard of their consciousness" - that's how much it needs to hurt before we'll do anything about it.
I think that racism as fiscal policy is so ingrained in the Canadian governance model that it's akin to an artery. They protect it with all their might; there are all kinds of ways they do it. They suggest that we're broke, and yet we can afford a half-billion dollar birthday party. They suggest that the problems are too complex; we can't get water to a First Nation an hour and a half outside of Toronto but we can somehow get it pumping in an earthquake zone halfway around the world. That's why I really believe that governments will not change unless Canadians change. Unless the people of the period wake up and see this egregious assault on Canadian values for what it is.

Are you pissed off?
Sure. Ten years ago I would have said [there isn't] a proper reaction from a First Nations person. We're written off when we're too angry; we're ignored if we're too polite. But I actually think being angry is probably the right emotion.

Have you grown more confident saying that over the years?
I always tried to be cautious in what I said, I never wanted to overstate things. But since [the Tribunal's] decision came down, I mean, it's in black and white. It's a legal decision. Nowhere in the world has a government been on trial for its contemporary treatment of a generation of First Nations kids before a body that can make enforceable orders. And Canada agreed with it - they didn't judicially review it. It's no longer a matter of opinion; it's a matter of law.

What have been some of the biggest setbacks?
For me, the death of Shannen Koostachin [ a young activist from Attawapiskat who campaigned for safe schools for First Nations children and was killed in a car accident in 2010 at age 15]. We were in the middle of arguing one of the motions to dismiss on a technicality. I was in New Brunswick the day before those hearings, and I got the phone call that Shannen had died in a car accident. I was sitting there in the airport, and I just felt like, God, we've moved too slow.

When I walked into that hearing room the next day, I looked around and I thought, what a joke. What an absolute embarrassment. Here we are, arguing about a legal technicality, about not being able to compare federally funded services and provincially funded services, and ignoring the result of that, which is that kids like Shannen are dying. And Canada would say "well we weren't responsible for her death," and they're right in some ways in that they didn't drive the car that [crashed] and killed her. But Shannen wouldn't have been driving to that school [in Liskard] had the one in her community been properly funded.

Have you ever been afraid?
Yes, for a couple of different reasons. One is, what if we lose? What happens to these kids? On a personal level, [I was afraid] in 2009. I went to a meeting at Indian Affairs, and they refused to hold the meeting if I was in the room, and they insisted I sit outside, and I was guarded by a security guard... I don't even have parking tickets, let alone a criminal record! I've never even been out on a roadblock. Like, how much less threatening can you be?

Where is home for you?
I live in Ottawa, I teach in Montreal. Air Canada is mostly where I live. I think home to me is B.C. When I go over those mountains... I love Vancouver, I lived there for 20 years. That still feels like the place where I can kind of [exhale]. My house in Ottawa is important to me. It's kind of my anchor, my little salvation. But home has never been that important. Doing something with my life, taking full advantage of the blessing I've been given to work in the company of others, to do something that maybe leaves the world in a better place. That's really the definition of a life well lived.

More:
Does Canada really have an immigration problem? Here are the facts
The Trudeaus' yearning to be relatable is what makes them seem so out of touch
Can I be a cancer "survivor" when the bullet only grazed me?

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'An absolute embarrassment': Cindy Blackstock on Canada's treatment of First Nations kids

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Cindy Blackstock is friendly and full of energy. She is a gifted speaker - clear, smart, a captivating story teller. But she is no diplomat. She believes Canadians are good people, but she also believes that we are complicit in racially discriminating against First Nations children.

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By David Suzuki with contributions from David Suzuki Foundation Senior Editor Ian Hanington.

Neskantaga First Nation in Ontario has had to boil water since 1995. "We're over 20 years already where our people haven't been able to get the water they need to drink from their taps or to bathe themselves without getting any rashes," Neskantaga Chief Wayne Moonias told CBC News in 2015. Their water issues have yet to be resolved.

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They're not alone. In fall last year, 156 drinking water advisories were in place in First Nations in Canada. More than 100 are routinely in effect - some for years or decades. According to a 2015 CBC investigation, "Two-thirds of all First Nation communities in Canada have been under at least one drinking water advisory at some time in the last decade."

Water advisories vary in severity. A "boil water advisory" means residents must boil water before using it for drinking or bathing. "Do not consume" means water is not safe to drink or consume and a "do not use advisory" means water is unsafe for any human use.

Water on First Nations reserves is a federal responsibility, but "severe underfunding" (in the government's own words) for water treatment plants, infrastructure, operations, maintenance and training has led to this deplorable situation. Canada has no federal standards or binding regulations governing First Nations' drinking water.

After years of pressure from First Nations and Indigenous and social justice organizations, the Liberal party promised in its 2015 election campaign to end all First Nations' long-term drinking water advisories within five years of being elected. In 2016, the new government's budget included $1.8 billion over five years, on top of core funding for First Nations' water infrastructure, operations and management. Funds have gone to help Neskantaga and other communities, but money's not enough. If the federal government is to fulfil its commitment to ending advisories in five years, it must reform its system.

