Meet Senator Michèle Audette
Senator Michèle Audette is known as an advocate for Indigenous women’s rights.
At the age of 27, she was elected president of the Quebec Native Women’s Association. From 2012 to 2016, she was president of the Native Women’s Association of Canada. She was also named one of the five commissioners of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls.
Throughout her exceptional career, Senator Audette dreamed of joining the Red Chamber.
Learn more about this Innu and Quebecois woman, her life in the community of Uashat mak Mani-utenam, and her work as an advocate and senator.
You’ve been involved in advocacy for Indigenous women literally since you were born. Could you tell us the incredible story of your birth and how it influenced your commitment to this cause?
My mother was pregnant with me when she and my father were travelling by train to Schefferville, a town in northeastern Quebec. At the time, this train had specific cars for “savages,” or “Indians,” as they were called then. As my mother tells it, I decided to come into the world on this train. A helicopter then flew us to the nearest hospital, in Labrador, because we were in the middle of the forest.
I arrived quickly and was very small, but I had disrupted the train’s journey. That’s why my mother always told me, “You were born to disrupt!”
I didn’t deliberately choose to become an activist. It was a calling imposed on me from birth by an incident on a segregated train.
From an early age, you dreamed of becoming a senator. What motivated you to join the Red Chamber, and how does your career correspond to your youthful aspirations?
When I was a child, I didn’t know the Senate existed. I grew up in Schefferville in the woods and mines with my father. I spent my time in the rivers and lakes with my Innu family and my Quebecois dad. I lived in an Innu, French and English environment.
After my parents divorced, my mother no longer had a home, so we lived in tents in the summer and basements or sheds in the winter. This period, from age 11 to 14, was a fun adventure for me.
In the meantime, I went to day school, what we call an “Indian day school,” or a boarding school that had become a day school. It wasn’t pretty. So, at some point, I decided to go to live with my father in Montréal to continue my high school education.
At my community’s band council, I met a Quebecois woman who had become an “Indian” by marrying a local man. She said, “I’m an Indian and my son can go to school and get a scholarship. You’re white, Michèle.” Her son was white with freckles. She explained that she had married an Indian, so she had become an Indian. But my mother, who married a white man, had become a white, even after the divorce. I went back to my mother, angry. She explained that Indian women who married white men were expelled from the band and the community.
My mother told me that I had always been Innu, but that the law didn’t recognize me as such. So I got involved with the Native Friendship Centre of Montréal, which was an important school of life for me, a place where I could find people like me. Later, in my twenties, I realized that Ottawa was where the laws were made, including the Indian Act.
Later, as a young president of Quebec Native Women, I had to make a presentation to the human rights committee about changing the Indian Act. I said, “Why would I go there? They’re all white. They’re all old. They don’t understand anything about our lives.” But I went, and on the way out, I realized that those senators were brilliant people who understood my story. That’s when I told myself that, when I’m older, I’ll go to the Senate to change the Indian Act.
At your swearing-in ceremony, you made history by reciting your oath in Innu. Could you explain the significance of that moment and what it meant to you personally?
I’ll let you in on a secret: as the date of my swearing-in ceremony approached, I was thinking of playing a trick on the Senate. I planned to recite my oath in Innu-Aimun, convinced that no one could stop me because we’d be live and no one could throw me out. But during the preparations, the Senate staff, everyone who welcomed us, asked me, “Senator, could you tell us what language you’re going to choose?” I thought, “I can’t play a trick on the Senate. They’re way ahead of me!” Then they asked me if I wanted a bible or feathers for the swearing-in. I was deeply moved.
In 2010, I was denied my eagle feathers when I had to appear before the senators. I had walked from Wendake, Quebec, to Ottawa. While I was walking, people gave me feathers or sacred objects. But when I arrived at Parliament, I couldn’t bring my things inside the buildings.
However, for my swearing-in ceremony, I was able to enter the Senate Chamber wearing my ribbon skirt, a gift I’d been given for the event mobilizing people on behalf of Joyce Echaquan, an Atikamekw woman who died in the Joliette hospital as a result of systemic racism. I had the feather and the moccasins with me.
You were president of Quebec Native Women and the Native Women’s Association of Canada. You were also a commissioner of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. As a senator, how can you continue to advocate for the rights of Indigenous women?
