Well, the year is almost over and that means… it’s time for top 10 posts of 2015 on http://www.kwetoday.com!

1. Our bodies are not terra nullius (where Erin Konsmo’s work inspired the title of this post)
2. Public issues vs. private troubles (to all first year sociology/criminology students who google “examples of public issues vs. private troubles” … you’re welcome)
3. the tl;dr version and the long version: Dear Chris Hedges (it is entertaining how the antis now rely on some white dude to help advance their cause… very … how do you say it? saviour-y-ish…just saying)
4. #MMIW: A critique of Serene Razack’s piece exploring the trial of Pamela George (a post I wrote last year which also receives the strangest comments/hate replies lol)
5. Dear Minister Wilson-Raybould  (my open letter to the new Justice Minister, who is also a badass Indigenous woman)
6. The problem with restorative justice (this one, oddly, makes the list … again)
7. A Book Review: The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill (who I had sign one of his books that I own this past year…also, I recommend this book and any other book by him basically)
8. Amnesty International and its support for the human rights of sex workers (thank you to Sarah Beamish who provided her knowledge and expertise in drafting this post)
9. Canada’s anti-prostitution laws: a method for social control (also, this receives the top request to use in course books in universities across Canada…thank you!)
10. Cindy Gladue: I want to think about the ways that do not rely on the criminal (in)justice system to feel safe (this along with no. 9 are cited in “The criminalization of sexual commerce in Canada: context and concepts for critical analysis” by Jacqueline M. Davies at Queen’s University)

This is a follow up piece from my original essay titled, Exploration on Indigenous and Exploitation of Indigenous bodies. 

In Afua Cooper’s The Hanging of Angelique, Cooper provides a succinct definition for slavery within a Canadian context. Cooper writes,

A useful definition of slavery is the robbery of one’s freedom and labour by another, usually a more powerful person. Violence and coercion are used to carry out the theft and to keep the slave captive in the condition of bondage and servitude. This definition applies to slavery in Canada. Laws were enacted and institutions created to rob persons of their freedom and labour and keep them in perpetual servitude (emphasis added). In the earliest era of colonial rule in Canada, both Aboriginal people and Africans and their descendants were enslaved (Aboriginal slaves were colloquially termed ‘Panis’). From 1428 to 1833, slavery was a legal and acceptable institution in both French and British Canada was vigorously practised.[i]

 

I emphasize Cooper’s words in the above definition because it is important to remember how laws and institutions continue to rob Indigenous peoples of their own freedom and labour, and keep Indigenous peoples in perpetual servitude, within both Canada and the United States.

There exists a heightened concern for the missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls on both sides of our colonial borders and rightfully so. Far too often do we hear or read about another Indigenous woman or girl going missing and sometimes being found murdered near sites of increased resource extraction. The collective response to this social issue tends to be increased policing and increased criminalization of Indigenous sexualities and bodies, as if Indigenous sexualities and bodies are part of the problem. But when have Indigenous sexualities or bodies ever been the source of the problem? We have only been the problem insomuch as colonialism has been our problem.

If we begin to turn our attention to the social and economic factors which surround the realities of Indigenous peoples living near or around sites of increased resource extraction, we begin to see a different picture: laws are enacted and institutions are created to rob Indigenous peoples of their freedom and labour, and keep them in perpetual servitude. Further, in Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous People, Linda Tuhiwai Smith recognizes the challenge of focusing solely on the “‘indigenous’ (or its substitutes)” as the “problem…rather than with other social or structural issues”[ii] especially as it pertains to settlers’ responses to social issues, like missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls and two-spirit folks. The settler response to these social issues only solidify and validate their own institutions, like the criminal justice system, instead of validating or (at minimum) even acknowledging Indigenous sovereignty over body and land.

We see settler responses manifesting itself through the definition of human trafficking (or often termed, labour or sex trafficking) which focuses on the movement and control of bodies. Instead of focusing on the increased movement of settlers to our traditional territories to mine and extract resources from Mother Earth, we see an increased focus on Indigenous bodies and sexualities. What about the violence to the land? By continuing to focus on the movement of the bodies that surround these sites of violence, without acknowledging the increased movement of bodies to the actual sites, we ignore how violence is created and maintained especially through the creation of laws and institutions that rob Indigenous peoples of their freedom and labour.

In I am Woman, Lee Maracle highlights the aims of the colonial agenda from an Indigenous woman’s perspective. Lee Maracle writes, “the aims of the colonizer are to break up communities and families, and to destroy the sense of nationhood and the spirit of co-operation among the colonized.”[iii] Maracle reminds us of the colonial agenda in relation to the increasing concern over trafficking in Indigenous women and girls. The colonial agenda persists through the conceptualization of trafficking victims, increased criminalization of same and increased policing of our communities. Anti-prostitution and anti-human trafficking legislation continues to police Indigenous bodies and sexuality, and allows for the increasing exploitation of Indigenous lands for economic profit by ignoring the injustices that Indigenous people experience due to [Canada and the United States’] colonial agenda. In order to address the continued exploitation of Indigenous women and girls, there needs to be connections drawn between the colonial agenda and the policing of Indigenous bodies, either as victims or perpetrators.

To help alleviate the issue of relying on the criminal justice system to protect Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit folks, I have thought about ways that communities can respond to the social issue of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls and two-spirit people immediately.

First, we can create safer spaces for Indigenous people who work in the sex trade, regardless of their status (trafficked victim vs. consenting worker). These safer spaces can include space to sleep, change, shower, check in after working or going to a call—all without judgment or fear of being arrested. Second, we can offer to be a safe call for when someone goes out to a party or when someone who works in the sex trade visits a client. Third, we can help keep track of the “bad clients” of those who work in the sex trade, instead of focusing on the actions of the sex trade worker themselves, or we can keep track of the descriptions of those who perpetuate sexual assaults and gender-based violence. Communities can create a response team that does not include law enforcement, but engages with law enforcement only when necessary.

When people ask for help, ask them what that help looks like for that person in both the short and long term. Communities should acknowledge that sex trade workers have a solid understanding of how exploitation takes place, and sex trade workers usually build connections to help keep themselves safe when working alone or in groups. Also, communities can include sex trade workers in building community responses surrounding man camps.

