Thread by @sunnshiiny

This article breaks my heart. Reading what happened and failing to find evidence of discrimination is disheartening.

The family is reduced to being satisfied with admission of fault, but no admission of systemic racism because lack of evidence.

https://twitter.com/willowfiddler/status/1373297138227056642

Had anyone else been treated in this manner, those police would have been fired. Imagine being asked if you were drinking because of profound grief and shock. Having your privacy rights trampled while in intense grief. Being approached at your murdered son’s wake.

Misleading propaganda half truths spread to build community animus towards your son. Indigenous witnesses treated like guilty scum, white witnesses handled with kid gloves and given permission to collude their version of events.

Intentionally allowing evidence to be destroyed. Leaving lawyers a battle over perception uninformed by hard facts.

Surrounding the trailer like it’s under siege.

But that’s not racism? WTF is then?

I’m heart broken for this family. I have an 18 year old son. I can’t imagine the grief is feel if he were shot for trespassing and then his friends were treated like drunk bums, jailed until they sobered up enough to be questioned

My son has volunteered to drive his friends home after drinking several times. He and his friends take turns, but it’s most often my son because he doesn’t like the feeling of being drunk. He’s responsible. And so are his friends.

How many times have I been sitting and waiting for him to get home. Dinner on the counter and the ever present worrying of a doting mom? Too many to count.

These events hit close to home.

I lost my brother to murder almost 19 years ago. I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with my 18 year old son. He looks and acts so much like his uncle it’s uncanny.

When my brother died the RCMP called my mom. She was so devastated she couldn’t call me.

My other brother called. And we all met at the Stoney Plain hospital. Nurses warned me I might go into labour from grief and shock.

But I had to see him. I wailed and cried like a baby. I talked to him because I knew it was the last time I could. I told him I would miss him.

And I do. Although we were 4 years apart in age we were close.

I’d defended him so many times when we were kids. His dark skin made him a target. My size and four years of age older made me an effective protector. My academic prowess & respect from teachers made me trustworthy.

I argued with principals and my brothers teachers often. Far more effectively than my mom who just yelled. He was dreamer and brilliant. At five he dismantled the very expensive remote control car my mom had bought him. He put it back together without a problem. I was amazed!

I had the intellect and the gift of gab. He had the imagination and memory of an elephant and loved building things.

My son is just like him. So much my other brother and I think it’s creepy and weird. Quiet and sensitive. Imaginative and brilliant.

When he died the police did nothing. They assumed his intoxication was self induced. Just another high Indian who lost the battle with drugs. About 2 months later the toxicology tests confirmed it was drugs. Enough to kill 25 humans. It was murder.

We already knew that because his business account had been emptied of the money he used for payroll. He had started a small house building company with an investment of my grandmother’s life savings. Some of his employees were. His murderers.

The police ignored any outward signs and never investigated.

My mother never got over her grief and indignation at how his death was treated.

I never grieved properly. I was less than 2 weeks from giving birth. I promised my son I would not be a bad mother because of grief. And I wasn’t. I was always there for him and always present. When he slept I cried and grieved alone.

My brother was not a perfect human being. He had faults like any other person. But he was treated like scum for most of his life. Because the colour of his skin was darker than what was acceptable. He was thoughtful, caring and sensitive. And I still miss him so much.

The people who murdered him are still out there, free to do whatever they want. The police chalked it up to indigenous over dose. They never even opened a file. He was nothing to them. But he was something to me and my family.

Just like Colton Boushie was a son, a brother and a friend.

Indigenous people are human beings. We hurt and bleed just like other human beings.

We just want a society that our loved ones can thrive. Not be beat down, snuffed out and forgotten.

Why is that too much to ask?

Why must we continue to fight to be treated like a human being? With dignity and acknowledgement of our emotions and family bonds? And consideration for our lost loved ones? Why don’t we deserve justice too? Are we all not just people? Why is skin colour so important to some?

And why are those people still in power when the majority do not use skin colour as a test of human worth?

Commissioner Lucki has lost my confidence. What would constitute systemic racism if this case isn’t enough?

What will become of the officers who did this? Nothing.

A slap on the wrist, cautioned to do better next time. Sensitivity training (like you can teach sensitivity) and maybe a letter on their work file.

Meanwhile a mother lost her son. Her concerns were barely acknowledged.

Her pain labeled as a concern but not enough to change the system.

When will racism stop to be acceptable? Those who can change it can’t even acknowledge its existence. We wonder why indigenous youth commit suicide at several times the rate of ROC.

Wonder no more. It’s this.

It’s hopelessness to escape life long discrimination. The deck stacked against you. Never being able to attain justice, dignity and full human status.

Some can’t face a life filled with endless hurdles to overcome.

What hope is there to cling to with outcomes like this?