What I'm going to read today is a poem by Jimmy Edgar. He was here at the martial law from 1950 to 1960. He's Anishinaabe from Skogag Island. When people say get over the martial or get over residential school, when you listen to his words, you're going to realize how lasting the impacts are there forever. So this is what he's given me permission to read today. There is a place I know far, far away where we get mush and milk three times a day. Oh Canada, do you think we should be proud? Oh Canada, to sing your name out loud. The forgotten ones you scattered in the wind have come back to haunt you now, my friend. Oh Canada, your home upon my home. I grew up in the school of racial genocide, self-hate and shame, always walking by my side. You changed my tongue, tried to chain my mind, to turn me into a different kind. Oh Canada, your home upon my home. Many scars covered over, many here to stay on our children now, and those who are on the way. Many struggle each day trying to find the door to hear grandmother's voice as we did before. Oh Canada, your home upon my home. The so-called men of God who gave us care, many were perverts, and I'm sure you were aware. They prayed on us, both girls and boys, fulfilling their fantasies, but left us destroyed. May you hang your head in shame, oh Canada. So many brothers gone now, so many sisters too, who were chained in the mind when you broke our families, you sealed our fate. We hope for our children that it's not too late, oh Canada, your home upon my home. Reconcile with you, I cannot do. You have everything, how your wealth grew. What do we have? Broken treaties, church crap, many little children who will never come back? Oh Canada, your home upon my home. When I came home, I knew no one there, ten years in the mushyl, but a lifetime of despair. Still I struggle each day trying to find the door to speak in grandmother's voice as we did before. May your God forgive you, oh Canada, for I cannot. Jimmy Edgar.