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During my four years of research and interviews with elders for my book Medicine Unbundled: A Journey Through the Minefields of Indigenous Health Care, I heard many stories about lost and missing children, parents wondering what, or who, had killed their children or relatives and where they might be buried.
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The stories from KIRS graduates were some of the most disturbing: beatings, sexual abuse, failed escapes that ended in drowning, suicides, and a possible murder.
Opinion: Kamloops and Marieval findings shouldn t surprise anyone
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As a lifelong claustrophobe, this was the worst part until I found myself sharing that confined space with three young people wearing no masks and determined to sing their way to possible incarceration. I arrived home the same evening no worse for wear, or war, thanks to my wife who followed the paddy wagon back to Lake Cowichan police station, where my offence was put on file and I was allowed to leave with no charge. CBC news reported an “elderly gentleman” (no name) having been arrested and taken away by police. At least they were right about “elderly,” as I will be 81 in June.
Breakdown and the middle-grade novel I am moved today to nominate [David A. Robertson] because I think he is an excellent role model for freedom of expression for all of us. Robertson writes for audiences of all ages. He delves into his own life, his own truths, and with rigour, gentleness and bravery, he creates literature to show what he s discovering, the writer who nominated Robertson said in a press statement.
The writer who nominated Robertson was not publicly named. I want these books to do well because it s my job. But more importantly, I want to see that these books are helping to make some kind of a difference in this country. That s something that I feel is a big focus in my work, Robertson told CBC Books in 2020.
Have you ever been moved by architecture? Not so much in awe, but truly, emotionally stirred?
One piece of construction that does that for me is the lighthouse. It may not have towering spires and copulas, silver cobalt enamelled onion domes, great gleaming titanium walls that reflect in moonlight on the black river, massive arcs and buttresses, amber walls, mile-long mirrored corridors lined with 100 amethyst chandeliers, or gardens with a thousand golden fountains.
But more than any of this, the little lighthouse of modest construction, white and sea-spray whipped, with its little red top, is a symbol of caring, of help and of guidance. It’s our guardian at sea, always there, dependably warning of danger, casting and penetrating its great illuminated beam through the thick veil of pea-soup fog in the most violent and turbulent green-grey ocean gales, in what we call the Graveyard of the Pacific, from its cold and lonely barren rock, where only a few lichens and gnarled, hardy w
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