Hon. Judy A. White: Thank you to my colleague and friend, Senator LaBoucane-Benson, for initiating this inquiry.
Honourable senators, I want you to imagine for a moment what it would feel like to sit across from your grandmother as she tells you about the hardest experiences of her life. Imagine hearing her describe the moment she was taken from her family as a child — age 7, 6, 5 or maybe even younger — against her will, possibly by force, and separated from everything she knew and loved.
Imagine listening as she tells you she was punished for speaking her language, the only one she knew.
Imagine when she tells you how she was made to feel ashamed of who she was; how she endured physical abuse and, in some cases, sexual abuse; and how the loneliness, fear and trauma never fully left her.
Then imagine someone standing before her and denying the reality she lived, telling her that her abuse was exaggerated, her suffering overstated and the trauma she carried for a lifetime was somehow remembered incorrectly — not only rejecting her story but rejecting her truth, her pain and her humanity. Imagine what it means to have your truth denied after finding the courage to finally tell it.
Most Canadians would find that unthinkable. Yet that is exactly what residential school denialism does. It tells Survivors that their truth is negotiable and families that their pain is debatable. It tells Indigenous people that, even after finding the courage to speak, they must still fight to be believed. And that is why residential school denialism is so dangerous. It is not only an attack on history; it is an attack on people.
Today, I will speak about residential school denialism, what it is, how it’s manifested, why it threatens reconciliation and why understanding history — including the experiences of Indigenous Peoples in Newfoundland and Labrador — is essential if we’re going to move forward.
Residential school denialism is often misunderstood. Many people assume it refers only to those who claim that residential schools never existed. While outright denial does occur, it is not the most common form. Scholars Sean Carleton and Niigaan Sinclair define residential denialism as:
The rejection, minimization, distortion or misrepresentation of basic facts about residential schooling in ways that undermine public understanding and weaken reconciliation efforts.
But colleagues, in practice, denialism frequently appears in much more subtle forms. It appears when people suggest that residential schools were largely beneficial. It appears when people portray these institutions as well-intended education projects. It appears when Survivor testimony is questioned or dismissed. It appears when documented harms are minimized. And it appears whenever the devastating impacts of residential schools are treated as matters of opinion rather than matters of historical fact.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission, or TRC, was unequivocal in its findings. Residential schools were not simply educational institutions; they were part of a broader policy aimed at eliminating Indigenous cultures, languages, identities and ways of life. The TRC described this as a cultural genocide. That truth is difficult, but difficult truths do not become less true because they make us uncomfortable. Indeed, a commitment to truth and a commitment to reconciliation are inseparable. If we are unwilling to understand the realities of the colonial violence of residential schooling, we cannot meaningfully address its consequences.
As a Mi’kmaw woman, I find the persistence of denialism not only deeply painful but infuriating. Every act of denial reopens old wounds, diminishes the voices of survivors and undermines the very foundations of truth and reconciliation.
Throughout my adult life, I have tried to approach the world through the principle of two-eyed seeing. Colleagues, I know you are all familiar with it now; thank you. One eye sees the evidence: the records, the reports, the testimony of survivors, the findings of commissions and inquiries and the overwhelming historical documentation of what occurred. My other eye sees the human reality: the grief carried by families, the loss of language, the disruption of culture, the trauma passed through generations and the resilience of communities that continue to try to heal.
Looking through both eyes, I can’t reconcile them; I can’t find a place where denialism stands. It is not a difference of opinion; it is a rejection of truth and an insult to those who lived it. It fails the tests of evidence and humanity, and it has no place in our society.
What makes residential school denialism particularly dangerous and what I am most afraid of is that it reflects the same colonial mindset that created residential schools in the first place. It is rooted in the belief that Indigenous voices can be dismissed. It is rooted in the belief that Indigenous experiences are less credible. It is rooted in the belief that someone else can determine what is true about Indigenous lives. It is rooted in the belief that Indigenous Peoples should remain silent if their truths make others uncomfortable.
That mindset did not disappear when the last residential school closed in 1996-97. It survives whenever Indigenous Peoples are told that their lived experiences are open to debate. It survives when survivor testimonies are questioned. It survives whenever people seek to rewrite history in order to protect comfort rather than confront truth.
