THE INTERVIEWER: Roy, could you please say and spell your
name for us?
ROY DICK: Roy Dick; R-o-y D-i-c-k.
Q. Thank you. Where are you from?
A. I’m originally born in Ross River, but now I live in Watson Lake.
Q. Okay. What school did you attend?
A. Lower Post Residential School.
Q. Do you remember what years you were there?
A. ’61 to ’68.
Q. Okay. And how old were you when you went?
A. Six.
Q. Do you remember your first day?
A. My first day?
Q. I know it was a while ago.
A. Yes, I do remember it.
Q. Could you tell us about that?
A. The first day there was a bus going around at the village. It
wasn’t a bus. It was a big green Army truck that had a canvas on top,
behind. They gathered all the young people, all the kids were on it from
Upper Liard. I was staying at Upper Liard at that time. They were going
around picking up children, anyway.
They took us down to the school, down to Lower Post. It wasn’t
very far from where I was staying in Upper Liard. It must have been about
twenty-two miles.
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When we came into the school I remember us all lining up. It was
boys on one side and girls on the other side. I was scared. I know that,
because I actually didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know why I was
going there. I didn’t know I was going to school. I remembered seeing my
sisters on the other side in the line. I tried to go over to them but they told
me I had to stay on one side and not to approach my sisters. I couldn’t
figure out why that was happening.
I remember them putting us into the dorms and taking all of our
things away, like our clothes and stuff that we went to school with, and
giving us some other clothes to wear. Each of us was given a number.
My number was 198. I still remember that.
After they gave us a number they took us to the showers and we
had to take a shower. They started cutting our hair and putting some
powder in our hair. I guess it was delousing. That’s my first knowledge of
going to school. I remembered I was scared because I was seeing all
these people, all these different people.
What made me really scared was the Nuns. I couldn’t figure out
who was these people, you know, they are all dressed up in black and
white habits.
After that they gave us a place where they said we had to sleep
and they started giving us things to do, giving us chores and giving us all
these rules —
And places to sleep —
I remember I was in the dorms and we were all separated. I
remember because I went down to the school with some of the boys
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around who were older than me and from my own community. They
separated us, too. We were all put into categories. The younger people
stayed in one area and the older boys stayed in another area in the
dorms.
After that, when we had all settled in, I remember the first thing they
done in the morning before breakfast or anything is they brought us into a
chapel. They had a chapel in there. We had to pray. At that time I knew
about the Creator, but in their ways it was different. Everybody was
talking about hell and I didn’t even know what was hell, and the devil and
all this, and that we were heathens and all this. They say that everybody
had sin.
My first knowledge of the Catholic Church was they tell us that we
all are sinners and we had to go to church. I guess we were kind of forced
into going into a little place there that was the Confession box. They said
we had to confess our sins. At that time I didn’t know what was a sin.
Q. You were just a little boy. You probably didn’t have any sin.
A. No, I didn’t. But they said we all were sinners. I remembered
all about this and I was thinking, what kind of sin did I have. What kind of
bad things had I done? The first time I said, “I got no sin.” I don’t know
what is this. I never done all these things that they said I done. And they
said I lied, or something like that. I got punished for that.
So next time I went to Confession I made up my own sins. I
realized that for the first time, lying for something, so I didn’t get punished.
That was my first knowledge of going to that school.
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After that I remembered that. I still had all my culture and I talked
my language fluently.
Q. What language did you speak?
A. Kaska (ph.). I remember talking to my older cousin, my brother,
actually. I was talking to him in my language and he got mad at me. I was
thinking, what’s all this anger about talking my own language. He said, “If
they ever hear you talking like that, those people there, you are really
going to get punished.” I remember speaking it a few times. And yeah, I
did get punished. I got physically abused for that, physically.
I remember eating some soap. Quite a few things went on at the
school.
I remember my first time I had breakfast. It was porridge. That was
my first knowledge of eating porridge.
Q. What did you think of the porridge?
A. Not very good.
Q. What was life like before you went to Residential School?
A. My life was happy. That’s all I can remember, it was happy.
Nobody every hit me before, not in my family or anything. We were
always together, doing everything as one; hunting, fishing, everything was
done on the land.