Communities should understand that not all offers to help are genuine and that help should take place on the terms—without judgment—of the person who needs help. People are their own experts. Finally, in the end, we must also look at how the laws that are enacted purportedly to offer real and tangible support or protection, and we should work to end the criminalization of Indigenous peoples through exploitation of their lands and bodies.

---

[i] Cooper, A. (2007). The Hanging of Angélique: The Untold Story of Canadian Slavery and the Burning of Old Montréal. University of Georgia Press. (pp 71).

[ii] Smith, L.T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. London: Zed Books. (pp 92).

[iii] Maracle, L. (1996). I am woman: A native perspective on sociology and feminism. Vancouver, B.C: Press Gang Publishers. (pp. 91).

The Honourable Jody Wilson-Raybould
Minister of Justice and Attorney General of Canada

Dear Minister Wilson-Raybould

As an Indigenous woman who is currently studying law, you are truly an inspiration. There are literally no words to describe the overwhelming feelings I have experienced over the last couple of days. But “law student” is only one of the many hats that I wear. I am also a sex work activist, who advocates for the decriminalization of sex work. I support decriminalization because, as an Indigenous woman with sex working experience across Canada including northern regions, I know the harms of criminalization.

When I read the news that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau named you as our new Minister of Justice and Attorney General of Canada, I tried to hold back the tears in class. After class ended, I immediately went home. I placed some sage in my smudge bowl and I said some prayers. As I sat on my bed, crying, doing ceremony, I realized that I cried many tears this same time last year—except these were not tears of joy.

A lot can change in a day. A month…many months. A lot can change in a year.

On November 4, 2014, the previous Conservative government’s bill responding to the Supreme Court of Canada’s Bedford decision passed its third reading in the Senate. Two days later, the bill received royal assent on November 6, 2014. This bill is commonly referred to as C-36, or by its short-title, Protection of Communities and Exploited Persons Act.[1]

The Bedford decision was a historic one. It was a historic decision because for many years, sex workers, both current and former, fought to have their voices heard in the courts and in the legislative process. However, C-36 was a step back in the struggles and challenges sex workers have overcome over the course of many years to have their voices heard. During the legislative process, I was the only Indigenous woman who had sex working experience, who sat on one of the JUST panels, and who publicly supported the decriminalization of sex work. Many of the decisions that led up to the Bedford decision also included the voices and experiences of persons who live and work in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, the site of the tragic and unfortunate history of many Indigenous women who lived/worked on the streets in DTES.[2]

When the previous CPC government introduced C-36, there was a complete disregard for the evidence. Ipsos Reid conducted national focus groups and produced a report, dated April 2, 2014. This report stated that participants did not see prostitution, along with marijuana, as top issues concerning crime and justice issues in Canada. Yet, a year later, here we are talking about sex work. The reason sex work even entered the public discourse is due to the hard work and advocacy efforts done by sex workers’ rights groups and allies over many, many, many years.

During the focus groups, the Ipsos Reid report states the topic of prostitution was introduced to the participants.[3] In that introduction, the report outlined the options that the government was given by the SCC in Bedford. The report states the three options could be “do nothing,” “criminalize clients and pimps,” or “criminalize prostitution.” In the “criminalize clients and pimps” option, the report outlines the Nordic Model. The report says that the Nordic Model “criminalize[s] clients and pimps and decriminalize[s] prostitutes.” Under the Nordic Model, prostitutes are not decriminalized, as similarly stated by others who supported C-36.[4] Some of the recent law enforcement efforts both before and after C-36 include having police officers pose as clients, which puts women directly in harms way.

Over the last year, some women have been deported in Canada as a result of these efforts.[5] On the east coast, one police chief admitted to pushing clients of the most marginalized women, Indigenous women who work on the streets, off the main streets as “helping” them. Further, the Calgary police admits to seeing less street-based sex workers following their initiatives to target clients.[6] However, seeing less street-based sex workers on the street does not mean that these sex workers are more safe. These two policing initiatives show the harms with targeting clients: it means pushing sex workers off the streets and into the dark corners and allies, into the potential sites of increased violence. Still, these efforts, including the Nordic Model, ignores Bedford‘s evidentiary record consisting of 25,000 pages in 88 volumes which shows the harms of criminalization of prostitution.

In the coming months, I have hope that you will be open to discussing the realities and concerns of sex workers, including the harms created by criminalization. Criminalizing prostitution has never protected Indigenous women and girls from violence. Even the Supreme Court acknowledges the state’s role in making a prostitute more vulnerable to violence especially when Chief Justice wrote, “The violence of a john does not diminish the role of the state in making a prostitute more vulnerable to that violence” (para 87). Recently, Amnesty International decided to support sex workers’ rights, including the decriminalization of sex work.[7] It’s time we start considering other options, like the decriminalization of sex work, in Canada and show our leadership in protecting the rights of the vulnerable and marginalized. More importantly, however, I am hoping that you will not ignore the history of sex worker-led initiatives to have their voices heard in decisions that concern their safety, their well-being, and their own lives. Sex workers are the real experts and if we are going to engage in a legislative process that will directly affect their lives, then their lived experiences and realities should be at the center of the discussions.

Thank you/miigwetch,

Naomi

---

[1] http://www.parl.gc.ca/LegisInfo/BillDetails.aspx?Language=E&Mode=1&billId=6635303

[2] http://scc-csc.lexum.com/scc-csc/scc-csc/en/item/10006/index.do?r=AAAAAQAjc2V4IHdvcmtlcnMgdW5pdGVkIGFnYWluc3QgdmlvbGVuY2UB

[3] I use the term “prostitution” and sex work interchangeably; I use prostitution only when referring to documents that use the same term. However, it should be highlighted that “prostitution” is also a term still used by legislation. Sex work is the more appropriate term and I use it where possible.

[4] http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/21/opinion/canadas-flawed-sex-trade-law.html?_r=1. See also, http://time.com/3005687/what-the-swedish-model-gets-wrong-about-prostitution/

[5] http://www.powerottawa.ca/Raids.pdf

[6] http://calgaryherald.com/news/crime/police-charge-33-people-in-four-day-prostitution-operation

[7] https://kwetoday.com/2015/10/30/amnesty-international-and-its-support-for-the-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

When a white woman tells me she wants to help me, I immediately go into protection mode. I have to protect myself from violence…state violence, lateral violence.

And I also have to work to protect myself from exploitation.

Exploitation from white women.

How will this white woman’s help benefit me? Does her “help” only benefit her own self?

