A Tale of Unintended Consequences
Beginning in 1953, mission-minded Mennonites from various communities in the United States moved to a region of Northwestern Ontario, Canada. News of the remote Ojibwe and Oji-Cree villages of the area drove the powerful vision for a significant missionary movement radiating out of Red Lake, Ontario.
Within a decade, the new mission agency had recruited dozens of willing workers to live in communities accessible only by air travel—villages where modern conveniences were mostly unknown. The culture and message of the missionaries were shaped by Anabaptist history and conservative Mennonite faith and discipleship.
For at least two decades, this mission endeavor was favorably received and there was an encouraging response to the message of the gospel. Local churches formed in numerous indigenous villages. Faithful indigenous leaders actively led local churches. Mennonite missionaries worked hard to learn local languages and share life in remote villages.
The education of indigenous children was an ongoing concern in a world that demanded fluency in English. Most indigenous parents had not had much opportunity for formal education. In a rapidly-changing world ordered by the values and demands of the wemihtikooshiwak (common term for all white people), the indigenous elders and parents seemed open and accepting of many of the recommendations offered by church and government authorities.
We missionaries were enthusiastic about advancing educational opportunities in these far-flung villages. We also promoted technological and mechanical advantages—introducing machinery, tools, methods, and skills that expanded possibilities and raised levels of personal comfort and health.
In those early years, provincially-funded schools were quite limited. They were only provided for communities with larger populations, and did not include secondary schools. A few church-run schools had operated for short periods of time in some villages.
Nearly a century earlier, Canada had adopted policies to assimilate indigenous peoples and their cultures into mainstream Canadian culture. The goal was to eliminate the tensions and competing value systems between the Indigenous and Euro-Canadian peoples. For the “Indian,” there was deemed to be no viable purpose, future, or autonomy.
“Our Indian legislation generally rests on the principle that the Aborigines are to be kept in a condition of tutelage and treated as wards or children of the state… It is clearly our wisdom and our duty, through education and other means, to prepare him for a higher civilization by encouraging him to assume the privileges and responsibilities of full citizenship” (Annual Report of the Department of the Interior [1876]).
Is such a statement outrageous? After more than 50 years of interacting with this region and its peoples, I believe that we missionaries often operated from a parallel mindset to that of this government policy. We viewed our North American Anabaptist culture as an exceptional expression of Christian discipleship. This gave us permission to enthusiastically support the residential school model as well as an aggressive child adoption campaign now known as “The Sixties Scoop.”
Our mission organization took advantage of the opportunity to partner with government agencies to begin a boarding school and children’s home where missionaries freely taught and modelled their beliefs. It seemed too good to be true: provincial funding made available to advance the gospel. Sadly, we didn’t carefully compare the long-range goals of the state and the mission.
The mission school, an isolated and self-contained social system, allowed us to completely design and control the experiences of indigenous children: the external image of a person, the daily rhythms of life, the permissible outside influences, the minute details of all messaging, the specifics of how God is described, the modeling of gender roles, the values by which a human is validated, the measures of success, the language of the dominant group—even the details of diet and hygiene.
Without realizing or acknowledging it, our mission agency became an unwitting partner in the national plan for assimilating indigenous children into mainstream society and the belief that “… as far as the adult Indian is concerned, little can be done with him” (Davin Report). Most of us had no idea of the long-term ramifications of these policies and methods.
While modeling strong family values, we seemed to say to indigenous families: “Your children are better off spending most of the year with us, rather than in your own homes. It will work out better in the end.”
In addition to those factors, we had only a minimal grasp of the depth and intensity of the historical effect, the societal PTSD of colonialism, domination, and subjection that had been inflicted on the indigenous peoples of Canada. We did not explore nor attempt to understand how these realities shaped their perception of the “gospel” that we were introducing and demonstrating among them.
To this day, those of us who live and interact in this region must face the unintended consequences of our history. We must be honest about the details, and listen well to how the story is told by those whose lives were involuntarily shaped and changed forever. We want to own the distortions of the gospel message, and the violations against human dignity, personhood, and identity that occurred.
As I listen to the Indigenous people in my world, it’s a story of mixed outcomes. For some it’s a story of unimaginable loss and unresolved grief due to separation from family and community. Others look back on their experience at our mission’s residential school with deep appreciation for their exposure to the Scriptures and the godly examples of staff.
It’s a story with different versions that we as missionaries can’t tell by ourselves. Some parts make us sad and repentant. Others cause us to rejoice. Even as we celebrate the good fruit, we want to be humbly transparent about our mistakes.
Merle and Rita Nisly have been an integral part of this story since 1971 when they began serving in the mission-run boarding school. Later they transitioned to church planting, focusing more intentionally on language and cultural studies. Their ministry has included pastoring, mentoring, administration, teaching, and consulting.
Questions or feedback are welcome either in the comment section below or by contacting Merle directly.
9 Responses
It’s really hard to know which parts of our godly behaviors have biblical roots and which parts have been tweaked by culture. That’s why we desperately need to use God’s word as our source of truth AND to listen to His voice. I’m so grateful for Merle’s willingness to examine the past. We need the Spirit’s perfect foresight to keep us from making new mistakes.
The words that grabbed me, Merle, were “As I listen….” This attitude of a learner has characterized your ministry and has facilitated healing. It must be our mindset as we embark on cross-cultural ministry in the future.
So well put Merle. So true we often think we have dibs or something on how things should be done. So much to learn from other cultures/perspectives!
Well said, Merle. We had good intentions but there was much we did not know.
Merle,
Thanks for articulating well what many are internally wrestling with in ways they cannot express with meaningful words.
Thank you for this honest look into what is a significant part of my history.
Thank you for your transparency, Merle, in owning the mistakes that were made, albeit with the best of intentions. When it comes to attempting to cross cultures, truly, good intentions are not enough.
Thank you for your insightful review of this issue. I join you in seeking to be humbly transparent about our mistakes made in our efforts to disciple people of other cultures. As we pursue our vision to mature and multiply churches locally and globally, may we humbly learn how to better partner with those outside of our North American Anabaptist culture
Thank you for this honest reflection.