It was like going to a different world when I went into that school.
My whole life and everything changed drastically because of the different
teachings. One thing I learned down there was all this deep secrecy.
That’s where I learned about that code of silence. You don’t say nothing,
you don’t get hurt.
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The second year I was down there I started getting —
First I was physically abused. The second year when I was down
there at the school, I started getting sexually abused from this guy named
George Mazinsky. I was about 8 years old at that time. How I can recall
that, at that time when I was 8, it was in 1963 —
How I remember the specific date was because one day they made
us all come into the gymnasium and tell us we had to pray and shed some
tears for this person that I didn’t even know. This person was the
President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, when he got
assassinated. That’s how I remember that date. I can’t even disclose the
sexual abuse at that time because we weren’t believed. Most of the time I
was under the silence of being punished and we were not going home for
our holidays. That’s what they laid on us. I held that for a long, long time.
Q. Who was George?
A. He was a supervisor for the boys.
Q. So he worked for the school?
A. Yeah, he worked for the school at that time.
Q. Do you think that you were the only person that he did that to?
A. At that time I thought I was the only person. They make you
think you are the only person, I suppose, because if everybody said the
same thing at once that wouldn’t have really happened, but because we
were all terrorized into saying that we weren’t believed or anything. If we
said anything we weren’t believed anyway. We were punished severely.
I remember after that I ran away from school so many times. But
every time I had to —
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They called it running the gauntlet when you come back. You get
caught and they had a line-up of boys. The boys all line up with belts, or
whatever, and you had to run through it and get hit.
Q. Students would hit you?
A. Yeah, the students, yes. They make their own students hit me.
After that school, I was there for 6 or 7 years, and I just didn’t
believe anybody after that, even my own parents because I remember that
one day I think I was about twelve years old and this big old bus came
around. It was Coachways. They were picking up students to go back to
that school. I had enough. I just took off. I remember my dad calling me.
“Roy, come back, you’re not going back to that school.” I remember
seeing this Indian Affairs guy there. I remember his name, Johnny
Watson. “You’re not going back to that school, Lower Post.” I remember
him showing me papers. But still I didn’t trust. I was way back in the
bush. I said, “Just meet me halfway, leave that paper there.” Because at
that time I knew how to read. I wanted to see if it was for real. He came
back and he left them there and I came back and I was transferred to a
different school in Watson. That made me feel a lot better. But still yet I
didn’t trust him. I waited for the bus to go. I see it start going across the
Liard River Bridge, and finally I came back. Indian Affairs was gone.
I still held a lot of pain, anger and everything: distrust.
From there I went to school in Watson until I was fifteen. I quit
because my parents were having a rough time financially and most of the
time I remember going to school without lunch, and my siblings, my
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younger brothers and sisters were having a rough time so I had to quit and
work in the sawmill, just to make ends meet.
Q. How old were you then?
A. Fifteen.
I went to school up here, too, to take carpentry lessons and arts
and crafts after that.
I started using alcohol somewhere around sixteen or seventeen
because I thought I was no good, just to hide everything, all that pain and
shame. I didn’t know how to talk my language. I lost that. The bad part of
it I thought I was better than my parents because I knew English. They
really brainwash us in that school. I thought my parents were beneath me
because they didn’t know how to speak English and it was all wrong.
From there I turned to alcohol and started drinking. I drank. Oh
man, I hid everything for about thirty years. I never told anybody about
getting abused in school, sexually abused. I kept my pain to myself. I
was suicidal. I don’t know how many times I tried to take my life. I figured
I was a failure. I can’t even do that, take my own life!
Finally one day I was tired of everything. I didn’t feel human any
more. I didn’t trust anybody. I was empty. I had no spirit. Whatever spirit
I had in me left me, and all that. I was just a shell.
Until one day I caught a ride. I was hung over, I remember, walking
down from 2 ½ mile. It’s another little community from Watson Lake, it’s
about 2 ½ miles from Watson. That’s what they call it now. I was walking
down and I caught a ride with my sister. Anyway, she was telling me,
“How come you’re drinking so much, brother, I never seen you like that.” I
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didn’t tell her anything. Then she looked at me. She asked me, “Did
something happen to you at that Lower Post Residential School?” There’s
gotta be something happened to you. That’s when everything came out. I
started crying.
