From Awareness to Transformation: What These Days Ask of Us

I am writing this as we approach September 30, the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation and Orange Shirt Day, and as we stand at the Fall Equinox, a time of transition, reflection and balance. There is something meaningful to me about writing these words at this particular moment.

The Fall Equinox marks a turning point. The days begin to grow shorter, and the natural world begins its movement toward rest, renewal and preparation for what comes next. It is a time to notice what has been given to us, to express gratitude for what sustains us, to reflect on what we have learned and to consider what we are carrying forward. Perhaps that is also what these days of commemoration invite us to do.

They ask us to remember, to honour and to grieve the lives that have been lost. They ask us to listen to the truths of Survivors, families and communities. They ask us to understand the colonial systems that caused, and continue to cause, profound harm. But I believe they ask something more of us. They ask us to consider what kind of future we are creating for the next seven generations.

There are certain days and months in Canada that have become increasingly familiar to many of us, including National Indigenous History Month, Red Dress Day, Moose Hide Campaign Day, Orange Shirt Day and the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. We see the symbols. We wear the orange shirt, the red dress pin or the moose hide pin. We attend a ceremony, workshop, gathering or learning session. We acknowledge the day, and perhaps we share something on social media. These gestures can matter, but I believe we need to ask ourselves a deeper question: What happens to us after the day is over?

We are living in a time when this question is more important than ever. There is growing denialism in this country about the truth of Canada's colonial history and the ongoing impacts of colonialism. Some people deny or minimize residential schools and the harms they caused, the experiences of Survivors and families, the dispossession of Indigenous lands and resources, the suppression of Indigenous languages and cultures, and the ongoing effects of these systems.

Denial does not exist in a vacuum. When we deny history, we make it easier to dismiss the people who continue to carry its consequences. When we minimize racism, we make space for racism to continue. When we deny injustice, we make it harder to recognize inequity. When we refuse to see violence, we make it easier for violence to continue. When we build systems around fear, control, exclusion, shame and the belief that some people matter more than others, we create environments that are fundamentally unsafe for human beings. This is not the best of our humanity, and it is not the kind of world I believe we are capable of creating.

Awareness is the first step, and understanding is the next. But the most important step comes when what we have learned begins to transform us as human beings. Transformation happens when truth changes how we see, how we listen, how we relate to one another, how we make decisions, how we use our power and how we understand our responsibilities to one another.

The purpose of remembering is not simply to remember. The purpose of learning is not simply to know, and the purpose of truth is not simply to tell it. The invitation is to become different because we have encountered the truth. Then, because we have become different, we can begin creating spaces where justice, equality, equity, inclusion, dignity, safety, connection, belonging and trust are possible.

These Are Not All the Same Days

One of the first things we can do is take the time to understand what each of these observances actually represents. They are often grouped together under the broad idea of "Indigenous awareness," but they have different histories, different purposes and different responsibilities attached to them. That distinction matters.

Getting the details right is itself a form of respect. It signals that we have done more than reach for a symbol. It signals that we have taken the time to understand whose story we are entering and what responsibility accompanies that knowledge.

National Indigenous History Month: June

June is National Indigenous History Month in Canada. It is an opportunity to learn about the rich and diverse histories, cultures, languages, traditions and contemporary realities of First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples.

For me, part of the importance of this month is recognizing that Indigenous history cannot be reduced to the history of colonialism. Yes, we must understand colonization. We must understand the Indian Act, residential schools, dispossession, the taking of lands and resources, the suppression of languages and cultures, the violence inflicted upon Indigenous families and Nations, and the systems that continue to shape our lives. But Indigenous history is not only a history of harm.

Indigenous history is also a history of Nations, languages, laws, governance, relationships, knowledge, economies, families, ceremony, art, innovation, resistance, resurgence and futures. National Indigenous History Month gives us an opportunity to broaden the story. It asks us to move beyond simply learning about Indigenous people and begin learning about the distinct Nations and peoples whose territories we live upon, whose histories continue into the present and whose futures are being actively created today.