The David Suzuki Foundation and Council of Canadians have published a report card rating government's progress on meeting its commitment in nine First Nations in Ontario, which has the highest number of water advisories in Canada. The "Glass half empty?" report found advisories in three communities have been lifted or will likely be lifted within five years. Efforts are underway in three other communities, but uncertainty lingers about whether they'll succeed within the five-year period. Three others are unlikely to have advisories lifted within five years without reformed processes and procedures. And in one community that had its advisory lifted, new drinking water problems emerged, illustrating the need for sustainable, long-term solutions.

It's unacceptable that so many First Nations lack clean water and face serious water-related health risks - especially for children and the elderly - in a country where many people take abundant fresh water for granted. The United Nations recognizes access to clean water and sanitation as human right, and Canada has further obligations under the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

The report card concludes that the system for addressing unsafe drinking water is overly cumbersome and must be streamlined, First Nations must have more decision-making power to address community-specific drinking water issues, and government must increase transparency around progress and budgetary allocations. It calls on government to redouble its efforts to advance First Nations-led initiatives, fulfil its fiduciary responsibility to First Nations, respect the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, and ensure the human right to safe and clean drinking water.

The federally funded Safe Water Project is one example of a First Nations-led approach. The Keewaytinook Okimakanak Tribal Council started the initiative in 2014 in response to long-term advisories in four of six member nations. The project keeps management at the community level and includes training and certification of local water operators, operational support while local water operators pursue certification, and remote water quality monitoring technology.

The project's success illustrates the benefits of a local approach. Community-specific, traditional and cultural knowledge are integral to developing lasting solutions. Because the federal government holds the purse strings, it calls most of the shots and often overlooks knowledge held by community members. This needs to change.

Clean drinking water on reserves is not just an Indigenous issue. It's a human right and it should concern all of us.

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Government must do more to address First Nations' water woes

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By David Suzuki with contributions from David Suzuki Foundation Senior Editor Ian Hanington. Neskantaga First Nation in Ontario has had to boil water since 1995. "We're over 20 years already where our people haven't been able to get the water they need to drink from their taps or to bathe themselves without getting any rashes," Neskantaga Chief Wayne Moonias told CBC News in 2015.

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"Did you know that Aboriginal people were forced out of Waterloo?" Last June-also known as Aboriginal History Month-a local Anishinaabe woman asked me this question. Feeling ashamed and honestly somewhat skeptical, I wasn't sure how to respond, but her question challenged me to learn more about colonialism along the Grand River and the role my Mennonite predecessors played in it.

The words of a Mississauga elder, recorded in the 1861 book History of the Ojebway Indians, by Kahkewāquonāby, eloquently summarize the earliest days of indigenous-settler relations in what is now called southern Ontario:

"Before white man landed in our shores the red men of the forest were numerous, powerful, wise, and happy. In those days nothing but the weight of many winters bore them down to the grave.... A strange people landed, wise as the gods, powerful as the thunder, with faces white as the snow. Our fathers held out to them the hand of friendship. The strangers then asked for a small piece of land on which they might pitch their tents; the request was cheerfully granted. By and by they begged for more, and more was given them. In this way they have continued to ask, or have obtained by force or fraud, the fairest portions of our territory."

The history of colonialism in this region occupies slim shelf-space, and sources are often contradictory, but not because there is no colonial history. Rather, many early settler historians seemed to have little interest in accurately or honestly documenting the colonial project.

What follows borrows heavily from the writings of the Ojibwa Methodist minister and writer Kahkewāquonāby, the local Mennonite historian Reginald Good and documents prepared by the Six Nations Land and Resource Department. Given the nature of my sources and my particular settler perspective, please treat this article as a jump-off point for learning more, preferably from indigenous people themselves, from whom I welcome correction.

The land now known as the region of Waterloo was not vacant, wild or untamed when the first Mennonite settlers arrived. Since the glaciers retreated, this land has been home to many different indigenous nations. In the thousands of years preceding European arrival, indigenous people moved through this area in nomadic groups, following big game. Eventually, advancements in technology and agriculture led to more sedentary lives, as communities erected large palisaded villages and managed vast territories. These communities hunted and fished, and planted corn, squash and beans. Eventually, nations began to coalesce into confederacies with distinct cultures. Over time, growing wealth and economic interests lead to conflict between these confederacies.

When Europeans first arrived to the heavily populated and diverse Great Lakes region, the land was in a state of political flux. The Huron-Wendat Confederacy to the north and the Haudenosaunee to the south were struggling for control of valuable hunting grounds. European arrival exacerbated this conflict by adding further economic incentive to collect pelts, and by introducing guns and disease. Conflict and disease resulted in the decimation of other nations, including the Neutral Confederacy, whose extensive villages continue to be found in the Grand River region, including in the Huron Natural Area in Kitchener.

In the late 1600s an Anishinaabe nation called the Mississaugas began to fill the void left in southern Ontario. A small nation scattered across vast territory, they often made summer camp in the Grand River valley, near to present day Galt, Blair, Doon, Freeport, Breslau and Bridgeport. In the autumn they harvested and stored food crops such as corn, beans and potatoes, along with wild food like fruit and nuts. Following the harvest they often gathered for feasting and celebration at the mouth of Schneider's creek, along the Grand River.

