This is an incomplete work in progress, please treat as thus, sort of a stream of consciousness thought process on figuring out what Aboriginal Education is and can be.
In working towards a definition of Aboriginal Education, we must consider what we are trying to achieve. It can be easy to simplify the process and say we are trying to improve the success rates of Aboriginal students and leave it at that, but that disregards the absolute necessity of educating the rest of the student population on Aboriginal history & culture, issues and rights. Without that aspect, improving the success rate would essentially be meaningless because we are just ensuring that our educated students are being placed within in a society that considers them, at best, second class, at worst, invisible.
In my introduction to BC First Nations Studies 12, I spend that first class or two defining why we need this course in the curriculum, despite the flaws I perceive in it. And in doing that, I ask my students: “What does it mean to be invisible?”
From there, we discuss how it is possible for five hundred or more women to disappear and no one speaks up to challenge this. We discuss how it is possible for so many Indian reserves across Canada to not have access to clean water and how, in response to calls for help in fighting H1N1, northern Manitoba reserves received body bags instead of medicine or sanitizers because of concerns about the alcohol content in hand sanitizers. We discuss how it is possible for such deplorable living conditions, some argue third world or worse, can exist in one of the richest countries in the world. We discuss how our perceptions of Aboriginal people are shaped by what is reported in the news and other media and how very little of it tells an Aboriginal perspective. We brainstormed what we know about Aboriginal people, including what the Aboriginal students in the class knew and then dissected which of those were stereotypes and myths and which could be considered real. Everybody, including Aboriginal students had stereotypes to offer, many more than realistic items, outside of life on the Rez thoughts put forth by the Rez-dwellers. We discussed why these are allowed to persist.
Because of my personal obsession with seeing Aboriginal people succeeding and how that affects our students, we talk about seeing Aboriginal teachers and lawyers and entrepreneurs and all the rest of the necessary role models. I have always been upfront with my students about my challenges as a teacher, a student and a producer of Aboriginal ancestry, something I would share with them. I would talk to them about the positives and negatives of having to be a role model, whether I wanted the job or not, by virtue of my career and personal choices and would share some of the thoughts that have been shared with me by others in different professions who had “Aboriginal role model” thrust on them by the very fact that they were there. The pressure to not screw up is heightened by the fact that any falldown would not be just on you but on all Aboriginal people. Some have shared with me that they don’t order a drink at social gatherings because they don’t want to have to deal with the perception of the drunken Indian. I worry about that every time I have a meal with non-Native colleagues and someone orders a beer or a glass of wine. I order a diet Pepsi or water. I don’t want the judgment of the Indian is drinking...
What does it mean to be invisible? It means you don’t matter. And when you do, it is for all the wrong reasons.
In defining Aboriginal education, we need to acknowledge that we are not just educating Aboriginal students, we are educating all students.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Words & Meanings Part II
"Each person must live their life as a model for others" - Rosa Parks.
Below are my tweets from this afternoon at the BCTF Annual general meeting. My response to a rather dramatic debate over a resolution regarding the disposition of Indigenous peoples in a region of Peru. I was struck by the passion of a group of young delegates who argued in favour of lobbying Talisman Energy to withdraw from the territories of the Achuar people. I was also struck by the anger with which they attacked those who opposed their resolution. It was not nice.
As in my previous post, I remind that words have power, they can harm and and they can heal. While their hearts were in the right place, their words were the words of the oppressor, used to advance the cause of Indigenous rights. I am not happy about that. To use language that silences and marginalizes the other in the name of Indigenous rights is a disservice to what those advocates are fighting for. Those words hurt me, as an Indigenous person. Why would I want to support them in fighting for my rights?
disappointed in voices fighting for Indigenous rights using the language of oppression to push their viewpoint.
the language of oppression, the language that silences and marginalizes the other voice is not the language of Indigenous rights.
to fight for Indigenous rights means you should dignify the voice of those that disagree, allow them to be heard and considered.
marginalizing in the name of Indigenous rights is not fighting for Indigenous rights.
We cannot allow ourselves to oppress in the name of the oppressed, I say that as a First Nations person.
I encourage you to honour, respect and dignify all voices, regardless of position on a resolution.
Words have power. They can hurt. They can heal. I hope that champions of Indigenous rights here don't continue to hurt in our name
Fight for Indigenous rights, I thank you, but do it with a good heart and a good mind. Hurts from angry words are hard to let go.
