1000 Cuts To The Spirit

Last week, George and I had the pleasure of sharing in some great work together, something that brings us both a lot of fulfillment. And so, last Thursday I made my way to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal and jumped into the back of George and Becca's truck, and we made our way to our hotel in Richmond together.

George was first into the hotel while I dug my suitcase out of the box, perhaps 90 seconds ahead of me. Becca stayed outside, getting the truck sorted out. I walked into the hotel and noticed two attendants working at the desk, one already talking to George. As soon as I walked in, the second attendant smiled broadly at me and warmly invited me to the desk to assist with my check in. He quickly realized that George and I were together, and that the agency we were speaking with was covering both of our rooms. We also realized that they had forgotten to submit the necessary paperwork, and the attendant emphasized that it needed to be completed before we could check in. I asked for a moment and contacted our connection to request the paperwork be submitted. She responded promptly and said she was completing it immediately.

I updated the attendant and he was apologetic for the rigidness of their policy. He smiled warmly and let me know that he had no concerns that things would be sorted, and passed me my room key before the details were finalized. He apologized for the headache, and let me know that he'd upgraded my room to the nicest one in the hotel for the inconvenience. By this time George had walked away from the desk over to the sitting area, and I went to stand with him and chat.

"He upgraded my room! How about that? So, what now? Are you and Becca going upstairs now?"

"He didn't give me my key, Kim."

"What? Why?"

"Because I am Indigenous, Kim. I am brown. I don't get treated the same as you do in this world."

I did not see it. I was a few feet away, at the same desk, and I did not see it. What follows is George's account of those same few minutes, in his own words.

Uy skweyul siiye’yu (Good day friends),

At the beginning of October, my wife Rebecca, my friend and colleague Kim, and I made our way over to Vancouver. Kim and I were invited to speak at an event, and it was the kind of work that fills my heart. Sharing, teaching, and building bridges between people is what I love to do.

But I want to tell you about something that happened before we ever made it to that event.

When I am moving around in the world, I am always on high alert. I am not on alert because I want to be. I am on alert because I have to be. It is something many of our people carry with them every time we leave home. We learn to read a room before we walk into it. We learn to watch faces, body language, and the way people speak to us. We learn it young, and we carry it our whole lives.

My wife and Kim are afforded many things in this world because of the colour of their skin and their race. Most of the time, they do not even know it is happening. I am treated much differently. I am met with prejudice, and I am often discriminated against, sometimes right in front of the people I am with.

This day was no different.

As we walked into the hotel, I was the first one through the doors. I saw two people of colour working at the front desk. As I walked closer, I noticed that both of them were avoiding eye contact with me. I kept walking. I got right up to the desk, and still, nothing. Finally, one of them looked up and offered to help.

I could not help myself. I said, “I was wondering which one of you was actually going to look up and help me.”

The other man tried to apologize and act like he was busy, but I could see his screen, and there was nothing on it. Then, as soon as my wife and Kim came through the door, the same man put a smile on his face. He was warm and welcoming, and he invited Kim over to his desk.

Friends, I want you to sit with that for a moment. In the span of a few seconds, I watched the same person go from not being able to look at me, to lighting up for someone else.

Then there was a problem with our reservation. The organization that invited us was supposed to have taken care of it, but the form was not submitted correctly. While Kim went back and forth with our contact person to get things sorted out, the man helping me told me that he could not give me my room key until the form was submitted. At the very same time, the man helping Kim told her that he could give her a room key now, and that things would be sorted out with the organization later.

Same hotel. Same event. Same problem. Two very different answers.

Eventually the form was submitted correctly, and Kim got her room. I walked away out of frustration, because I could see with my own eyes how much better she was being treated.

While all of this was happening, my wife had gone to park our truck and grab my cedar hat and the last few things. When she came back, Kim mentioned that the hotel had upgraded her to the nicest room they had, for the inconvenience. Then Kim turned to us and asked, “Are you guys ready to go now?”

I told her that I still had not received our room key.

Kim looked at me, bewildered, and said, “They gave me my room key. Why didn’t they give you your room key?”

And I had to say it out loud. “Because I am Indigenous, Kim. I am brown. I don’t get treated the same as you do in this world.”

The next day, I decided that I needed to speak up. Much to my surprise, the very same man who had “helped” me was working the front desk again. So I waited for my turn, and I talked to him. I shared my experience with him, and I told him that I did not like the way I had been treated.

He explained the delay in getting us checked in. He assured me that neither he nor his colleague meant to do me any harm, and that it was never their intention.

I told him that was not the point. No matter what their intentions were, harm was still done.

This is a teaching I want everyone to hold onto. Intentions matter, but they do not erase impact. You can step on someone’s foot without meaning to, and it still hurts. The kind thing to do is not to explain why you did not mean it. The kind thing to do is to say sorry, and watch where you step next time.

