By the lake they call Gitche Gumee it’s good to find a Senator who goes off the reservation!
I’m talkin’ of course about Miss Lynn Beyak, the Lord’s own exterminatin’ angel.
Incredible, the kinda crap she’s been getting’ lately, and just for stickin’ up for the most vulnerable among us: people like me!
She didn’t say we oughta always look on the bright side of genocide. She said we oughta just this once.
Damn, I wish I’d been sent to a residential school. Bet my folks did, too. I had to walk three miles there and back each day. Sometimes more, if I fancied a pint.
If I’d lived at school I mighta even stayed to get my Grade 10.
Look, everybody unfortunate enough to have received a formal education has regrets. I hated English myself, so I can understand why The Merchant Of Venice might leave a bad taste in a Cree kid’s mouth. A priest might do that too, as we’ve all come to learn.
But hell, if I got over Shakespeare then so can our proverbial Billy Two-Rivers, if he man’s up and puts down the sacred wacky tobacky.
Call it a genocide if you want, but even the Tutsis moved on from theirs what just happened. Or was it the Hutus? I can’t remember which, and probably you can’t, either. Which goes to prove my point.
Anyhow, she’s right. They’re the First People, so they’ve had more time to rack up expenses than the rest of us, but the ledgers don’t reflect that. So let’s audit ’em, again and again until the auditors get it right and show us what we all know to be true.
So no justice, no peace until the natives pay back what they stole from us.
But let’s face it, there’s no more gettin’ blood outta that stone than there is gettin’ milk from the dusty teat of Leah McLaren.