And the words used to oppress me and my fellow Indigenous shouldn't be necessary to fight for our rights.
Let's find better words. Thank you for your time and consideration. O'Siyam.
**Update** After writing this post, I had to return to the AGM for another session and while I was waiting to begin, I found I was still dwelling on this subject and I went to the mic and called a point of privilege, at which point, I laid out for the body of the whole what I had written above in the tweets. It was terrifying but it needed to be said. If you refer to what I wrote in the first post, you will see I talked about coming to speak with courage, and I needed to dignify those speakers that had been victimized by the language referred to above and I needed to call out the activists, who had invoked the fight for Indigenous rights in their silencing and marginalization of the other speakers. I have been silenced and marginalized too many times to let someone use my rights as an excuse to do the same to another. I was also needing to address the fight for Indigenous rights invocation without actually welcoming any Indigenous voices to the table. I don't stick my neck out often, as I have, sometimes shamefully addressed here, but I am proud that I spoke out tonight, however short my time at the mic was allowed to be. I said what needed to be said and I did encourage the body of the whole to respect, dignify and honour all the voices and positions present. They deserve that much.
Below are my tweets from this afternoon at the BCTF Annual general meeting. My response to a rather dramatic debate over a resolution regarding the disposition of Indigenous peoples in a region of Peru. I was struck by the passion of a group of young delegates who argued in favour of lobbying Talisman Energy to withdraw from the territories of the Achuar people. I was also struck by the anger with which they attacked those who opposed their resolution. It was not nice.
As in my previous post, I remind that words have power, they can harm and and they can heal. While their hearts were in the right place, their words were the words of the oppressor, used to advance the cause of Indigenous rights. I am not happy about that. To use language that silences and marginalizes the other in the name of Indigenous rights is a disservice to what those advocates are fighting for. Those words hurt me, as an Indigenous person. Why would I want to support them in fighting for my rights?
disappointed in voices fighting for Indigenous rights using the language of oppression to push their viewpoint.
the language of oppression, the language that silences and marginalizes the other voice is not the language of Indigenous rights.
to fight for Indigenous rights means you should dignify the voice of those that disagree, allow them to be heard and considered.
marginalizing in the name of Indigenous rights is not fighting for Indigenous rights.
We cannot allow ourselves to oppress in the name of the oppressed, I say that as a First Nations person.
I encourage you to honour, respect and dignify all voices, regardless of position on a resolution.
Words have power. They can hurt. They can heal. I hope that champions of Indigenous rights here don't continue to hurt in our name
Fight for Indigenous rights, I thank you, but do it with a good heart and a good mind. Hurts from angry words are hard to let go.
And the words used to oppress me and my fellow Indigenous shouldn't be necessary to fight for our rights.
Let's find better words. Thank you for your time and consideration. O'Siyam.
**Update** After writing this post, I had to return to the AGM for another session and while I was waiting to begin, I found I was still dwelling on this subject and I went to the mic and called a point of privilege, at which point, I laid out for the body of the whole what I had written above in the tweets. It was terrifying but it needed to be said. If you refer to what I wrote in the first post, you will see I talked about coming to speak with courage, and I needed to dignify those speakers that had been victimized by the language referred to above and I needed to call out the activists, who had invoked the fight for Indigenous rights in their silencing and marginalization of the other speakers. I have been silenced and marginalized too many times to let someone use my rights as an excuse to do the same to another. I was also needing to address the fight for Indigenous rights invocation without actually welcoming any Indigenous voices to the table. I don't stick my neck out often, as I have, sometimes shamefully addressed here, but I am proud that I spoke out tonight, however short my time at the mic was allowed to be. I said what needed to be said and I did encourage the body of the whole to respect, dignify and honour all the voices and positions present. They deserve that much.
Words & Meanings
Approach carefully the situation. The words left me seething today. I don’t even remember them clearly, but approximately they were “We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...”
The reference was to First Nations people and the practice of opening meetings with a traditional acknowledgement. I won’t be speaking about the speaker, who was shocked at his own words, terribly apologetic and couldn’t find enough words to apologize. He has come under fire from all around, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people have spoken to him and he has been shamed, essentially in a very public forum. He has spoken at length with a colleague of mine and has started that journey of self-examination and he is beating himself up far worse than anyone could hurt him.
