(Thunder Bay) Charla Moonias lost her friends, her language and her connection to her culture after leaving her First Nation in northern Ontario at the age of 14 to go to school hundreds of kilometers away. there.
There was little support available as she struggled with addictions, tried to cope with the suicides of friends and family, and struggled with poor mental health.
She was ultimately able to graduate – an achievement she is incredibly proud of – but her experience made her determined to help other young Indigenous people like herself.
Now aged 26, Mme Moonias works in an organization that is one of a number of institutions trying to support Indigenous teenagers during what can be a difficult time away from home.
According to parents, students and educators, such efforts are necessary to give remote First Nations students a good chance at a successful high school experience.
“I was just starting powwows and dancing – I danced in a costume for the first time when I was 14 – then I went to high school and never did it again,” said -she testified.
“Here now, it’s different. »
Dozens of First Nations in Northern Ontario do not have high schools, despite long calls for change. This leaves children and families with an often unbearable decision: whether to leave home at age 13 to pursue education or drop out of school and stay at home.
Between 2000 and 2011, seven Indigenous teenagers and young adults who had moved to Thunder Bay, Ontario, for school died in the city. The deaths prompted calls for action and a coroner’s inquest in 2016, with the jury calling for greater support from the federal and provincial governments.
In recent years, little progress has been made, although those who work with indigenous youth say they need stable, long-term funding from governments to continue making progress.
Terrified and alone
There was little support available when Charla Moonias left the Neskantaga First Nation, accessible only by air or winter road, for 9e year about 700 kilometers away, in Sault Ste. Married.
It was three weeks before homesickness, excessive drinking and trouble had her on a plane home.
She stayed at Neskantaga for the rest of the semester, then tried another school in Thunder Bay, where she found more freedom, more drugs and more alcohol. She started taking Percocet, an opioid painkiller, to feel better.
Mme Moonias and her boarding family clashed, she said, so she left and slept in a shelter. One night, after drinking too much and taking too many pills, she ended up in the hospital.
“I was terrified and I was alone,” she said, adding that she rushed to the shelter and later discovered that the family at her boarding house had never reported her missing.
Mme Moonias then found someone from Neskantaga in the town who took her in and encouraged her to go to school, which helped her finish grade 9e year.
When she returned home that summer, she faced the aftermath of an even bigger problem: a suicide crisis had gripped the community. Three of his best friends had taken their own lives.
“I was having trouble, I didn’t know how to manage my feelings,” she said. So I decided to leave. »
His mother, sister and brother lived in Sioux Lookout, Ontario, a town of about 5,000 people located about 350 kilometers northwest of Thunder Bay. Mme Moonias moved in with her sister, who helped her access psychological support, and returned to school in 10e year. But her drinking got her into trouble and her sister eventually kicked her out.
“So proud of me”
Mme Moonias then experienced a series of living situations – a women’s shelter, a boarding house, her brother’s house, her father’s new residence on another First Nation – and eventually living with a classmate and his family in Sioux Lookout.
Her years away from home came at a high cost: she spoke little of her native language, Oji-Cree, and never felt connected to her roots.
But her graduation in 2016 was a big moment and one that many family members witnessed.
“Everyone was so proud of me,” she said. And I was so proud of myself – there were so many problems, from being homeless to my addictions. »
Now, Mme Moonias has been sober for three years and works as an acting education coordinator with the Northern Nishnawbe Education Council, which operates two schools for Indigenous children, one in Thunder Bay and another in Sioux Lookout.
The support provided by the organization and its schools can help improve this difficult time for many young Indigenous people continuing their education, she said.
“It feels more like a community than a school,” she said.
A holistic approach
In Thunder Bay, some glimmers of hope have emerged for Indigenous students far from home.
The city’s Matawa Education and Care Center has just opened a dormitory for 100 students. Around 200 students attend the school, which started in 2010 with 30 students.
