Honourable senators, in June we celebrate National Indigenous History Month.

My intention was to speak to you of the many Indigenous good news stories coming out of Mi’kmaqi: The new greenhouse supporting food security in Potlotek; Membertou residents Armand Paul and Madison Joe graduating from Dalhousie Law School; Paqt’nkek building its own school so children can learn their Mi’kmaq language and culture; Tom and Carol Anne Johnson of Eskasoni bringing their Mi’kmaq language to “Chicken Run” and the hit show “Vikings;” Mi’kmaq artist Alan Syliboy with students at Pictou Landing painting Mi’kmaq petroglyphs on a boat to be displayed at the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic; Mi’kmaw Kina’matnewey, the 12 community education collectives receiving the Governor General’s Innovation Awards for leadership and success in language, culture and identity promotion while achieving 90% graduation rates.

Honourable senators, I could go on because there is so much to celebrate, but, like you, I am reeling from the heartbreaking and horrific news of the discovery of the remains of the 215 First Nations children at the Kamloops Indian Residential School.

What can one say? It is hard to fathom the individual, institutional and societal acts of cruelty perpetrated against these young innocents, their families and their communities. Why did it happen? Why was it tolerated? Where is the humanity? Where is the respect? Where is the love? Where is the law?

What do we do now? We mourn and name the children. We push for fulfillment of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action and the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls’ Calls for Justice. We advance legislation to protect human rights, to advance self-determination and to educate about these shameful truths. But what do we do about our relationships?

Mi’kmaq Grand Chief Norman Sylliboy is teaching me about Ta’n Wetapeksi’k, which means understanding where we come from, a concept critical for reconciliation. Understanding where we come from requires listening and honouring.

Honourable senators, in that spirit I conclude by sharing these words of Rita Joe, Mi’kmaq poet and Shubenacadie residential school survivor.

I lost my talk

The talk you took away.

When I was a little girl

At Shubenacadie School.

You snatched it away:

I speak like you

I think like you

I create like you

The scrambled ballad, about my word.

Two ways I talk

Both ways I say,

Your way is more powerful.

So gently I offer my hand and ask,

Let me find my talk.

So I can teach you about me.

Wela’lioq.