Gregory Venizelos- Truth and Reconciliation: Intergenerational Trauma and Access to Justice in Nunavik, Quebec

On March 19, 2018, Robert Adams, a 19 year old Inuk boy, was allegedly stabbed to death in the village of Kangiqsujuaq, Québec, by 32-year-old Mattiusie Qamugaaluk. His case might present as unique to the majority of Canadian citizens, but it is unfortunately a tragic norm within indigenous communities across Canada. Though cases of indigenous violence remain underreported by Canadian news media, this particular incident was the subject of a cooperative project between Radio Canada International and Eye on the Arctic, an organization which emphasizes the social and environmental issues that face circumpolar nations (Quinn 1).

The present study will discuss two issues surrounding this case which threaten reconciliation efforts: intergenerational trauma as a legacy of the residential school system, and access to justice in Nunavik, a primarily Inuit territory contained within Northern Québec. Moreover, the present study will demonstrate that crimes in indigenous communities across Nunavik do not happen in isolation; they each represent a single thread in a greater colonial narrative, beginning with the residential school system. It is hoped that drawing out these challenges from the case of a single Inuit family will highlight the tragic consequences of intergenerational trauma.

Kangiqsujuaq is a remote Inuit community on the northern coast of Nunavik, a region of Québec geographically and culturally removed from the francophone heritage which dominates the south of the province. Nunavik has a complex colonial history, and has often been the setting of a power struggle between the Québec provincial government and the federal government of Canada, both of which imposed unique and foreign systems of governance on the majority Inuit population (Hervé 127). Despite attempts at self-governance and recognized rights to regional government in principle, Nunavik remains administered by the Kativik Regional Government, pursuant to The James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement (Ives and Aitken 1). Moreover, Nunavik remains dependent on federal and provincial subsidies, not only as a result of the now defunct fur trade, but also a concerted effort to institutionalize the marginalization of indigenous communities across Canada (1). One way in which Canada accomplished the institutionalized marginalization, and thus created the conditions now responsible for the poor social outcomes of the Inuit in Nunavik, was the residential school system.

Between the 1870s and 1990s, the federal government of Canada funded a network of residential boarding schools as a means of pursuing the political, economic, and cultural integration of Aboriginal peoples (TRC 3). These schools were administered remotely by Christian churches, often compelled attendance, and operated within a loosely defined regulatory framework (Menkel-Meadow 620). According to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC), over 150,000 young students passed through the residential school system, and many suffered physical, sexual, and psychological abuse (620). The schools intentionally created distance between children and their parents, depriving them of culturally significant spiritual practices, language, and small, but integral day-to-day gestures (Viens Commission 59). Students often internalized their treatment in residential schools to the extent that they refused to speak their native language, and grew to feel ashamed of both their parents and their cultural ancestry (59). The residential school system thus compelled its students to dehumanize themselves, their community members, and their culture. It follows that when these students returned to their communities, having failed at "assimilating," they turned that anger back onto their community members, creating the negative intergenerational effects present in Nunavik.

Intergenerational trauma is thus the link between these historical harms and the poor social outcomes of the Inuit in Nunavik. This concept is difficult to define, but three specific characteristics assist in describing its observed effects in Nunavik: the traumatic event (residential school attendance) continues to undermine the well-being of contemporary group members, responses to historically traumatic events interact with contemporary stressors to influence well-being, and the risk associated with the historically traumatic events can repeat across generations (Bombay et al. 322). For example, approximately 37.2% of adults who had at least one parent attend a residential school had considered suicide, compared to 25.7% of those whose parents did not attend residential schools (324). Moreover, the separation of children from their cultural role models along with the abuses they suffered caused those children to internalize abusive parenting practices (325). This is implicated in the higher rates of domestic abuse observed in indigenous households, of which a disproportional amount of the abuse is sexually motivated (326). Psychosocial workers in Indigenous communities estimate that at least half of all Inuit community members have suffered sexual abuse (Viens Commission 120).

