Hey, White People, Pt. 5: Why Are You Still Going to Church?
Unless your Christian congregation is actively engaged in reparations work for Indigenous and First Nations peoples, and the survivors of the Catholic church's predators, you need to leave.
Hey, White People” is an ongoing series from “Recently” that examines white conduct in the contexts of social justice and decolonizing work.
CW: Indian Residential Schools, child abuse, Christianity
What happens when a child realizes that something is wrong?
This is not a question of eating broccoli. Nor a question of tooth-brushing, or homework-doing. This is a question of how we take responsibility for a child. Parents, family members, caretakers, educators, coaches— we all must walk this fine line between holding young people accountable for things they do not like doing (consuming green vegetables, writing sentences with vocabulary words) and protecting them when they feel, or we know, that something is wrong.
So what happens when a child is not heard? When a child feels something is not okay, or knows that something is unsafe for them, and say as much, only to be at best ignored, and at worst, forcibly silenced?
Ask the church.
I went to a political action on the morning of April 18th— Easter Monday. Organized by Toronto Indigenous Harm Reduction (TIHR), the event was devoted to memorializing the children harmed, and murdered, by the Indian Residential School System in the settler nation of canada (hereafter in this essay referred to as ‘canada’). The timing of this action was not one of convenience, in light of many Torontonians having the day off. It was purposeful. Because the history of canada and its treatment of First Peoples is incomplete without the inclusion of exactly how essential Christianity was to the enactment of centuries of genocide.
Between 1884 and the mid-1990s, one hundred and thirty nine residential schools incarcerated over 150,000 Indigenous children, as part of a full-scale federal agenda to eradicate First Peoples. Every one of those residential schools was operated by a Christian church— Anglican, Catholic, Mennonite, Methodist, Presbyterian, United. But the majority— over 75— of those schools were operated by Catholic parishes. Easter is a celebration of rebirth and everlasting love and compassion that Christians take especially seriously. Catholics, especially, love an Easter. So a demonstration on Easter Monday in observance of the centuries of violence against Indigenous peoples wrought by Christian churches— supposed fonts of rebirth and everlasting love— made total sense. Particularly in light of the last year’s worth of discoveries of mass graves on former residential school sites.
Over a thousand unmarked graves have been unearthed since Spring 2021, hundreds of them on the grounds of former Catholic residential schools. And as leaders in First Nations, Métis, and Inuit communities have been quick to point out, this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are still over one hundred school sites that have yet to be excavated. This means there is an enormous amount of nightmare left to go for these lost children and their descendant relatives and communities. So TIHR’s Easter Monday action didn’t just make sense calendrically (scheduling on a big Christian holiday). The action was necessary. Giving voice and visibility and shape to the harm done in the name of Christianity to generations of First Peoples was necessary. Because the entire conceit of residential schools was silence.
To permanently silence First Peoples. By silencing their children.
I can only speak for myself, but from where I’m sitting, it would appear that much of organized Christianity’s behavior in the last 400 years has been predicated on the stealing of young people’s voices. Various churches, especially the Catholic church, have preyed on children physically, sexually, and emotionally, and then coerced them into silence. And for the most part, that silencing has succeeded. Think about it. It’s only been:
~fifteen years since mainstream dialogues began to surface regarding different churches’ roles in the operations of Canadian and American Indian residential schools.
~one year since the Vatican has been called to account on an international scale reading the Church’s role in the genocide of First Peoples on Turtle Island between 1600 and the present day.
~twenty years since the rampant sexual predation of minors amongst the Catholic clergy was first covered by mainstream news.
~ten years since the sitting pope acknowledged said institutional predation, and began addressing it on a global scale.
To be clear, Christianity has been essential to imperialism as a whole over the last 1,000 years. It has not been a predator solely pursuing children, but a multi-headed villain fueling many deadly campaigns. Without the existence of the various churches, frankly, colonization on every one of Earth’s continents would’ve happened very differently (if it would’ve happened at all). After all, Christians were the ones getting onto boats with a stash of maggot-infested crackers in order to sail somewhere and take over in the name of god. Christians were the ones sending missionaries to faraway lands to “tame” the “savages” via teachings that, arguably, urge folks to not coerce or shame or judge others for who they are. Christians were the ones committing to eradicating millions of peoples in service of a god that, according to his various testaments, did not actually in any way condone violence between human beings. Christianity, in short, has long been a weapon of white supremacy. The world would not be on the brink that it currently is, had it not been for church.