Awareness begins with knowing that Indigenous Peoples have a history. Understanding begins when we recognize that these histories are living, distinct and ongoing. Once we understand that, the next question becomes: What will I do differently because I understand this now?

Red Dress Day: May 5

Red Dress Day is the National Day of Awareness for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls and 2SLGBTQIA+ people. The red dress has become a powerful symbol of absence. Inspired by Métis artist Jaime Black's REDress Project, empty red dresses represent those who are missing or have been murdered and the absence their families and communities continue to experience.

This is not simply another day to raise awareness. It is a day that asks us to confront violence and to consider the conditions that have allowed violence against Indigenous women, girls and 2SLGBTQIA+ people to continue. It asks us to listen to families and Survivors and to understand that violence does not happen in isolation from history, systems, racism, sexism, poverty, colonialism and the ongoing denial of safety and justice.

Most importantly, it asks us to consider our responsibility. Remembering someone who is missing or who has been murdered cannot end with remembering their name. We must also ask: What would it mean to create a world in which fewer families have to live with that absence? That question takes us from awareness to responsibility.

Moose Hide Campaign Day: May

The Moose Hide Campaign is a British Columbia-born, Indigenous-led grassroots movement that began along the Highway of Tears. It was created to engage men and boys in ending violence against women and children and has grown into a national movement involving people of all genders and backgrounds.

The moose hide pin carries its own story. It represents a commitment to honour, respect and protect women and children and to take action against gender-based and domestic violence. Moose Hide Campaign Day is also grounded in ceremony, fasting, learning and action. It invites people not simply to recognize that violence exists, but to take a stand against it and to participate in the work of creating change.

There is something important in this approach because the Campaign does not simply ask us to know that violence exists. It asks us to examine ourselves. It asks us to consider how we behave and speak, how we respond when someone makes a sexist joke, what we do when we witness harassment, how we teach children about respect, how we use our positions and our voices, and what we are willing to interrupt.

Transformation begins when the problem is no longer something happening "out there" to someone else. It begins when we understand that we have a responsibility to participate in changing the conditions around us.

Orange Shirt Day: September 30

Then we come to the orange shirt. If we are going to wear it, we need to know whose story we are wearing.

The story belongs to Phyllis Webstad, a Northern Secwépemc woman and residential school Survivor. In 1973, when Phyllis was six years old, her grandmother bought her a new orange shirt for her first day at residential school. Phyllis was excited about her new shirt and about going to school. When she arrived at St. Joseph Mission Residential School, her new shirt was taken away from her. She never wore it again.

That story became the foundation of Orange Shirt Day and Every Child Matters. The movement emerged from the St. Joseph Mission Residential School Commemoration Project and Reunion events in Williams Lake in 2013, where Phyllis shared her story.

This history matters because the orange shirt is not a generic symbol created to represent residential schools. It belongs to Phyllis's story. Every Child Matters is also not simply a nice phrase to put on a T-shirt. It emerged from Phyllis's experience of having something deeply personal taken from her and from the profound truth that the residential school system attempted to strip Indigenous children of identity, culture, family, belonging and dignity.

When we wear orange, perhaps our first responsibility is simple: Know the story. Then we need to go further. We must ask ourselves what it really means to say that every child matters. Does every child matter in our schools, workplaces and communities? Does every child matter in our policies, in the ways we respond to racism, in the way we listen to children and in the decisions we make that will affect their futures? If we say Every Child Matters while tolerating racism, exclusion, bullying or inequity when we encounter it, then we have to ask ourselves what we have actually learned.

The shirt can open the door. It cannot walk through the door for us.

National Day for Truth and Reconciliation: September 30

September 30 is also the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, and here, too, getting the history right matters.

Orange Shirt Day and the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation are connected, but they are not the same thing, and they were not created together. Orange Shirt Day began in 2013 through the work that grew from the St. Joseph Mission commemoration and Phyllis Webstad's story. The federal National Day for Truth and Reconciliation was established in 2021 in response to Call to Action 80 of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

The two observances share September 30, and both are connected to residential school truth, but their origins are different. That distinction is not a technicality. Recognizing that distinction is part of respecting the work and the people whose stories brought us to this moment.

