从橙衫日到失落的墓地：加拿大真相与和解日的历史重述与正义追寻

Jeyan Jeganathan: Every September 30th, Canada marks a National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. [music] But you may know it better by another name, Orange Shirt Day. And it was called [music] that before there was a federal holiday because of a story Phyllis Webstad told at an event in 2013. About what happened on her first day at a residential school in British Columbia when she was [music] just 6 years old. We talked to her about how an orange shirt sparked a movement and the challenges that movement faces with residential school denialism. [music] We also dig into a question, how do we reckon with history and its ongoing impact on Indigenous [music] communities? Here in Toronto, the discovery of an Indigenous burial ground is raising questions about how these [music] sites should be protected and who should decide what happens next. And in Garden River First Nation, we look at how four words painted on a railway bridge half a century ago became a rallying cry for Indigenous pride.

Jeyan Jeganathan: I'm Jai and Jagannath, welcome to The Rundown. Back in 2024, a construction crew working on a waterline in Toronto uncovered remains from an Indigenous burial ground. The discovery stopped their work, but it raised a much bigger question. When an Indigenous burial site is uncovered in a city, who decides what happens next? Gabriel Blankman, great to have you on The Rundown. How are you doing?

Gabriel Blankman: I'm good. How are you?

Jeyan Jeganathan: I'm doing well. Uh you spent just under a year at The Local, an online magazine, uh as a journalism fellow. And much of that time was spent writing, researching about an Indigenous burial site on Withrow Avenue, that's in Toronto's East End for our viewers who are not familiar with the area. How were the ancient human remains first discovered?

Gabriel Blankman: Yeah, um it's actually really interesting. So, a local resident who lived in the area for many, many years was just on his regular route home um when he noticed a construction pit in the sidewalk, so he just tried to kind of step around it and the ground gave way. He fell into the pit and as he was trying to scramble out, he grabbed the dirt and kind of a bone fell with him and landed on him. It was dark, so he didn't know what it was. He thought it was maybe a dog bone or something. So, he picked it up and took it home and washed it off and sent a photo to his cousin, who's a biologist. And his cousin was like, "I think you need to call the police." And so, police were called, and an investigation was started. They initially thought it was, you know, a homicide or a missing person. Within a few days, forensic anthropologists determine that it's not a homicide, but it ended up being an ancient indigenous remains.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Now, I understand those are not the first human remains found there.

Gabriel Blankman: Mhm.

Jeyan Jeganathan: And we're we'll talk a little bit about the process as to what happened with this current sort of discovery, but what happened when those earlier discoveries were made?

Gabriel Blankman: Yeah, so across the street, um, there was a pretty well-documented archaeological site that was discovered. Um, I can't quite remember when, but it was it was many years ago. So, the city knew that, um, you know, this was an archaeologically sensitive area. Human bones were found when Withrow Public School was being expanded, I think in the late 1800s. And then in the 1980s, another property across the street found remains during construction. So, the city knew something has, um, a lot of ancient artifacts that have been found in in the in the area, so yeah.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Here we are 2026. What does that site look like right now on Withrow?

Gabriel Blankman: Yeah, so the last that I checked in was earlier this year when I was doing my story and it was still like it looked the same as it did a few years ago. So, to the outside looking in, there's not been much movement. There's still plywood blocking the site. The sidewalk is still closed. Residents are still walking around it. But behind the scenes, there's been a lot of conversation happening. And just this past summer, they started moving forward with the investigation, and so they're still working on that.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Okay. I should correct myself. 2024 is when that site sort of was was discovered there. Let's take a This is an interesting part. I I really want to know the historical relationship between archaeologists and the Indigenous community. There was an event that took place in Grimsby back in the '70s that sort of was a bit of a watershed moment for for for that for those two parties. So, tell me a little bit about that.

Gabriel Blankman: Yeah, so in 1976, in Grimsby, Ontario, Walter Kenyon and a team from the ROM were notified of some remains that were found on a property, and so they sent their team over there, as usual, you know, to excavate and take the remains back to the museum. But a group from Six Nations showed up and protested and physically blocked the excavation from continuing, saying that, you know, to First Nations, it was an indignity to the remains. And so, I think this was a really important moment because

Jeyan Jeganathan: [sighs]

Gabriel Blankman: it kind of signified that First Nations weren't going to stand by while their ancestors and while their remains were being unmasked and kind of taken without their consultation and without their involvement. And so it changed kind of the way that Ontario moves forward when it comes to archaeology. The findings were split between the ROM and then First Nations. So, that's yeah.

Jeyan Jeganathan: For viewers not familiar with it, what should they know about it and its significance when we talk about protecting indigenous burial sites?

