Canada’s Shame

By Joseph A. Miles

We carved this land through granite, hewed her from the woods.
We linked her coasts with tracks of steel to move her varied goods.
A nation was formed, bold and strong, from an unforgiving land,
But we never could have done it without a helping hand.

The Indians showed us everything, They taught us how to survive.
They led us across this great expanse, and at times kept us alive.
They showed us all of natures grains, gave us corn to grow,
And when we were invaded, helped us best our foe.

For two hundred years the balance of power, they held sworn enemies at bay.
Without their help, at incredible cost, we’d be American today.
They taught us things like honour, friendship, pride and peace.
“Man cannot own the land,” they said, “He only has a lease.”

We heard their words, used their help, but never embraced their creed.
It stood in the way of our beliefs, our God, our king, our greed.
The eighteen-fifties brought about change, we exposed our shameful ruse.
When our external threats had disappeared we decided they had no use.

We believed they were beneath us. “Pagan savages!” we said.
“Just feed them rum, kill their pride till all of them are dead.”
We put them in our prison camps. We called it a reserve.
We broke every promise we ever made. “What more do they deserve?”

We forbade them the use of their language. A beating was the price of mistake.
“We’ve got to destroy their power and spirit, take till there’s nothing to take.”
We treated them as aliens for over a hundred years,
Trapped in the bowels of their motherland, drowning in their tears.

Our plan was almost foolproof. Over half of them did die.
“As soon as they get out of hand, feed them another lie.”
But, we couldn’t kill their spirit, extinguish that last spark.
It arose within their sixties youth to illuminate the dark.

No more would they be mastered: “It’s time to take a stand.”
“We must make them keep their promise and give us back some land.”
They worked within the system trying to do it right.
But after thirty fruitless years, the time had come to fight.

We finally drove them to the brink with their backs against the wall,
Stripped of justice and any rights, they raised a battle call.
They armed their brave young warriors and waited for the morn:
“From this war, a force shall rise, our native pride re-born.”

P. S. They lost the fight at Oka. Their banners fly no more. We starved them from the barricades, but they will win the war. You cannot kill a concept or squelch eternal flame, and we’ll never silence the people who gave this land its name.