Aanii Christine nitiishinikaas. Peguis nitoonci. Mashkedebejiki ni totem. (Hello, my name is Christine Miskonoodinkwe Smith. I am from Peguis First Nation and Buffalo is my clan). My Anishnaabe name is Miskonoodinkwe (Red Wind Woman), which I came into later in life when I returned to the teachings and language of my culture.
I am a Sixties Scoop survivor, a Bill C-31 status Anishnaabe woman and a daughter of a Saulteaux mother and a Cree father. I was born in Winnipeg more than 40 years ago. Unfortunately, my parents separated while my mother was pregnant with me. This period of time was difficult for ni mama (my mother). As a result, child welfare officials from the city stepped in and took me and three other siblings away from her. When I was 3 years old, my sister and I were adopted together into an affluent Caucasian family and brought to live in Ontario.
My childhood was not happy. In fact, it was rather traumatic and has left searing emotional scars on me to this day. My adoptive home was fraught with many emotional, physical, mental and spiritual abuses. In this adoptive home, I was treated like a prisoner. My freedom was being able to attend school. But at home, I was locked in my bedroom with bolts on the door and an alarm. If the alarm went off, I received beatings. I went hungry often because I was not allowed to eat many foods – perhaps one of the reasons I developed a serious eating disorder that was with me into my twenties.
My adoptive parents, under the guise of saying I would be going to a boarding school, dropped me off at a home for troubled kids when I was just 10 years old. After a few visits, I was made to believe that I would be heading back home for a visit. Instead, I was given notice that I would not be returning home, and in fact was returned to care under the Roman Catholic Children’s Aid Society. Knowing that my adoptive parents didn’t want me left me beyond scarred even though they were abusive toward me. I often felt that because they didn’t want me, no one would ever want me, let alone love me. I was devastated.
I still remember the day I was sitting in the courtroom and hearing my then adoptive father state to the judge, “We do not want Christine anymore. We give her up to the Children’s Aid Society.” At the same time, they effectively cut me off from my only friend and ally, my sister, who was only 10 months older than me. She continued to live with them.
I stayed in a group home in Ontario for a year and then moved through three foster homes in the next seven years. As I got older, I was supposed to transition out of the care of the Children’s Aid Society to living independently. But I was kicked out of their care well before I was able to receive treatment for my ongoing anorexia, depression and multiple suicide attempts.
At that time, I reunited with my birth sister and the adoptive father who had given me up. The relationship with my adoptive father was difficult to say the least and contributed to my ongoing health difficulties.
I also regained my Indian status. It seems kind of funny to me now but I did not regain my Indian status on my own. I regained my status upon the advice of my family doctor when she realized that I could not afford to pay for my anti-depressant medications. Even though I knew I was a status Indian, I really did not understand what “being status” really meant because no one in my life had ever talked to me about my heritage.
I grew up knowing I was different but did not come into my culture until I moved to Toronto. I was in my 20s when I finally was exposed to my culture, traditions and the ways of my people. I was finally surrounded by people who took an interest in showing me that it was okay to embrace my culture.
I began searching for my birth family and was fortunate to find my biological mother, who was living in Saskatchewan at the time. Finding her was a dream come true because all my life I had wondered who she was and what she looked like. Through a repatriation worker, my mom and I had a reunion in Winnipeg and I got to meet my uncles and aunt on her side of the family. Sadly, I found out that my biological father had been murdered in 1996. In the past couple of years, I have made contact with a half sister and brother from his side and have finally been given a picture of him.
In the years since moving to Toronto, I eventually learned that I had to cut any contact I had with my adoptive father and mother to keep myself in recovery. This decision, though difficult, also led me to seek victim’s compensation with the help of my psychiatrist and the Ontario Public Guardian and Trustee office. I had to testify in a hearing about what my adoptive parents did to me. I was successful in suing them but the money I received wasn’t that important (though it was helpful). Essentially, all I wanted was an apology from my adoptive parents for what they did to me. I never received that apology and I have had to live with knowing I will probably never hear one.
Acknowledgement of my history and my journey as an Anishnaabe kwe has been difficult. It does not come naturally or easily because of all the complexities it has attached to it. All the years of searching for myself and searching for my mother and the rest of my biological family has been tiring but also rewarding. It still makes me angry and divided in how I feel toward the Canadian government and its assimilationist policies toward my people and countless other Indigenous children.
The impact of the Sixties Scoop has made me question the concept of home and what it actually means. When I contemplate what home is, I think about my biological family and question the audacity of the Canadian government that took my siblings and I away from my mother. We were essentially kidnapped and taken to another province. It has taken me years and I’m still healing from the so-called family that adopted me and subsequently rejected me at the age of 10. Going through the foster care system and becoming a ward of the province is something no child should have to go through.
Where is home? I made Toronto my home after I moved here for treatment that literally spared me from an untimely death. But home is also where my birth mother lived, in Manitoba – I travelled back and forth and fought to establish a relationship with her because that is what I wanted the most. Holidays and birthdays are hard because I often feel like I’m the one who is lost from home – lost because I am now an orphan and have been since my mother died two and a half years ago. I can no longer reach out to her and our time was cut short. She grounded me because I could finally say, “I have a mom.” I can’t say that anymore and that hurts me to the core. It’s a pain that never goes away.
Others have stepped in to help me to establish a home. I thank the Toronto Indigenous community; I thank First Nations House at the University of Toronto and the other individuals I’ve met while I was fortunate to get both an undergraduate and Master’s degree at the University of Toronto.
What is home? Where is home? These are questions that often leave me reeling and wondering if I will ever feel at home spiritually and emotionally. Canada, you have made me and countless other Indigenous children and adults feel lost. There’s a physicality to what home is. Canada and its assimilationist policies took that away from me and that is not something so easy to just get over.