Gabriel Blankman: I think there's a few important things here. So, first of all, I mean, it is an area we can look at Toronto's history, which I think is really cool, and I think that's always important to um remember that Toronto has a really long history. But the second thing is the duty of care. When we find human remains, no matter who they are, they deserve a level of dignity. And in Toronto, a lot of these remains are 700-plus years old. This is part of our city's fabric. We are living on the land that they lived on, that they took care of, and that provided for them. And we need to try to honor and respect that in our everyday lives, and so um that goes as well for investigations.

Jeyan Jeganathan: You mentioned duty of care, and so I do have to ask uh particularly with this site, I think a lot of people when they hear about it, there is some frustration about the uh the lack of movement as we move forward. You said it was 2024, it looks the same. And it has a lot to do with just the sheer number of First Nations that are involved in it. Can you tell me a little bit about that? But also is the delay necessarily a bad thing?

Gabriel Blankman: Yeah. Um so with something like this, you know, it takes a long time because First Nations are independent sovereign nations, and on Withrow, we have 11 First Nations that are um involved in collaboration. So, it's not just like one person deciding, it's bringing 11 different First Nations to the table and saying, "How do we want to deal with this site?" And because of the system we have in Ontario, there isn't a standardized process. Every time a site like this is found, it's kind of reinventing the wheel and figuring it out as we go. The city has had to really spearhead this, and it's difficult because it is a lot of money, it is a lot of time, and they've definitely received a lot of backlash.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Why is this story so important to you? You're mixed race, Toronto necessarily isn't home for you. Like you you've moved in here, and you talk about the layers of stories here, but why is this so important for you?

Gabriel Blankman: Mhm. Um well, I thought it was really important because I've seen so many news stories and so many um people covering this, and um like I was kind of saying, we don't have a system, but it's not a bad thing that it's taking time. In Toronto, we are on Indigenous land, and when you walk down Withrow Avenue or any street in Toronto, there are layers and layers of history beneath your feet. Coming to Toronto as a mixed-race person, I really wanted to understand the place I'm living in. Often in our society, we want quick answers and quick solutions, but when it comes to human remains and sacred sites, taking the time to consult 11 First Nations and respect their sovereignty is what true reconciliation looks like. I thought it'd be a good starting point for people in Toronto to build a new understanding of our city.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Very quickly, if you could tell policy policy makers one thing about how Ontario approaches the uncovering and protection of indigenous burials, what would it be?

Gabriel Blankman: Mhm. I think um looking at the Bobby Point Heritage District. So I got to speak to uh municipal uh leaders that are kind of working on this particular plan and um it's it's looking at uh archaeological zones before things are uncovered. Instead of reacting after bones are dug up and construction is halted and feelings are hurt, we need proactive policies that designate sensitive areas and build relationships with First Nations beforehand. What they're doing there at Bobby Point, I think is a good way to move forward and how we should be thinking in the future.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Gabby, I really appreciate your time. Thank you so much for your insights. Thank you for your story.

Gabriel Blankman: Thank you. Thank you for having me.

Narrator: In 1973, a message turned up painted on a train bridge in Garden River First Nation, just east of Sault Ste. Marie. And for 50 years, the origin was a mystery. But now the men responsible have come forward. We traveled to Garden River First Nation to hear their story.

Keith Boissoneau: One evening, it was fall and it was getting dark when my brother come and woke us up and says we're going to do something. He says we're going to put a sign here. Where are we going to put this sign? He says right on the bridge. We're going to paint it right on the bridge. One will sit on the board and start painting. And the rest of us will hold him.

Keith Boissoneau: There was Keith Busno. There was Bob Busno. There was Willie Busno. There was Scott LeSais. There was Andre LeSais. And there was Lucky LeSais. Seven of us.

Bob Boissoneau: We were the original artists.

Keith Boissoneau: So, okay, you guys, he says, "Lower me down."

Bob Boissoneau: Hand on rope, no safety, no nothing, just over the edge.

Keith Boissoneau: Just a twine rope with a 2 by 4 between your legs. They built the Hoover Dam like that.

Bob Boissoneau: And what is the statement that we're going to do? I mean, we didn't have nothing written down on paper or anything like that.

Keith Boissoneau: It just took us a little while to do it. Couple of hours because it's not exactly easy hanging over the edge of a bridge.

Bob Boissoneau: Starting off with this.

Keith Boissoneau: And he wrote I S. And then they pull me back up and they put the next guy down. And finish that word, pull everybody up. Okay, now we move over. Willie, we're still doing What are we putting here? I'll spell it out.

Bob Boissoneau: Indian. 1973 it was Indian, red power, and finally land.

Keith Boissoneau: And we said to ourselves, "Don't say nothing."

Bob Boissoneau: We kept it a secret for years.

