The South African template
This preamble leads to the elephantine problem with the claims of Indigenous oligarchs, and the popularly accepted orthodoxy embodied in the Action Plan. TRC’s Recommendation 43 comprises the keystone response to ongoing misery:
We call upon the federal, provincial, and territorial and municipal governments to fully adopt and implement the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) as the framework for reconciliation.
In turn, UNDRIP says this:
Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development.
But here’s the clincher. Hendrik Verwoerd, architect of apartheid in South Africa, set out his mission statement as follows in a 1958 speech:
The policy of separate development is the basis of the happiness, security and stability which are maintained by means of a homeland, a language and a government peculiar to each people.
Around the world, self-determination without managerial competence has been a disaster. On the face of it, tribalism and self-determination are attractive, as Karl Popper points out in The Open Society and its Enemies. Getting tribal self-governance purports to offer compensation for past wrongs, reward without effort, and freedom from personal responsibility—a perpetual Club Med of the North. By some kind of magic, money to sustain Indigenous self-determination is expected to flow from oil-wells, mines and forestry operations, all controlled by the Indigenous. For promulgation of this message, the reality of history is immaterial, that tribalism saps initiative, ambition and self-respect. There’s no concern that this dream must fail, and for the same reason that communism failed in the former Soviet Union. It fails to respect the individual.
Upon achieving self-determination (independence or decolonization), new leaders assume power with much chest-thumping, and people celebrate. But the template repeated over and over again, as in Africa, is that oligarchs step into the shoes of the colonizers and then exploit more than ever the authoritarianism and corruption afforded by their new-found power.
One of the many ironies inherent in the pursuit of self-determination is the enthusiasm with which former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney embraced the establishment of Inuit self-government in Nunavut—now Canada’s own Banana Bantustan. The irony is that on June 18, 1990 he welcomed Nelson Mandela in the House of Commons and said this, “The very notion of South Africa’s apartheid was anathema to me ….” He later wrote in his memoirs. … “I viewed apartheid with the same degree of disgust that I attached to the Nazis—the authors of the most odious offence in modern history.”
Control of education
A foundational problem with the Action Plan and conventional orthodoxy is failure to understand that people of many cultures—for example, Chinese, Ukrainian and Jewish Canadians—engage with the high-tech economy while also carrying forward those aspects of their culture that remain relevant in modern times. It would be patronizing and wrong to suggest that the Indigenous have any lesser capacity for achieving both objectives.
Unlike the three big commissions of inquiry, Ontario’s Royal Commission on the Northern Environment did ask young people for their thoughts when, decades ago, I was the advisor on education. Parents and youth in remote settlements universally said they wanted full-fledged mainstream education. And they believed it was compatible with learning traditional skills. Of course, university-educated game management officers and wildlife biologists achieve both objectives. So do children who grow up on a farm. Unfortunately, I was unable to persuade Commissioner Ed Fahlgren to consider how better delivery of education might achieve what the people said they wanted. He came up with what I construed at the time, and still do, as the unsatisfactory response that unschooled Indians should take control of education “because they couldn’t do any worse that we’ve done.”
For all the inadequacy of education delivered to the Indigenous, it needs to be said that it’s not only for them that education in Canada is unsatisfactory. Everyone knows of recent concerns about the promotion of woke causes and the sexualization of what happens in the classroom that supplants the actual delivery of schooling. In our age of progressive education, a friend of mine, recently retired, told me of his experience when teaching Grade 7 in Ottawa. He said a number of students arrived in his class who still hadn’t learned their times tables.
