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8 part CBC series Alberta Willimas

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http://globalnews.ca/news/3546031/over-3000-indigenous-lands-added-to-google-maps-earth/

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http://www.macleans.ca/news/canada/the-canada-most-people-dont-see/http://www.macleans.ca/news/canada/the-canada-most-people-dont-see/

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Podcast and News Article  Interview with photographer and filmmaker, Shelley Niro

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Podcast and News Article  Interview with photographer and filmmaker, Shelley Niro

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https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/visualarts/2017/05/09/shelley-niro-wins-50000-scotiabank-photography-award.html

The I terview starts at the 30 minute mark of this podcast.

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Get ready to meet the artists you're talking about, and the ones you'll soon love. Whatever you're into - be it music, TV, film, visual art, theatre or comedy - q is there. Expect deep insight, and big surprises. Because on q, arts and entertainment get personal.

Get ready to meet the artists you're talking about, and the ones you'll soon love. Whatever you're into - be it music, TV, film, visual art, theatre or comedy - q is there. Expect deep insight, and big surprises. Because on q, arts and entertainment get personal.

Great Podcast

I love Q - always have. The interviews are intelligent and well researched. Smart people produce this - you will like it.

Time for a name change!

I think with the QAnon nonsense going on around the world this show needs a name change.

Tom Power is the bomb.com

I've learned so much from listening to Q. Tom is a great host and his guests are usually quite fascinating.

Excellent, high quality can-con. Thanks CBC. (And I guess thanks to myself for paying taxes and funding them 🤷🏻‍♀️)

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‎q: The Podcast from CBC Radio on Apple Podcasts

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‎Get ready to meet the artists you're talking about, and the ones you'll soon love. Whatever you're into - be it music, TV, film, visual art, theatre or comedy - q is there. Expect deep insight, and big surprises. Because on q, arts and entertainment get personal.

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Doc 20:   Video Testimony:  Residential School Survivor, Micheal Cheena

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Doc 20:   Video Testimony:  Residential School Survivor, Micheal Cheena

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Video: Video: A residential school survivor shares his story of trauma and healing

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Residential school survivor Michael Cheena shares his memories from his years at Bishop Horden Hall

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Doc 18:  News Article:  "WHY KARIHWANORON, A MOHAWK IMMERSION SCHOOL, IS SO IMPORTANT'

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Doc 18:  News Article:  "WHY KARIHWANORON, A MOHAWK IMMERSION SCHOOL, IS SO IMPORTANT'

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By Roxann Whitebean
From CBC.ca. writer and filmmaker Roxann Whitebean explains her inspiration to produce the documentary, "Karihawanorn: Precious Things"

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By Roxann Whitebean
Writer, Director, Producer, Karihwanoron: Precious Things

My language is among many endangered Indigenous languages. I, like many others in my community, am not a fluent speaker of Kanien'keha.

This is largely due to the fact that my great-grandmother was a residential school survivor and the majority of my grandparents attended Indian day schools on the reserve, where the language was stripped from them.

"I have always felt as though a part of me was missing - it's hard to articulate at times, because it's so visceral."

Because my family was disconnected from the language, I have always felt as though a part of me was missing - it's hard to articulate at times, because it's so visceral.

I can't fathom what my great-grandmother went through. She died at the age of 33 with breast cancer, and her life was anything but pleasant.

I'm sure that many Indigenous people can relate to me. Language revitalization is a big topic for many of us.

Collectively, Indigenous people have come to realize that cultural deprivation has taken a toll on our people. But we are now moving forward. We know that healing will not happen overnight, but we fight to continue on with the reclamation of what the settlers tried so hard to eradicate from us.

"Sometimes, resistance is as simple as deciding to leave your comfort zone in order to make sacrifices for the future generations to come."

I think that resistance comes in many forms. Sometimes, resistance is as simple as deciding to leave your comfort zone in order to make sacrifices for the future generations to come - and that's exactly what Karihwanoron epitomizes: a plan for the future; a stepping-stone to reclaim our language.

Karihwanoron: A school where students learn Mohawk language and culture in a setting that's structured to our traditional ways of learning

Karihwanoron is a Mohawk immersion program where students study the language and culture in a home-like environment in an effort to revitalize the language. It was founded by mothers from the community in 1988 and has been operating for nearly three decades.

"It's allowing us to recover from colonization in real-time."

As Kanien'kehá:ka people, we are a distinct Nation that has the right to determine if reconciliation has occurred, or if adjustments are needed to the initial "reconciliation plan" based on our needs.

The school is a positive initiative that fits within our parameters of what reconciliation should be: it's allowing us to recover from colonization in real-time, by learning our language and culture in a setting that's structured to our traditional ways of learning.

"I realized that Canada's dark past with my people was covert."

Long before Stephen Harper apologized in 2008 for Canada's role in the residential school legacy, Karihwanoron had already been running for 20 years, and it still did not receive adequate funding for its programming - because it didn't conform to Canada's education model.

The first time I attended school outside of Kahnawà:ke (a Mohawk community outside Montreal) was in 1997. I was enrolled in high school in one of our neighbouring communities. I remember sharing first-hand accounts I had heard from residential school survivors with my class, and my English teacher outright rejecting the information. He claimed to know "everything about Canadian history and that is not true."

"Most Canadians may not even realise that my people are clinging to the remnants of our language and culture due to colonization."

I felt confused. The shame I felt from my peers' exasperated stares made me begin to question the information I shared, until another Kanien'kehá:ka student whispered to me that she too had heard about the abuse in residential schools.

It was then that I realized that Canada's dark past with my people was covert, and that not every Canadian was aware of the atrocities inflicted on my people for generations and generations upon European contact. This knowledge is now something that I carry with me into every project with a political backbone that I work on. I now realize that most Canadians may not even realise that my people are clinging to the remnants of our language and culture due to colonization.

My personal connection to Karihwanoron

Directing the Karihwanoron documentary was an amazing experience for me. The projects I produce reflect issues that I'm empathetic towards and one of them is language revitalization; it pulls at my heartstrings.

My children are enrolled at Karihwanoron. Seeing them excel in the language and converse with their peers is so rewarding, because it's something I've always aspired to do. In fact, I have been considering putting my career on hold for two years to enroll in an adult immersion program. As a filmmaker, I naturally wanted to document this compelling story. Having a relationship with the subjects made it that much more meaningful to me, especially because I was able to bring my work home and contribute to the school.

I hope that you will join in on our battle by simply watching this film and sharing its content with those you know. The more people know about my culture, the easier it will be for my people to attain true reconciliation.

The subjects are also charming, and the story shares how one family's resilience inspired three generations of Kanien'kehá:ka speakers to undertake the reclamation of our language through Karihwanoron.

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Why Karihwanoron, a Mohawk immersion school, is so important: Roxann Whitebean - Short Docs

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By Roxann Whitebean Writer, Director, Producer, Karihwanoron: Precious Things My language is among many endangered Indigenous languages. I, like many others in my community, am not a fluent speaker of Kanien'keha. This is largely due to the fact that my great-grandmother was a residential school survivor and the majority of my grandparents attended Indian day schools on the reserve, where the language was stripped from them.

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Doc 19:  Short documentary film: "Karihawanoron: Precious Things"

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Doc 19:  Short documentary film: "Karihawanoron: Precious Things"

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From CBC Short Docs, the story of the Dione family and their inspiring work to support the Mohawk Immersion School in Kahnawake, QC.

http://watch.cbc.ca/short-docs/-/karihawanoron--precious-things/38e815a-00c19162dbd

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Doc 13:  Video of a live concert with an interview.   The House of Strombo:  Episode 1 with A cTribe Called Red

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Doc 13:  Video of a live concert with an interview.   The House of Strombo:  Episode 1 with A cTribe Called Red

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The House of Strombo is a new music program on Apple Music.  It features live musical performances and interviews with the musicians.  A Tribe Called Red was the guest for episode 1.

The full episode is 3o minutes.   However, for our English class, we will only view these clips:
0:00 to 6:00:  Introduction and opening song.

6:00 to 8:17:  Interview part 1
17:40 to 19:50: Interview Part 2

Of course, feel free to watch the full episode at home.   Enjoy the great music!

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Doc14:  Video Biography and Interview with Jospeh Boyden

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Doc14:  Video Biography and Interview with Jospeh Boyden

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In this 10-minute interview with author, Joseph Boyden, the topics of Aboriginal spirituality,  teen depression, and Canadian literature are discussed.

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Joseph Boyden on George Stroumboulopoulos Tonight: INTERVIEW

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Doc 15:  Video interview with Joseph Boyden, author of novella, Wenjack

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Doc 15:  Video interview with Joseph Boyden, author of novella, Wenjack

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Part 1: 0:00 to

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Doc 10:  News Article from The Canadian Press, "Gord Downie on Chanie Wenjack"

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Doc 10:  News Article from The Canadian Press, "Gord Downie on Chanie Wenjack"

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Gord Downie announces the release of "The Secret Path" project to the media.

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TORONTO - Just weeks after fans bid what they feared could be a final goodbye to beloved Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie, the terminally ill singer has revealed he will release a new solo album with an accompanying graphic novel and animated film inspired by the tragedy of Canada's residential school system.