I ask, all white women, what have you risked today and what will you risk tomorrow in order to help me, an Indigenous woman?

Your offer of help only presents more questions than answers.

Do you only use my name? My indigeneity? My relationship to you? My work? To benefit your own self?

Sure, some people don’t know how to ask for help but if your help doesn’t help me, or others like me, in real, tangible ways tomorrow… then you are no help to me, to us.

Do you pay for our work? Our labour? Our knowledge? Our expertise?

If I am the only one doing the teaching, then you are the only one that benefits. I want some benefits too. My relationship to you isn’t equal if only you benefit and my relationship to you isn’t equal if the risks you take are less than the benefits.

So, I ask, all white women, what have you risked today and what will you risk tomorrow in order to help me, an Indigenous woman? If the risks are less than the benefits for you, than they are for me, you are no help to me. You are only more work… for me, for us.

If only you benefit from your offer to help us, then you are no help to us.

I sat alone in my bedroom as I read the news across my social media this past August: Amnesty International members voted on a resolution calling on Amnesty’s International Board to adopt a policy that “seeks the attainment of the highest possible protection of the human rights of sex workers, through measures that include the decriminalization of sex work.”[1]

At the time, I worked and lived in a northern Alberta community. I was working with youth and working for a program to develop positive, safe opportunities for the youth to be their own selves in non-judgmental spaces. When I had the interview for this program, I was very honest and explicit about my involvement in the sex workers’ rights movement, and about being an Indigenous woman with sex working experience. My experience was on my resume and my experience was hard to ignore, as I spent the majority of 2014 speaking out against the criminalization of sex work.

During the job interview, the interviewers asked what I would do if people from the community asked me about my sex work. I replied that I would tell them that the work that I do now is focused on the safety of sex workers, and that regardless of what someone does for a living, they should still be afforded the same protections, rights and access to safety as anyone else. If you are someone who is selling or trading sex, you should be able to access healthcare services and social services, and you should have access to other rights, including human rights.

In response to Amnesty’s vote to support the human rights of sex workers, I think we should have a discussion about what we mean by the term “human rights” and what it means to support sex workers’ human rights.

In Canada, we think of human rights as those that are expressly set out in our human rights legislation. There is no argument there. Those are our human rights. However, the concept of human rights extends beyond what we can find in existing legislation, especially in Canada. Our own human rights legislation does not do enough in terms of protecting vulnerable and marginalized groups – just ask any Indigenous woman living, working, and still fucking breathing in Canada. There are even some people who strongly believe that criminalizing certain actions, like the selling and trading of sexual services among consenting adults, will protect the most vulnerable and marginalized among us. We have seen this position manifest itself in the passing of Canada’s most recent anti-prostitution legislation, c-36, For The Protection of Communities and Exploited Persons Act (c-36).

During the passing of these laws, many people spoke out against the process, arguing that the Parliamentary panels were stacked with people who supported the law. Among the few with sex working experience who spoke out against the bill and who were invited to sit on the Parliamentary panel(s), I was the only Indigenous woman who had sex working experience across Canada, who could attend the panel in person to testify against the bill (now law), and who publicly supported the decriminalization of sex work. The other Indigenous woman who was invited could not attend because she was supporting her friend, another Indigenous woman, who was arrested under the communication laws.[2] At the committee, I stated that if we were going to be thinking about missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls along with the issue of trafficking, then criminalizing sex workers (including indirectly criminalizing them through laws that target various aspects of sex work, like communication laws), especially Indigenous sex workers, is not the solution. Along with many other international organizations, the members of Amnesty International agree.[3]

After Amnesty’s vote, I spoke with Sarah Beamish, a Scottish and Māori (Ngāruahine) woman based in Canada who has been deeply involved in the development of the resolution and draft policy, first as President of the English-speaking branch of Amnesty Canada and then as a member of Amnesty’s International Board. We talked about this development process. Amnesty’s policy has been through multiple drafts throughout the two-year consultation period, and it is now being finalized using principled directions from its members.[4] The policy reflects feedback from broad international consultation, it is backed by evidence from Amnesty’s own research, and it is supported by many people with lived experience as sex workers. Amnesty heard from people and organizations with a variety of perspectives on decriminalization, including a number of sex worker’s rights, survivor, and abolitionist groups. The policy has been developed with the work and support of a broad range of human rights activists from around the world, with much of the energy and leadership coming from women and queer people. And the goal of protecting and supporting sex worker’s rights was at the heart of Amnesty’s decision to support decriminalization.

I have learned a great deal while waiting to publish my thoughts on Amnesty members’ decision to support sex workers’ rights. In that time, I have reviewed and reflected on the many pieces that have spoken about the policy vote. I grew frustrated when I read some of the published pieces, which would resort to inflammatory language, accusing Amnesty of protecting “pimps.”[5] These comments reminded me of my experiences while testifying against c-36 and the backlash that followed.[6]

When I raised this with Sarah, she said that “what was central for all Amnesty members involved in this decision was supporting the human rights and safety of sex workers, and in turn supporting the policy option that we believed would best support that goal.” She pointed out that, far from being about “protecting abusive behaviour by ‘pimps’ or ‘johns’” (as many critics of the policy decision have alleged), the decision reflects the members’ concern about the risks of exploitation and violence that sex workers often face, and emphasizes states’ “obligation to ensure that sex workers are protected from exploitation and can use criminal law to address acts of exploitation.”[7] During Amnesty’s consultations, many people with sex working experience pointed out that the criminalization of sex work did not protect them, and in fact tended to expose them to greater risk and leave them with fewer options for preventing and addressing exploitation, discrimination, and violence.