Like I said, I was seething and I seethed through dinner before returning to the meeting intent on going to the microphone and castigating the whole room, educating on the hurt those words cause and the meaning that is invoked by them. At which point, I saw the speaker and all that anger dissipated. He is being transformed, as we speak, from an essentially good person who made a stupid mistake, into a better, more thoughtful person who understands the power of his words.
The truly sad part was he was speaking in support of First Nations people, and was attempting to articulate respect.
So, then...responsibility needs to be assigned.
My advocacy in Aboriginal education is designed to bring forward the issues that affect our students and teachers, to uncover a little bit the institutional ideas that allow stereotypical expectations to carry on, and hopefully, remove those barriers that keep Indigenous people in the cycle of inequity that we exist in. It is also directed toward the incorporation of Indigenous pedagogies and epistemologies into the curriculum. Finally, it is a hope to transform the public education system in such a way that we don’t recognize it as the western, colonialized system that it is, but a system where no student is invisible and no one is allowed to be considered second-class citizens.
“We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” was learned within the education system, whether intentionally or otherwise. It was played out in the text books provided and reinforced by the current streaming models that are inherent in the system. “We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” is the language of the benevolent society that Canada considers itself to be. The society that preaches we are helping Aboriginal people when we say they should give up their culture and “join” Canadian society, and says that a new water act will solve the problems of water issues on reserve, but the Native people can have no input or say, than accuse the Natives of not being team players when they object. It is the society that tolerates unspeakable poverty and incredible suicide rates in First Nations communities while claiming to be a leader in human rights issues around the world.
“We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” is the language of a Human Rights Commission that says chronic underfunding of First Nations child welfare agencies is acceptable because the government underfunds all First Nations child welfare agencies equally.
I cannot blame this young man.
I can say that it is time for our society to consider that journey of self-examination. I can say that a good place to start is with our education system.
I also think that we, as teachers have a responsibility to understand that our words, and the meaning we imbue into them, have power that can hurt, and cause anger and pain. That, ultimately, was what checked my tongue. I could lash out at words that hurt, but that would give those words more power. It would also injure an already hurting person. So, my words need to have meaning that is not hateful, not designed to impart blame or rage.
Let us have the conversation about where our words come from and where their meaning is created. Let us look beyond the hurts of the now, transform our relationship into something better. I think we can create new meanings for our words and so, in the words of Jeanette Armstrong, "Let us begin with courage."
The reference was to First Nations people and the practice of opening meetings with a traditional acknowledgement. I won’t be speaking about the speaker, who was shocked at his own words, terribly apologetic and couldn’t find enough words to apologize. He has come under fire from all around, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people have spoken to him and he has been shamed, essentially in a very public forum. He has spoken at length with a colleague of mine and has started that journey of self-examination and he is beating himself up far worse than anyone could hurt him.
Like I said, I was seething and I seethed through dinner before returning to the meeting intent on going to the microphone and castigating the whole room, educating on the hurt those words cause and the meaning that is invoked by them. At which point, I saw the speaker and all that anger dissipated. He is being transformed, as we speak, from an essentially good person who made a stupid mistake, into a better, more thoughtful person who understands the power of his words.
The truly sad part was he was speaking in support of First Nations people, and was attempting to articulate respect.
So, then...responsibility needs to be assigned.
My advocacy in Aboriginal education is designed to bring forward the issues that affect our students and teachers, to uncover a little bit the institutional ideas that allow stereotypical expectations to carry on, and hopefully, remove those barriers that keep Indigenous people in the cycle of inequity that we exist in. It is also directed toward the incorporation of Indigenous pedagogies and epistemologies into the curriculum. Finally, it is a hope to transform the public education system in such a way that we don’t recognize it as the western, colonialized system that it is, but a system where no student is invisible and no one is allowed to be considered second-class citizens.
“We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” was learned within the education system, whether intentionally or otherwise. It was played out in the text books provided and reinforced by the current streaming models that are inherent in the system. “We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” is the language of the benevolent society that Canada considers itself to be. The society that preaches we are helping Aboriginal people when we say they should give up their culture and “join” Canadian society, and says that a new water act will solve the problems of water issues on reserve, but the Native people can have no input or say, than accuse the Natives of not being team players when they object. It is the society that tolerates unspeakable poverty and incredible suicide rates in First Nations communities while claiming to be a leader in human rights issues around the world.
“We let them come here and do their ceremonial dances...” is the language of a Human Rights Commission that says chronic underfunding of First Nations child welfare agencies is acceptable because the government underfunds all First Nations child welfare agencies equally.