Then she told me, “Do you want to charge this person?” This
person was still alive at that time. “You might as well do that”, she told
me. “It’s the only way you can get it out in the open.” But at that time still
yet I thought I was only —
You know, it’s a frightening thing to go through. So to this day I
know a lot of people who are suffering from abuse, especially the women
around. Still yet that’s the reason why they don’t want to go out in court.
So she brought me down to the Detachment in Watson Lake. I
remember talking to this police officer and he told me he was
investigating. At that time I didn’t even know they were investigating the
Residential School in Lower Post. His name was Tim Ashton (ph.). I went
in there and I told him I was abused back in school. But I had never
disclosed this person’s name at that moment. I was all mixed up.
I was drinking quite heavily and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I
just about left from the police station. But the corporal, Tim Ashton (ph.),
he asked me, “I’m not really supposed to do this”, but he says, “I’ll phone
someone that was in Ross”. He’s going through the same thing and he’s
already laid a charge. So he phoned this person in Ross and he said, the
officer said, “you probably know Roy”. He phoned him. He said, “Don’t
walk out of that police station without laying a charge.” “Do that right now
and I’ll be down in Watson Lake right tonight.”
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So that’s what happened. But at the time I was still drinking and I
went to Terrace, BC, where we had our first court —
Not a court, but there was a judge there. It was the beginning of a
trial anyway. They brought us all back to Lower Post and I don’t know
why they done that. They brought back all these things. After that I don’t
know how many men were there, and I went to Terrace, BC. We had the
Supreme Court up there. That’s when I first seen my abuser, eh, after so
many years when I was a child.
They found him guilty. He got sixteen years, or so. Most of the
men I went with were all my friends. I knew them back in school. Quite a
few of them have passed away. I didn’t know at that moment —
I thought all this was going to open up around for other people. It
was a really tough journey going through that court. We had no support
from anybody. But a few people who were there are still around
supporting us, and I’m happy for that.
Then we came back here and we all had meetings and stuff in Atlin.
They were talking about suing the Catholic Church and DIA. So we did.
Even back then it was a pretty unbelievable story, things that were
happening back in school at that time. I don’t know how long we went
through court for that. It was about 7 years, I think, 7 years of going up
there and telling our stories and all this. At that time I think they called it
the David and Goliath court case, because we took on two entities: the
Catholic Church and the government at the same time.
In ’99 they finally —
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In 1999 they finally won that court case and that’s how we opened
all these doors for people to come forward. They called us the
trailblazers, but it was just a title. Everybody in their own way are
trailblazers because it really —
— Speaker overcome with emotion
A. It hurts yet.
In 1999, after thirty years of drinking, for the first time in my life that
somebody really absolutely believed us, I put everything away behind me
and I started on my healing journey. Three words a little girl told me, that
was my niece, she was about 2 years old at that time, I was still drinking at
that time and I was hurt, even after the court case was over and stuff —
She put her arms around me at that time I remember. She told me
3 little words. She said, “I love you.” That’s all it took. I thought, man, I’ve
got to do something with my life. I can’t carry this pain any more, you
know. I just can’t pack it. Why am I packing this? Why am I packing this?
It’s not me.
So I went to treatment in Whitehorse. I remember I was still
drinking when I went into treatment. That night there —
Q. I hate to interrupt you but we’re going to change our tape. I
don’t want to miss any of your story, so would you mind just —
— End of Part 1
Q. We’re ready to go again. Can you please just take us back just
a couple of moments in your story, if you don’t mind. You were talking
about being at the treatment centre.
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A. Um-hmm. I went in there. Before that I was drinking quite
heavily for 2 or 3 months, steady. I went into DT’s at the Detox. The
funny thing, the bad part about that was when I went into the DT’s, I went
right back into my childhood. I went back to being 8 years old again and
that phase turned into Residential School. I thought I was back at
Residential School and man, I was scared in there. I was looking around
for all those people who were abusing me and stuff. I thought, why does it
never ever end?