In recent years, denialism has spread through online platforms and social media. The speed and scale of digital communication allow misinformation to circulate wildly. However, denialism does not remain only online; it has consequences in the real world. When people deny, minimize or distort the harms of residential schools, they contribute to the broader patterns of anti-Indigenous racism and hostility.
Denialism creates an environment in which Indigenous Peoples are once again forced to defend their experiences rather than focus on their healing. We’ve seen many examples. Just recently, as my colleague highlighted, when extremist groups target Indigenous communities, especially communities that have become symbols of truth-telling and reconciliation, we must recognize the wider significance of those actions. Denialism and other forms of anti-Indigenous hatred are connected by a common thread: the belief that some histories matter more than others and that some voices should be trusted, while others should be ignored.
As senators, we must reject these notions entirely.
Colleagues, I want to turn now to the experiences of my home province of Newfoundland and Labrador. The history of residential schools — boarding schools, as we called them — in Newfoundland and Labrador is not always well understood in the broader Canadian conversation. When my province joined Confederation in 1949, a number of privately operated boarding schools already existed throughout Labrador and northern Newfoundland. Although these institutions were not administered in exactly the same manner as federally funded residential schools elsewhere in Canada, they shared many of the same objectives and many of the same consequences. Those schools were part of the broader efforts to reshape Indigenous lives and cultures. Government policies encouraged Indigenous families to keep children enrolled through various incentive programs. These efforts were connected to larger attempts to settle Indigenous Peoples and disrupt traditional ways of life, particularly among Inuit and Innu communities in Labrador.
The Moravian Church established missions and operated boarding schools in communities, including Nain and Makkovik. Those missions sought to convert Inuit Peoples to Christianity and often discouraged and prohibited traditional cultural practices and their belief systems.
At the same time, the International Grenfell Association operated additional schools throughout Labrador and northern Newfoundland, including in places such as North West River, Cartwright, Mary’s Harbour, Muddy Bay and St. Anthony.
Over generations, thousands of Indigenous children attended these institutions. Like residential schools elsewhere in Canada, these schools separated children from their families and communities, disrupted language transmission, eroded cultural identity and contributed to profound intergenerational trauma. They have left lasting social and economic consequences that continue to affect Inuit and Innu communities today.
When we speak about residential school denialism, we must remember that denialism does not only erase experiences in one part of Canada; it also erases the experiences of Labrador Inuit and Innu. It erases the experiences of families in Newfoundland and Labrador, whose stories were overlooked for decades.
For many survivors in my province, recognition came far too late. They were excluded from the 2008 federal apology that was offered to former students of residential schools. It was not until 2017 that a formal federal apology was delivered to survivors of residential and boarding schools in Newfoundland and Labrador. It was not until 2023 that the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador also issued an apology acknowledging the province’s role.
These apologies are important. Now, they do not undo the harm — no way — but they represented an important acknowledgement of truth. They affirmed what survivors have been saying for generations. They recognized that what happened was real. They recognized that the harms were profound. They recognized that reconciliation begins by listening to those who lived those experiences.
Denialism undermines that progress. It asks us to revisit questions that have already been asked and answered. It asks us to question people who have already demonstrated extraordinary courage by telling their stories. It asks us to create doubt when there should be only understanding. In doing so, it slows the work of reconciliation.
The Standing Senate Committee on Indigenous Peoples noted that denialism distracts Canadians from the horrific consequences of residential schools, including the realities surrounding missing children, burials and unmarked graves. That observation is critically important.
If you take anything away from what I have said today, this should be it: Denialism shifts attention away from the harms experienced by Indigenous children and toward debates that should no longer be happening.
The survivors have already done their part. They carried the burden of telling Canada what happened. Now Canada must do its part.
We must reject denialism wherever it appears. We must defend the truth whenever it is challenged. We must continue the work of reconciliation, not because it is politically convenient but because it is the right thing to do. It’s the right thing to do for all those children who never came home. It is the right thing to do for the survivors who found the courage to speak. It is the right thing to do for future generations who deserve a Canada that is not built on myth but on the truth.
Wela’lioq. Thank you.
Hon. Senators: Hear, hear!