I cannot blame this young man.
I can say that it is time for our society to consider that journey of self-examination. I can say that a good place to start is with our education system.
I also think that we, as teachers have a responsibility to understand that our words, and the meaning we imbue into them, have power that can hurt, and cause anger and pain. That, ultimately, was what checked my tongue. I could lash out at words that hurt, but that would give those words more power. It would also injure an already hurting person. So, my words need to have meaning that is not hateful, not designed to impart blame or rage.
Let us have the conversation about where our words come from and where their meaning is created. Let us look beyond the hurts of the now, transform our relationship into something better. I think we can create new meanings for our words and so, in the words of Jeanette Armstrong, "Let us begin with courage."
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Feelin’ Reserved
Recently Suzetta Amaya put up a post on the the CBC Radio 3 blog called Aboriginal hip hop: Sharing our Truth. The post is a short synopsis of her introduction and experience in the Native hip hop community. It started in 1995 when she heard the song Feelin’ Reserved by War Party, one of the first successful Native hip hop groups in Canada, from Hobbemma. (You can hear Feelin' Reserved at the end of the post)
The post put me into something of a reflective mood. Feelin’ Reserved was my introduction to Native hip hop in 2002. It was one of those songs that burrowed in and didn’t let go of your brain. Suzette points out that she realized that this was the way to share our stories with the larger community. I felt like that, but I was also drawn to the fact that this was a way to share our stories with each other, a means to build intergroup alliances that could grow on our shared commonalities and experiences.
It was a way to resist.
It was also a natural evolution, I saw of the Native cultural aspect of story-telling. We have always shared our stories in song. We have always lived by the drum, the heartbeat of the mother. I saw hip-hop as merely an extension of that idea. Native cultures have never been static, despite what colonial thinkers and scholars might try to tell you. They have always been welcoming of otherness, using what they could use efficiently; discarding what was inefficient or no longer relevant. Hip-hop, like, I would argue, film, are evolutions of the story-telling tradition, new methods of carrying on the tradition that has existed since time immemorial. The traditional methods are not by any means obsolete, or ineffective, these are just new tools to add to that cultural toolbox.
As well, I found that many Aboriginal youth were using it as a way to carve out an identity for themselves in the slightly scary area between the two worlds they were required to manage, one that acknowledged the popular culture of western society while also paying respect to their own histories, cultures and lived experience.
How much of an affect did this particular song have on me?
I started a film production company with my brother to develop a film about Native hip-hop. It hasn’t been made yet, but it is still in my head, bouncing around in there, emerging periodically to remind me that I have not fulfilled that particular objective (The film company went on to make a television show, Back in the Day, which took urban Aboriginal people out onto the land with an Elder to reconnect to the past and to start to learn about that aspect of their identity. As an FYI, Suzette was one of the participants).
My Masters degree in Education focussed on identity politics; the very first project and big paper was called “Stop Trying to be Black: native Identity & cultural appropriation- re-examining ourselves with Native hip-hop”. This was an examination of rap’s influence on Native youth. In this early phase, I made the argument that it wasn’t cultural appropriation but evolution as a means of sharing our pain with each other. The project is a 27 minute film I made by myself with a digital SLR camera, and used pictures I took off the web, song samples and quotations from news stories that, while referenced, never had permissions to use, which is why I have never tried to release it. It also contains my one and only embarrassingly bad attempt at a song, built on top of an instrumental from Native hip hoppers Mils & Eekwol. Again, something that would not be allowed to be released. I plan to redo the film someday (if not the song), either as a part of that bigger documentary or as its own stand-alone. The “five page supporting document” ended up being about 19 pages exploring the history of hip hop, Native hip hop, the acceptance of hip hop in white culture as passive empathy, and the refusal to acknowledge the Native as an authentic hip hopper because of the refusal to see the Native person as a victim of colonialism in the same way that the Black person had been victimized by slavery. Hence the title.
In retrospect, I would have added a question mark after the main title.
I found that hip hop was an area where I could bond with my students, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal. Particularly the Aboriginal students, a few of which were putting together their own rap music, telling their stories, really were happy to have someone really interested in talking about the music with them, exploring the practices of what it means to them. I found hip hop was a way to get them succeeding in my English classes, but that is another story.