To understand the full spirit and intent of the policy, we should look past the rhetoric of its critics, and to the decision itself. As noted above, the main decision is that the International Board must adopt a policy that “seeks the attainment of the highest possible protection of the human rights of sex workers, through measures that include decriminalization.” Looking further, the decision also includes thirteen points that outline the factors, values, and principles that the final policy must include. In these points we see a commitment to things like harm reduction, gender equality, and women’s rights. The decision also raises principles of agency, participation, and free and prior informed consent (FPIC), stating that the final policy must:

[recognize] and [respect] the agency of sex workers to articulate their own experiences and define the most appropriate solutions to ensure their own welfare and safety, while also complying with broader, relevant international human rights principles regarding participation in decision-making, such as the principle of Free, Prior, and Informed Consent with respect to Indigenous peoples.[8]

Sarah acknowledged that during the policy development process Amnesty members from Canada provided “a lot of leadership” in listening to and raising the concerns of Indigenous women in relation to sex work, including by calling attention to connections between sex workers’ rights and Indigenous people’s rights, and the related principle of FPIC. The inclusion of FPIC in the decision draws attention to the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). UNDRIP highlights the need for states to consult with Indigenous peoples in “adopting and implementing legislation or administrative measures that may affect [Indigenous peoples].”[9] Given the overrepresentation of Indigenous women in sex work, and the role that historic and ongoing colonial policies have had in this, there is no question that legislation about sex work affects Indigenous people. But as Sarah noted, “most discussions about sex workers’ rights haven’t grappled with the complex questions about how FPIC may be relevant with respect to Indigenous sex workers and sex work in primarily Indigenous communities.” I agree. And, conversely, the majority of the discourse surrounding FPIC is silent about sex work and instead deals mainly with questions about land and natural resource extraction (and even then, we see a lack of consultation in good faith—the Canadian conservative government didn’t spend $106 million on litigation fighting against Indigenous peoples and their rights for nothing![10]).

So, what does the inclusion of FPIC mean for sex workers’ rights?

As someone who has worked in the trade, including travelling to and working in various regions, I know the harms of criminalization of sex work. I have been denied services, especially in relation to protection and safety, because of the criminalization of sex work. I have been denied access to safe work spaces because of the criminalization of sex work. Also, instead of being able to call the police after experiencing violence and while fearing criminalization, I continued to work in unsafe places in exchange for the illusion of immediate protection these places offered. Undisputedly, the same type of criminalization I feared would also significantly reduce my ability to obtain employment outside of the trade. So, I welcome Amnesty’s support for the protection of the human rights of sex workers through measures that include decriminalization, because in my experience, there cannot be full protection without decriminalization.

Importantly, the policy also acknowledges that violence and discrimination against sex workers happen in many ways and contexts that go well beyond the “sex work” itself, and that criminalization creates space for a number of players to violate sex workers’ human rights. This is especially true for Indigenous women and two-spirit people, who are already vulnerable to discrimination and violence, and who become even further marginalized if they are in sex work. Acknowledging some critics’ specific concerns regarding Indigenous women and violence they experience, including in situations of state violence, displacement, and conflict, Sarah recognizes that “we have to address colonization and colonialism when we talk about violence against Indigenous women.”

The inclusion of FPIC helps to do just that. By incorporating the concept of FPIC into its decision, Amnesty highlights the need for states to consult with Indigenous peoples in good faith. If we reframe the issue of criminalization of sex work as one of sovereignty over body and land, we see that Canada has a long way to go in appreciating and addressing the concerns of Indigenous peoples. Because if the Canadian government continues with its trend of dismissing FPIC and fighting Indigenous peoples who are exercising and affirming their own rights over their land, we will continue to see the exact same trend when it comes to violence against Indigenous women, girls and two-spirit folks. Again, a perfect example of this refusal to consult with Indigenous peoples in good faith occurred during the enactment of c-36.

Critics also often try to suggest that Amnesty does not want to fight against human trafficking. Sarah disagreed with this, saying, “We strongly condemn human trafficking, and we reject the idea that criminalizing sex work (thereby raising the risks to sex workers’ security) is a necessary, effective, or acceptable way to eliminate human trafficking.” The decision makes this very clear. The decision confirms that “[s]tates have the obligation to prevent and combat trafficking for the purposes of sexual exploitation and to protect the human rights of victims of trafficking.” But when we conflate sex work with human trafficking, we run the risk of creating new victims by creating more space for human rights violations to occur, especially in Canada with respect to Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit people.

We don’t have to look very far for evidence of such human rights violations in Canada. From 1985-2011, around 300 sex workers were murdered in Canada.[11] With the most recent release of MMIWG reports by the RCMP, they admit that murders of Indigenous women who work in the sex trade continue to be solved at a rate much lower than murders of non-Indigenous sex workers and non-sex working victims.[12] The Pickton Inquiry also stated,

“Three overarching social and economic trends contribute to the women’s marginalization: retrenchment of social assistance programs, the ongoing effects of colonialism, and the criminal regulation of prostitution and related law enforcement strategies [emphasis added].”[13]

And as for the serial killer John Martin Crawford, who roamed the streets preying on Indigenous women, Warren Goulding captured the dominant attitude to Crawford’s crimes in the title of his book: “Just Another Indian: A Serial Killer and Canada’s Indifference.”

So what does it mean to support sex workers’ human rights? What do we mean by human rights?

Human rights extends beyond the pre-existing grounds laid out in current legislation, especially in Canada, which continues to fail the most marginalized and vulnerable of folks, including sex workers. Acknowledging sex workers’ rights in Canada means recognizing the ongoing history of colonialism within Canada. It means consulting with Indigenous peoples in good faith and not just consulting who is most convenient to get laws like c-36 passed – the same kinds of laws ruled unconstitutional only months earlier by Canada’s highest court. Recognizing sex workers’ rights means that we must appreciate that pro-decriminalization policies are only, as Sarah noted, “one point in a much wider web of human rights policies necessary to protect the rights of people in sex work.” Continuing, Sarah said that “human rights are interdependent and indivisible from one another, and upholding the rights of sex workers means more than just addressing those rights violations contributed to or caused by criminalization. It also means addressing the rights violations that may push people into sex work, keep them there, and make it more difficult to leave.”

The decision calls attention to these complex issues. It’s time we started listening…

---

Thank you/chi-miigwetch to Sarah for providing her knowledge and expertise in relation to AI’s decision. 

