Orange Anger Poem by Silas Rosalie Dumont

They bleached my skin
They cut my hair
To hear my tongue they could not bear
They took my parents
Took my faith
A lineage gone without a trace
We tried to run
We tried to hide
Softly in the night we cried
But in the morning when we woke
Harshly to us the teachers spoke
"You foul savage
You pagan ward! "
They did the damage
In the way of the Lord
We were beaten,
Raped, abused
Not one of us had not been bruised
Some nights a group of boys, they would
Try to run out into the wood
They never failed to catch them then
To make them suffer in that den

I am the inconvenient Indian
The pagan savage of the plains
I am the feather-wearing yahoo
Who dances for the rain

I am the Inuk girl of many names
Each one reveals more power
Stripped of this, a number given
By which henceforth I would be known
Coming home from school, I was not home among my own

I am the little Métis boy, the half-breed of Batoche
They found me in the church
There guarding the prized silver, a people's revolt botched
And they took our people's church bell
Marie-Antoinette
They melted her to ingots, what for they would not tell

I am Jordan in the hospital, dying as the money's not been found
The governments not wanting to pay, debating which would wear that crown

I am the girl carrying her sister, when she is stabbed with bayonet
On an autumn day in Oka
In the confusion and the haze

I am the fishermen of Listuguj
I am the Dene in the north
I am the Wet'suwet'en lands violated
I am calling you all forth

Why should we celebrate this past
Why should we give a cheer
When we've scarcely had the time to heal
From all that's been said here
We take no pride in genocide
Cancel this day
For the kids who died

215 Kamloops
June 2021