The Indelible Bonobo Experience

Renaissance Monkey: in-depth expertise in Jack-of-all-trading. I mostly comment on news of interest to me and occasionally engage in debates or troll passive-aggressively. Ask or Submit 2 mah authoritah! ;) !

Jill Buckshot, a former Miss Algonquin Nation, stole steaks from an Ottawa grocery store and sold them to support her addiction. (via Unequal Justice: Aboriginals caught in the justice system trap | Toronto Star)
Buckshot, who became addicted at 25 after having surgery and taking a prescribed narcotic for the pain, would steal steaks from an Ottawa grocery store by hiding them under large packages of toilet paper. Then she’d sell them for half-price.
“I got caught up in the system,” says Buckshot, 30. The former Miss Algonquin Nation, who came ninth out of 32 contestants in the 2002 Miss Indian World competition, was last released from an Ottawa jail in September.
Her story is common among aboriginal women and men. While admissions of white adults to Ontario jails fell 20 per cent between 1992 and 2009, the number of aboriginal inmates continued to go up, even as crime rates went down.
Aboriginal people accounted for less than 2 per cent of Ontario’s adult population in 2009, but more than 10 per cent of adults admitted to provincial jails. In federal penitentiaries, they are nearly 20 per cent of inmates.
Proportions are even more skewed when it comes to young offenders. Aboriginal girls account for one of every three jail admissions to a provincial facility for female youth, according to data obtained by University of Toronto doctoral candidate Akwasi Owusu-Bempah through a freedom-of-information request. That is 10 times higher than their proportion of the province’s youth population.
Among male youth in jail, aboriginal boys make up 15 per cent. In the general Ontario population, they account for only 3 per cent of boys, which means they are overrepresented in jail by a factor of five.
In a report released Tuesday , former Supreme Court justice Frank Iacobucci harshly criticized the judicial system for “systemic racism” and labeled the marginalization and jailing of aboriginals a “serious crisis.”
In 2009-10, of young offenders convicted for assault, about 25 per cent of aboriginal youth were sent to jail, compared with less than 15 per cent of non-aboriginal youth. Similar discrepancies exist for theft and possession, and break-and-enter crimes.
Manitoba, where upwards of 50 per cent of inmates are aboriginal, is one of the provinces building new jails. In 2012, MP Carolyn Bennett toured the Women’s Correctional Centre in Headingley, Man., which has an exercise room, elders’ room and “beautiful chalets” where women in custody can keep their children until they’re of school age. “Everything seemed like progress, until I asked the superintendent what they’re all here for,” says Bennett, the Liberal critic for Aboriginal Affairs. “And what she said was, practically none of them were initially sentenced to jail … Almost all of them had some sort of community sentence with conditions. And with one slip — say they go home for a funeral and associate with someone they’re not supposed to — they end up incarcerated.”
Is it racism? Not always, at least not overtly, he says. Judges may assume that the arrest of a middle-class kid is embarrassing enough in and of itself, and that belief may play a part in sentencing. Judges may hand out stricter punishments to kids from rougher parts of town because they think those kids won’t experience equivalent shame. Judges in remote areas of the province may assume there’s no good diversion program available.
Although Ontario’s last residential school closed more than 30 years ago, the impact of abuse and separation continues into the next generations. Students sent away to school as young as 6 were taught discipline instead of loving parenting. “Residential school parents talk about the fact that they were never able to hug their children. They were never able to tell their children they loved them,” says Rudin. “And that has an impact.” The legacy of physical and sexual abuse is passed down to third and even fourth generations, who turn to alcohol and drugs to cope, he says. The effects snowball, and they go on to lose their children.
Ontario has never tracked the relationship between foster care and jail. But a 1995 study of a Saskatchewan penitentiary, part of the Royal Commission Report on Aboriginal Peoples co-written by Rudin, found that 95 per cent of the aboriginal inmates had at some point been adopted or in foster care. Advocates say there is a correlation between the underfunding and hardship endured by aboriginal families and the fact so many kids are in foster care.
genocide & incarceration = Ontario justice

Jill Buckshot, a former Miss Algonquin Nation, stole steaks from an Ottawa grocery store and sold them to support her addiction. (via Unequal Justice: Aboriginals caught in the justice system trap | Toronto Star)