The final comprehensive exam, or thesis, or final project is called, “The boy growin’ up will be young and old: Emergent identity construction in Indigenous youth through hip hop.” A portion of it analysed the music of those same students. When I figure out how to put it on here I will share one of their songs. If you have been to any of my Working with Aboriginal Youth workshops, you will have likely heard the song, but I will try and get it on here (I do have their permission to share it).
Besides the idea of building a sense of community and a safe environment, I find that finding out the passions of our students will help us work with them. For many of our youth, that is hip hop right now. Many of our students are considered at risk, though it could be argued that they are surviving. If you approach them on their terms, through their interests, you might find that they are there, waiting for you to ask them to share.
It is sometimes surprising how one moment, or one song can change your whole understanding of your place in the world. How often is that moment ignored when it happens for our students? I know that there is a lot of time spent telling them that that is not really the Aboriginal culture and that they should be doing their own thing, when the reality is that they are doing their own thing. What they are not necessarily doing is your expectation of their “thing”, or the textbook definition of what the culture should look like. Other Aboriginal people are not innocent of this particular belief when it comes to looking for culture in their children. I think culture is very important in the lives of our youth, but we must remember that it isn’t static.
At any rate, here is a song that shares a truth. One that opened up a mind to new possibilities.
War Party - Feelin' Reserved by riem2k
The post put me into something of a reflective mood. Feelin’ Reserved was my introduction to Native hip hop in 2002. It was one of those songs that burrowed in and didn’t let go of your brain. Suzette points out that she realized that this was the way to share our stories with the larger community. I felt like that, but I was also drawn to the fact that this was a way to share our stories with each other, a means to build intergroup alliances that could grow on our shared commonalities and experiences.
It was a way to resist.
It was also a natural evolution, I saw of the Native cultural aspect of story-telling. We have always shared our stories in song. We have always lived by the drum, the heartbeat of the mother. I saw hip-hop as merely an extension of that idea. Native cultures have never been static, despite what colonial thinkers and scholars might try to tell you. They have always been welcoming of otherness, using what they could use efficiently; discarding what was inefficient or no longer relevant. Hip-hop, like, I would argue, film, are evolutions of the story-telling tradition, new methods of carrying on the tradition that has existed since time immemorial. The traditional methods are not by any means obsolete, or ineffective, these are just new tools to add to that cultural toolbox.
As well, I found that many Aboriginal youth were using it as a way to carve out an identity for themselves in the slightly scary area between the two worlds they were required to manage, one that acknowledged the popular culture of western society while also paying respect to their own histories, cultures and lived experience.
How much of an affect did this particular song have on me?
I started a film production company with my brother to develop a film about Native hip-hop. It hasn’t been made yet, but it is still in my head, bouncing around in there, emerging periodically to remind me that I have not fulfilled that particular objective (The film company went on to make a television show, Back in the Day, which took urban Aboriginal people out onto the land with an Elder to reconnect to the past and to start to learn about that aspect of their identity. As an FYI, Suzette was one of the participants).
My Masters degree in Education focussed on identity politics; the very first project and big paper was called “Stop Trying to be Black: native Identity & cultural appropriation- re-examining ourselves with Native hip-hop”. This was an examination of rap’s influence on Native youth. In this early phase, I made the argument that it wasn’t cultural appropriation but evolution as a means of sharing our pain with each other. The project is a 27 minute film I made by myself with a digital SLR camera, and used pictures I took off the web, song samples and quotations from news stories that, while referenced, never had permissions to use, which is why I have never tried to release it. It also contains my one and only embarrassingly bad attempt at a song, built on top of an instrumental from Native hip hoppers Mils & Eekwol. Again, something that would not be allowed to be released. I plan to redo the film someday (if not the song), either as a part of that bigger documentary or as its own stand-alone. The “five page supporting document” ended up being about 19 pages exploring the history of hip hop, Native hip hop, the acceptance of hip hop in white culture as passive empathy, and the refusal to acknowledge the Native as an authentic hip hopper because of the refusal to see the Native person as a victim of colonialism in the same way that the Black person had been victimized by slavery. Hence the title.
In retrospect, I would have added a question mark after the main title.
I found that hip hop was an area where I could bond with my students, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal. Particularly the Aboriginal students, a few of which were putting together their own rap music, telling their stories, really were happy to have someone really interested in talking about the music with them, exploring the practices of what it means to them. I found hip hop was a way to get them succeeding in my English classes, but that is another story.