[1] https://www.amnesty.org/en/policy-on-state-obligations-to-respect-protect-and-fulfil-the-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

[2] https://openparliament.ca/committees/justice/41-2/34/chanelle-gallant-1/only/

[3] https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2015/08/global-movement-votes-to-adopt-policy-to-protect-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

[4] https://www.amnesty.org/en/policy-on-state-obligations-to-respect-protect-and-fulfil-the-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

[5] https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2015/08/sex-workers-rights-are-human-rights/

[6] http://titsandsass.com/testifying-in-vain/

[7] https://www.amnesty.org/en/policy-on-state-obligations-to-respect-protect-and-fulfil-the-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

[8] https://www.amnesty.org/en/policy-on-state-obligations-to-respect-protect-and-fulfil-the-human-rights-of-sex-workers/

[9] See Article 19 http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf

[10] http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/hon-carolyn-bennett/aboriginal-litigation-canada_b_4273893.html

[11] http://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(14)60800-X/fulltext

[12] http://www.rcmp-grc.gc.ca/pubs/mmaw-faapd-eng.pdf

[13] http://www.ag.gov.bc.ca/public_inquiries/docs/Forsaken-ES.pdf

The other day a friend sent me the Toronto Life article on Marie Henein. And yes, I totally loved it! I mean, aside from the fact that the article kept talking about what she wore despite Henein’s persistence in refusing to answer such questions because men do not get asked the same questions (preach!). Then, I saw this Metro article talking about Henein and asking “what (or so what) about her feminism?”

If you haven’t been living under a rock for the past year, you would know that Jian Ghomeshi is charged with some pretty harsh offences, including sexual assault and choking. Ghomeshi is also Henein’s client. There are a lot of women who spoke out against Ghomeshi’s charges and rightfully so. It must have been a nightmare for them, just as much as it was a nightmare for Ghomeshi following the charges. But, let me be clear, I am not defending Ghomeshi or his actions. I condemn any form of gender violence. Nevertheless, I want to write about what it means, for me, to a woman interested in criminal law/defence. I want to talk about some of the questions I have to ask myself on a daily basis, as someone who is interested in criminal law/defence and as someone who is also an Indigenous woman with sex working experience.

So, it’s not news that I love criminal law (or the study of it). I am also doing an internship at a criminal defence law firm. I don’t really know what it is like to work in criminal defence and this is providing me with some experience. Although I did have some hesitations about this internship and my own anxieties (like hi, hello, I’ve been there, done that and what if something triggers me?!?!), I am enjoying the internship. I am learning how fast things can change on the lawyer side, all under a few hours (but the change is arguably slower to happen for the client side of things–just think about how many clients who are waiting in remand for months). And this criminal defence internship is (meaning, the reflection is ongoing, not definite) providing me with some insight into if I really want to go into criminal defence. Can I answer if criminal defence is what I want to do today while writing this post? I am not entirely sure. All I can say is that I love learning about criminal law (and also constitutional law), and how the law influences its systems, its processes, its institutions…

Since starting law school, this is also the number one question I have been asked: what type of law do you want to practice? I don’t know. Criminal defence seems like a shoe in. Since I don’t even know where I will be in a year or two, I can’t really say “Yes!” and be firm in that answer today. I have also been faced with some hard questions by my own mother and by other criminal lawyers who I reached out to asking for help.

Earlier this year, the court delivered the verdict for Bradley Barton. He was charged with murdering Cindy Gladue. The verdict really got to me. I kept asking myself, “What does it mean for me, an Indigenous woman, to want to go into that same system and potentially defend someone like Barton?” I reached out to a criminal lawyer and I met with him. He asked me if I could defend someone who killed a sex worker? It was a tough question. I replied, while sitting in his office and at that moment he asked me that question, I could never defend someone who is charged with killing an Indigenous woman. He also told me, “don’t let one case change your mind.” My mother also asked me a similar question, “How would you defend people who do horrible things?” I gave her the answer that people have the right to a defence. It’s true. Also, generally speaking, in my own readings of criminal law cases, what the main issues tend to be is not whether someone committed an offence but the issue turns on a constitutional issue, like a Charter violation.

We all have Charter rights and one of those Charter rights is the right to full answer and defence. We also have several other legal rights (and I encourage all to go and read them right now because there is nothing like knowing your rights). These rights include the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay, the right not to be arbitrarily detained, or the right to be tried within a reasonable time. These rights are pretty cool, right? Wouldn’t it be shitty if we lived in a country where we didn’t have these rights AND could be arrested, not knowing what we were arrested for (and yeah, this totally still happens), not have a right to counsel or not have a right to defend yourself? Just imagine. Even though the rights sound nice, warm and fuzzy, and the rights make some of us feel good at night, these rights only exist today because if the police could get away with shit like unreasonable search and seizure, they totally would (and well, they still do that stuff). But do we say that someone should not have a right to defend themselves just because they have done something presumably “bad”? No.

The Metro article goes on to place blame on “lawyers like Henein” by writing,

“A criminally low sexual-assault conviction rate in this country won’t go away if lawyers like Henein keep doing their best in a system stacked against victims.”

The above quote suggests that we need to have a high conviction rate in order to help the victims. I disagree.

First, lawyers like Henein are representing people who have the same rights as anyone who isn’t charged with an offence, like sexual assault and choking: we all have a right to full answer and defence. Second, I don’t think the end goal of any feminism should be to obtain more convictions. If you are from an overly criminalized/marginalized group like Indigenous women working in the sex trade, we all know that these groups will be the ones most likely to be impacted (not in a good way) by such a feminism, one that seeks to obtain convictions. As an Indigenous woman who is interested in criminal defence, I even struggle with coming to terms of upholding the same system that impacts the same groups. What do I think of a feminism seeking to obtain convictions for victims? I think that we have to be weary of any action that seeks to criminalize anyone, because it will mostly be women (especially Indigenous women) impacted by such actions. In other words, we will see an increase in criminalization of Indigenous women especially the most visible, like those who live and work on the streets. We can look to the issue of MMIWG2S to see the issue with only examining low conviction rates. Conviction rates do not tell us anything about criminal law or criminal defence. There are two sides to criminal defence. Maybe we should ask what low conviction rates just tell us about the police and Crown, who lay the charges, determine which evidence to admit into court, etc.? Also, if any feminism wants to help victims, they should be advocating for more safety and supports within the community. Because who is more likely to be sexual assaulted, murdered, or experience any form of violence? It’s the “IWG2S” in “MMIWG2S.” In that same breath, we should also ask ourselves how do we hold communities and each other to account, instead of relying on an unjust system, to help the victims? I don’t believe in relying on a system that imprisons people for anything. Yes, I said it. But can we at least envision what our society would look like if we didn’t have to rely on a system that perpetuates harm and violence or rely on a system that targets marginalized folks in myriad of ways?

So what do I think of Henein’s feminism? In the Toronto Life article, it states that “Henein never turns down a client.” Yes, this even means clients like Ghomeshi. I commend her, especially as a woman in criminal defence. I could never say the same thing and this post is proof of that. Then again, if I go into criminal defence, I don’t necessarily think my business will be affected by refusing to represent people charged with killing indigenous women… because, um, it’s not like those cases are being actively investigated by policing agencies.