As I set out below, there are templates for delivering schooling successfully even to the most disadvantaged kids. But for next Indigenous generations, the most ruinous objective of the Action Plan’s is to devolve control of education to the Indigenous. How can you justify to the children, and have it on your conscience accordingly, to devolve responsibility for education to those who, themselves, are barely educated? That’s like the proverbial exercise of having the blind leading the blind. Few Indigenous oligarchs, Indian or Inuit, have the faintest idea what STEM disciplines actually comprise (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics). It’s beyond their comprehension that the high-tech economy offers the prime prospects for employment for next generations. It’s delusional at best, therefore, to think that leaders of self-governing communities, newly empowered by the Action Plan, could put in place and supervise schooling that complies with the UN’s Convention on the Rights of the Child. It calls for delivery of education that maximizes the child’s potential.
It’s eluded oligarchs and the writers of the Action Plan that, logically, self-determination requires Indigenous managers and professionals in the territories they claim. And, of course, the mainstream economy has those same needs. As long as their credentials meet accepted standards, it would be irrelevant whether the qualified Indigenous worked in their own territories or elsewhere. For example, both world-renowned Indian architect Douglas Cardinal and similarly renowned Inuit thoracic surgeon Noah Carpenter served the wider community. And they both happened to be former residential school students. There are certainly more jobs in arctic and subarctic Canada than there are Indigenous of employable age. But the mining companies Baffinland and Agnico-Eagle have fewer than 20 percent Inuit employees and they work mostly in jobs like minding a CCTV monitor or a gas pump. They’re not the geologists, engineers or supervisors. Those companies pay very good wages. But there’s no ladder to go higher for those lacking basic literacy and numeracy, let alone more advanced skills.
Self-determination in Nunavut
The self-determination that the Action plan envisions exists already in Canada, in Nunavut. The disaster for taxpayers starts with its burdensome cost of $100,000 annually per Inuk—some $400,000 for a family of four—to sustain the territorial government. There are exorbitantly paid figureheads at the top. But managers and professionals from outside do all the real work. At my last count, for example, there was just one Inuit accountant out of 200 in the territorial government, and he was raised and educated in the South.
With it known since about 1980 that self-determination was coming, and achieved in 1999, it should have been possible to educate and train Inuit youth for those managerial and professional jobs. With that not having happened, the oligarchs grumble that Inuktitut is not the language of business, commerce and governance. How could it be otherwise? The legislators even want to enforce instruction in Inuktitut through to Grade 12. Currently, Inuit children get instruction in Inuktitut until Grade 4 and only then start reading in English, using books for preschoolers. You may well wonder what pupils actually learn in those first three grades. A report at Nunatsiaq News online tells of mindless blather in the legislature about the Education Act and preserving Inuktitut. This comment on the story reflects education as they actually deliver it:
I have a kid in grade 8. There are kids in his class who still cannot read or write. And kids [at the end of November] who have not attended one day of school since September. There is no one solution; everyone has to be held accountable. The system here is “easier” than other provinces. Those who graduate grade 12 looking to continue to other institutions then have to spend a year or more “upgrading”. How can anyone expect to enforce this bill when they can’t even keeps kids in school?
As the writer says, there’s no enforcement of attendance in school. A young man who stayed the course for what passes for graduation in Iqaluit, told me his schooling was torture by boredom. His brother also graduated, ostensibly, from high school. He achieved that with one art class in Grade 12 requiring no homework or any substantive creativity. He couldn’t write a competent letter ordering parts for a snowmobile. For another example, a mother who moved to Ottawa from Rankin Inlet told me her son’s Grade 7 there barely rated as Grade 3 in the South.
Templates for delivering education
There are templates around the world, notably but by no means exclusively in Asia, where education has lifted Third World peoples into the First in a single generation. Why not Canada’s Third World Indigenous? Programs for delivery to the most marginalized in the United States include the Knowledge is Power Program (KIPP) and Success Academy, along with the huge support program Teach for America.