"Secret Path' ' tells the story of a 12-year-old First Nations boy in Ontario named Chanie Wenjack, who died in 1966 after running away from the Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School near Kenora, Ont.

The album and book will be released Oct. 18 and the film will air on CBC Oct. 23.

"I never knew Chanie, but I will always love him," Downie said Friday in a statement. "Chanie haunts me. His story is Canada's story. This is about Canada. We are not the country we thought we were."

In May, Downie made the shocking announcement that he has terminal brain cancer. Tickets for the band's "Man Machine" summer tour, which many feared could be their last, sold out almost immediately, leading to CBC picking up a national broadcast of the final tour stop in Kingston last month. The concert quickly became a national event as millions tuned in across the country.

During that final show, Downie called out to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, who attended the concert, to help fix problems in northern Canada in his last scheduled live performance with his band.

"It's maybe worse than it's ever been, so it's not on the improve. (But) we're going to get it fixed and we got the guy to do it, to start, to help," Downie said onstage.

In Friday's statement, Downie said he learned the story of Chanie Wenjack, who was misnamed Charlie by his teachers, from a 1967 Maclean's magazine article.

Downie recounted in Friday's release how the boy died beside railroad tracks after escaping the school and trying to walk to his home more than 600 kilometres away.

"All of those governments, and all of those churches, for all of those years, misused themselves," Downie said. "They hurt many children. They broke up many families. They erased entire communities."

For more than 100 years, the federal government funded church-run schools across the country to eliminate parental involvement in the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual development of Aboriginal children, according to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. The last school closed in 1996.

More than 150,000 First Nations, Metis, and Inuit children were placed in these schools often against their parents' wishes, which led to an apology from then-Prime Minister Stephen Harper in 2008.

Downie began "Secret Path" as 10 poems that were turned into the 10 songs for the album, which was recorded over two sessions near Kingston in late 2013.

Proceeds from the album and graphic novel will go to the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation at the University of Manitoba, which is dedicated to preserving the history of the residential school system.
Related: Jeff Lemire: The Stephen King of comics

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Gord Downie on Chanie Wenjack: 'His story is Canada's story' - Macleans.ca

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TORONTO - Just weeks after fans bid what they feared could be a final goodbye to beloved Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie, the terminally ill singer has revealed he will release a new solo album with an accompanying graphic novel and animated film inspired by the tragedy of Canada's residential school system.

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Doc 12:  Video and Article: Downie is named "He Who Walks with the Stars"

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Doc 12:  Video and Article: Downie is named "He Who Walks with the Stars"

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In an emotional ceremony, First Nations chiefs honor Gord Downie by giving him a spirit name.

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Gord Downie wept as he was honoured at an Assembly of First Nations meeting on Tuesday. The Tragically Hip singer, who has terminal brain cancer, says Canada must "walk down a path of reconciliation" with indigenous people. (The Canadian Press )

Weeping, rocker Gord Downie turned towards each of the four directions as he was given his Lakota spirit name: "He who walks with the stars."

It was an overwhelming honour for Downie, the frontman of the Tragically Hip, as he stood before the nearly 600 Canadian indigenous chiefs at the Assembly of First Nations special assembly in Gatineau, Que., on Tuesday. He was wrapped in an eight-point star blanket and given many gifts, including an eagle feather - an honoured gift from the Creator - artwork and a pair of size-11 moccasins.

Downie became a brother, embraced in indigenous culture and history, as he continues his personal ambition to do his part for Canadian reconciliation.

Downie has brought the story of 12-year-old Chanie Wenjack into the consciousness of Canadians. Wenjack's tragic death symbolizes the legacy of the residential school system that saw 150,000 indigenous children taken from their homes and sent to church-run, state-funded schools for more than a century. Chanie ran away from the Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School in October 1966, only to die of exposure on the railway tracks as he tried to walk nearly 1,000 kilometres home to Marten Falls First Nation in northern Ontario.

Soon, Downie told the assembly, it will be Canada's 150th birthday.

"I will personally then celebrate the birth of our country, celebrate the next 150 years. It will have taken 150 years or seven generations to heal the wounds of residential school, to become a country and truly call ourselves Canada," Downie said.

Tragically Hip singer Gord Downie addressed a gathering of chiefs of the Assembly of First Nations in Gatineau, Que., on Tuesday. He was given a Lakota spirit name, "He who walks with the stars." (CHRIS WATTIE / REUTERS)

Indigenous people believe it will take seven generations for First Nations to rise through several stages of history and healing before a path forward is taken in harmony with all nations.

"We must become one. We must walk down a path of reconciliation as one. This is the first day of forever, the greatest day of my life," Downie said as Prime Minister Justin Trudeau watched, along with AFN National Chief Perry Bellegarde.

This was the second time the prime minister addressed the AFN's annual December meeting, noted Bellegarde, who also said that while Trudeau and indigenous chiefs may not always agree on issues - such as the recently announced Kinder Morgan pipeline expansion project - it is important to have a dialogue of mutual respect.

To that end, Trudeau said he was proud of Natural Resources Minister Jim Carr for apologizing for his " unfortunate comment." Trudeau's statement was met with muted applause.

After Kinder Morgan was approved, Carr made comments that perhaps the government would use "defence forces" to protect the pipeline's expansion.

"I know we'll disagree with which path to take or at which pace. But the important thing is we keep moving forward, that we keep moving forward together ... a new and stronger and better Canada," Trudeau said.

He added that he did not take lightly his job of improving nation-to-nation relations between indigenous and non-indigenous people.

Trudeau, who has faced criticism for not living up to promises he made to indigenous people when he was campaigning last year, said progress is underway on 36 of the 94 Truth and Reconciliation Commission calls to action that were solely under federal jurisdiction. "I understand many in this room are impatient ... but that is OK because I am impatient, too," he said.

The prime minister pointed to the appointment of Jody Wilson-Raybould, Canada's first indigenous minister of justice and attorney general.

"Not only is she the right person - indigenous or otherwise - for this central role, she is our government's loud and clear message to our country that the laws of this land that were, and in many ways still are, used to control and constrain indigenous peoples are now the particular responsibility of a First Nations person. An indigenous woman," said Trudeau.

Wilson-Raybould will, along with her cabinet colleagues, now lead a joint effort with indigenous people to decolonialize Canada's laws and policies that have held back indigenous rights, he said.

Trudeau also made special mention of education and the barriers that must be brought down in order for indigenous children to learn in schools that are at the same standards as those for non-indigenous children. However, he steered clear of the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal ruling in January that found the government was discriminating against 163,000 indigenous children by failing to provide them with adequate funding for child welfare and other services.

"As a teacher, I'm especially excited that this year, almost 2,000 students started the school year in six brand new schools. There are now 31 new schools under construction on reserve. Another 27 are being designed, and a further 72 are in feasibility studies," he said.

Later this month, Canada's first First Nations School Board Agreement in Manitoba will also be signed, he added.

On residential schools, Trudeau said it is too well known how they were used as a deliberate tool to eliminate indigenous languages and culture.

In an effort to prevent further loss, Trudeau committed to enacting an Indigenous Languages Act, co-developed with indigenous people, with the goal of preserving, protecting and revitalizing First Nations, Métis and Inuit languages.

Trudeau heard Downie when he spoke out about the importance of indigenous rights at his final Tragically Hip concert in Kingston last summer. Downie has been diagnosed with incurable brain cancer.

"Indeed, 12 million Canadians heard him that night," Trudeau said. "Gord, in simple and elegant words, used that moment to advocate and advance by many years the reconciliation dialogue in our country. Gord embodies all Canadians' desire for reconciliation."

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First Nations chiefs give Gord Downie the name 'He who walks with the stars' | Toronto Star

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Gord Downie wept as he was honoured at an Assembly of First Nations meeting on Tuesday. The Tragically Hip singer, who has terminal brain cancer, says Canada must "walk down a path of reconciliation" with indigenous people.

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Doc 5  Encyclopedia information on the condition of aboriginal communities in Canada

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Doc 5  Encyclopedia information on the condition of aboriginal communities in Canada

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The Word document below is a collection of information on the poor conditions in aboriginal communities.

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Doc 8b:  News Article, "Jeff Lemire: The Stephen King of Comics"

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Doc 8b:  News Article, "Jeff Lemire: The Stephen King of Comics"

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From Maclean's magazine, a profile of an up-and-coming star of the comic word, Jeff Lemire.

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One afternoon, 10-year-old Jeff Lemire bounded off the school bus, marched up the drive to his family's farmhouse in Woodslee, Ont., and announced that he required a secluded place to work. Gathering up plank and nails, the future New York Times-bestselling graphic novelist scaled the huge maple that threw shade onto his father's barn. With typical diligence, he hammered a seat between two branches.

In the months that followed, young Lemire spent every hour unclaimed by school, chores or sports perched up there-reading superhero comics, sending his mind elsewhere and creating his own stories. "Jeff just liked to be by himself with the quiet," explains his mother, Mary Ellen.