And to expand on my answer as to whether I could represent someone who is charged with killing a sex worker: what about my feminism as someone who advocates for the rights of sex workers? The majority of those cases involve Indigenous women who work in the sex trade (and yes, some non-Indigenous women who work in the sex trade are obviously murdered). Again, it’s not like these cases are also actively being investigated by policing agencies. Who remembers Pickton and the inquiry that came out that gong show? Well, the inquiry also stated that it was the indifference from the police that played a role. So, I don’t think I will ever be bound to make such hard decisions which is an even harsher truth to swallow.

So here is an interesting article with Justice Murray Sinclair. His key point: we need to be teaching Indigenous law at law school. Well, that makes obvious sense. I mean, if we are going to be learning about legal traditions within Canada, then why can’t we learn about Indigenous law? I can tell you that at my school, the only time I came across any hint of Indigenous law being taught in a class was in my torts class. The professor didn’t have to teach us about Indigenous legal traditions/law in torts, because how and why does that even relate to tort law? I could have taken an Aboriginal legal traditions or Aboriginal law course (which at one point, I have to). However, I strongly resist the urge to take any Aboriginal specific course because that is what is expected of me or people assume I will take such a course just because I am Indigenous. This same expectation, though, isn’t assumed or expected of my non-Aboriginal peers. Funny that.

I also don’t agree with creating “streams” of courses for Indigenous law. Indigenous law can be taught in basically any law school classroom. It just depends on who the school hires as professors. My tort law professor was an Indigenous professor. I didn’t learn about Indigenous law in any of my other classes. Not even criminal law. Not even in my legal history class (and to that point, we only read texts by white authors in my legal history class…I was not impressed).

And most recently? I had another professor tell my class that Canada has two legal systems. I was absolutely floored. At the time, it really bothered me. In fact, it still bothers me… the entire process that followed brothers me, specifically.

I made an appointment with this professor and I talked to him about his comments in class. He back tracked. I left feeling unheard, not listened too. So, I went to another person on campus to discuss these comments. This person then emailed another person who then told me to go back and meet with this professor with someone else present. So, then I approached another person to ask if they could help facilitate this. They did. I am thankful for their help. After missing over two classes, spending time in over 5 meetings, conversing with several people and sending multiple emails, we had this meeting. Again, I was not impressed.

In this meeting, I basically repeated what I said in the initial meeting, three weeks before this final meeting. Now, imagine if I had been heard the first time: hey, there are more than two legal systems in Canada and it is important to acknowledge the other ones too. We would be done. But no. Instead, I was left running around, trying to figure out who to talk to, who I could trust and repeat everything that happened to multiple people. Also, the way “mediation” or “conflict resolution” happens is clearly not the way to resolve these institutional issues. I imagine community conversations taking place, where multiple perspectives can be heard, respected, valued and validated instead of pushed into the back corners of the institution. Solving these issues behind closed doors is a form of silencing, “Shhhhh, don’t cause too much ruckus. It isn’t good for the institution.”

All of the above is institutional discrimination.

If these institutions also want to help out the Indigenous students, they should also be prepared to do the work. The work to fix the institutional problems should not be left on the backs of Indigenous students. We already have enough bullshit to deal with in our daily lives. It’s almost as if these institutions assume we enjoy meeting and discussing the issues. Maybe some do. I don’t. It’s tiring, triggering and anxiety inducing.

I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with the same institutional bullshit I dealt with elementary school, high school, college AND undergrad. But nope, the institutional BS that takes up the majority of racialized, Indigenous, and other similar groups’ time…it’s all still there.

At the end of the final meeting, I was asked what the group in the meeting could do to help the issue. I said, “I’ve done enough work.” Then, I was asked what the professors could do to help the issue. I said, “That’s a conversation for the professors to have.” In other words, if you want to have my expertise and knowledge to help solve the institutional and systemic issues, then pay me. Is this a bold and new idea? No it isn’t. I was even told in that same meeting the school has money. Okay, so why are you wasting my time, asking for my expertise to help solve the problem. I sure hell would have been a lot happier if I had been paid for all the meetings I had to attend and all the people I had to talk about the issue. This leads me to my other point: if you want Indigenous students to help alleviate or solve these institutional problems, then pay them for their time, knowledge and expertise. We paid to get into law school to learn, not to teach. I also believe that law schools should be permitting Indigenous peoples from the nearby communities to sit in these Aboriginal law courses for FREE! From the words of an old mentor talking about prisons and their relations to residential schools, “it was an institution (residential schools) that took our culture away and it is an institution (criminal justice through restorative justice) that is trying to give it back.” The same words hold true for law schools: you can’t erase Indigenous legal traditions or Indigenous law and then expect to only make the same courses available to the small few who can afford to attend the courses. That’s not reconciliation.

In closing, I recommend everyone listen to the September 30, 2015 @RMLpodcast featuring Lee Maracle–you can listen to this show on the app or here. (also, download the app and pay the money to help keep RML going—you want to know how you can support Indigenous folks? Do that…pay them for their work). In the podcast, Lee Maracle talks about reconciliation within educational institutions, including law schools. She mentions how one Justice taught her own relative the law back at a time when Indigenous peoples like him were not allowed to enter law schools (or they had to give up their status to be admitted). This was in the 1920s. That was reconciliation then. Maracle also mentions reconciliation isn’t anything new. So, to all the law schools in Canada, you had more than enough time to get on this reconciliation journey.

Ps. Can MSM and others “stop” putting INDIGENIZE in “quotation” marks? Please. Stop.

Back in December 2014, the Conservatives reached the deadline to pass and enact laws criminalizing prostitution, in response to the Bedford case. The Bedford case is the Supreme Court of Canada case that held three anti-prostitution provisions in the Criminal Code of Canada are unconstitutional:

• The bawdy house law
• The communication law
• The living on the avail laws

Following this decision, the Conservative government went into panic aka planning mode. They held consultations, inviting only a few people that support people working in the sex trade in comparison to the number of religious groups, and fast-tracked parliamentary committees, stacking the panels with anti-prostitution campaigners who frequently pose as “pro-women’s rights” (when what they really mean is pro-white-cis-gendered women’s rights) advocates.

