Part 3

Educating Our Nation

After years of abuse and isolation at residential schools, First Nations communities are taking back control over education. Many see it as the key first step toward native self-government. In this series, we’ll examine how First Nation communities are transforming what was once a source of profound alienation and despair to a creator of pride, knowledge and confidence.

Today: Part 3: B.C. bands take educational control for brighter future

Previously: Part 1: Community-run schools paving the way toward First Nations’ self-government and Part 2: Learning to move past residential schools

B.C. bands take educational control for brighter future

By Jenifer Norwell

Every morning children at the Neqweyqwelsten School start their day with prayer, in

Secwepemctsín, to the creator. Students from kindergarten to Grade 7 gather in their classes and give thanks in their own language for the land, their families and the opportunities they’re given.

That prayer is also an unspoken affirmation of the school’s commitment to the language and culture of the Simpcw First Nation, north of Barriere.

For nearly 30 years, the Simpcw First Nation has been striking an educational balance between culture and convention and has been doing it in its own community. That’s given the nearly 700 band members a chance to take control of their children’s education.

Neqweyqwelsten School was started in 1982 after parents in the community pushed for local education that would provide a cultural context for their children. Since it started, the parent-run school has expanded from a morning program for toddlers to a year-round school that offers a head-start program and kindergarten to Grade 7 education. With that growth, the school continues to stand out from provincial schools because of its focus on culture and language.

Another thing that sets the school apart is Judy Matthew, the school’s primary teacher. She’s been teaching there almost since Neqweyqwelsten School was founded and is a staple of the children’s early education.

Sitting at a small table, she marks her students’ work while a flurry of action whirls around her. Children laugh and read through picture books as she surveys her classroom. Back when the school started, she knew it would be critical in keeping the language and culture of the Simpcw alive.

“We had the resources to do it and we knew things were becoming scarce,” she says. “Fluent

speakers are very, very rare.”

“Because it’s an oral tradition, our elders are our books so when an elder passes away or a fluent speaker passes away, that is a body of knowledge that’s very distinct that is lost,” says Matthew.

There are now only about five fluent speakers in the community and that lack is why the school needs people like Charli Fortier.

Fortier, 24, is a former student of the school who’s now returned as the Secwepemctsín materials

developer. Her goal is to create resources that will increase the amount of Secwepemctsín spoken

in the school and the community. It also lets her pass along the knowledge she gained at the

school. Her parents helped found the school and she feels fortunate to have gone there.

“I wouldn’t have experienced anything like this in public school,” says Fortier, “I wouldn’t have

been able to learn the language or the culture. It was something that wasn’t very prominent in our

parents’ generation at all so I wouldn’t have gotten that aspect of that teaching at home.”

“I was happy to be here and be part of that,” says Fortier.

Students like Fortier represent a bright spot in First Nations education. More than 40

per cent of First Nations students between the ages of 20 and 24 don’t have their high school

diploma, according to a 2009 study by the Canadian Council on Learning. In Fortier’s class, the

outcome was much better—out of the 14 students that went through Neqweyqwelsten School with her, 12 graduated. All 12 went on to get some post-secondary education. Fortier majored in First Nations Studies at Simon Fraser University in Burnaby.

Now she’s sharing her knowledge with the school’s current students. In the school’s bright

basement, Fortier works on creating new language worksheets for future students. Around the

room, numbers line the walls with the Secwepemctsín words for the numbers below.

“It’s kind of a ripple effect because there’s still parents who didn’t get the opportunity like we

did so the knowledge of language and the knowledge of culture and tradition still isn’t there,”

she says. “To have the kids learn it here and to be so enthusiastic and to bring it back home, it’s

helping everybody.”

In the primary classroom, children flip though books and chat with each other. Asia Ball, 6,

smiles shyly as she plays on the ground. Some of her favourite parts of Grade 1 are getting to say

the morning prayer, drumming in the gym and doing puzzles.

“It’s great,” says Ball.

Like many of the students, Ball has a confidence to her. She likes her school and is happy to be there.

Part of what makes the school enjoyable is Joe Jules. He teaches culture to the students in addition to his work at the band office. Every week, students learn drumming, singing and cultural games from him. Jules sees this education as laying the foundation for their future.

“Any inherent rights, they’re not based on the colour of my skin and the percentage of my blood.

I tell the people that what makes you unique, what gives you that connection and guarantees your

place in the world is hanging onto your culture, your language, your ceremonial ways,” says

Jules.

Tom Eustache, a councillor with the band, also sees the value in building a sense of identity. He

holds the education portfolio, but like many in the community, his connection to the school isn’t

just business. He’s had two children go though the school and has seen its benefits.

“It’s important so they have some kind of identity, are able to identify with who they are. I think

that’s important because if you don’t know who you are then you’re sort of lost in that and when

my children were going through, they learned a lot of the language which I never did and they

actually have learned a lot from their grandparents, which I didn’t. They taught them more than

they taught me,” he says.

Another person who’s benefited from the school is Rachael Bowser, a former student who’s

returned to the school to help convert existing educational materials into a digital form.

“Having the positive experience that I had growing up and going to school here has really made

me proud of who I am and really proud to say, ‘Yes, I’m First Nations. I am a Shuswap woman.

This is where I grew up. These are my people.’ It’s made me really proud to say that and not

only am I proud to say it, I’m proud to definitely be living here, growing up the way that I did

and still living the way that I do,” says Bowser.

The school helped give her a sense of pride that many First Nations students have had to work

hard to obtain.

Nathan Matthew was one of the parents who helped found the Neqweyqwelsten School and

has gone on to become the executive director of Aboriginal education at Thompson Rivers

University in Kamloops.

He believes that First Nations-driven education is essential for the success for First Nations

people.

“The first task is to develop that belief in First Nations people because without that you can’t

really go any further,” he says.

“We survived and we will move into the future with that notion, building from a notion of strength and potential rather than this notion of deficits,” says Nathan Matthew.

Building from strengths is exactly what the Neqweyqwelsten School has been doing for nearly 30 years.

For Judy Matthew, culture is at the heart of what allows First Nations to be unique.

“It’s at our core. Secwepemc, being First Nations Secwepemc, traditions and language and culture are at our core. Everything we do is because of that and for that,” she says.