Almost 30 years later, Lemire still craves solitude. In a modest studio tucked off Toronto's Queen Street East, he logs eight to 10 hours a day bent over his drawing board. But he's finding it harder and harder to get people to leave him alone. Success draws a crowd, and with Hollywood, CBC and book publishing giant Simon & Schuster all eager to share his stories, Lemire's particular brand of success is on the brink of being impossible not to encounter. Soon, it won't matter if you read comic books or not. You'll have to climb a tree to get away from the guy.

Giller prize-winning author Joseph Boyden recalls vividly his first reaction to Lemire's writing, "I thought, 'Holy s-t-this is brilliant.' " Years later, Boyden has become a close friend. He still raves about Lemire's ability to "take simple, classic stories and put his own stamp on them."

At a glance, it's hard to square such superlatives with the 39-year-old husband, father and comic book creator. Bespectacled and unassuming, Lemire seems entirely normal. In fact, he is a mutant. But not the sort with adamantium claws. His superpower is the ability to combine remarkable creative range, a Galactus-sized fan base and enormous critical appeal.

Lemire's graphic novel Essex County was named by CBC as one of the decade's five essential works of Canadian fiction. It was followed by a run of acclaimed comics including Sweet Tooth, The Underwater Welder and the sci-fi romp Descender. At the same time, fanboys celebrate Lemire's superhero stories in Justice League, Green Arrow, Hawkeye, X-Men, the upcoming Moon Knight and Wolverine's new solo title, Old Man Logan. Such diverse output places Lemire atop a new breed of crossover comic book star. He's praised for his original, affecting graphic novels. And he's a commercial smash thanks to his superhero scripts that others illustrate. He reigns as the four-colour Stephen King, half pulp hero and half critic's darling.

"Jeff is one of our most valued creators," says Axel Alonso, editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics. In fact, by April, they'll be counting on Lemire to crank out four titles a month. With each selling 50,000 to 100,000 copies, Lemire belongs to what Alonso describes as Marvel's "core group of writers."

He draws a different kind of applause from Simon & Schuster, who call his work "literary." In October, they'll release his forthcoming graphic novel Roughneck across North America with the full force of their marketing machine. A haunting story about a half-Cree former NHLer and his kid sister, it's set in a fictionalized town in Northern Ontario. Lemire has made the area a second home-he and Boyden once took a 120-km snowmobile trek around James Bay. He's come to know the people who live there, the concerns that occupy them and the cadence of their speech. All of that is captured beautifully in Roughneck. Atmospheric and raw, it is arguably the finest work of Lemire's career. Kevin Hanson, the publisher's Canadian president, certainly has high hopes. "Our job is to make Jeff a bestseller across the book world," he says. Notice he does not say comic book world.

If there is indeed a superpower behind all this success, it is Lemire's ferocious commitment to the pure task of telling stories. "If I can't work every day, I'm not a very pleasant person," he confesses. "I have to do it for my mental health." It's a compulsion that, by age 19, had led him away from the open spaces of the family farm. Eventually, he landed in Toronto where, as one of his characters would observe, you can be "completely alone . . . lost in a crowd."

After an unsatisfying stint at film school, Lemire found a routine that suited him. By night, he would work in restaurant kitchens preparing food. By day, he would spend hours, pencil in hand, honing his skills. Or, as he describes it, "Writing comics that didn't work, trying to be somebody else."

This seven-year period reveals Lemire both as an artist and individual. Not once during that time did he send his work off to a publisher. It wasn't ready, he says. "I was growing as a storyteller, but not finding my voice."

That changed in 2006, when Lemire found inspiration in a familiar place. 'It wasn't until I did a story about where I grew up. All of a sudden, that's when I found my voice," he says. He found it, literally and creatively, in Essex County.

The three-volume graphic novel was a triumph. It tells a sweeping tale of people, place and loss that slips back and forth in time, slowly unveiling the sort of secrets rural folk try to keep locked away.

At the heart of the story are two characters readers can't easily forget. Lester is a lonely boy in a Superman cape who relies on imagination to escape the pain of his mother's passing. Lou is a griping malcontent living out his last days in a haze of memory and regret. Lemire admits that both characters are partial self-portraits. "Lou's a misanthrope, like me. Happiest when he's left alone," he laughs. "And Lester, well, I was that kid in a lot of ways. Running around playing superhero."

Essex County struck a huge chord. The New York Times called it "a rich tapestry" with "emotional wallop." But comic books still aren't everyone's cup of tea. In 2011, fans were dismayed when the book was bounced from the CBC Canada Reads competition. Home decor diva Debbie Travis dismissed it as having "too few words." To this day, Lemire doubts whether she even read it. Travis's snobbery triggered a backlash that sent Essex County to Amazon's top 10 list and won it the competition's People's Choice award. Lemire, grinning, says, "I have nothing but fondness for Debbie Travis."

Essex County also signalled the emotional complexity that continues to dominate Lemire's writing. Even his superhero work ventures into intense territory. A year-long Animal Man story saw the hero forced to withstand suffocating grief after the death of his young son. Like rainwater into barnboard, melancholy soaks through nearly everything Lemire writes. It's an effect that's only amplified when accompanied by his moody, trembling artwork. "The sadder the better," chuckles Lemire.

He's unafraid to tackle difficult topics and show "the ugly side of his characters," adds his closest friend and fellow comic book writer Scott Snyder. Lemire's turn on Moon Knight will feature an ambitious examination of mental illness. And he's twice touched on the treatment of Aboriginal peoples, through Roughneck and Equinox, the Cree hero he created for DC's Justice League United. "Jeff's writing is extremely intimate," argues Snyder. "Everything is lodged in character; that's the propulsive force of his plots."

This might help to explain why lonely, vulnerable children keep showing up. In addition to Lester, there's Gus from Sweet Tooth, the kids from Plutona and the robot boy Tim-21 in Descender. It probably has something to do with being a dad. But Lemire says it's more than that: "I like to write from a child's point of view. Kids feel everything so intensely."

Another aspect of Lemire that inevitably draws comment is his nationality. "His stories are prototypically Canadian," insists Simon & Schuster's Hanson. "But he writes Canadian stories that can travel." Lemire sees it differently. "It's not about being Canadian. It's about setting a very specific location and that location informing the story."

His appeal certainly reaches far. CBC recently joined forces with First Generation Films to put Essex County into development as a television miniseries. And last month, Sony Films assigned a screenwriter to adapt Descender, the rights for which they won in a heated bidding war. Virtually everything else Lemire has created is either optioned or under pursuit.

The one-time film student confesses some bemusement but avoids distraction. "The movie stuff is great, but that doesn't legitimize my comics. To me, the comics are what's important."

Back in his studio, talk returns to that solitary boy high up in the tree. It's a story Lemire once detailed in an Essex County short. He's anxious that it not be misinterpreted. "Loneliness isn't necessarily a sad thing," he emphasizes. "I've always found it comforting."

Soon after, the interview ends. Lemire moves toward his drawing board. He picks up a pencil and stares down intently at the page, relaxing visibly. Back alone. Back at work. Just the way he likes it.

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Jeff Lemire is the next big thing in comics

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One afternoon, 10-year-old Jeff Lemire bounded off the school bus, marched up the drive to his family's farmhouse in Woodslee, Ont., and announced that he required a secluded place to work. Gathering up plank and nails, the future New York Times-bestselling graphic novelist scaled the huge maple that threw shade onto his father's barn.

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This website includes a statement written by Gord Downie, as well as clips from his 10 songs, accompanied by art by Jeff  Lemire.

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Secret Path is a ten song album by Gord Downie with a graphic novel by Jeff Lemire that tells the story of Chanie Wenjack, a twelve year-old boy who died fifty years ago on October 22, 1966, in flight from the Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School near Kenora, Ontario, trying to walk over 400 miles home to the family he was taken from.

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Doc 8:  News Article from 1967, "The Lonely Death of Charlie Wenjack" 

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Doc 8:  News Article from 1967, "The Lonely Death of Charlie Wenjack" 

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From the archives of Maclean's magazine, the 1967 article that first brought Chanie's story to the attention of the country, although very briefly.   Decades later, this simple news article inspired Gord Downie to reach out to his artist friends and to bring Chanie's story back to national attention.

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CHARLIE WENJACK would have been 13 years old on January 19, and it's possible that during his short and disturbed life someone may have taken a snapshot of him - one of those laughing, open-faced, blurred little pictures one so often sees of children. But if a snap was taken, nobody knows where it is now. There are five police pictures of Charlie, though. They are large 8-by-10 prints, grey and underexposed, showing the thin, crumpled little body of a 12-year-old boy with a sharp-featured face. He is lying on his back and his thin cotton clothing is obviously soaked. His feet, encased in ankle-high leather boots, are oddly turned inward. In one of the photographs an Ontario Provincial Police sergeant is pointing down at Charlie's body, where it lies beside the CNR track. It is the exact spot where on the night of October 22 Charlie collapsed and died from exposure and hunger . . . just four-and-a-half feet from the trains that carry the white world by in warm and well-fed comfort. When they found Charlie he didn't have any identification. All they got out of his pockets was a little glass jar with a screw top. Inside were half a dozen wooden matches. They were all dry. And that's all he had.