The final comprehensive exam, or thesis, or final project is called, “The boy growin’ up will be young and old: Emergent identity construction in Indigenous youth through hip hop.” A portion of it analysed the music of those same students. When I figure out how to put it on here I will share one of their songs. If you have been to any of my Working with Aboriginal Youth workshops, you will have likely heard the song, but I will try and get it on here (I do have their permission to share it).
Besides the idea of building a sense of community and a safe environment, I find that finding out the passions of our students will help us work with them. For many of our youth, that is hip hop right now. Many of our students are considered at risk, though it could be argued that they are surviving. If you approach them on their terms, through their interests, you might find that they are there, waiting for you to ask them to share.
It is sometimes surprising how one moment, or one song can change your whole understanding of your place in the world. How often is that moment ignored when it happens for our students? I know that there is a lot of time spent telling them that that is not really the Aboriginal culture and that they should be doing their own thing, when the reality is that they are doing their own thing. What they are not necessarily doing is your expectation of their “thing”, or the textbook definition of what the culture should look like. Other Aboriginal people are not innocent of this particular belief when it comes to looking for culture in their children. I think culture is very important in the lives of our youth, but we must remember that it isn’t static.
At any rate, here is a song that shares a truth. One that opened up a mind to new possibilities.
War Party - Feelin' Reserved by riem2k
Friday, March 18, 2011
250
Why is the number 250 significant?
If you answered it is the approximate number of teachers of Aboriginal ancestry working in the public school system in British Columbia, you would be correct. There are about 65 000 Aboriginal students in BC’s public schools and it has been determined that equity is a necessity to ensure that these students, over-represented in statistics under the heading “at-risk”, have the opportunity to see themselves reflected in the education system. This is important to correct the ongoing inequity experienced by these children in a western education system that is foreign to their traditional ways of knowing and learning. When we consider the multi-cultural nature of our society, we must remember that many settlers to this country chose to come here and in that decision, buy into the idea of that system. For Aboriginal people and their children, there was never a choice. I do not know if Aboriginal teachers will solve that issue, but it is a start. The current ratio of Aboriginal teacher to Aboriginal student is 1:260. For equity, we would need approximately 3500 teachers of Aboriginal ancestry to enter the system.
Okay.
Why is the number 250 significant?
It is significant because we are talking about the challenge in retaining the Aboriginal teacher in the public system and ensuring that they have the support in the isolating environment that is the public school.
It is significant because a few years ago, we were talking about the 300 teachers of Aboriginal ancestry in the public system.
*Thank you to David Wees for the figuring out the ratio and to Marjorie Dumont for the approximate numbers. All of these numbers are estimates. I think it is time for another survey to be done of public school teachers of Aboriginal ancestry in order to determine numbers and needs for resolving challenges faced by these teachers. Marjorie is the Director of the Aboriginal Education program at the BCTF and her numbers may be considered the most accurate.
If you answered it is the approximate number of teachers of Aboriginal ancestry working in the public school system in British Columbia, you would be correct. There are about 65 000 Aboriginal students in BC’s public schools and it has been determined that equity is a necessity to ensure that these students, over-represented in statistics under the heading “at-risk”, have the opportunity to see themselves reflected in the education system. This is important to correct the ongoing inequity experienced by these children in a western education system that is foreign to their traditional ways of knowing and learning. When we consider the multi-cultural nature of our society, we must remember that many settlers to this country chose to come here and in that decision, buy into the idea of that system. For Aboriginal people and their children, there was never a choice. I do not know if Aboriginal teachers will solve that issue, but it is a start. The current ratio of Aboriginal teacher to Aboriginal student is 1:260. For equity, we would need approximately 3500 teachers of Aboriginal ancestry to enter the system.
Okay.
Why is the number 250 significant?
It is significant because we are talking about the challenge in retaining the Aboriginal teacher in the public system and ensuring that they have the support in the isolating environment that is the public school.
It is significant because a few years ago, we were talking about the 300 teachers of Aboriginal ancestry in the public system.
*Thank you to David Wees for the figuring out the ratio and to Marjorie Dumont for the approximate numbers. All of these numbers are estimates. I think it is time for another survey to be done of public school teachers of Aboriginal ancestry in order to determine numbers and needs for resolving challenges faced by these teachers. Marjorie is the Director of the Aboriginal Education program at the BCTF and her numbers may be considered the most accurate.
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