  • Buckshot, who became addicted at 25 after having surgery and taking a prescribed narcotic for the pain, would steal steaks from an Ottawa grocery store by hiding them under large packages of toilet paper. Then she’d sell them for half-price.
  • “I got caught up in the system,” says Buckshot, 30. The former Miss Algonquin Nation, who came ninth out of 32 contestants in the 2002 Miss Indian World competition, was last released from an Ottawa jail in September.
  • Her story is common among aboriginal women and men. While admissions of white adults to Ontario jails fell 20 per cent between 1992 and 2009, the number of aboriginal inmates continued to go up, even as crime rates went down.
  • Aboriginal people accounted for less than 2 per cent of Ontario’s adult population in 2009, but more than 10 per cent of adults admitted to provincial jails. In federal penitentiaries, they are nearly 20 per cent of inmates.
  • Proportions are even more skewed when it comes to young offenders. Aboriginal girls account for one of every three jail admissions to a provincial facility for female youth, according to data obtained by University of Toronto doctoral candidate Akwasi Owusu-Bempah through a freedom-of-information request. That is 10 times higher than their proportion of the province’s youth population.
  • Among male youth in jail, aboriginal boys make up 15 per cent. In the general Ontario population, they account for only 3 per cent of boys, which means they are overrepresented in jail by a factor of five.
  • In a report released Tuesday , former Supreme Court justice Frank Iacobucci harshly criticized the judicial system for “systemic racism” and labeled the marginalization and jailing of aboriginals a “serious crisis.”
  • In 2009-10, of young offenders convicted for assault, about 25 per cent of aboriginal youth were sent to jail, compared with less than 15 per cent of non-aboriginal youth. Similar discrepancies exist for theft and possession, and break-and-enter crimes.
  • Manitoba, where upwards of 50 per cent of inmates are aboriginal, is one of the provinces building new jails. In 2012, MP Carolyn Bennett toured the Women’s Correctional Centre in Headingley, Man., which has an exercise room, elders’ room and “beautiful chalets” where women in custody can keep their children until they’re of school age. “Everything seemed like progress, until I asked the superintendent what they’re all here for,” says Bennett, the Liberal critic for Aboriginal Affairs. “And what she said was, practically none of them were initially sentenced to jail … Almost all of them had some sort of community sentence with conditions. And with one slip — say they go home for a funeral and associate with someone they’re not supposed to — they end up incarcerated.”
  • Is it racism? Not always, at least not overtly, he says. Judges may assume that the arrest of a middle-class kid is embarrassing enough in and of itself, and that belief may play a part in sentencing. Judges may hand out stricter punishments to kids from rougher parts of town because they think those kids won’t experience equivalent shame. Judges in remote areas of the province may assume there’s no good diversion program available.
  • Although Ontario’s last residential school closed more than 30 years ago, the impact of abuse and separation continues into the next generations. Students sent away to school as young as 6 were taught discipline instead of loving parenting. “Residential school parents talk about the fact that they were never able to hug their children. They were never able to tell their children they loved them,” says Rudin. “And that has an impact.” The legacy of physical and sexual abuse is passed down to third and even fourth generations, who turn to alcohol and drugs to cope, he says. The effects snowball, and they go on to lose their children.
  • Ontario has never tracked the relationship between foster care and jail. But a 1995 study of a Saskatchewan penitentiary, part of the Royal Commission Report on Aboriginal Peoples co-written by Rudin, found that 95 per cent of the aboriginal inmates had at some point been adopted or in foster care. Advocates say there is a correlation between the underfunding and hardship endured by aboriginal families and the fact so many kids are in foster care.
genocide & incarceration = Ontario justice
At least 3,000 children, including four under the age of 10 found huddled together in frozen embrace, are now known to have died during attendance at Canada’s Indian residential schools, according to new unpublished research.

At least 3,000 native children died in residential schools: research - The Globe and Mail

The largest single killer, by far, was disease.

For decades starting in about 1910, tuberculosis was a consistent killer – in part because of widespread ignorance over how diseases were spread.

“The schools were a particular breeding ground for (TB),” Maass said. “Dormitories were incubation wards.”

While a statistical analysis has yet to be done, the records examined over the past few years also show children also died of malnutrition or accidents. Schools consistently burned down, killing students and staff. Drownings or exposure were another cause.

In all, about 150,000 first nations children went through the church-run residential school system, which ran from the 1870s until the 1990s. In many cases, native kids were forced to attend under a deliberate federal policy of “civilizing” Aboriginal Peoples.

Many students were physically, mentally and sexually abused. Some committed suicide. Some died fleeing their schools.

The records reveal the number of deaths only fell off dramatically after the 1950s, although some fatalities occurred into the 1970s.

“The question I ask myself is: Would I send my child to a private school where there were even a couple of deaths the previous year without looking at it a little bit more closely?” Maass said.