Narrator: Garden River First Nation in Northern Ontario is an Ojibwe community with a history stretching back generations. Today, a piece of art created by a group of community members decades ago remains a visible part of that history.

Bob Boissoneau: It was a time of discovery and it was a time of uh finding out uh where we belonged in the world.

Keith Boissoneau: I remember it was a great place, but at the time we didn't know it, but we were poor. Everybody on the reserve was poor.

Bob Boissoneau: When we were young, we all got along together. Some people had a little harder than others. We'd always get together, say in summertime there. You want to go visit your friends? You found a swimming hole. They were all there.

Keith Boissoneau: So, we'd go and have fun. And we'd all come along together, either with swimming or walk the railroad tracks.

Narrator: As children in the late '60s and '70s, members of the group attended day [music] schools and schools in nearby cities, where they say they experienced racism and discrimination [music] from an early age.

Keith Boissoneau: They took us off the First Nation and shipped us to the schools in the city.

Bob Boissoneau: We weren't called Ojibwe, we weren't [music] called Cree, we were just called Indian.

Keith Boissoneau: And this one guy, Willy Bosnell, he was he was older than us. But it gave us more of an insight of what's happening with our culture and how we were being discriminated in certain ways.

Bob Boissoneau: Wilfred Bosnell. Number one guy.

Narrator: Wilfred's activism had a significant influence on the teenagers, connecting their own experiences to indigenous rights movement unfolding elsewhere.

Keith Boissoneau: And the one place that really caught our attention was the 1973 occupation Wounded Knee.

Narrator: In early 1973, around 200 members of the activist group American Indian Movement occupied the town of Wounded Knee in South Dakota to protest corruption, poverty, and broken treaty promises. Federal law enforcement officers surrounded the town, leading to a 71-day armed standoff. For the young men in Garden River, the rallying cry of the American Indian Movement reflected many of the issues they were confronting in their own community.

Bob Boissoneau: Our language is oppressed, our culture oppressed, our traditions oppressed, the poverty in our communities, inadequate health care, you know, broken treaty promises.

Keith Boissoneau: They come and tear everything down and take everybody out and take them to jail just for doing the ceremony, our ceremony.

Bob Boissoneau: Employment. Better social services. Our voice being heard.

Keith Boissoneau: We are a national people. We are Indians. We have to do something. What can we do? And that's when my older brother had all these different ideas.

Bob Boissoneau: We decided to make a stand.

Keith Boissoneau: Being that young, we didn't fully grasp everything. We didn't realize at the time, but it really did make a statement after a while.

Narrator: Decades later, that act of protest and the image it created continues to appear in contemporary and indigenous [music] art.

Bob Boissoneau: We were led by our brother Willie Bushel but went by the movement of the spirit and the spirit brought us to the bridge that evening.

Keith Boissoneau: They repainted it black. And then somebody put the sign back up.

Bob Boissoneau: I was just absolutely astonished when I seen the go back up on the bridge again. Our guys in Garden River just don't want to see it disappear. They want it on there.

Narrator: Entering Garden River today, that legacy is still visible.

Keith Boissoneau: I think that it has impacted people right across Turtle Island. In fact, I think the world. We're proud of what we've done and we are grateful that the message continues on today.

Bob Boissoneau: It took that time of our people to learn who we are and to be proud of who we are.

Narrator: The words painted on that bridge are a statement about land, identity, and experience. Another personal story shared decades later would grow into a movement recognized by a country. And it all started with a woman named Phyllis Webstad and an orange shirt.

Jeyan Jeganathan: It is a Truth and Reconciliation Day and also Orange Shirt Day. Phyllis, you are the co-founder of Orange Shirt Day and a residential school survivor. I want to say we are grateful to have you here in our rundown studios. How are you doing?

Phyllis Webstad: Good. Thank you for having me.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Your story truly starts with your grandmother. Can you tell us a little bit about her and your family's experience with the residential schools?

Phyllis Webstad: I lived with my grandmother on the Dog Creek Reserve until I was 10. Then my aunt took me, my mother's sister. But my grandmother was the first generation to attend the St. Joseph Indian Residential School, known as the Mission, from 1925 to 1935 for 10 years. Then my Granny's 10 children attended, who included my mother and Granny's eldest grandchild and then myself.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Now, we have a photo of that same residential school that you went to school in 1973. You were excited, first day of school as any other kid would be. Tell me what the story is with the actual orange shirt. This was essentially a gift from your grandmother.