Charlie Wenjack was an Ojibway Indian attending Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School in Kenora, Ont. He became lonely and ran away. He died trying to walk 400 miles home to his father, who lives and works on an isolated reservation in northern Ontario. It is unlikely that Charlie ever understood why he had to go to school and why it had to be such a long way from home. It is even doubtful if his father really understood either.

It's not so unusual that Indian children run away from the residential schools they are sent to. They do it all the time, and they lose their toes and their fingers to frostbite. Sometimes they lose a leg or an arm trying to climb aboard freight trains. Occasionally, one of them dies. And perhaps because they are Indians, no one seems to care very much. So this, then, is the story of how a little boy met a terrible and lonely death, of the handful of people who became involved, and of a town that hardly noticed.

Even before Charlie ran away he was already running hard just to keep pace with the bewildering white world he had suddenly been thrust into. He didn't start school until he was nine. The village he came from, Ogoki Post on the Martin Falls reservation, didn't have a day school. Charlie arrived at the Cecilia Jeffrey School, which is run by the Presbyterian Church and paid for by the federal government, in the fall of 1963. Some 150 Indian children live at the school but are integrated into the local school system. Consequently, Cecilia Jeffrey is, for 10 months in the year, really nothing more than an enormous dormitory. And Charlie, who understood hardly any English, spent the first two years in grade one. He spent last year in what is called a junior opportunity class. That means he was a slow learner and had to be given special instruction in English and arithmetic. This fall he wasn't quite good enough to go back into the grade system, so he was placed in what is called a senior opportunity class. But there was nothing stupid about Charlie. His principal of last year, Velda MacMillan, believed she got to know him well. "The thing we remember most about him was his sense of humor. If the teacher in the class made a joke, a play on words, he was always the first to catch on."

Charlie wasn't a strong boy. In fact, he was thin and sickly. He carried an enormous, livid scar that ran in a loop from high on his right chest, down and up over his back. It meant that in early childhood his chest had been opened. Nobody knows exactly when. "Indian children's early medical records are practically impossible to track down," explains Kenora's public-health doctor, P. F. Playfair. The postmortem that was later performed on Charlie by Dr. Peter Pan. of Kenora, showed that his lungs were infected at the time of his death.

On the afternoon of Sunday, October 16, when Charlie had only another week to live, he was playing on the Cecilia Jeffrey grounds with his two friends, Ralph and Jackie MacDonald. Ralph, 13, was always running away -three times since school had started last fall. Jackie, only 11, often played hooky. In the three years he had been at the school Charlie had never run away. He had played hooky for one afternoon a week earlier, and for that he had been spanked by the principal, Colin Wasacase.

Right there on the playground the three boys decided to run away. It was a sunny afternoon and they were wearing only light clothing. If they had planned it a little better they could have taken along their parkas and overshoes. That might have saved Charlie's life.

Slipping away was simple. The school, a bleak institutional building, stands on a few acres on the northeast outskirts of Kenora. For the 75 girls and 75 boys there are only six supervisors. At that time the staff were all new and still trying to match names to faces. (That same day nine other children ran away. All were caught within 24 hours.)

As soon as they were clear of the school, the three boys hit that strange running walk with which young Indian boys can cover 10 miles in an hour. They circled the Kenora airfield and struck out north through the bush over a "secret trail" children at the school like to use. The boys were heading for Redditt, a desolate railroad stop on the CNR line, 20 miles north of Kenora and 30 miles east of the Manitoba border. Because Charlie wasn't as strong as the others, they had to wait often while he rested and regained his strength. It was on the last part of this walk, probably by the tracks, that Charlie picked up a CNR schedule with a route map in it. In the following days of loneliness that map was to become the focus of his longings to get back to his father. But in reality the map would be never more than a symbol, because Charlie didn't know enough English to read it.

It was late at night when the three boys got to Redditt: it had taken them more than eight hours. They went to the house of a white man the MacDonald brothers knew as "Mister Benson." Benson took the exhausted boys in, gave them something to eat, and let them sleep that night on the floor.

Early the next morning the boys walked another half mile to the cabin of Charles Kells. The MacDonald boys are orphans - their parents were killed in a train accident two years ago. Kelly is their uncle and favorite relative. Kelly is a small man in his 50s. When he talks he has a nervous habit of raking his fingers through his grey, shoulder-length hair. Like most of the Indians in the area, he leads a hard life and is often desperately hungry. It's obvious he cares about his nephews. "I told the boys they would have to go back to school. They said if I sent them back they would run away again. I didn't know what to do. They won't stay at the school. I couldn't let them run around in the bush. So I let them stay. It was a terrible mistake."

That same morning Charlie's best friend, Eddie Cameron, showed up at the Kelly cabin. He, too, had run away from the school. Eddie is also a nephew of Kelly's. This gathering of relations subtly put Charlie Wenjack out in the cold. The Kellys also had two teenage daughters to feed and Kelly, who survives on a marginal income from welfare and trapping, probably began to wonder exactly what his responsibility to Charlie was. Later he and his wife Clara would refer to Charlie as "the stranger." The Kellys had no idea where Charlie's reserve was or how to get there.

"He was always looking at this map," said Mrs. Kelly, "and you couldn't get nothing out of him. I never seen a kid before who was so quiet like that."

Nobody told Charlie to go. Nobody told him to stay either. But as the days passed Charlie got the message. So it must have been with a defiant attempt to assert his own trail existence that he would take out his map and show it to his friend Eddie Cameron, and together they would try to make sense out of it. And Charlie would tell Eddie that he was going to leave soon to go home to his father. But as Eddie remembers. Charlie only knew "his dad lived a long way away. And it was beside a lot of water.'

On Thursday morning Kelly decided he would take his three nephews by canoe up to his trapline at Mud Lake, three miles north of Redditt. "It was too dangerous for five in the canoe." said Kelly, "so I told the stranger he would have to stay behind."

Charlie played outside for a while, then he came in and told Mrs. Kelly he was leaving and he asked for some matches. Nobody goes into the bush without matches. If the worst comes to the worst you can always light a fire to keep warm. Mrs. Kelly gave him some wooden matches and put them in a little glass jar with a screw cap so they would keep dry. She also gave him a plateful of fried potatoes mixed with strips of bacon. Then he left. "I never seen him again," said Clara Kelly.

Nobody will know whether Charlie changed his mind about leaving or whether he wanted to see his friends one last time, but instead of striking out east along the railroad tracks, he walked north to Mud Lake, arriving at the cabin by the trapline before Kelly and his nephews got there in the canoe. That night all there was to eat were two potatoes. Kelly cooked and divided them among the four boys. He didn't eat anything himself but he drank some tea with the others. In the morning there was only more tea. Kelly told Charlie he would have to walk back because there was no room in the canoe. Charlie replied that he was leaving to go home to his father. "I never said nothing to that," says Kelly. "I showed him a good trail down to the railroad tracks. I told him to ask the sectionmen along the way for some food."

But Charlie didn't ask anyone for anything. And though he stayed alive for the next 36 hours, nobody saw him alive again.

When he left Kelly and his nephews and set out to walk home to his father. Charlie had more than half of northern Ontario to cross. There are few areas in the country that are more forbidding. The bush undulates back from the railroad tracks like a bleak and desolate carpet. The wind whines through the jackpines and spruce, breaking off rotten branches, which fall with sudden crashes. The earth and rocks are a cold brown and black. The crushed-rock ballast, so hard to walk on, is a pale-yellow supporting ribbon for the dark steel tracks. Close to the tracks, tall firs feather against a grey sky. And when a snow squall comes tunnelling through a rock cut it blots out everything in a blur of whiteness. The sudden drop in temperature can leave a man dressed in a warm parka shaking with cold.

All Charlie had was a cotton windbreaker. And during those 36 hours that Charlie walked, there were snow squalls and freezing rain. The temperature was between -1° and -6° C. It is not hard to imagine the hopelessness of his thoughts. He must have stumbled along the tracks at a painfully slow pace - in the end he had covered only a little more than 12 miles. He probably spent hours, huddled behind rocks to escape the wind, gazing at the railroad tracks. Somewhere along the track he lost his map or threw it away. Charlie must have fallen several times because bruises were found later on his shins, forehead and over his left eye. And then at some point on Saturday night, Charlie fell backward in a faint and never got up again. That's the position they found him in.

At 11:20 a.m. on Sunday, October 23, engineer Elwood Mclvor was bringing a freight train west through the rock cut near Farlane, 12 1/2 miles east of Redditt. He saw Charlie's body lying beside the track. An hour later a section crew and two police officers went out to bring Charlie's body back.

"It's a story that should be told," said the section foreman, Ed Beaudry. "We tell this man he has to send his son to one of our schools, then we bring his boy back on a luggage car."

The Sunday they went to pick up Charlie's body, intermittent snow and sleet blew through Kenora's streets. The church services were over, and the congregations from Knox United Church and the First Presbyterian Church, which face each other at Second Street and Fifth Avenue, were spilling out onto the sidewalks. Just two blocks west at Second and Matheson I walked into a hamburger joint called the Salisbury House. An Indian woman in an alcoholic stupor was on her hands and knees on the floor, trying to get out the door. None of the half-dozen whites sitting at the counter even looked at her. A young well-dressed Indian girl came in and, with a masklike face, walked around the woman on the floor. The girl bought a pack of cigarettes, and then on the way out held the door open for the woman, who crawled out on her hands and knees and collapsed on the sidewalk.