“One wouldn’t expect any death rates in private residential schools.”

In fact, Maass said, student deaths were so much part of the system, architectural plans for many schools included cemeteries that were laid out in advance of the building.

Maass, who has a background in archeology, said researchers had identified 50 burial sites as part of the project.

The annual death reports were consistently done until 1917, when they abruptly stopped.

“It was obviously a policy not to report them,” Maass said.

The thing to remember, as the awful story of Phoenix Sinclair’s short life emerges here at the provincial inquiry into her death, is that she was just one of more than 8,000 aboriginal youngsters in this province who are in the care of child welfare authorities.That shocking statistic - there are only about 9,000 Manitoba youngsters in care in total, so the aboriginal kids are grossly over-represented - was mentioned by commission council Sherri Walsh in her opening statement in September. (via Manitoba inquiry shines shocking light on plight of aboriginal children)
Phoenix was five when she was killed in 2005 by her biological mother, Samantha Ke-match, and her mother’s boyfriend, Karl McKay, who were subsequently convicted of first-degree murder.
But the mystery is how the little girl’s death went undiscovered for at least several months. It isn’t clear yet from evidence heard at the inquiry if that was because workers with Winnipeg Child and Family Services simply didn’t notice or because the CFS file on the little girl had been permanently closed and the agency wasn’t involved with the family any longer.
Well, that’s one of the mysteries. The other, as the inquiry learned in a bombshell revelation last week, is that all the Winnipeg CFS supervisory notes have vanished. That means a dozen supervisors have testified or will testify without any ability to refer to critical records.
In any case, that Phoenix was beaten to death wasn’t discovered until her body was found at the Fisher River First Nation, a Cree reserve about 200 kilometres north of Winnipeg.
As Walsh said in her opening remarks, the question is “how a small child can become so invisible … so invisible as to literally disappear.”
Phoenix was born April 23, 2000 to Kematch and Steve Sinclair, both young, troubled products of the child welfare system themselves (both were raised as wards of the state).
Testimony Monday suggests that some of the same problems that were identified years ago in other child-death probes remain unchanged - chiefly, workers’ insistence on seeing the parents as the client and not the child - as well as some unique ones.
Supervisor Heather Edin-borough, for instance, hinted at the cross-cultural issues when she spoke of assigning Stan Williams, a family service worker, to the file because as an aboriginal man he was “more culturally appropriate,” and would invite elders to take part in family meetings or sharing circles.
Yet another aboriginal letdown

The thing to remember, as the awful story of Phoenix Sinclair’s short life emerges here at the provincial inquiry into her death, is that she was just one of more than 8,000 aboriginal youngsters in this province who are in the care of child welfare authorities.That shocking statistic - there are only about 9,000 Manitoba youngsters in care in total, so the aboriginal kids are grossly over-represented - was mentioned by commission council Sherri Walsh in her opening statement in September. (via Manitoba inquiry shines shocking light on plight of aboriginal children)

  • Phoenix was five when she was killed in 2005 by her biological mother, Samantha Ke-match, and her mother’s boyfriend, Karl McKay, who were subsequently convicted of first-degree murder.
  • But the mystery is how the little girl’s death went undiscovered for at least several months. It isn’t clear yet from evidence heard at the inquiry if that was because workers with Winnipeg Child and Family Services simply didn’t notice or because the CFS file on the little girl had been permanently closed and the agency wasn’t involved with the family any longer.
  • Well, that’s one of the mysteries. The other, as the inquiry learned in a bombshell revelation last week, is that all the Winnipeg CFS supervisory notes have vanished. That means a dozen supervisors have testified or will testify without any ability to refer to critical records.
  • In any case, that Phoenix was beaten to death wasn’t discovered until her body was found at the Fisher River First Nation, a Cree reserve about 200 kilometres north of Winnipeg.
  • As Walsh said in her opening remarks, the question is “how a small child can become so invisible … so invisible as to literally disappear.”
  • Phoenix was born April 23, 2000 to Kematch and Steve Sinclair, both young, troubled products of the child welfare system themselves (both were raised as wards of the state).
  • Testimony Monday suggests that some of the same problems that were identified years ago in other child-death probes remain unchanged - chiefly, workers’ insistence on seeing the parents as the client and not the child - as well as some unique ones.
  • Supervisor Heather Edin-borough, for instance, hinted at the cross-cultural issues when she spoke of assigning Stan Williams, a family service worker, to the file because as an aboriginal man he was “more culturally appropriate,” and would invite elders to take part in family meetings or sharing circles.

Yet another aboriginal letdown