Whenever I read about how an Indigenous woman who worked in the sex trade died, I literally feel the pain in my body. Nadine’s pain. Cindy’s pain.

Today was a hard day.

When the verdict following the case of Cindy Gladue happened, I remember I had a dream about her, in that hotel room and there was nothing I could do to stop it. So, when I say, the violence that these women experience….I feel it. I mean it. It literally hurts to walk, to breathe, to sit, to sleep, to wake. I want to ignore the media but I can’t. It’s everywhere, including the pain. 

Even today, in a private conversation with another Indigenous woman, I said the following there and I will say it here, I bet the police know what happened and I bet they know who pushed her down that chute. Because isn’t it convenient there are witnesses, describing a ruly Indigenous woman, but all the cameras from the hotel that night are “glitchy.”

In fact, I bet it wouldn’t be too far from the truth to even suggest that maybe even one of them did it. This is a strong feeling I had today, walking around, trying to escape the pain.

Because isn’t it convenient that the same people that are meant to protect us are never there to actually “protect” us…