Editorially speaking…
When I was a kid, way back in the Jurassic Age, all that I knew about the Doukhobor people of B.C. could be summed up in a cynical four-line ditty which we kids bandied about in school. I still remember it, but won’t repeat here.
As the years went by and there were glaring newspaper headlines about arson, and scenes of naked demonstrations by the Sons of Freedom sect filled evening TV screens, what little thought I gave to their protests and beliefs wasn’t charitable.
This didn’t change when I read Vancouver newspaper reporter Simma Holt’s book, Terror in the Name of God; and only slightly when my editorial duties in the 1970s included editing a manuscript for publication. At least, The Hope and the Promise by Hugh Greig was a far more sympathetic account of the “tender, tragic and often turbulent story of the Doukhobors” than Holt’s book.
And that’s pretty much what I knew about the Doukobour people then and today.
So, I was surprised when stories about “Doukhobor residential school survivors” hit the news early this year. “Residential school survivors?” What were they talking about? Indigenous children, yes, everybody knows about that now. But Doukhobor children?
Well, Chronicles readers who follow the news will know that the Province of British Columbia has formally apologized for the forcible confinement of some 200 Doukhobor children, between 1952 and 1959, because their parents refused to send them to public schools. In February, the province issued a formal apology to these children, who are now high in their senior years or deceased.
“This is not a proud history,” said Attorney General Nikki Sharma. “The Province of British Columbia recognizes the stigma and trauma experienced by the Sons of Freedom and the broader Doukhobor community.”
The real shame of what’s now being revealed is that many of these children, supposed wards of the state, were treated poorly, even abused, while housed in a former tuberculosis sanitarium in New Denver that should have been condemned.
Last week, it was announced that the province has reversed course and survivors will received financial compensation; no figures have been given out as yet.
I’ve noticed a growing resistance to what has become a long list of formal apologies by all levels of government for injustices of the past; we’re becoming weary of shouldering guilt for our forebears’ errors and omissions. I mean, we Canadians of today didn’t abuse them, did we? So why should we be made to feel uncomfortable for something over which we had no control?
Time to move on! some people have said to me, usually with scorn.
I leave it to readers to grapple with such issues how and as they choose. Speaking as a social historian, I’m still learning about our national and provincial past, the good and the bad. As I’ve said before, our history is a bottomless hole; the more you dig, the bigger it gets.
Always fascinating, yes, but not always pleasing.
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As noted in last week’s Chronicles, the Holt Creek Trestle on the Trans Canada Trail (the old CN Railway grade just beyond the Glenora Trail Head), is undergoing a major rebuild. I’m glad that the original concrete piers will continue to serve but somewhat sorry that, when finished, the span will look nothing like a railway trestle, just a functional, streamlined river crossing.
Ah well, I had to accept comprises in the saving of the Kinsol Trestle, too. So, suck it up, Tom, and be glad that both trestles survive, period. Courtesy of Andrew Waldegrave, here are recent photos of what’s happening on the TCT as the CVRD finally deals with the catastrophic damage done by rainstorms, three years ago.
We of the Cowichan Valley are blessed to have the Trans Canada and Cowichan Valley trails, the former CNR and E&N grades respectively, for a backyard. All that history and gorgeous scenery and fresh air for free! —Andrew Waldegrave
Repairs to flood washouts, particularly at Bings Creek, have been a long time coming. Soon now! —Andrew Waldegrave
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Better yet, there’s now a book about this historic graveyard and its fascinating occupants. In 2017, Ian Brown released Hallowed Ground, which I recently ordered online. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet but am looking forward to learning more about the Fraser River community that served as the gateway to the Cariboo gold rush.
Thanks to pioneer journalist D.W. Higgins, among others, we know that this former Hudson’s Bay Co. trading post came as close to being a part of the Canadian Wild West, as depicted in American movies of their own frontier, as we came in Canada.
Just picture a movie saloon scene in your mind: smoke-filled with clinking glasses, card tables, whirling roulette wheels, hurdy-gurdy girls—then curses, the crash of overturned furniture instantly followed by the blaze of guns and the flash of knives. That was Yale, 160 years ago!
It’s much quieter today. But the history is still there in its museum and in its graveyard.
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Any guesses as to where, when and what’s going on in this colourized postcard by Nigel Robertson? I wouldn’t have a clue, either, if he hadn’t captioned it: It’s the building of a stretch of the Island Highway on the Malahat in 1946. It doesn’t tell us if the photographer is looking north or south, but we can bet that it has been widened over the past 78 years.