The economic dependency of the people of Nunavik couples with the intergenerational legacy of residential schools to create conditions where substance abuse exceeds national averages. In Nunavik, the unemployment rate is 20.5% above the provincial average, and 31% of Canadian Inuit live in a home with more than one person per room, which places those in the household at greater risk of suffering abuse from family members (Ives and Aitken 6). The McGill School of Social work conducted a qualitative research study in Nunavik, and determined that, even though it is a region in which alcohol is unavailable for purchase, Nunavik experiences disproportionately high rates of substance abuse at all age groups (Viens Commission 322). Substance abuse is also implicated in higher than average rates of intergenerational family violence and poor mental health. Moreover, Indigenous women are eight times more likely to be murdered by their partner during the separation process (120). Overall, these horrific incidents occur at higher rates in small, homogenous communities with large families.

The murder of Robert Adams is unfortunately another example of the type of crime now commonplace in Nunavik, and it is precisely why viewing his murder as an isolated incident would only serve to further delegitimize the issues faced by the Inuit in this region. In July of 2018, Bernie Adams, Robert's father, sought assistance from the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, providing a statement in relation to the deaths of his female cousins, and son. Bernie Adams' mother attended a residential school, and often insisted that she would never teach her children the native language of Inuktitut, worrying for their "embarrassment" (MMIWG 12). Adam's father's trauma follows from an Inuit claim that the RCMP systematically slaughtered sled dogs as part of a greater effort to eradicate Inuit culture. According to Bernie, his father killed his own dogs to pre-empt this destruction of livelihood and culture, an event which has since haunted him in the subsequent decades. In 2010, the Qikiqtani Truth Commission investigated this purportedly widespread phenomenon and found no evidence of a conspiracy by the RCMP to slaughter sled dogs (Goldring 512). Nevertheless, Bernie used this as evidence to normalize his father's physical abusiveness. Moreover, Bernie internalized his parents' anger, which is perhaps why he took no issue with the pervasive family violence in his community (MMIWG 53).

Bernie grounds his anger, the sexual abuse he suffered as a child, and his early onset alcoholism in the intergenerational trauma associated with residential schools (69). As he reported, the residential schools "programmed" his mother to pre-emptively harm others to protect herself, and she "programmed" him to do the same (41). This concept of programming demonstrates the calculated and systematic process by which the Residential school system inculcated feelings of shame and resentment across generational lines. His mother's refusal to teach Inuktitut and insistence that Bernie kill his own father to prevent further family violence reflects the insidiousness of intergenerational trauma; the Inuit internalized the very process of cultural genocide normalized by colonialism, and it tore apart their own communities.

This emphasis on violence as a solution to deeply ingrained trauma, along with Bernie's alcoholism originally used as a means to cope with the sexual abuse rampant in his community, threatened to return after Robert's death. But the qualitative and quantitative data reflect that Robert's death is but one of many ways in which tragedy perpetuates a cycle of trauma in Inuit communities. It is only Bernie's personal resolve that prevents this trauma from transferring to subsequent generations, and in this strength we locate one way in which Inuit communities directly challenge the dehumanizing legacy of the residential school system.

In speaking of the men who murdered Bernie's cousin (a victim of spousal violence) and son, Bernie insists that he is no different, and that his behavior is typical of a drunk and angry Inuk (MMIWG 41). Bernie is well aware of the fact that if he were drunk, young, and in the wrong place, he could have committed a crime identical to that of his son's murder. The reasons for which the families of both the victim and the perpetrator are suffering are therefore analogous, and remain grounded in the legacy of residential schools. This observation demonstrates that reconciliation does not merely begin and end with acknowledging the history of residential schools. Further, it suggests that the reconciliation process describes more than a conflict between two culturally distinct groups.