One man at the counter turned and looked at the woman. "That's what they do to themselves," he said in a tone of amused contempt.

The kid behind the counter suddenly turned whitefaced and angry, "No, we did," he said.

"We? No, it was the higher-ups, the government," replied the man.

"No," insisted the kid, "it was you, me, and everybody else. We made them that way."

The men at the counter looked at him with closed, sullen faces. The kid wouldn't give me his name. "I just work here part-time," he said. "I work for the highways department . . .I guess I'll have to learn to keep my mouth shut. Because nothing ever really changes around here."

Charlie Wenjack finally did go home - the Indian Affairs Department saw to that. They put him in a coffin and took him back to Redditt and put him on the train with his three little sisters, who were also at the Cecilia Jeffrey School. Colin Wasacase, the principal, went along with them, too. Wasacase, in his early 30s, is a Cree from Broadview, Sask. He knows what Indian residential schools are all about. He has lived in them since he was a child, and taught in them. He was at one such school at the age of six when he broke his left arm. The arm turned gangrenous and was amputated.

At Sioux Lookout the little party picked up Charlie's mother. She was taking tests for a suspected case of TB. From Nakina they all flew 110 miles north to Ogoki. It's the only way you can get to Charlie's home.

Charlie's father, grief-stricken, was bewildered and angry as well. In his 50s, he is known as a good man who doesn't drink and provides well for his family. He buried Charlie, his only son, in the tiny cemetery on the north shore of the Albany River. He has decided not to send his daughters to school but to keep them at home. Wasacase understands that, too. His own parents kept him out of school for two years because another boy in the family died much the same way Charlie did.

There's not much else to say about Charlie Wenjack, except that on November 17 an inquest was held in the Kenora Magistrate's Court. Most of the people who have been mentioned in this story were there. The coroner, Dr. R. G. Davidson, a thin-lipped and testy man, mumbled his own evidence when he read the pathologist's report, then kept telling the boys who ran away with Charlie to speak up when answering the Crown attorney's questions. When Eddie Cameron, Charlie's best friend, entered the witness box, Davidson unnerved Eddie with warnings about telling the truth and swearing on the Bible. "If you swear on that book to tell the truth, and you tell lies, you will be punished." Which seemed unnecessary because, as Crown Attorney E. C. Burton pointed out, a juvenile doesn't have to be sworn in at an inquest. Eddie later broke down on the stand and had to be excused. Davidson let Burton deal with the boys after that. Burton was gentle enough, but the boys were withdrawn and for the most part monosyllabic in their answers.

"Why did Charlie run away?"

Silence.

"Do you think it was because he wanted to see his parents?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like the school?"

"No."

"Would you rather be in the bush?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like trapping?"

"Yeah."

Before the boys were questioned, the constable in charge of the investigation, Gerald Lucas, had given the jury a matter-of-fact account of finding Charlie's body. In telling it simply, he had underlined the stark grimness of Charlie's death. But it was now. through the stumbling testimony of the boys, and in the bewildered silences behind those soft one-word answers, the full horror began to come out. No, they didn't understand why they had to be at the school. No, they didn't understand why they couldn't be with their relatives. Yes, they were lonesome. Would they run away again? Silence. And the jury was obviously moved. When Eddie Cameron began to cry on the stand, the jury foreman, J. R. Robinson, said later, "I wanted to go and put my arms around that little boy and hold him, and tell him not to cry."

There were no Indians on the jury. There were two housewives, a railroad worker, a service-station operator, and Robinson, who is a teacher at the Beaverbrae School in Kenora. In their own way they tried to do their duty. After spending more than two hours deliberating, they produced a written verdict and recommendations that covered one, long, closely written page of the official form. The jury found that "the Indian education system causes tremendous emotional and adjustment problems." They suggested that the school be staffed adequately so that the children could develop personal relationships with the staff, and that more effort be given to boarding children in private homes.

But the most poignant suggestion was the one that reflected their own bewilderment: "A study be made of the present Indian education and philosophy. Is it right?" ★

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The lonely death of Chanie Wenjack - Macleans.ca

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CHARLIE WENJACK would have been 13 years old on January 19, and it's possible that during his short and disturbed life someone may have taken a snapshot of him - one of those laughing, open-faced, blurred little pictures one so often sees of children. But if a snap was taken, nobody knows where it is now.

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Doc 17:  Podcast, "I want the reader to be Chanie"

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Doc 17:  Podcast, "I want the reader to be Chanie"

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From CBC radio's Q program, an interview with author Joseph Boyden on his recently released novella Wenjack.

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This year marks the 50th anniversary of Chanie Wenjack's death.

The story of the Ojibwe boy who died in 1966 after running away from a northern Ontario residential school has touched many people across the nation - it has haunted writer Joseph Boyden.

"His voice really does come to me in this beautiful, quiet way," Boyden tells Candy Palmater.

Boyden has channeled these voices into a new novella named Wenjack, one of many projects being released this week to honour this important anniversary.

Artist and friend Gord Downie will release an album and graphic novel about Wenjack called Secret Path and the imagineNATIVE Film and Media Arts Festival will be screening a film about him and all former students of residential schools.

Boyden hopes art can help further the conversation on indigenous issues in Canada. "As artists, we're able to say, 'Let's all focus on this,'" he explains. "There's a lot of resilience going on and it's something that I think more Canadians are going to hear more and more about."

He calls Wenjack a "little book with a big heart," and he hopes that anyone who picks up the book will be able to feel the sadness, hope and empathy behind the story. "I want the reader to be Chanie."

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"I want the reader to be Chanie": Joseph Boyden tells Chanie Wenjack's story | CBC Radio

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This year marks the 50th anniversary of Chanie Wenjack's death. The story of the Ojibwe boy who died in 1966 after running away from a northern Ontario residential school has touched many people across the nation - it has haunted writer Joseph Boyden.

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Doc 8a:  Animated Film, "The Secret Path"

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Doc 8a:  Animated Film, "The Secret Path"

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From Gord Downie and Jeff Lemire, an animated film version of their graphic novel/album called "The Secret Path". This film, book and album are Gord Downie's "legacy" project... what he hopes to leave us for us Canadians to remember him by.

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Doc 9:    News Article, "How Chanie Wenjack chose Jospeh Boyden"

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Doc 9:    News Article, "How Chanie Wenjack chose Jospeh Boyden"

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From Maclean's magazine, an article written by Boyden himself that describes and explains the artistic explosion surrounding last year's  50th anniversary of Chanie Wenjack's death.

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The story has all the hallmarks of great tragedy: an innocent boy lost in the vast wilds of northern Ontario in late October. He's desperately trying to make his way home as the weather begins its brutal turn. Underdressed for these harsh wilds and with nothing but a few matches in his pocket, he's starved and shivering. He's driven by the simple desire to be back home with his parents and sisters and two beloved dogs. But what's most frightening is that the boy is pursued by a dark and sick menace even as his illness-wracked body begins to weaken. What this poor child doesn't understand as he limps along a lonely stretch of railroad tracks, night falling and a hard sleet pelting his wretched form, is that home is an impossible 600 km away.

What makes this story even more tragic is that it's true. The boy's name was Chanie Wenjack, a 12-year-old Ojibwe boy who was found dead beside that lonely stretch of railroad tracks 50 years ago, on Oct. 22, 1966. He'd run away from Cecelia Jeffreys Industrial Indian School a number of days before, on Oct. 16, a Sunday, with two friends who were brothers. None of them had planned this escape on that unseasonably warm autumn afternoon, scrambling over a chain link fence and then following a secret path so many of the schoolchildren had used before to skirt around the town of Kenora and into the bush in their attempts to just get home. All to this point had returned voluntarily or had been caught, but Chanie and the two brothers were especially driven.

A few years ago now, Mike Downie, the brother of the Tragically Hip's singer Gord Downie, found an article written in this very magazine way back in 1967; he introduced it to Gord, and then Gord to me. The author, Ian Adams, deftly recounts Chanie's escape and sad demise, as well as the ensuing public inquiry into his death, the first that I am aware of in Canada in regards to these schools. The all-white jury came to a number of conclusions, including this: "The Indian education system causes tremendous emotional and adjustment problems." The jury also requested that "a study be made of the present Indian education and philosophy," asking, simply, "Is it right?" I'm not sure who in provincial or federal government ever read any of these findings. I assume it didn't make its way up many chains of command at all. It took 30 years after Chanie's death for the last residential school in this country to close its doors, in 1996.

MORE: Read the story that inspired it all

I don't want to assume much on Gord's behalf, but I think it's safe to say that the image of this little boy just trying to get home haunted him as much as it did me. Mike and Gord and I bandied about a few ideas for a short time, a possible collaboration of some kind-maybe a small book followed by a film-but ultimately we ended up going into our own creative corners to work individually, keeping each other abreast of what we were doing. It was Gord who was first struck by the idea of creating something that could be released on the 50th anniversary of Chanie's passing. Gord, along with powerhouse musicians Kevin Drew, Kevin Hearn and others went into the studio and created Secret Path, a sparse and gorgeous 10-song record encompassing poems Gord had written about Chanie. Gord then asked the acclaimed graphic novelist and artist Jeff Lemire to create a book in images, telling the story on the page that acts as a beautiful new dimension while listening to the record.

