Little Orange Flag

Happy Teaching Tuesday, everyone.

This past week has been a hard one for survivors and their families. Every time I turn around, I'm confronted with denialist rhetoric — and this past weekend, the display put forward by the Second Sons was so bold, so uncaring, it was hard to believe.

Orange Shirt Day is tomorrow. Today, our dear friend Wholwolet'za reminds us of the importance of small symbols of solidarity — a message that feels even more necessary in light of the ignorance we've seen put out into the world.

---

Uy skweyul siiye’yu

Teaching Tuesday is about learning through moments that touch the heart, about seeing lessons in the everyday and finding wisdom in connection. This story is one of those moments for me. It is a reminder that teaching and learning do not only happen in classrooms. They happen in our families, our communities, and in the quiet gestures that show care and understanding.

Last year for Orange Shirt Day, my wife and I spent the day at the Kamloops Pow Wow grounds. It was a powerful and emotional day, one filled with remembrance, healing, and hope. We were honoured to be accompanied by my wife’s brother and sister-in-law, their daughter (our niece), my wife’s sister, and her sister’s friend. Being surrounded by family on a day like this made it even more meaningful.

The atmosphere at the Pow Wow grounds was vibrant and full of heart. Drums echoed through the air, voices rose in song, and everywhere you looked, you could see orange shirts with messages of love, remembrance, and unity. It was beautiful to see so many people, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous, coming together to honour the children who never made it home and to stand with the survivors who continue to carry their stories.

One of the highlights of the day was seeing Phyllis Webstad in attendance. I will admit, I was a little star struck. Her story, the one that sparked the Orange Shirt Day movement, has touched countless lives across the country and beyond. Later that morning, I was walking to the washroom and happened to see her again. Some ladies had stopped to speak with her, and I decided to wait and say hello as well.

When I had the chance, I thanked her. I told her how much her courage meant to me, and that my dad is a residential school survivor and my late mom was a day school survivor. She smiled gently and said, “Thank you for sharing your family’s history with me. Now that your parents survived those residential and day schools, it is now our turn to thrive and to bring as many people with us as possible.”

Those words have stayed with me ever since. Our turn to thrive. They reminded me that while our parents and grandparents endured unimaginable hardship, our generation has the opportunity and the responsibility to carry their strength forward and help others along the way.

The following day, my wife and I went golfing at Mount Paul Golf Course, which is just a short drive from the Kamloops Pow Wow grounds. When we reached the first green, I noticed something that made me stop and smile. The flag on the pin was not the usual red, white, or blue. It was orange, with the words “Every Child Matters” printed across it.

At first, I thought maybe it was just that one hole, but as we continued our round, I realized every single green had the same flag. Every hole carried that same quiet message of care and remembrance. No speeches. No announcements. Just little orange flags waving gently in the wind, silently saying, we see you, we hear you, and we care.

That simple gesture warmed my heart. It reminded me that allyship does not always need to come in the form of grand gestures or big public displays. Sometimes it is the small acts, the quiet and thoughtful ones, that speak the loudest. A little orange flag on a golf course can carry as much meaning as a monument because it comes from a place of sincerity.

Showing support can be as simple as wearing an orange shirt, changing your Zoom or Teams background to an “Every Child Matters” image, or taking a moment to learn about the history and resilience of Indigenous peoples. These small actions might not seem like much on their own, but when they add up, when each person contributes their own gesture of kindness, respect, and understanding, they create a powerful ripple of change.

Reconciliation, like a canoe journey, takes thousands upon thousands of paddle strokes. Each stroke moves us a little closer to where we need to go. In the same way, every small action, every conversation, every show of support, every little orange flag, brings us closer to a better tomorrow.

So I ask you to take a moment and look inward. What are you willing to do? What small action can you take to help build a more compassionate, understanding, and united future?

Because sometimes, it is the smallest gestures that carry the biggest hearts.

Every Teaching Tuesday reminds us that every moment holds a lesson. The little orange flag taught me that teaching and reconciliation do not always come from speeches or ceremonies. Sometimes they come quietly, in acts of kindness that speak straight to the heart.

Huy ch q’u | Thank you

Wholwolet'za | George Harris Jr

Thank you, George, for trusting us with this story and with your family's history. In a week that has asked survivors and their families to defend truths that should never be in question, your words are a needed reminder: thriving is something we do together, and we are asked to bring as many people with us as we can.

Tomorrow is Orange Shirt Day. In the face of denial, an orange flag, a shirt, a conversation, a shared story — these are not small things. They are how we answer ignorance without becoming it.

So I ask what George asked: what small action are you willing to take?

Every paddle stroke counts, especially this week.

Huy ch q'u for reading, and for walking this journey with us.

Kim and the CC Team