He began to repeat himself, explaining the same things over again. So I told him plainly that I was bringing this forward because I do not want to be treated as lesser than, and I do not want any other Indigenous person to be treated poorly at his establishment.

I walked away frustrated, and unsure if my words had actually been heard. Anyone who has ever had to stand up for themselves in a moment like this knows that feeling. You gather your courage, you speak your truth, and you are left wondering if it made any difference at all.

Later that day, I attended the speaking engagement with Kim and a few other Culturally Committed team members. There, I shared what had happened with my friend who was in charge of our booking and who had helped us sort out the missing form. She was apologetic for the part her organization played, with the form not being submitted properly. I told her that I had gone back to speak with the staff, and that I was not entirely happy with how it went.

This was the TSN Turning Point of the whole story.

My friend could have sent the hotel an email. She could have given them a phone call, or waited to deal with it on Monday morning. Instead, she chose to go to the hotel in person. I think she felt some urgency, because we had planned to stay on a little longer on our own time, and she wanted to make sure no further harm came my way.

She let them know how much I had been affected by what happened. She let them know that no matter how good their intentions were, I was still hurt by their actions. And this time, the hotel changed its tune. They were very apologetic, and they offered both my wife and me a complimentary breakfast at their restaurant.

I want to be clear. I was not looking to get anything for free. All I was looking for was change. I wanted to know that my people and I would not be met with prejudice the next time we walked through those doors.

My friend went above and beyond for me. So often, people ask me, “How can I help Indigenous people?” My friend showed exactly what that looks like. She heard my story. She heard my concerns. She heard that my conversation with the staff did not go well. Instead of just listening, saying she was sorry, and moving on with her day, she took action. She walked into that hotel herself, and she made sure they knew they had done wrong, and that neither she nor her organization would tolerate their guests being treated that way.

She was not a passive ally. She was an active ally. And when I learned what she had done, I felt something I do not always get to feel after moments like these. I felt seen, I felt heard, and I felt that I was not standing alone.

I want to be very clear about something else. I do not share my stories so that people will feel sorry for me. I share my stories to bring awareness. I am not sharing this to bring shame to my wife or to Kim. They love me, they stand beside me, and they are good people. Kim’s bewildered look is actually part of the teaching. She did not see it because she has never had to see it. That is exactly the point.

I share this story so that people can see some of the small things that happen to me and my people when we leave home. This is the kind of thing that happens to us everywhere we go. To some of you reading this, it might seem small. A room key. A smile. Eye contact.

I look at it like a death by a thousand cuts. One small cut might not hurt us much. But when we receive a thousand small cuts, it becomes a wound that is hard to heal. And for me, these are not cuts to my body. These are cuts to my spirit. Our people receive a thousand cuts to the spirit, and we receive them often.

These cuts come from so many places. They come from social media and the news. They come from racist comments made in the grocery store. They come from people hosting residential school denialist displays on bridges. They come from politicians saying they are going to peel back DRIPA. They come from people trying to bring in policies so that territorial and land acknowledgments are no longer welcome in town hall meetings. They come from people wearing shirts that say “Where’s the proof?” And they come from people who will not even look at us at the front desk of a hotel.

I think I have made my point.

But here is the hope in this story. Just as those cuts can come from anywhere, so can the healing. My friend showed me that. One person, choosing to act, helped close one of those cuts.

So here is my ask of you.

Please check on your Indigenous friends and colleagues. A simple message, a phone call, or a cup of tea can mean more than you know. Things like this happen far too often, and many of us carry them quietly.

If you are with an Indigenous person, do your best to be on high alert with them. These things are easy to miss when you do not have to live with them every day. So please, train your eyes to see the injustices that happen to our people. Train your ears to hear what is going on around you. Listen closely to the words being said to, and about, the Indigenous people around you.

And when you see it, and when you hear it, please do not stop there. Be an active ally, like my friend was for me. If you have the strength to stand beside our people, please do. It is a lot to carry alone. If you have the strength, please speak up when these things happen in front of you. You do not have to be loud. You do not have to be perfect. Sometimes it is as simple as saying, “Excuse me, he was here first,” or “Why is she getting her key and he isn’t?” Sometimes it means making the phone call, sending the email, or walking through the door yourself. When you use your voice in those moments, you take some of the weight off of ours.

I believe in the goodness of people. I see it every single day in this work. I see it in the friends who walk beside me, in the people who show up to listen and learn, and in everyone who chooses to read stories like this one with an open heart and an open mind. Every one of you who chooses to see, to listen, and to act helps heal one of those thousand cuts.

That is how we move forward together. One person, one moment, one act of courage at a time.

Huy ch q’u | Thank you

Wholwolet’za | George Harris Jr + Kim