The issue is not merely that one hegemonic group imposed its culture on another, but rather that this group appropriated the Inuit's historical narrative, incorporating it into their own, leaving no place for Inuit culture to safely exist. It follows then, that Inuit children raised in this system would not only view themselves as inferior to the settlers, but less than human. If there is seemingly no place for Inuit culture, and each individual is conditioned to think of themselves as less than human, then family dynamics in the homogenous and isolated Inuit communities in Nunavik are understandably and tragically complicated. Therefore, Bernie's observation that he is no different than his son's killer is a profoundly difficult, but important realization necessary to the reconciliation process. That Bernie located their shared humanity not in virtue, but in the absence thereof, may seem paradoxical; however, it is a deeply subversive act which transcends a reconciliation process between the colonizer and colonized. He recognizes that small, but difficult steps towards community building challenge tradition; his choice to forgive, and even the simple choice to not drink, reflects this understanding.

The TRC defines reconciliation as the process of "establishing and maintaining a mutually respectful relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal peoples" (TRC 6). However, the Adams case seems to suggest that the TRC, despite its concern and detail, has not remedied a significant worry: the Inuit remain unable to recognize the humanity of each other. This is more than a by-product of the Residential school system; it was the very goal of this system to tear apart Indigenous communities, and in this it seems to have succeeded. Bernie clearly apprehends this truth given his testimony, and it is clear to those struggling in Nunavik. It did not require a commission and report to make that truth clear, and I do not see how this report, significant as it is, could bring about the local change that those like Bernie Adams sought in empathizing with his son's killer.

However, insofar as the rule of law matters to the Adams family, Bernie is clear that he does not trust the relationship between elder committees and the Québec justice system. He is evidently circumspect of elder committees, asserting that many were abusers themselves, and that rather than seeking to rebuild communities, they desire leniency for their own actions (MMIWG 34). Thus, it is clear that those in Nunavik question the validity of the rule of law, and the motives of those who structure the form through which law is expressed. Indeed, it is then necessary to consider various challenges to administering the law in Nunavik, for this may be one way in which non-Aboriginal peoples may rebuild their relationship with the Inuit in Nunavik.

On December 21, 2016, the Government of Québec created the Public Inquiry Commission on relations between Indigenous Peoples and certain public services in Québec: listening, reconciliation and progress (The Viens commission). Its inquiry into the systemic issues which pervade public services in Northern Québec, including the criminal justice system, culminated in a report, which was submitted to the provincial government on September 30th of 2019. The Viens commission found that between 2001 and 2017, the number of Indigenous people involved in the criminal justice system of Québec doubled, and Nunavik communities were responsible for 43.2% of Indigenous criminal charges over the same time period, even though they only represent 12% of Québec's indigenous population (Viens Commission 295).

Within Nunavik, the detention conditions mirror those of the residential schools, and, due to overcrowding and poor hygiene, these detention centres are considered to be "the worst the Québec Ombudsman has ever seen" (Québec Ombudsman 18). Those detained after committing an offence in Nunavik are either temporarily detained in regional holding facilities, or flown south to Montréal. However, Kangiqsujuaq is one of eight Nunavik communities administered by Itinerant court; judges travel on a rotating schedule to these remote communities to hear cases (1). In anticipation of their court date, on which the alleged perpetrator would appear, the Adams family experienced increased grief and re-triggering of their recent and past traumas. The small village has no courthouse, and therefore Bernie Adams as the building supervisor of the local gymnasium in which his son would often play basketball, was solely responsible for preparing the room for trial. Facing poor weather conditions, the trial was rescheduled (Quinn 1). It is important to note that the alleged perpetrator was scheduled to appear in court for separate charges six weeks before the date of the murder, but that too was cancelled due to poor weather. Ultimately, a more robust and permanent method of delivering justice in Nunavik may have prevented a convicted criminal from walking freely in the community.

According to the Viens commission, the infrequency of the Itinerant courts dissuades many from pressing charges, which many victims already fail to do given that most criminal offences are family-related. According to Québec judges and private lawyers, the Itinerant Court operates as an assembly line, because most officials "want to leave...there's no internet" (Viens Commission 315). Moreover, the Québec government closed its only Northern legal aid clinic in March of 2019 due to a vacancy (156). Access to justice is therefore unreliable, and understandably not taken seriously by Inuit community members, the only group that the Itinerant court system of Nunavik services.