Christine and her late mother.
To learn about the history and contemporary consequences of Canadian residential schools, click here.
The comments section is closed.
Miigwech, Christine. Your story means more to me than you can know. I had a brother who passed away last year without my ever having met him. I searched for 30 years. My mother and father were separated when he was born and now I wonder if his life, after going into the foster care system (through the Catholic Children’s Aid Society) at the age of 3 weeks, had something to do with the Sixties Scoop, although with no real information to work with, I suspect he was. The similarities between your story and his provides me some details to work with to see if I can pursue the details of his life. He’s gone now, but I just can’t let go of this. He had a hard life (from some information I received over the years) and I want to honour him by learning as much as I can about him prior to his death. Again, Miigwech.
My story is similar, and I realize that we live in the same area if not the same building as I recognize the place where the pic of you was taken. Would love to speak in person.
Sincerely,
Crystal Lantz
Wow your story blew me away. I to was taken from my mother and nine other siblings from. Thunderbay ont..to a family from England to live in st.catharines ont at the age of almost 7..adoption didn’t work out and became crown ward at 13..so many lost years cause of drugs n booze relationships and traveling across provinces ..I came to Toronto 2001 for 2 weeks and here I remain this is home now altho I’ve met mom and siblings again they are all still in TB.ont .Toronto helped find myself and learn about my culture that I was denied and ashamed of..It’s such a peaceful loving culture and I’m forever grateful..thank you for sharing and reminding me I am never alone..much respect n love
The stories of Indigenous children/people are heartbreaking.
I grew up not noticing differences as I live in a small community and my parent’s best friends were First Nations.
Ironically not seeing made me unaware of what many were going through.
My mantra today is I AM A GUEST IN SOMEONE’S HOME
I am truly sorry for what has happened and will spend the rest of my life speaking out, writing snd marching.
Thank you for sharing.
Diane
Dear Christine Thanks for sharing though it must have triggered alot of bad memories . You are a remarkable and brave to share your true story I too along with one of my siblings grew up in a Caucasion abusive family . I grew up having them as they abused us physically mentally spiritually. Reading your story brought me back to my painful adoption and the transition growing up not knowing where I belonged as an Aboriginal woman. I feel lost to this very day .Having my own kids now there adults now put a smile on my face Never I forget what I went through as a 60s scoop Child at age 9 till I left home at age 20. Signed Sharon Sinclair in Winnipeg Manitoba
Thank you for sharing your truth. I wish you the best in the coming years. You deserve it.
Christine, your story demonstrates that you have incredible strength and power within you. Thank you for having the courage to record your story, and thank you for your willingness to share it. Canadians have a shameful history with our First Nations people. As a Canadian, I am deeply sorry for the painful and abusive treatment you, and millions of other indigenous peoples have endured, and continue to endure. You, Christine, have risen above tremendous adversity and barriers in order to accomplish your goals. Canadians need to rise above our prejudice and racism to accomplish the goal of becoming a nation that celebrates and champions our First Nations People, in a manner they so rightly deserve. I am sorry for your many losses. Your name, Red Wind Woman, is apt: you are using your voice, carried in the wind, to bring your profoundly moving story to others. Thank you.
Please write a book about yourself, about your life ! I, too, was very young in the sixties and I knew NOTHING of what was going on or of residential schools, etc. The story of your life in detail would be FASCINATING. I’m so, so sorry for all the wrongs you’ve suffered. I sincerely hope that, as a nation and as people, Canada is improving for you.
I wish you all the good luck and blessings in the world !
Thank you for sharing your story. I’m so sorry for all the awful things that happened to you. I prayed for you.
Sending words of encouragement to you Christine. Keep on sharing and healing as your life and survival and blossoming is an inspiration to others that have suffered within this genocide driven system. I am a Mohawk woman from Tyendinaga Mohawk territory who has worked in child welfare in both BC and Ontario . I know the Child Welfare system is horrendous and continues and we now have more indigenous kids in care than in the 60’s scoop.
The impacts of the 60’s Scoop and residential school system has inflicted gross injustices on generations of Indigenous children.
Christine is an outstanding writer.
Such a sad and powerful story. I am
So happy you are rising above the horrors of being taken from your biological mom and being abused and abandoned by your adoptive parents. Look at how much you’ve accomplished! You’re a great writer and more need to read your story. Sending love.
This is very painful to read. I’m so sorry- for Canada’s racism, for our disgusting foster care system, for all of it. Thank you for sharing your story, and congratulations on kicking ass at school.
Christine,
Thank you so much for sharing your painful story. It is also inspiring because look at what you have accomplished even in the face of all the obstacles and hardships you have had to endure in life. You may not get that apology but you know what? You dont need them and never did. It’ll be the Universe to decide how they’ll pay back their karma for what they did to you and you get to carry on with your life holding your shared memories with your mother and family that you for to meet!! I loved reading this and look forward to reading more of your pieces.
Miigwetch
Heartbreaking in the extreme. My wife and I the parents (adoptive) of an Anishnawbe son (now 49). We had our struggles but, partly because we were able to reach out to the Indigenous communities, particularly in Toronto, and received support and mentoring, we all had a very positive experience. So, of course I’m horrified by the treatment that Christine experienced in her adoptive home. It would be nice if I could say that her experience was totally out of the ordinary but my wife and I know it is not. We learned, after he managed to connect with his siblings, our son’s older sister was adopted by one can only describe as the “family” from hell. Also, because of my work in and with Indigenous communities I have met some young people who have been quite badly treated. Not all interracial adoptions have the experience of Christine but there are way too many.
Thank you for sharing your story. You have lived an incredibly challenging life and I am inspired by your resilience