Phyllis Webstad: Um I wouldn't say it's a gift. Granny was my caregiver just as any parent caregiver would do for children in their care. You bring them school shopping. You want, you know, them to look their best and and feel loved and cared for on their on a big day in their life, first day of school. And so we went to a department store in Williams Lake, and I picked out this bright and shiny shiny orange shirt. It had lace shoestring laced up in the front and I really loved it. And when I got to the school, I was stripped and it was taken away and I never saw it again. I only went to school for 1 year, and it wasn't until I was in my 40s that I understood the impact of that orange shirt in my life. And so that's the story I told in 2013 when the Truth and Reconciliation Commission came to Williams Lake.

Jeyan Jeganathan: The orange shirt deeply personal to your childhood, but has also become a universal symbol for residential school survivors. Um recently Rebel News launched an orange shirt campaign with phrases like "Investigate the unmarked graves," questioning the narrative around unmarked graves. What went through your head when you first heard about this?

Phyllis Webstad: Mhm. Yeah, that was just like 10 days ago or so and I had a real hard time. I was actually sick to my stomach. I felt ill. And I was busy in Kamloops at the time and it it took me a while to process what was going on. It wasn't just words anymore, it was an attack. It's a personal attack on survivors, on their descendants, and on the memory of the children who never made it home. And for them to take the very symbol of our grief and try to weaponize it, to sell shirts questioning unmarked graves, it's just cruel. To use the orange shirt, which represents our stolen childhoods, for them to have the orange shirts is a an all new low level of humanity. They actually have no humanity.

Jeyan Jeganathan: How does something like this impact the ongoing work that you were doing?

Phyllis Webstad: Mhm. It just gives me more resolve to uh stand my ground, to stand up for what I know to be true. There is documented proof of children everywhere, all across Canada. There were 139 residential schools funded by the federal government and run by churches. Thousands of children died and never went home. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission documented this through years of research, looking at church archives, government records, and thousands of survivor testimonies. Denialists try to claim that because every single grave hasn't been exhumed, that it's all a hoax. But the trauma is real, the history is real, and the evidence is there. It just makes me work harder. And I welcome that. I welcome anybody that wants to come and debate this issue and talk about it.

Jeyan Jeganathan: You had mentioned your memoir. You have a new memoir out this month. It's called We Are Still Here, a Life of Truth and Reconciling Two Worlds. Why was now the moment for this? You have written other books as well, children's books as well. Why was the moment now to write this story?

Phyllis Webstad: Many survivors went to their graves not being able to talk about what happened to them. And even now, I have 1 year at the mission, and it's hard for me. Those that have 10 or more years, it's even harder. I've written children's books because I believe children need to learn this history early, but a memoir allows me to tell the raw, unfiltered truth of my whole life—the intergenerational trauma, the struggles, the healing, and the reconciliation between the Indigenous world and the Western world. I feel an obligation to speak while I still can, to keep this on the radar of Canadians, to make sure that people know what happened and that it doesn't happen again.

Jeyan Jeganathan: What do you hope people take away from your book?

Phyllis Webstad: Mhm. When I was finishing writing the book, I thought of my grandmother, and that's why W E A H N A L I A E, that we are still here, because my grandmother used to say that in our many conversations, you know, "Look at us, we are still here." After everything the government and churches did to try to wipe out who we are, to assimilate us, to take away our children, our culture, our language, we survived. We are resilient. I hope people take away that strength and resilience, and recognize that reconciliation isn't just about acknowledging the past, it's about honoring that survival today. We're carrying on your legacy, and we're going to be here for many, many more years to come, thousands of years.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Were there difficult moments uh when you were writing this memoir that still stuck in your head?

Phyllis Webstad: Yeah, there was pockets of time and that I had to just forget about the world and just immerse myself and there's as with all of my books, there's a lot of learning and looking back at where I've come from. Revisiting sexual abuse, childhood trauma, teenage pregnancy, alcoholism, and feeling unworthy—writing those details down was terrifying and deeply painful. There were days I couldn't get out of bed. My cultural teachings tell us that when we visit dark places, our spirit can get stuck there. So when I would finish a heavy chapter or session, I would actually clap to bring my spirit back and say, "Okay, we're leaving." And so I take me with me wherever I go.

Jeyan Jeganathan: Alice, thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking the [music] time.

Phyllis Webstad: Thank you for having me.

Narrator: Rebel News responded to our request for comment after this segment had been recorded. Ezra Levant responded in part, "Orange Shirt Day started as a way to honor residential school survivors and that purpose is a noble one. But it has also become an exercise in compelled speech. I understand that some survivors find a contrary message painful and I don't dismiss that. But in a free country, the answer to a shirt you disagree with is not to ban it. Asking to see the evidence is not hate."

Jeyan Jeganathan: Did your community honor Orange Shirt Day or did you mark it in your own way? Let us know in the comments or send us an email to rundown@tvo.org. [music] Until then, I will see you tomorrow. >> Hey.