From a young age, I struggled to understand why folks still went to church when they could’ve been serving their communities or exploring spirituality in a multitude of other ways. But in the last fifteen years, as I’ve gotten a handle on the ever-sharpening picture of what has been done to children in the name of, or under the protection of, Christianity, I have lost all semblance of confusion. It’s been replaced by an impatient rage. Because somehow, I have found arguments for the sanctity of congregations’s clothing drives and meal programs and visiting-the-elders initiatives to do nothing to address the fact that Christianity has been a tool of white supremacy, child genocide, and child predation for centuries.
During TIHR’s Easter Monday action, a residential school survivor spoke.
They shared what they experienced as a child and teenager at the hands of priests in an Alberta school, as well as what came after; how the violence of being physically and sexually abused repeatedly shaped their first decades of adulthood, what they had needed for healing, and how the recent discoveries of mass graves on former school grounds have wrought havoc on the peace they have so carefully worked to give themselves. The survivor spoke about what was done to them in the name of Christianity, and what it was a like to live through it, knowing full well that friends, family, classmates— many children whom they would never know— would not.
The survivor spoke about what it was like, knowing that they had known some of the children in the mass graves that have been discovered in the last twelve months. Knowing that there’s so much more to come, and how important it is to still find ways to live fully, in themselves and their Indigeneity, in the face of that approaching pain, on top of the pain of the past. Pain that was condoned by representatives of various sects of Christianity for years, in the name of their god.
You can make the “not all churches” argument. I know. I’ve heard it. I’ve heard about how what happened in the past is past, and that Christianity can be different, now; that since we “know better,” things can “be better.” That gay marriage is becoming “increasingly acceptable” and parishes are trying to be anti racist and that maybe reproductive rights are a real thing and church helps people give back But you know what?
We are still finding children’s bodies in the ground.
Survivors of Catholic priests’ predations are still speaking up.
The Pope JUST issued a formal apology for the Catholic Church’s role in residential school operations.
The threat of the clergy to young people still exists; it will never be fully washed away.
We are still finding children’s bodies in the ground.
What happens when a child is not heard?
Generations of children have been trying to speak for so long, even as the weight of Christian violence pressed down on them.
They still are speaking. Children from the grave, descendants of children, child survivors; they are speaking.
Listen.
White folks, if church is something in your life, speak to your clerics. Because even if you’re not in Canada, or North America, the crimes of Christianity transcend continental separation. The different sects of the religion have been used to inflict harm and upend lives for centuries. So meet with your clerics. Tell your pastors and priests and ministers that in light of Christianity’s past and present violences, the congregation must commit to taking action in support of those who have been the targets of those violences.
A church community can organize discussion groups focused on educating the community about the culpability of Christianity, and guiding the envisioning of a different future for the church. A church community can commit to the study of how the genocide of First Peoples is ongoing, even though residential school doors have all closed. A church community can raise money and reallocate money for survivor funds. A church community can hold its leaders accountable for composing and delivering services that tell the truth about how teachings have been used to inform, or excuse, systematic harm, and preserve white supremacy, for centuries. White folks, if you have a deep commitment to Christianity, commit to understanding the full, violent depth and breadth of it. Ask your congregation to join you in that work, to take responsibility for leading with that work. And if they refuse, go elsewhere.
Go to community actions to learn about the bloody legacy of Christianity. Move funds to support healing and reparative work in communities harmed by the church. Educate yourself about residential schools and the Catholic church’s years of covering up abusers, about the Christianity-fueled history of colonization. Learn about how genocide is still ongoing on Turtle Island. Speak with your friends and loved ones about that legacy, and what might be done, now. Volunteer in community kitchens, organize clothes drives and school supply drives and toy drives and food drives. Explore what faith is outside the confines of a church. Critically revisit the Bible and what you've been taught about god. Fill the spaces left by church with new and different ways to contribute to the world around you in order to bring Christian violence to an end.
We are still finding children’s bodies in the ground.
Listen.