Every day, whether formally or informally, I get involved — for example, by sponsoring a bill that I know will have a positive or significant impact on a region or on many Indigenous women. I do this at committee, during studies or when it is my turn to speak.
For many people back home, getting involved this way doesn’t come naturally; it’s not our government, it’s not our place. But I explain to them that if we’re not here in these institutions, people will make decisions without us.
That’s why we must keep on demonstrating, mobilizing, writing, singing, teaching and getting involved in systems. We need to be everywhere, even in areas where change is much slower or more difficult and where there isn’t always support for change. It’s by being here that we can have an influence.
You are a member of the Senate Committee on Indigenous Peoples and have served on several other committees, including the Senate Committee on Human Rights and the Senate Committee on Official Languages. Has any committee work stood out to you so far?
At the official languages committee, the discussions surrounding Bill C-13, An Act for the Substantive Equality of Canada's Official Languages, were very emotional and important for francophone minority communities.
But it was essential to point out that other Indigenous languages were not on the table. My intention was not to stop the bill, but rather to remind the committee of this reality. If we don’t ask these questions in committee, they risk being forgotten.
Since I arrived, the senators on the steering committee of the Senate Committee on Indigenous Peoples asked me how we could prioritize the National Inquiry’s calls for justice. I told them that everything is a priority. But if we had to pick one or two, I’d say it would be accountability mechanisms. From there, the committee produced reports. Studies were then carried out that eventually led the government to appoint two special representatives to submit reports showing us what an ombudsperson’s office might look like and what a tribunal on the rights of Indigenous peoples might look like. For me, this is the power of committees.
Name one thing most Canadians probably don’t know about you.
Canadians may not know that I have five children and two granddaughters. I also welcome and adopt many people spiritually. I wrap them in love to make sure they’re not wanting for anything. I’m like a mom. So Canadians don’t know that I have a family across Canada whom I quietly look after.
As an Innu and Quebecois woman, what aspects of your heritage are you particularly proud of?
I love my Innu side because it’s welcoming, generous and humorous. And my Quebecois side has a unique identity and will fight to protect the French language. I’m proud to be part of both cultures.
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Meet Senator Michèle Audette
Senator Michèle Audette is known as an advocate for Indigenous women’s rights.
At the age of 27, she was elected president of the Quebec Native Women’s Association. From 2012 to 2016, she was president of the Native Women’s Association of Canada. She was also named one of the five commissioners of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls.
Throughout her exceptional career, Senator Audette dreamed of joining the Red Chamber.
Learn more about this Innu and Quebecois woman, her life in the community of Uashat mak Mani-utenam, and her work as an advocate and senator.
You’ve been involved in advocacy for Indigenous women literally since you were born. Could you tell us the incredible story of your birth and how it influenced your commitment to this cause?
My mother was pregnant with me when she and my father were travelling by train to Schefferville, a town in northeastern Quebec. At the time, this train had specific cars for “savages,” or “Indians,” as they were called then. As my mother tells it, I decided to come into the world on this train. A helicopter then flew us to the nearest hospital, in Labrador, because we were in the middle of the forest.
I arrived quickly and was very small, but I had disrupted the train’s journey. That’s why my mother always told me, “You were born to disrupt!”
I didn’t deliberately choose to become an activist. It was a calling imposed on me from birth by an incident on a segregated train.
From an early age, you dreamed of becoming a senator. What motivated you to join the Red Chamber, and how does your career correspond to your youthful aspirations?
When I was a child, I didn’t know the Senate existed. I grew up in Schefferville in the woods and mines with my father. I spent my time in the rivers and lakes with my Innu family and my Quebecois dad. I lived in an Innu, French and English environment.
After my parents divorced, my mother no longer had a home, so we lived in tents in the summer and basements or sheds in the winter. This period, from age 11 to 14, was a fun adventure for me.
In the meantime, I went to day school, what we call an “Indian day school,” or a boarding school that had become a day school. It wasn’t pretty. So, at some point, I decided to go to live with my father in Montréal to continue my high school education.
At my community’s band council, I met a Quebecois woman who had become an “Indian” by marrying a local man. She said, “I’m an Indian and my son can go to school and get a scholarship. You’re white, Michèle.” Her son was white with freckles. She explained that she had married an Indian, so she had become an Indian. But my mother, who married a white man, had become a white, even after the divorce. I went back to my mother, angry. She explained that Indian women who married white men were expelled from the band and the community.