Before the shit show of Conservative circle-jerk circus, in 2010, Durham police in Oshawa conducted street sweeps in an effort to “clean up” the streets (which is telling as to the value placed on sex workers’ lives). The Durham police dubbed these efforts “Project Middleton” (but not after cute sweet Pippa or Kate Middleton). Project Middleton made national news when it arrested 34 sex workers, presumably all from the streets, and 78 “johns.”[1]

The year before this project made national news, the Superior Court of Justice delivered its decision involving a victim who also happened to be a street-based sex worker living/working in Oshawa. The court described the victim as someone:

“[…]who has had an unfortunate life, to say the least. She lives on the streets, prostitutes herself to earn a living, which she quickly squanders on her drug addiction. She has had to take care of herself on the streets, living by her wits since she was a teenage. She has had numerous run-ins with the law and it was apparent during her evidence that she is not entirely trusting of the administration of justice. Given the circumstances of her life, it is understandable why she would be apprehensive about the likelihood of seeing justice done.”[2]

As like in many sexual assault cases, the victim was sexually assaulted by someone she knew, and just like in even more sexual assault cases, the accused said the victim consented (duh!). Among other injuries and evidence, the victim suffered severe burns to her inner legs from cigarette burns. She did not seek medical help and did not report the attack, despite the evidence which supported the claim of a sexual assault. Then, in turn of its good ole heart, the court finds the accused guilty. Because, you know, the victim was “apprehensive about the likelihood of seeing justice done.”

Remember, the victim did not report the assault. The case shows the police arrested the victim for breach of recognizance and only discovered the injuries after the arrest. These facts, and this case, raises some difficult questions which we must reconcile if we are to truly acknowledge the safety, rights, well-being and livelihood of those who work in the sex trade, especially those who work on the street or who use drugs while working. For instance, how can we “protect” women, and others, who work in the sex trade, especially those who work in the streets or who use drugs while working, if their lives continue to be criminalized under the guise of “helping” them? How does criminalizing someone’s life and work help them find more “acceptable” forms of employment (*cough* not sex work *cough*)? More blatantly, how does criminalizing someone protect them? I mean, we can also look at the reasons why some women don’t report. Like, um helloooooo! “I might get arrested instead” and thus, these women don’t want to report any assault (which is my experience).

Since December 2014, we have seen an increase in a number of anti-prostitution initiatives by various policing agencies. And well, this was expected. The new laws enacted under the guise of protection are the same laws that Canada’s highest court stated violated sex workers’ right to life, liberty, and security of person. In these reports that allegedly talk about their care and concern for Aboriginal women, apparently Canada’s most vulnerable, we fail to see how these policing initiatives actually show any care and concern for these same group of persons.

For instance, in Nova Scotia and most recently, Cape Breton police states that Aboriginal women make up 90% of the trade in downtown Sydney.[3] The police also stated that “99%” of these women were working the streets to “feed a drug addiction” and “twelve of the women are currently receiving treatment through Mental Health and Addictions Services.” Right. There is no disputing that the majority of women who do work on the streets may be Aboriginal or that they may be “feeding a drug addiction.” But is pushing them to the outskirts of the streets and potentially putting them at risk for more violence (as pointed out by the 25,000 pages of evidence in Bedford) really “helping” them? This is something the Cape Breton police chief admitted will happen after these initiatives. So, do the safety and lives of the most vulnerable really trump business interests? I guess in the eyes of those who supported the new anti-prostitution laws, they do.

If we truly cared for these people, the people who sell or trade sex, including selling and trading sex for drugs, why would we allow activities that put them at greater risk or harm continue to happen in our own communities? Are the lives that we consider to be most vulnerable to violence also the same lives that we are quick to disregard when it comes to very real and potential violence that they will experience? As we have recently seen from the RCMP reports on Missing and Murdered Indigenous women, their lives and their choice to engage in selling or trading sex determine how the RCMP responds to their murders, their disappearances. The RCMP notes that Aboriginal women make up 4.3% of the entire population and the number of homicide victims who were also Aboriginal women selling/trading sex? 12%. The RCMP dismissed this number, in comparison to non-Aboriginal women (5%), as being insignificant.[4] When it comes to the number of homicide victims who are also Aboriginal women and who use drugs, the numbers are even more alarming. The RCMP report states that 63% of homicide victims who are Aboriginal women also use drugs/substances prior to their death. If 99% of the women working on the street are using drugs and over 90% of these women are also Aboriginal, it would be a dangerous initiative to undertake and to admit to pushing these same women to the outskirts of town all in the name of “protection.” But, I mean, well, that’s the end game in this push for end demand: get rid of the prostitute, to get rid of prostitution.

[1] http://www.drps.ca/annual_report/2010/DRPS_final_2010.pdf; http://www.thestar.com/news/crime/2010/04/24/oshawa_sex_ring_bust_sweeps_up_68yearold_prostitute.html; http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/ontario-police-net-100-in-prostitution-sweep/article4316123/
[2] http://www.canlii.org/en/on/onsc/doc/2010/2010onsc2116/2010onsc2116.html?resultIndex=4

[3]http://thechronicleherald.ca/novascotia/1309842-27-men-face-charges-in-sydney-prostitution-crackdown

[4] http://www.rcmp-grc.gc.ca/pubs/mmaw-faapd-eng.pdf

This post is in response to previous post entitled, “Dear First Year Indigenous Law Student.” After that post, a wonderful friend and law school peer of mine commented on the post. I wanted to give her the adequate space to voice her comment and I also wanted others to see her comment in a more nuanced way. This is that post.

---

My good friend Naomi posted on her blog the challenges (said nicely) about being an indigenous law student.[1] It really can be a daily challenge. There are constant personal, social, and cultural challenges that we navigate ourselves through. It can become a very isolating experience if we don’t take advantage of the assistance that is available.

I must share a bit of personal background before I go on to explain what I mean.

A particular life changing experience happened when I was about 6 years old.[2] My father had committed suicide, leaving my mom, my sister and two of my brothers to fend for ourselves. My mom was a housewife, and so her reliance and partnership was left void by what could appear to be an instant decision.  I really don’t want to dwell on it for this blog. Maybe I’ll share it at some other point, but I must continue with my background.

