TANYA TALAGA: SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL

The Globe and Mail: The first time I met Murray Sinclair, I cried.

I grasped his warm, large hand and the tears unexpectedly flowed as I introduced myself and thanked him, on behalf of my family, for the work he had done for all First Nations people and for Canada. He had listened intently and sympathetically to thousands of Indian Residential School survivors about what they endured. He led a commission that penned a damning and meticulous indictment of Canada’s crimes against Indigenous children. He fought governments, departments and scores of lawyers who tried to tell our survivors that they were wrong or not remembering things correctly. He was a valiant soldier of conscience who led Canada to discover it actually had one.

Murray accepted my tears with grace, and said, with a soft smile, that he often gets that reaction. But then he surprised me by telling me that he had read my first book, Seven Fallen Feathers, that he’d found it remarkable – and that it helped him immeasurably as he investigated the Thunder Bay Police Board in the wake of the inquest into the deaths of seven First Nations students in the city between 2000 and 2011.

Afterward, a friendship ensued. He told me to reach out anytime, that he’d be thrilled to chat or to toss ideas around. And over the years, I repeatedly took him up on that offer, reaching out to him if I was stuck or if I found myself in a literal or figurative jam. He always replied, eager to find out what was going on in my mind. Our discussions helped shape the Massey Lectures I delivered in 2018. Specifically, we spoke about the need for our youth to feel a sense of belonging, and about how the violent separation of our people from the land and the ensuing intergenerational trauma from oppressive colonial policies had nearly severed our connection and maimed our spirits.

He told me about the four questions each Anishinaabe youth needed to ask themselves while growing up: Where do I come from? Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I?

Murray Sinclair stood for truth, justice to the end

Murray Sinclair, Anishinaabe advocate for justice, former TRC commissioner and senator, dies at 73

All children, regardless of their background or where they are from, need to know the answers to those questions. They need to know their families’ traditions, cultures and their place in communities and greater society. They need to know they belong.

It took him a lifetime to realize those four simple questions were the most important ones of all, as he wrote in his memoir, Who We Are, published just two months ago. And they are a gift – one he gave me and every young Canadian.

I wasn’t the only one Mr. Sinclair had a special relationship with. Many First Nations leaders and lawyers called on the great man for help, and he always responded. He was our fearless warrior – a man who shone a light into humanity’s darkness, who held the heaviness of our stories even though they weighed on his body, mind and spirit. But don’t think of Mr. Sinclair as a sad soul: He was anything but. He had a sharp sense of humour – he loved to tell a joke – and his passion was writing poetry, a skill developed over a decades-long friendship with the late Sto:lo author Lee Maracle.

One of Murray’s favourite stories was The Ugly Duckling. Just last month, I sat with his son Niigaan Sinclair in the giant lobby of the RBC Convention Centre in Winnipeg for the launch of Who We Are; his father was too unwell to make it. We talked about the Hans Christian Andersen story, and he told me about how Murray wanted to devote much of the memoir to the story of the little bird who is teased and ridiculed when he is young, only to discover that he, in fact, is a swan.

The story touched Mr. Sinclair deeply, and he loved telling it to his grandchildren. “I recall feeling uplifted when the swan proudly steps out into the world, without shame or worry,” he wrote in the book. “I fantasized that I was that swan.”

You see, the story spoke to the shy boy who was raised by his grandparents, first on the St. Peter’s Reserve and then later in Selkirk, Man., where he was relentlessly teased for being Anishinaabe. It spoke to the young man who despaired when he broke his grandmother’s heart by rejecting her wishes that he join the priesthood to instead go to law school, where he was taught that Indigenous people, including himself, did not matter.

But he refused to believe this. Every fibre in his being told him that he belonged, that he had purpose. And as a lawyer, then the first Indigenous justice in Manitoba, then later as the chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and a senator, he would be the one teaching Canadians that what they knew about us was wrong.

Murray Sinclair on his life’s new rhythm, same clear purpose

Murray was a gentle warrior, a leader who left this country the 94 Calls to Action: a road map with which Canada could work to heal its spirit after the genocidal crimes it had committed against Indigenous people.

He frequently told me: “Education got us into this mess, it is going to get us out of it.” He believed that education reform, making sure school curriculums reflected the truth about what happened in Canada, was the way forward. He knew that teachers are our allies, the ones who will make sure that the next generation of Canadians – be they lawyers, doctors, editors or construction workers – would grow up knowing the truth, without the preconceived racist notions taught in earlier textbooks.

I tried to reach Mr. Sinclair many times while I was writing my most recent book, The Knowing, but I couldn’t get in touch. Mr. Sinclair was going through difficult times. His health was failing him, and he would lose his beloved wife and partner, Katherine, just this past June.

But last year, he cold-called me when I was in the final stages of writing. We spoke for three hours. The call was like a giant hug for me – a boost to keep going – and he urged me to tell it like it is, to keep writing what the majority of Canadians need to hear, despite those who would deny and spew hate. “As they become aware – there is something not quite right in what I have been taught in school, something not quite right – we need to give them the knowledge to know more,” he told me.

Our greatest gift to his legacy would be to ensure that Canada – its government and its citizens – fulfills all 94 of the Calls to Action that he gave us, so that every child feels that they belong, that they have a purpose and are proud of who they are.

This is how we build a great country and repair the spirit of Canada. Murray Sinclair knew this. And now it is up to us to carry on where he left off.

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