That the Viens commission openly admitted these issues is evidence of progress in provincial reconciliation efforts, but my concern is whether Québec will successfully allocate social and legal resources to Nunavik. The Viens commission's report is impressive, containing 142 calls to action, but these remain, in the words of Bernie Adams, "just talk out there," until the necessary resources arrive in Nunavik (Quinn 1). Quasi-political Inuit organizations also echo Bernie's concerns, including the Makivik Corporation. Pursuant to the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, the Makivik Corporation was established to represent the Inuit in Québec, and its leaders assert that solutions to problems in the north ought not to come from southern commissions and officials (1). The Viens commission seems to merely recapitulate well-established issues with the administration of justice in Indigenous communities, without allocating new resources to mitigate them. Until Inuit community members observe differences on the ground, it seems that the concerns of the Makivik Corporation ought to remain strong.

A primary concern is that Indigenous legal traditions are often over-simplified and treated as artifacts, rather than distinct legal concepts (Napoleon and Friedland 4). Lyne St. Louis, the Makivik Corporation's justice officer, suggests, as does Val Napoleon, that Indigenous legal traditions have not been afforded proper weight in the judicial process (St. Louis & Carli 19). Napoleon's analysis of the wetiko, a concept utilized by the Cree, illustrates the very same issues which plague Inuit legal solutions in Nunavik. The social-historical context in which the wetiko functioned effectively was a decentralized, spiritual society (5). European settlers considered this form of societal organization to be lawless, resulting in pan-Indigenous generalizations which undermine the Inuit's legitimate claim at legal order and sovereignty. Historically, the Inuit lived in small family units, and behaviour in these groups followed informal rules, which are corollary to western legal principles (St. Louis & Carli 2). Conflict resolution therefore focused on the survival of the group, and elders, along with primary providers, lead these processes (2).

In Nunavik, this cultural history informs present-day 'justice committees', which are community-based alternatives to the typical framework of the criminal justice system. These committees provide various services including sentence recommendations, legal education, and conflict resolution based in Inuit tradition (Viens Commission 158). Given that the Canadian criminal justice system is by default a culturally foreign and imposed framework, justice communities are welcome in Inuit communities. However, the Viens commission found that the "erosion of indigenous cultures that resulted from...the residential school policy did not leave the transmission of legal knowledge untouched" (303). The ban on indigenous language and thus oral tradition precludes a substantive understanding of Inuit "law." Moreover, the concept of "law" is itself foreign, and remains so among remote Inuit communities who, as noted by members of the Itinerant courts, deal with a system of law unrecognizable to the majority of Canadians. Therefore, even if justice committees, many of which do not receive proper funding, did attempt to expand their programs, it would be of little use without proper documentation and proliferation of this slowly dying oral tradition. This involves, as Napoleon writes, first recognizing this tradition as law (Napoleon and Friedland 19). A lasting legacy of the Residential school system is the shame associated with and the de-legitimization of Inuit culture; therefore, re-legitimizing Inuit legal traditions remains a challenge to reconciliation efforts.

The case of Robert Adams is but one point of entry into the issues discussed in this report. I find that it tragically demonstrates the nuanced interaction between the Residential School system, intergenerational trauma, and current issues in the administration of justice in Nunavik. These challenges, I have argued, question not only the success of reconciliation efforts, but also perhaps the way in which the term "reconciliation" is conceptualized. By reflecting on the communal violence in Inuit communities, it is clear that the Inuit have internalized the cultural genocide which hundreds of years of colonization has sought to normalize. However, inasmuch as this case highlights the failures of reconciliation, it also demonstrates the strength and resolve of Inuit community members; notably Robert's father. His actions ought to serve as an example of how to forgive the past to pursue a better future, but it remains a burden that Inuit community members ought not to carry on their own.

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