In my own corner, I'd been working on a novel called Seven Matches I hoped to finish in time for an October 2016 release date. I got so close, but realized that if I pushed too hard and too fast it wasn't going to work. Once you put a novel into the world, you can't just clear your throat and excuse yourself and ask for it back so you can make it better. After months of rushing to try and finish it, with nights of lost sleep and worrying my fingernails to the quick as my deadline approached, my brilliant friend and publisher, Nicole Winstanley at Penguin, sat down with me and gently urged me to take a breath and a step back. She knows me well. She could feel my stress.

She understood the conundrum: not only were Gord and artistic company putting out Secret Path in the coming October, but I had asked a few amazing Indigenous friends if they'd create their own pieces as well. The Metis filmmaker Terril Calder was hard at work on her haunting stop motion film called Keewaydeh, and the DJ collective and genius music makers A Tribe Called Red had also come on board and included some spoken word tracks on their album We Are The Halluci Nation, dedicated to the young boy. And here I was, lamely about to tell everyone that I just couldn't get that novel done in time.

The idea of a number of artists of different backgrounds releasing their works into the world on the 50th anniversary of that boy's passing, was too important to give up on.

We'd all agreed to release our creations unannounced near Chanie's anniversary, maybe create a ripple effect as we got most Canadians to hear his name from many different quarters and for the first time, a name so familiar and yet so foreign on an English tongue. Wenjack? Wenjack. What does it mean? Who is he? All involved and toiling on our projects want Canadians to feel our gathered breath as each of us, in our own small way, try to breathe back life into a child who died so unnecessarily, so tragically, and almost, almost forgotten.

Nicole suggested I write a long story, a novella, in commemoration instead. Nicole's never steered me wrong. And the act of being channeled by the boy named Chanie Wenjack and by the manitous, the spirits of the forest who follow him and comment upon his plight, made me fall back in love with the act of writing again.

But why this particular boy? Why did we all choose to make Chanie Wenjack our focus when the brutal fact of the matter is that we had literally thousands of Indigenous children who also perished in residential schools we might have morbidly considered? I'm being asked this a lot this last week or so. I can only answer this question for myself. All I can say is this: I believe that Chanie Wenjack chose me, and not me him. Only a single photo of Chanie exists, a photo that his sister Pearl was kind enough and tough enough and giving enough to share. A sepia-toned and worn print of a young Ojibwe boy with black, tussled hair, the boy leaning slightly on a pine wall outside somewhere north, with one skinny leg crossed over the other all casual, his rubber boots too big for him and his hands held together in the slight grip we all sometimes do that betrays a bit of nervousness, possibly, at being photographed. But what's most striking in the photo is his face. Sweetness is the word that comes to me when I stare at it. His eyes are slightly narrowed and his round cheeks highlight a smile that tells you everything you need to know. He's good. He's kind. He's shy. He's going to be something great one day. He already is, and I can just bet that he makes every one of his family feel a tinge of warmth, of happiness, when he walks into a room. Chanie's smile chose me. It dared me to try and decipher him. Chanie Wenjack's cruel and unnecessary death 50 years ago, I realize, isn't a story of innocence lost. It is Canada's story of innocence violently taken.

MORE: Chanie Wenjack wasn't the only runaway. Read the stories of two more boys.

Why Chanie Wenjack, you might still ask? Because Canada is a haunted house. A really smart man I know named Stephen Marche dropped that line on me one day awhile back. It felt like he'd pulled the pin from a grenade and casually dropped it in my lap. Canada is a haunted house. He didn't explain anything else or ask me for anything in return, just said this and left it for me to either defuse or let explode. I've been thinking about this a lot the last while.

Another friend, the Kwagiulth artist Carey Newman, challenged me further to explore this. This is what I feel: we Canadians have a lot of bones in our basements. Secrets in our attics. Stains on our bedsheets that we've carelessly flung into the hamper and left to fester. The sepia glimpse of a sullen Cree child's face at her school desk when we walk our own kid to school on a brilliant autumn morning. The flash of an Inuit boy dead by his own hand forcing us to close our closet door too fast. The weeping of a young Sto:lo girl left raped and bleeding by her teacher chasing us up from our darkened laundry room.

Maybe the statement needs to become a question: do we want to live in a haunted house for the rest of our lives?

The time for a national reckoning has arrived. The original peoples of Canada have suffered through a multi-generational cultural genocide. We have experienced genocide as if it's a tsunami in slow motion. We have witnessed a brutal tide rise up for seven generations, destroying homes, swallowing families, drowning our children.

But the Indigenous people of our country are nothing if not resilient. And patient. And tough. This tsunami has reached its high-water mark. It finally recedes. It is up to all of those who are brave enough, resourceful enough, kind enough, tough enough; it is up to the artists, but also the construction workers and doctors and cab drivers and lawyers and the unemployed, the cops and baristas and housewives and fathers-to-be, to become the beachcombers of this nation, to wander the wrecked shorelines and gather the remnants, the glittering detritus of so many destroyed lives and begin to help in patching it back together again. We all know that it won't be as it once was. We can't go home that way again.

Maybe, though, maybe, something like the many retellings of Chanie Wenjack's life, or the gorgeously subversive paintings of Kent Monkman, or Carey Newman's Witness Blanket Project, or Gord Downie's Secret Path, or Katherine Vermette's The Break will show all of us not just what was lost but also what hasn't been lost. Can't be taken away. Perhaps there is such a thing as an exorcism through art.

The great tragedy, the great stain of our country, is that Chanie's story is shared by thousands of Indigenous families across our country. Thousands of children were forcefully ripped from their homes and their parents and their languages and religions and songs and siblings and cultures, only to die while in the custody of strangers sworn to their care. Chanie Wenjack isn't alone. This needs repeating: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission has collected the names of thousands of children who perished while in these schools and never returned home. The TRC fears the number may be as high as 30,000.

Please, I ask you, dear reader, don't skip over that number. Please contemplate it. Take the time and effort to count out 1,000 pennies and then toss them onto the floor of your kitchen. Then do it many more times. On the next clear night, sit with your own child under the dizzying array of stars and begin counting till you both become too tired. And do this every clear evening for a whole summer. Pick up where you left off and continue it the next summers again. Perhaps sit down one day soon and begin to read the names of the children the TRC has collected so far. Whisper them, shout them, absorb them. Just don't let them be forgotten. Think of them as your own children. But for Chanie's sake, and the sakes of so many thousands more, let's all decide not to live in a haunted house any longer.
Chanie Wenjack wasn't alone. We've told the tragic and forgotten stories of two more boys escaping residential school. With your help, we can tell more. Find out how, here.

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How Chanie Wenjack chose Joseph Boyden - Macleans.ca

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The story has all the hallmarks of great tragedy: an innocent boy lost in the vast wilds of northern Ontario in late October. He's desperately trying to make his way home as the weather begins its brutal turn. Underdressed for these harsh wilds and with nothing but a few matches in his pocket, he's starved and shivering.

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Doc 16:  News Article, "The Most Powerful Stories are True Stories

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Doc 16:  News Article, "The Most Powerful Stories are True Stories

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From Maclean's magazine, an article that explains the role of writer Joseph Boyden and graphic novelist, Jeff Lemire in bringing Chanie Wenjack's story back to the national spotlight.

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With the full force of his influence, and with help from friends, Gord Downie may help Canadians see the dark legacy of residential schools

The most powerful stories are true stories.

Artists know this better than anyone, especially artists as accomplished as Gord Downie, Jeff Lemire and Joseph Boyden. The three friends-the Tragically Hip frontman, the renowned graphic novelist and the Governor General's award-winning author-have dedicated themselves both independently and in combination to telling the true story of Chanie Wenjack, a 12-year old Ojibwe boy who died frozen and alone at the side of a railroad bed almost 50 years ago. He was trying to make his way through 320 km of northern Ontario scrubland to escape the horrors of life in a residential school and get back to the father he had been taken from.

"Chanie haunts me," Downie declared week, as he announced Secret Path. It's an ambitious multi-platform project that includes an album of solo songs from the singer, an 88-page graphic novel illustrated by Lemire and an hour-long CBC TV special-all committed to sharing Chanie's story. Secret Path also follows in the footsteps of the Heritage Minute dedicated to Chanie that was released in July featuring Boyden.

The bet is that Chanie's story, even a half-century after it was first documented in Maclean's, has the potential to haunt others. Possibly, it might even reach an audience wide enough to resonate in ways that royal commissions and official reports frankly have not.

A well-told story, as these three master craftsmen know, can knock the wind out of you. It can snap you bolt upright and seize you with sudden conviction. How many Canadians remembered the missing persons' death of Toronto Maple Leaf Bill Barilko until Downie sang of him in " Fifty Mission Cap"? How many more had their eyes opened to Canada's early Indigenous history thanks to Boyden's Bird family trilogy?