My mother told me that I had always been Innu, but that the law didn’t recognize me as such. So I got involved with the Native Friendship Centre of Montréal, which was an important school of life for me, a place where I could find people like me. Later, in my twenties, I realized that Ottawa was where the laws were made, including the Indian Act.
Later, as a young president of Quebec Native Women, I had to make a presentation to the human rights committee about changing the Indian Act. I said, “Why would I go there? They’re all white. They’re all old. They don’t understand anything about our lives.” But I went, and on the way out, I realized that those senators were brilliant people who understood my story. That’s when I told myself that, when I’m older, I’ll go to the Senate to change the Indian Act.
At your swearing-in ceremony, you made history by reciting your oath in Innu. Could you explain the significance of that moment and what it meant to you personally?
I’ll let you in on a secret: as the date of my swearing-in ceremony approached, I was thinking of playing a trick on the Senate. I planned to recite my oath in Innu-Aimun, convinced that no one could stop me because we’d be live and no one could throw me out. But during the preparations, the Senate staff, everyone who welcomed us, asked me, “Senator, could you tell us what language you’re going to choose?” I thought, “I can’t play a trick on the Senate. They’re way ahead of me!” Then they asked me if I wanted a bible or feathers for the swearing-in. I was deeply moved.
In 2010, I was denied my eagle feathers when I had to appear before the senators. I had walked from Wendake, Quebec, to Ottawa. While I was walking, people gave me feathers or sacred objects. But when I arrived at Parliament, I couldn’t bring my things inside the buildings.
However, for my swearing-in ceremony, I was able to enter the Senate Chamber wearing my ribbon skirt, a gift I’d been given for the event mobilizing people on behalf of Joyce Echaquan, an Atikamekw woman who died in the Joliette hospital as a result of systemic racism. I had the feather and the moccasins with me.
You were president of Quebec Native Women and the Native Women’s Association of Canada. You were also a commissioner of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. As a senator, how can you continue to advocate for the rights of Indigenous women?
Every day, whether formally or informally, I get involved — for example, by sponsoring a bill that I know will have a positive or significant impact on a region or on many Indigenous women. I do this at committee, during studies or when it is my turn to speak.
For many people back home, getting involved this way doesn’t come naturally; it’s not our government, it’s not our place. But I explain to them that if we’re not here in these institutions, people will make decisions without us.
That’s why we must keep on demonstrating, mobilizing, writing, singing, teaching and getting involved in systems. We need to be everywhere, even in areas where change is much slower or more difficult and where there isn’t always support for change. It’s by being here that we can have an influence.
You are a member of the Senate Committee on Indigenous Peoples and have served on several other committees, including the Senate Committee on Human Rights and the Senate Committee on Official Languages. Has any committee work stood out to you so far?
At the official languages committee, the discussions surrounding Bill C-13, An Act for the Substantive Equality of Canada's Official Languages, were very emotional and important for francophone minority communities.
But it was essential to point out that other Indigenous languages were not on the table. My intention was not to stop the bill, but rather to remind the committee of this reality. If we don’t ask these questions in committee, they risk being forgotten.
Since I arrived, the senators on the steering committee of the Senate Committee on Indigenous Peoples asked me how we could prioritize the National Inquiry’s calls for justice. I told them that everything is a priority. But if we had to pick one or two, I’d say it would be accountability mechanisms. From there, the committee produced reports. Studies were then carried out that eventually led the government to appoint two special representatives to submit reports showing us what an ombudsperson’s office might look like and what a tribunal on the rights of Indigenous peoples might look like. For me, this is the power of committees.
Name one thing most Canadians probably don’t know about you.
Canadians may not know that I have five children and two granddaughters. I also welcome and adopt many people spiritually. I wrap them in love to make sure they’re not wanting for anything. I’m like a mom. So Canadians don’t know that I have a family across Canada whom I quietly look after.
As an Innu and Quebecois woman, what aspects of your heritage are you particularly proud of?
I love my Innu side because it’s welcoming, generous and humorous. And my Quebecois side has a unique identity and will fight to protect the French language. I’m proud to be part of both cultures.