From Awareness to Understanding to Transformation

Perhaps the most important thing these days and months offer us is an opportunity to move through three stages: awareness, understanding and transformation.

Awareness is where many of us begin. We learn that something happened. We encounter a story, hear a name or see a red dress. We put on an orange shirt. We learn about residential schools, Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls and 2SLGBTQIA+ people, and the impacts of colonialism. Awareness is important, but awareness alone can remain very comfortable. We can become aware without changing.

Understanding asks more of us. It requires us to make connections. We begin asking how colonial systems worked, how they changed relationships between people and land, how they disrupted families and Nations, and how those systems continue to influence our institutions today. We begin noticing where racism and discrimination continue to appear, how power and privilege operate in the places where we live and work, who feels safe and who does not, who feels that they belong and who has to work harder to experience belonging.

Then we arrive at the place where I believe the real work begins: transformation.

Cultivating Safe Spaces Is Part of the Transformation

I think about transformation through the work of Elaine Alec and her Cultivating Safe Spaces framework. Elaine Alec, a Syilx and Secwépemc knowledge keeper, developed Cultivating Safe Spaces through work responding to difficult conversations about Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls and the need for approaches to dialogue and systems change grounded in Indigenous knowledge.

Her framework draws from Syilx teachings and the Enowkinwixw governance methodology. It asks us to think differently about what human beings and systems need to move through difficult conversations, conflict, change and transformation. At the heart of the framework is an idea that I find profoundly important: We cannot cultivate a safe space if we are not willing to examine whether we are a safe space.

Safety is not simply something another person gives us. It begins within ourselves and extends into our relationships, organizations, communities and systems. Elaine's work challenges us to recognize that colonial systems have often been built around fear, control, exclusion and shame, and it asks us to consider what becomes possible when we instead cultivate conditions of safety, connection, belonging, trust and well-being.

This changes the conversation. Perhaps the question is not simply, "How do we create inclusive spaces for Indigenous Peoples?" Perhaps the deeper question is, "What kind of human beings, relationships and systems are we creating?"

We can ask whether we are creating spaces where people can be fully human and experience true belonging. We can ask whether people can tell the truth without fear and whether difference is respected. We can ask whether conflict can be held without turning to violence, exclusion or shame, whether people can trust that their humanity matters, and whether they are safe enough to learn, make mistakes, repair harm and grow.

This matters because we cannot build a healthy society out of unhealthy relationships. We cannot create reconciliation through systems that continue to reproduce fear, exclusion, racism and inequity.

Why These Days Matter More Than Ever

We are living through a time when it can be tempting to retreat into denial. It can be easier to say that the past is the past, that what happened was not our fault, that we treat everyone the same or that we should stop talking about these things. But those responses do not create safety, belonging, justice, equity or trust, and they certainly do not create reconciliation.

Denial protects the comfort of the person who does not want to know. Truth creates the possibility of something different. Understanding gives us the tools to see what needs to change, and transformation asks us to actually change it.

Remembering for the Generations Yet to Come

Perhaps this is where the Fall Equinox offers us another teaching. We are constantly moving through cycles. Light gives way to darkness, and growth gives way to rest. What is harvested today becomes nourishment for tomorrow, and the choices we make now become part of the world that others will inherit.

This is why remembering cannot only be about looking backward. We remember so that we can change what comes next.

We honour those whose lives were lost. We honour Survivors, families and the children who never returned home. We honour those whose lives were forever changed by colonial violence and those who continue to carry its impacts. We honour them not only through our words, but through what we choose to build from here.

The question then becomes: What are we leaving for the next seven generations? We must consider what kind of relationships, communities, institutions, schools, workplaces, economies and society they will inherit. Will they inherit systems built around fear, extraction, competition, racism and exclusion, or will they inherit spaces where connection, belonging, safety and trust are foundational?