The sombre hope is that the stark, specific details of Chanie's last seven days might, in the hands of such gifted artists, force attention and profile, helping Canadians to see the direct line that connects the tragic history of residential schools to the many failures that challenge our Indigenous communities to this day.

None of this comes about by accident. The three have long worked together directly and indirectly on issues related to Canada's unreconciled relationship with First Nations. Although Downie and Lemire are declining interviews about Secret Path before its release, the comic book artist has, in the past, credited Boyden with introducing him to the many Indigenous communities that circle James Bay-just as the self-described "Scottish-Irish-Metis mixed blood" author of The Orenda did for Downie after they met in 2006.

"He opened up my eyes to a part of the province that I didn't know but wanted to learn more about" said Lemire of Boyden in an interview given this past January. "Now I spend a lot of time there. I love its isolation. Its unique voice." Boyden adds that Lemire has become accepted locally because he is, "always listening, absorbing everything like a sponge."

For Downie and Lemire, time in Ontario's north is no dilettante indulgence. With Boyden, and on their own, they've spent long periods in communities near Timmins, Moosonee and spots you won't easily find on any map. They've learned to fish and trap and be accepted there as friends, not just celebrity ambassadors from south of the TransCanada Highway.

Unsurprisingly, their work has also been affected. With a third of Canadians watching, Downie interrupted the Tragically Hip's final concert, pleading for the country to heal its broken relationship with First Nations. Two days later, Downie and the entire band joined Boyden for some fishing north of Timmins.

As for Lemire, he's made the subject matter a staple of his recent work. In addition to Secret Path, Simon & Schuster is also publishing his new book in April 2017. Within its pages we meet a half-Cree former NHL goon who struggles with alcoholism, an uncertain sense of where he fits into the world and a pained family history. These are not foreign subjects to many people in the James Bay lowlands. Even Lemire's artwork for Secret Path, washed flat of colour and laced with long silent stretches, suits the geography and subject matter perfectly.

It's a good thing. Because even artists as dedicated and talented as these will need every ounce of ability to get people to care. If that seems harsh, it's only the truth. Whether it's the absence of easy remedies, cultural and geographical distance or the sheer ugliness of past actions, most Canadians seem content to largely overlook Indigenous issues. It's a subject that provokes plenty of lip service but much less real engagement.

Of course, this particular treatment of the topic will be unique-and for reasons more than just format. The story of Chanie Wenjack's death comes in the shadow of Downie's own diagnosis for glioblastoma, an aggressive and incurable form of brain cancer.

The emotion and attention that has greeted Downie since news of his condition was made public has been almost unprecedented. With an audience that's never been larger and a platform that's never stood higher, one gets the feeling that Downie knows exactly what he's up to. He's going to unleash the full force of his current influence to tell Chanie's story as loudly as he can.

And because we know that the most powerful stories are true stories-and that these artists enjoy unique and honest talent-there is at least a chance that Chanie's story will not only get heard, but that it will get action.

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Why Chanie Wenjack's story might finally get action - Macleans.ca

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With the full force of his influence, and with help from friends, Gord Downie may help Canadians see the dark legacy of residential schools The most powerful stories are true stories. Artists know this better than anyone, especially artists as accomplished as Gord Downie, Jeff Lemire and Joseph Boyden.

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Doc 11:    News Article, "We were Trained our Entire Lives to Ignore"

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Doc 11:    News Article, "We were Trained our Entire Lives to Ignore"

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From the APTN (Aboriginal People's Television Network), an article that summarizes the national impact of Gord Downie's final concert.

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APTN National News
In an emotionally charged final concert in Kingston, Ont., Tragically Hip singer Gord Down paused the show to address the audience, the country, and specifically, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.

"We're in good hands, folks, real good hands. He cares about the people way up North, that we were trained our entire lives to ignore, trained our entire lives to hear not a word of what's going on up there," said Downie. "And what's going on up there ain't good. It's maybe worse than it's ever been, so it's not on the improve. (But) we're going to get it fixed and we got the guy to do it, to start, to help."

Downie, who was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer in Dec., 2015, has been on the road for the past month on the band's final tour.

Kingston's show was sold out in minutes and thousands turned out to watch the show in a square downtown.

Trudeau declared himself a big fan of the Tragically Hip, andDownie waxed poetic about Trudeau Saturday night during the band's final concert of the "Man Machine Poem" tour.

"He's going to be looking good for about at least 12 more years, I don't know if they let you go beyond that. But he'll do it," Downie told concertgoers between songs.

Trudeau could be seen in the audience nodding and mouthing "thank you."

Before the show started, Trudeau's official photographer posted a photo on Twitter of the prime minister embracing Downie.

Trudeau has put repairing the relationship at the top of his first mandate as prime minister.

Letters to each of his ministers that spell out their assignments, each mentioned Indigenous peoples.

"No relationship is more important to me and to Canada than the one with Indigenous Peoples," wrote Trudeau in the letters. "It is time for a renewed, nation-to-nation relationship with Indigenous Peoples, based on recognition of rights, respect, co-operation, and partnership."

In recent years, Downie has been tuning into issues around First Nations, specifically northern Ontario along the James Bay coast.

In band's 13th release, Now for Plan A, the track Goodnight Attawapiskat closes out the album.
"Attawapiskat, City by the Bay! A diamond dazzling. Oh, Attawapiskat, you're on your way."
The Hip followed the album release up with a tour that included a stop in the Fort Albany First Nation just south of Attawapiskat.

The Kingston show was the last in a 15-city concert tour.

- with files from The Canadian Press

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"We were trained our entire lives to ignore" Hip singer Downie addresses Trudeau on Indigenous issues during final concert - APTN News

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APTN National News In an emotionally charged final concert in Kingston, Ont., Tragically Hip singer Gord Down paused the show to address the audience, the country, and specifically, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. "We're in good hands, folks, real good hands.

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Doc 4:  News Article, "We're in Good Hands"

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Doc 4:  News Article, "We're in Good Hands"

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From Maclean's magazine, an article that explains the relationship between Gord Downie and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, as well as the impact of Downie's VERY PUBLIC words to Mr. Trudeau that night in August, 2016.

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KINGSTON, Ont. - Prime Minister Justin Trudeau says the Tragically Hip are an essential part of what Canada is.

Trudeau was among the fans attending what is expected to be the band's final show, in Kingston, Ont., on Saturday night.

In an interview with the CBC, Trudeau reminisced about how he used to enjoy the band's music during his high school and university years.

Trudeau said the band remains anchored in Canada in so many ways through their lyrics and music.

"The whole country is here in Kingston tonight! To say thanks, to say goodbye, to celebrate Canada's band." pic.twitter.com/agKgKkby5C

- Justin Trudeau (@JustinTrudeau) August 21, 2016

PM @JustinTrudeau signs the community thank you wall for @thehipdotcom. #ThankYouGord pic.twitter.com/AWa7QjfRIN

- Gerald Butts (@gmbutts) August 20, 2016

The band embarked on what will likely be its final tour after lead singer Gord Downie revealed that he's battling terminal brain cancer.

Trudeau told the CBC that the concert represents a way to not only say farewell to Downie, but also celebrate the singer and celebrate Canada. He said the concert was a powerful moment for all Canadians.

Trudeau, wearing jeans and a black Tragically Hip T-shirt, casually mingled with Hip fans prior to the concert. He added a message to a wall in downtown Kingston where fans could write tributes to the band.

The prime minister's aides posted a photo on Twitter of Trudeau embracing Downie just before the start of the show.

PM @JustinTrudeau and Gord before the show #manmachinepoemtour #tragicallyhip pic.twitter.com/GAKygevYVz

- Adam Scotti (@AdamScotti) August 20, 2016

Late breaking story on the CBC. @RonMacLeanHTH interviews PM @JustinTrudeau at #thehipinkingston, from #Rio2016 pic.twitter.com/SOd1u9yl7l

- Gerald Butts (@gmbutts) August 20, 2016

When the show started, the Hip mixed fan favourites, newer songs and some politics.

The band immediately gave fans what they wanted to hear, starting their set with four straight hits from the classic album "Fully Completely:" opener "50 Mission Cap," followed by "Courage (for Hugh MacLennan)," "Wheat Kings" and "At the Hundredth Meridian."

The Hip then segued into their latest album "Man Machine Poem," with four tracks including the single "In a World Possessed by the Human Mind."

Before "Machine," Downie launched into one of his trademark onstage rants, calling out to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, who was in the crowd for the show. Trudeau's official photographer tweeted a photo of the prime minister and Downie embracing before the concert.

"Well, you know, prime minister Trudeau's got me, his work with First Nations. He's got everybody. He's going to take us where we need to go," Downie said from the stage.

"It's going to take us 100 years to figure out what the hell went on up there," he continued, "but it isn't cool and everybody knows that. It's really, really bad, but we're going to figure it out, you're going to figure it out."

Much later in the show, Downie again spoke about his fondness for Trudeau.

"Thank you to the Prime Minister for coming to our show, it really means a lot to all of us," he said.