I went out of there and I started drinking again. I had enough of my
life. I went down to the Robert Campbell Bridge. I was ready to end it all
there. But some people seen me, I guess, and they reported me. I ended
up back at the Detox. It was April 6th, and April 7 th I was clear of mind
and all these whatever bad feelings of everything kind of disappeared.
The only thing that was bothering me at that time was my physical
discomfort, drinking so long, I lost everything in my body like vitamins.
I took up that treatment. I went back home and started taking care
of my dad, who at that time was into his nineties. There I started going on
my healing journey and I started helping out people. Today, to this day,
it’s 9 years now. I come up to meetings like this every day.
I don’t know how many times I went to jail before that. All I done in
my young life is go to jail and drinking. Now when I’m up there I visit once
in a while. Like I said, I told my stories up there, too, of what people can
accomplish. Just don’t look behind any more.
The good thing of it —
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I did lost my identity, but they never really stole the whole thing
from me. Now I know I still can talk my language, I know my culture and
I’m proud of who I am.
Q. Is there anything else that you want to share with us about your
Residential School experience, because you have answered all of our
questions?
But I want to make sure that if there is anything else you want to
say, that you have a chance.
A. About Residential School?
I remember seeing a lot of other people, kids at that time, getting
abused. Most of the time it took place at night. I remember that. I
remember a lot of younger kids who were crying and stuff, maybe
because they were lonely, maybe because they were scared. Because I
remembered some of the kids were led into this guy’s bedroom and I was
scared thinking they were going to be —
I know in my mind what was going to happen. But at that time I just
didn’t know if it was good or bad. I knew in a way it has got to be bad
because they were crying.
A lot of physical abuse was happening, a lot. Getting the strap and
getting called down, a lot of bad things. But I think the worst part of it is
making us feel dirty about who we are, and that really hurts, and the way I
felt towards my parents when I came back. And that feeling —
I’m thinking that same thought they were thinking of how no good
we were, that our culture was bad, that we didn’t believe in their God, or
whoever their god was. Because in my culture our culture was growing up
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to respect people, others, the land, everything that the Great Spirit created
we had to respect. That was taken all away from us in school. I was sad.
Every time I go around talking to people, especially kids, I tell them
the same thing. That we are special. It doesn’t matter what race you are,
you are still the same. Everybody’s got their own culture, but it makes
them a better person. But once you start taking somebody’s else identity,
it’s bad. It’s genocide.
They took a lot of trust. It took me a long time to trust people. In
my head for so long I thought I was deficient in a lot of things. I thought I
was gay, and all this, just different kind of thinking because of what
happened to me back then.
I don’t know how to be a parent, that’s one thing. I can’t make my
own biological children, but I have a lot of other children. I got a common-
law wife. I’m sober. I’m not ashamed of who I am any more. I’m just
looking forward to a lot of things now.
The school, I just let it go. Now I just feel bad for those people who
were doing all this. I don’t feel bad about myself. I don’t feel shame about
myself. I’m just saying now they’ve got to do their healing.
Q. Do you have anything else you want to share?
A. The only thing I want to share now is in the years ahead, my
future generation, all I have to say is be proud of who you are. Don’t let
anybody take away that pride and that strength that you have in you.
Q. Thank you so much.
A. You are welcome.
Q. Do you live around Whitehorse?
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A. No. Watson Lake.
Q. Where is that from here?
A. It’s about 300 miles south from here.
Q. Oh, wow.
A. It’s the gateway to the Yukon. There’s a sign there.
I was originally from Ross. I was born in Ross.
Q. Where is Ross?
A. Toward Faro area, on the Robert Campbell Highway.
Q. Okay. I’m from Winnipeg so this territory is new to me.
A. Why we moved around is my parents wanted to be closer to
where we were at school. Not only that, they had a trading post up in
Upper Liard. We are more like nomads following around the trading post
and where the animals go. It’s just where it was easier to get food, and
whatnot.
I gotta have a smoke.
Q. Thanks, Roy.
— End of Interview