This is not the place to set out an implementation plan for delivery of education. It’s glaringly obvious, though, that schooling simply passes by large numbers of Indigenous youth. The stock response for remediation is affirmative action, the lowering of standards so that the disadvantaged don’t have to achieve what’s expected of others in order to get a next step up. The better way, and the only way that respects the individual, is to deliver supplementary support along the way. Many school-age children are unfit and even morbidly obese, so schools need to include a daily exercise class. They also need to provide supplementary tutoring for those who are lagging as well as organized after-school activities and supervised homework in the classroom. I’ll mention one book that shows what intensive education can do for those seemingly beyond help. It’s Rafe Esquith’s There Are No Shortcuts: How an inner-city teacher—winner of the American Teacher Award—inspires his students and challenges us to rethink the way we educate our children.
In his book, Dances with Dependency: Indigenous success through self-reliance, published in 2006, Calvin Helin tells of young Indigenous thriving when immersed intensively in basic education:
Grandview/?Uuquinak’uuh Elementary School in East Vancouver is a story in hard-won success in achieving results for Aboriginal and inner city kids. Located in one of the poorest neighbourhoods. The school is about 50pc Aboriginal, and most of the rest immigrants from China, Vietnam, Mexico, Nicaragua and the former Yugoslavia. An article in the G&M reported:
”You can’t fool the kids,” says Ms. Fouks [She’s the teacher that implemented the effective phonics literacy program]. “They know when they’re not succeeding.” The widespread failure of Aboriginal kids in the school system is probably Canada’s most urgent education problem. But Ms. Krause is impatient with the fashionable notion that more cultural sensitivity is the answer. The answer, she says emphatically, is “academic success.” And her teaching team has delivered. Sylvain Desbiens, the math teacher, confesses that when he started four years ago, he thought he’d be doing mostly remedial teaching. “I never thought I’d be teaching gifted programs.” He does now.
While as almost everywhere, the political situation is open to criticism, multi-ethnic multilingual Singapore shows what could have been done for the Indigenous, and still could be. There are four official languages and English is not one of them. But from the outset, the language of instruction in school is English, only. Upon independence in 1965, Premier Lee faced the challenge of what to do for 60,000 Indigenous Malays living in a terrible Asian slum. He began a ten-year rehousing program along with delivery of intensive education. By the 1990s children of relocates were doing Masters degrees at Berkeley and Cambridge, in physics and architecture. In 1965 Canada had three times Singapore’s per capita GDP. Today Singapore’s exceeds Canada’s by 50 percent.
When Standard Oil of California acquired oil leases in Saudi Arabia in 1933, the government required them to proceed to 100 percent Saudi employment. They hired young nomadic Bedouin, the equivalent of Canada’s Indigenous peoples, educated them intensively, and trained them for the entire range of skilled employment. They built and staffed hospitals and schools, and provided interest-free loans for employees to buy their own housing. Ali bin Ibrahim Al-Naimi left the desert for the company school at the age of twelve. They taught him English and he finished school at the American high school in Beirut. Next, he got a degree in geology at Lehigh University in the United States and then did a Master’s degree at Stanford. In due course he became president of Aramco, and he recently retired as Saudi Arabia’s oil minister. Imagine where youth in Canada’s North could have been today had responsibility for education, health care and housing been vested in Baffinland Iron mines and Agnico-Eagle!
Former hedge fund manager Jonathan Starr, having personal connections to the former British Somaliland, supports a residential school there, the significantly named Abaarso School of Science and Technology. It teaches English and delivers education to girls and boys, from around the age of twelve, and it’s sufficiently intensive to enable entry to American universities. Who would ever think to name a Canadian Indigenous school for science and technology?
But here’s another Canadian template. Half a century ago, Catholic priest Father Jean-Marie Mouchet organized a cross-country ski program in Inuvik, Northwest Territories. It provided the core for Canada’s cross-country ski team in three consecutive Winter Olympics. As long as the program lasted, the community’s problems stabilized, and many students went on to university.
Ironically, in his memoirs in Inuktitut in the 1960s Peter Pitseolak wrote that he expected his grandchildren could become full-fledged medical doctors. Given what passes for education in Nunavut today, there’s no reasonable prospect of any Inuit graduate from the territory’s school system achieving that goal in any foreseeable future.