The school takes a holistic approach to education, blending academic programs with cultural programs, mental wellness services and land-based programs. There are after-school workshops and crafts, weekly outings to the bowling alley and the cinema, and an outdoor ice rink.
There are drivers to get students where they need to go and workers on call 24 hours a day in case a student goes missing.
“We are trying to ensure that no student is left without support,” said school principal Brad Battiston.
Sharon Nate, executive director of the school and care center, knows how difficult it can be for First Nations students.
She left Eabametoong First Nation at the age of 14 to go to school in Thunder Bay. She had to live with white strangers who forced her to wipe down the shower and bathroom after each use, leaving her feeling like she and her heritage were dirty.
One night, she came home late, so the family at her boarding house locked her out, forcing her to sleep in a park.
Major challenges
Some schools are now helping First Nations students more than ever, she said. But challenges remain.
“Every year since we’ve been open, we’ve lost at least one student,” she lamented.
Last year, one student was killed, another committed suicide and two others died of overdoses, she said.
“Many of our young people suffer from a lot of trauma due to everything that has affected our communities, such as suicide, high mortality rates, alcoholism, drug addiction,” said Mr.me Nate.
“There is a high-risk situation in this school, not because these children are bad, but because they are suffering. »
The 2016 inquiry into the deaths of seven Indigenous students who moved to Thunder Bay for their studies released a number of recommendations focused on reliable and continued government funding. But Mr. Battiston and Mr.me Nate says it’s still missing.
Each year, the administration spends hundreds of hours applying for federal and provincial grants. They are generally successful, but they would prefer funding to be stable and long-term.
A “terrible” decision
In Neskantaga, Wayne Moonias – no relation to Charla Moonias – said goodbye to his son Logan one more day in August before the teen made the 450-kilometre trip to Thunder Bay to start sa 11e year in Matawa.
First Nations parents in northwestern Ontario face a “terrible” decision as the start of the school year approaches, Wayne Moonias said.
Thunder Bay offers a chance to access education, but the city “has also not been very good in terms of how they often treat our indigenous population and our students,” he argued .
But he believes schools like Matawa are what First Nations children need.
Such schools “can address issues such as mental health, homelessness, self-esteem and, most importantly, the hopelessness that our young people tend to face,” he said.
“They’re trying to close the gaps for our students.” »
In November, the Chiefs of Ontario, an umbrella body representing all 133 First Nations, released two reports examining the outcomes of First Nations students in provincially funded schools.
The analysis found that 40 per cent of First Nations students attended school at least 90 per cent of the time, compared to 67 per cent of the general student population during the 2018-19 school year.
Between 2016-2017 and 2020-2021, 60% of First Nations students graduated within five years, compared to 89% of the general student population. First Nations students were also suspended at a rate more than double the provincial average.
Ontario regional chief Glen Hare said these shortcomings “have resulted in systemic discrimination.”
“This continues to grow and has created significant barriers to positive educational outcomes and achievement for First Nations learners compared to the non-Indigenous population,” he noted in a press release.
A comfortable environment
On a cold, rainy August afternoon in a Thunder Bay park, Logan Moonias reflects on his studies. The 19-year-old now loves going to Matawa, but it has been a tough journey since his days at Neskantaga.
He first attended a public school in Thunder Bay at age 14, but felt overwhelmed by the number of students. A few months later he was transferred to Matawa, where he joined friends from Neskantaga.
He still found it difficult to be so far from home, but being in a school with many Aboriginal students and teachers comforted him.
“I didn’t really have to worry about being harassed or treated with racism,” he said.
Mr. Moonias didn’t take school seriously at first and found himself drinking too much. He drank alcohol to cope and became dependent on it.
But he got help from the school.
“I don’t have those temptations anymore because I don’t really need them,” he said.
He misses Neskantaga, especially boat rides, fall moose hunts and bonfires with his friends.
But he’s also excited about the path ahead, no matter where that journey takes him.