My mom wasn’t my mom anymore. My sister and I had to take care of her and our brothers. We took over, as we had no choice. We cooked, cleaned and cashed the government checks when they arrived.  Unfortunately, for all of us, the government intervened at several times. My sister and brothers were separated, not only from our mother but from each other. However, we were not always separated from each other. When she had the energy, our mom fought ferociously to take us back. So, we were in and out of state care throughout our childhood.

When I was younger, I hated that my siblings and I couldn’t be with our mom and when we were with her, there was depression, addiction, and anger. As an adult, I reflect on how strong my mom was for us; however, while I was young, I hadn’t thought so. Now, I realize that my mom was doing what she could with the realities given to her. On top of grieving for losing her husband, she had also been grieving the loss of other family members and been dealing with the struggles of residential school experiences.

In all those years that I was going to different families, schools and communities, I was being told that I should get an education and that I should always help people. I held on to those messages. Long story short, I obtained my education, while having children. It was all a lot of super hard work and I helped people whenever I could.

Throughout all this time, my mom ingrained in me that I would go to law school. I rebelled against her and “only” obtained a bachelors degree. But this dream that she gave me, stayed with me all this time.

After having decided I wouldn’t have any more children and having had a good career, I finally spoke with my common law husband about going to law school. He supported me and continues to do so. I am now in my second year and still have so much to reflect on.

To get back to what I wanted to share, my perspective on a legal education that I am receiving tends to be that of tremendous appreciation. I absolutely know that I shouldn’t be here. The odds were stacked against me. Having said this, I still feel the struggles of being a student. I’m not the wide-eyed naïve person who goes in blindly. The struggles really can be categorized into personal, social and cultural struggles.

Personally, as students, we challenge ourselves to learn everyday. We sacrifice all our time to read cases about lives who have fallen into the legal system. We are forced to reflect on how our own personal history will affect our legal career later. We are always faced with daunting questions and we are always learning to navigate this system that is still so foreign to aboriginal people.

Socially, we go to classes, knowing that there is an “in” and “out” group. We have the rich, privileged students, the other minorities like people with a Muslim heritage, mature students, and (yes) aboriginal students.  Socially, everyone likes to appear super smart and super prepared; meanwhile, I bet you all of us, inside, we are all stressed out because we’re all not sure if we focused on the right issue doing our readings. It is too easy to fall through the cracks of existing support mechanisms, by focusing on the social aspect of obtaining a legal education.

Finally, cultural oppression is prevalent. Our legal system is very much still entrenched in colonial history. Like one of my professors said “it is still called the Indian Act” in substantiating why he still uses the term “Indian” in reference to calling Musqueam people, Musqueam Indians.

So you ask, how do I get through this?

I take this legal education as a responsibility. Yes, because my mom said so, but also because aboriginal history demands it. All too often, mainstream Canada is not aware of our realities. And if we keep choosing to be silent about our realities, we are doing a disservice to our future including future aboriginal law students. I am doing what I can for truth and I am doing what I can for reconciliation.

[1] https://kwetoday.com/2015/09/25/dear-first-year-indigenous-law-student/

[2] I am so bad with age. I was 28 for two years. I’m not even 43 and I’ve been telling people that I am, because I sincerely thought I was.

---

Lori is from Nunavut, she is proud of her Inuit heritage and is hopeful for the future of Nunavut. She has a large family, and super appreciates the support she continues to receive from them as she enters her second year of law school at the University of Ottawa. 

Thank you Mr. Rock for writing your opinion article in the University of Ottawa’s Independent Student Newspaper, Fulcrum. I never read it until I saw the words, “I found it hard to admit to myself that I had a mental health issue,” across the front page. Thank you for taking the time to share a vulnerable time in your life. Thank you for sharing the services available to students on campus. Still, I have to disagree with you writing about the changes to mental health services available on campus. There is still limited access to confidential counselling and from what is available, there are still long waiting lists.

I arrived in Ottawa last Fall. I was a first year common law student at the University. I was excited, nervous and anxious all at the same time. I knew what I needed to do to help me become more situated in Ottawa: finding a family doctor. I called the University of Ottawa health services asking for a doctor who was accepting patients. I was able to get into to see a doctor not shortly after this call and I am grateful for this doctor. However, at the time, I was facing extremely stressful situations (from harassment to abusive online targeting/stalking)–situations that are hard to explain because the usual questions that follow insinuate that I don’t know what is going on with my life. It was not long that I had to ask this doctor for help with thoughts that I didn’t want to deal with anymore: suicidal ideation. I had these thoughts before and I knew that I needed help by talking to someone, to help me deal with the stress of having these thoughts.

One day, I told my doctor that I was feeling anxious again and that I needed help with medication. I hate taking the medication but I know that I need some extra help sometimes because the cute, warm, fuzzy “let’s meditate” to get over anxiety doesn’t always work for me. She began asking questions: do you believe you are being followed? Well, it depends. Do you believe that people are after you? Well, it depends. I left that meeting with my doctor that worse off than I had gone in. I felt alone, isolated, and frustrated. I left feeling scared that my doctor may call the police (because that has happened before) all in an effort to “protect” me and I took the rest of the day off. My appointment to see someone wasn’t until December and the first time I asked for help? October. These are from the same services you list as being easier to access in your article. Sure, I am thankful for my doctor and I am thankful she listens to me today.

At the time, however, I tried to call all the numbers you listed in your article and I asked to talk to someone in person. I already know that talking on the phone doesn’t help me. I already know that if I talk openly about my suicidal ideation that there is the possibility that I could have police barging into my apartment, knocking down my door (yes, that has happened before). And after I phoned a few numbers, I experienced the ole’ “we are too busy until months from now” just as you had experienced many years before.

As an Indigenous student, one of many on campus, I know that I am not alone. We exist in a strange world where we want to be successful but the burden of sometimes being alone and away from family for a long time doesn’t help. Today, I am able to have a prescription for the medication that I need to help me through those hard times but I am still without counselling on campus. I am paying (thankfully I have a friend who does offer these services) for a counsellor who can understand and appreciate my unique experiences as an Indigenous woman with sex working experience (because of the stigma associated with sex work, the discrimination I experience from mental health/health professionals prevents me from talking openly about the help I need).

So, my story isn’t unique. There are other Indigenous students, like me, with similar experiences on campus. While I thank you for sharing your story and for introducing me to the student newspaper (because I would have never read it otherwise), I still believe that the university has a lot of work to do in terms of mental health services they offer to the students, especially the Indigenous students.

Concerned Indigenous law student.