Will they inherit a society that continues to argue about whether the truth happened, or one that has learned to face the truth and grow from it? Will they inherit our denial or our courage, our silence or our action, our fear or our humanity?

The seven generations are not an abstract future. They are people who will live with the consequences of what we choose today. That makes our choices a form of responsibility.

The Question Is: Who Are You Becoming?

I do not think the goal of these days is for us to walk away feeling guilty. Nor do I think the goal is for us to believe that we have done something simply because we participated. The invitation is much more profound.

The invitation is to wake up. It is to see something we did not see before, to listen and learn differently, to question what we were taught, to notice where injustice exists, to recognize where people are excluded and to pay attention to how power operates. It asks us to notice whose knowledge is valued and whose is dismissed, and to recognize where inequity continues to exist.

Then we must ask ourselves: Who am I becoming because I now know this?

We can examine how we show up in the world and how we treat people. We can ask whose voices we hear and whose voices we overlook, what assumptions we carry, what power we have and how we use it. We can notice what we remain silent about and consider what we are willing to change.

Most importantly, we can ask what kind of space we are creating around us. Are we creating spaces characterized by fear, control, judgement and exclusion, or are we helping to cultivate spaces of connection, belonging, safety, trust, justice and equity?

This is where the work becomes human.

The Invitation Is to Wake Up Differently Tomorrow

Perhaps the most important thing we can do with these days is refuse to let them remain simply days on a calendar. Instead, we can allow them to become doorways into learning, understanding, relationship, accountability, healing, action and becoming.

The goal is not simply to know more about Indigenous Peoples, residential schools or colonialism. The goal is to become more human.

It is to become more capable of seeing another person's humanity, sitting with discomfort, telling the truth and listening deeply. It is to become more capable of repairing harm, creating belonging and choosing justice. It is to become more capable of building relationships based on trust rather than control and, ultimately, of creating spaces where people can be well.

Human beings have a capacity for wellness that is connected to our relationships with ourselves, with one another, with our communities, with the land and with the systems we create. That is why cultivating safe spaces matters. That is why understanding colonialism matters. That is why truth matters, and that is why these days matter.

As we move through the turning of the seasons, I am holding both remembrance and possibility. We remember those who came before us, honour those who are no longer with us, give thanks for those who survived and continue to teach, learn from what has happened, and choose what we will carry forward. We do this not only for ourselves, but for our children, our grandchildren and the generations we will never meet.

Every Day Matters

Every Child Matters, and every life, relationship, conversation and decision matters. It matters every time we choose to listen rather than dismiss, every time we interrupt racism rather than remain silent and every time we choose equity rather than pretending everyone begins from the same place. It matters every time we use our position to create space for someone else, choose justice and dignity, choose relationship over transaction, or choose to do better because we now know better.

That is where awareness becomes understanding. That is where understanding becomes responsibility. And that is where responsibility can begin to transform us.

The hope is not simply that we remember these days forever. The deeper hope is that one day we will no longer need a day to remind us how to be better human beings. The hope is that we wake up tomorrow wanting to be better and then wake up the day after that prepared to do better.

We do this not because we are being asked to perform reconciliation, not because we are afraid of saying the wrong thing and not because there is a calendar reminding us that it is time to care. We do it because we have allowed truth to change us.

We do it because we understand that our humanity is connected. We do it because we recognize that none of us can be truly well in spaces built upon the exclusion, suffering or dehumanization of others. And we do it because we have finally understood that reconciliation is not something we do to Indigenous Peoples. Reconciliation is part of the work each of us must undertake to transform ourselves, our relationships and the systems we have created.

Awareness is the beginning. Understanding is the journey. Transformation is the responsibility.

Perhaps the most important question we can ask ourselves is very simple: What will I do tomorrow because of what I learned today?

And perhaps, as we stand at this turning of the seasons, there is one more question worth carrying with us:

What will the next seven generations say we did with the truth we were given?