"We're in good hands, folks, real good hands. He cares about the people way up North, that we were trained our entire lives to ignore, trained our entire lives to hear not a word of what's going on up there. And what's going on up there ain't good. It's maybe worse than it's ever been, so it's not on the improve. (But) we're going to get it fixed and we got the guy to do it, to start, to help.

"Thank you everybody. Thanks for listening to that. Thanks for listening, period. Have a nice life."
Related photos

Check out the rest of the gallery

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Gord Downie on PM: 'We're in good hands' - Macleans.ca

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KINGSTON, Ont. - Prime Minister Justin Trudeau says the Tragically Hip are an essential part of what Canada is. Trudeau was among the fans attending what is expected to be the band's final show, in Kingston, Ont., on Saturday night.

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Doc 3:   News Article and 2 video clips, "Downie Calls out to Trudeau"

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Doc 3:   News Article and 2 video clips, "Downie Calls out to Trudeau"

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From the CBC website, an article and 2 videos that capture the excitement surrounding the final Tragically Hip concert in August, 2016, and Downie's unexpected "calling out" to PM Trudeau to take immediate action on the problems in aboriginal communities today.

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The Tragically Hip paid tribute to all of Canada as the band wrapped up their 15-stop tour in Kingston, Ont., with lead singer Gord Downie including a shout-out to the prime minister, who was in the audience.

The concert opened Saturday night with flag-waving fans singing O Canada. For other fans, there were viewing parties held at locations across the country.

Between songs, Downie acknowledged Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. He called on the prime minister to take action on behalf of Canada's Indigenous people, and then said he expected Trudeau would have plenty of time to do it.

"He's going to be looking good for about at least 12 more years. I don't know if they let you go beyond that. But he'll do it," Downie told concert-goers.

Trudeau could be seen in the audience, nodding and mouthing "thank you."

He declined to address Downie's comments about him, but said, "It was an extraordinary opportunity for everyone in Kingston, but indeed across the country, to celebrate an iconic Canadian and an extraordinary band. It was a great and moving night and I was extremely privileged to be part of it."

Shortly before the show started, the prime minister's photographer posted an image on Twitter of Trudeau embracing Downie.

PM <a href="https://twitter.com/JustinTrudeau">@JustinTrudeau</a> and Gord before the show <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/manmachinepoemtour?src=hash">#manmachinepoemtour</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/tragicallyhip?src=hash">#tragicallyhip</a> <a href="https://t.co/GAKygevYVz">pic.twitter.com/GAKygevYVz</a>
&mdash; @AdamScotti

While he waited for the band to take the stage in the Rogers K-Rock Centre, Trudeau spoke briefly with the CBC's Ron MacLean, who is still in Rio for the Olympics, about The Tragically Hip.

Trudeau said he was wishing all week that he was in Rio for the Games, "but tonight I'm glad I'm in Kingston instead."

Trudeau said he had mixed feelings about the show, because it was both a chance to say goodbye and to celebrate Downie, who is battling terminal brain cancer.

Trudeau spoke about becoming a fan of the Hip in university and at one point wishing the band would make it big internationally, though now he's glad they've remained a Canadian staple, saying they are "an inevitable and essential part of what we are and who we are as a country."

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Tragically Hip's Gord Downie uses Kingston show to call for action on Indigenous issues | CBC News

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The Tragically Hip paid tribute to all of Canada as the band wrapped up their 15-stop tour in Kingston, Ont., with lead singer Gord Downie including a shout-out to the prime minister, who was in the audience. The concert opened Saturday night with flag-waving fans singing O Canada.

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1.  Video Interview, "How Donwie came to be the Newsmaker of the Year"

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1.  Video Interview, "How Donwie came to be the Newsmaker of the Year"

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From the CBC website, a one-on-one interview with entertainment reporter David Friend that explains WHY Downie was named 2016 Newsmaker of the Year.

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How Gord Downie came to be named the Canadian Press Newsmaker of the Year

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Canadian Press entrainment reporter David Friend joins CBC News Network's Natasha Fatah to explain why Gord Downie was given the title.

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2.  News Article and Video Clip, "Downie chosen as Newsmaker of the Year

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2.  News Article and Video Clip, "Downie chosen as Newsmaker of the Year

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From the Toronto Star website, an explanation of why Gord Downie was named the 2016 Newsmaker of the Year by the Canadian Press.

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"Everyone will remember where they were when they watched that final concert."

Formed in 1984, the Hip spent decades travelling the country's highways and working their way up from playing dive bars to filling arenas. Their perseverance earned a loyal fan base, particularly with working-class Canadians, who made anthems out of the band's biggest hits like "Ahead by a Century" and "Bobcaygeon."

When Downie's health condition was revealed in May - only a few weeks after the Fort McMurray wildfires left many Canadians heartbroken - it felt like another kick in the gut for the nation.

"He represents all those dealing with carnage in their lives," said Dori Modney, news director at CHLB and CJBZ Radio in Lethbridge, Alta.

"Whether it's the wildfire or the downturn in the economy, many people have soldiered on, in spite of their world crashing around them."

Downie's situation was unique in that he was still healthy enough to perform. That gave him an opportunity to shape his own final act.

When the Hip's managers sat alongside Downie's neuro-oncologist Dr. James Perry at a press conference in May - absent the band - it became clear that Downie had a plan. Despite battling glioblastoma, an incurable and rare form of cancer, the 52-year-old father of four was going to stick with the long-standing adage of the entertainment industry: The show must go on.

"His head space is, 'We want to blow people's minds,'" said Patrick Sambrook in relaying Downie's desire to tour one last time.

The "Man Machine Poem" tour became Canada's hottest summer ticket. Fans jostled for seats but many were left disappointed when they sold out almost immediately. But the Hip struck an agreement with the CBC to air the band's climactic final show in Kingston, their hometown. The concert was a TV ratings hit, drawing an estimated audience of more than four million Canadians. In all, 11.7 million Canadians tuned in for at least a portion of the broadcast on TV, radio or online and thousands more gathered across the country for public screenings.

Many of them, not even Hip fans necessarily, got swept up in Downie's story as a cancer fighter who refused to surrender quietly.

At the show, an impassioned Downie led the band through a nearly three-hour set that included most of the Hip's biggest songs. He also used the national platform to call for more attention to the inequities faced by indigenous people, particularly in the North. As he pointed out the prime minister, who sat in the audience wearing a Hip T-shirt, he sent a message.

"He cares about the people way up North that we were trained our entire lives to ignore, trained our entire lives to hear not a word of what's going on up there," Downie said.

"And what's going on up there ain't good."

His words hinted where Downie would shift his energy next.

Less than a month later, the singer-songwriter lifted the veil on Secret Path, a solo multimedia project that recounts the life of 12-year-old Chanie Wenjack, who died in 1966 after running away from a residential school. Spread across a full-length album, a graphic novel and animated film, Downie's interpretation of the child's final hours brought a fresh urgency to a story many never heard.

Blue Rodeo singer Jim Cuddy says hearing Downie retell Wenjack's story elevated the history to a new level.

"I know the story of the residential schools and I've heard the Chanie story, but when I listen to the record ... I realize I don't know the story and I haven't fully absorbed the horror that was the residential schools," Cuddy said

"(It's) an example of the importance of culture on having an impact on people."

Earlier this month, an emotional Downie was recognized during the Assembly of First Nations special assembly in Gatineau, Que., and was anointed the "Man Who Walks Among the Stars."

"It will take 150 years, or seven generations, to heal the wound of the residential school, to become a country that can truly call ourselves Canada," Downie said after the tearful ceremony.

"We must walk down a path of reconciliation from now on. Together and forever."

Since Downie went public with his diagnosis, more than $1 million has been raised for brain cancer research. He's also motivated others to pitch into a fund that fosters relationships between indigenous and non-indigenous people.

Steve Wood of Northern Cree, who opened for the Hip at a Canada Day concert at London's Trafalgar Square a few years ago, said he's hopeful the singer's efforts have created momentum.

"It doesn't matter what colour you are, you could be the colour purple. You're a human, and that's what matters to him," said the co-founder of the Grammy-nominated aboriginal group.

"Hopefully the Creator gives him lots more time because he's needed here."

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Gord Downie chosen as the Canadian Press Newsmaker of the Year | Toronto Star

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"Everyone will remember where they were when they watched that final concert." Formed in 1984, the Hip spent decades travelling the country's highways and working their way up from playing dive bars to filling arenas. Their perseverance earned a loyal fan base, particularly with working-class Canadians, who made anthems out of the band's biggest hits like "Ahead by a Century" and "Bobcaygeon."

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How we Feel, by Hip Hop artists A Tribe Called Red.

A Tribe Called Red are socially engaged musicians telling stories about residential schools

and social injustice towards aboriginal communities

CBC Music named their 2016 album, We are the Halluci Nation, the NUMBER ONE ALBUM OF THE YEAR!   BAM!

Before you click "play" below, open this document so you can follow the lyrics:

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Doc 7:  Video Clip, "The Story of Chanie"

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Doc 7:  Video Clip, "The Story of Chanie"

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A Heritage Minute about Charlie Wenjack and the Legacy of Residential Schools
Written and narrated by Joseph Boyden