Present day Waterloo Township was a favourite fall hunting location for the Mississaugas, who in the winter would travel deeper into the interior of the well-protected woods. One well-known wintering location was a swamp in what is now Victoria Park, Kitchener.

In the waning years of the American Revolution, the British Crown purchased land from the Mississaugas in a series of transactions that encompassed much of present-day southern Ontario, to make land grants to Loyalists. The Mississaugas believed these transactions were profitable rental agreements, that they had retained fishing and camping rights and also that they would continue to have exclusive use of some lands, such as burial grounds, planting flats, and fishing stations. Believing the Mississaugas had extinguished their title to the land, the Crown did nothing to uphold their land use rights.

The Haudensaunee, also known as the Six Nations or the Iroquois, did receive land from the Crown following the Revolution. As repayment for their loyalty, and as reparation for the loss of their territory south of the Great Lakes during the Revolution, they received land six miles on either side of the entire Grand River. This decree is known as the Haldimand Proclamation.

Shortly after the Haudensaunee obtained the land, their enterprising leader Joseph Brant sold northerly sections on the condition that a continual revenue stream be derived from these lands for 999 years, to be dedicated for Six Nations "perpetual care and maintenance." Brant sold Block 2 of the Haldimand lands to English prospector Richard Beasley, who then resold this land to settlers, beginning with Mennonites who arrived from Pennsylvania around 1800.

These Mennonites travelled north because they had heard there was good land, and that they would be exempt from military service. They arrived to a managed landscape: the upper Grand River valley was full of planting flats and hunting parks, created by systematic burning to make ideal habitat for wild game hunting. However, by the time Mennonites arrived to the upper Grand River valley the Mississaugas' way of life had already been disrupted in surrounding areas. Violence, disease, and famine had reduced their population to about 330 from 1000 people only 20 years earlier.

The Mennonites and Mississaugas enjoyed some amount of mutual benefit in those early days. The Mississaugas hunted wolves, which helped Mennonites protect their herds, and provided the Mennonites with fish and wild game. In exchange the Mennonites let them use unoccupied lands.

Mennonites along with other newcomers continued to spread their settlements along indigenous-made roads, though they also met resistance from the Mississauga, who protected a few reserves of land they believed they never surrendered. For example, when settlers erected a gristmill near Galt, some Mississaugas burned it down and defended the territory thereafter.

Land loss and ensuing famine and dependency on handouts among the Mississauagas was worsened by the sale of alcohol by some Mennonites and other settlers. In dismay, Mississauga leaders converted to Methodism, and in this way were able to usher in a new sense of autonomy, to take control of their lives and to eradicate alcoholism.

In 1837 many Potawatomi people arrived in the region, after a long journey north to avoid forcible relocation to reserves by the American government. Their arrival quickly created tension with the local white settlers, and came to a head in 1840 when Elisabeth Johnson of Wilmot Township was reportedly raped by a Potawatomi man. Settlers, including Mennonites, signed a petition for civil authorities to restore order to the region, and around this time, a local Justice of the Peace named William Ellis came across two white men whipping an indigenous man tied to a tree.

According to Good, the local historian, the petition and a vigilante call to action effectively forced the Mississauga people out of Waterloo Township. After 1840, mention of Mississauga villages disappears from historical records.

Writing in 1845, Kahkewāquonāby observed that "the Indian territories have been taken away till our possessions are now so small that you would almost require a magnifying glass to see them. We are surrounded on all sides by white settlers, still encroaching on us.

"I am afraid," he continued, "that in a few years we will hardly have enough left to lay down our bones upon, or ground enough to cover our bodies."

Today, Six Nations is in multiple litigation processes with the federal government concerning the mismanagement of funds and outright theft of land granted to them through the Haldimand Proclamation. To honour the original lease agreements, Six Nations has requested that Canada restore with interest the money it used for purposes other than for the benefit of the Haudensaunee people for the past 220 years, and define the terms by which they will continue to share Haldimand Proclamation lands.

So, were Aboriginal people forced out of Waterloo? Records reveal land loss, starvation, violence and disease resulting from settler encroachment, as well as local popular movements to expel First Nations peoples from the region. In light of this evidence, the answer is, unequivocally, "yes." Given this history and ongoing effects of colonialism in our region, it is clear that there is much work to be done to restore relationships between indigenous and non-indigenous peoples. Dismantling the colonial system that continues to privilege settlers is no simple task, and it can feel overwhelming to think about where to begin. But perhaps we might start by asking our neighbours: "Did you know that Aboriginal people were forced out of Waterloo?"

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"Did you know that Aboriginal people were forced out of Waterloo?" Last June-also known as Aboriginal History Month-a local Anishinaabe woman asked me this question. Feeling ashamed and honestly somewhat skeptical, I wasn't sure how to respond, but her question challenged me to learn more about colonialism along the Grand River and the role my Mennonite predecessors played in it.