You all right?
Yeah...
- Adam!
...it's been a long
time since I've seen my brother.
He was always the lucky one.
- This could be our secret game.
Where's Father Kenner now?
We don't know.
- Adam!
Adam! Please breathe...
Adam!
At least someone in our family should have a happy ending.
- It's okay. It's okay.
- The day you realize the hate
is real, but it was never yours.
Sauvage! Sauvage!
- Hey, Taylor.
- Sorry but I just got caught up in...
I was hoping my mom would come
with me to the Commission meetings.
So we could come see the old place together.
- Maybe she's not ready.
- That's an understatement.
She said she'd never come back here, to Manitoba.
Too many memories.
My grandparents planted wheat here.
And they were good at it, too.
Until the government refused to give Indians permits to sell.
The government starved them out
so they could bail them out and buy the land for nothing.
- Mom?
- You all right, Taylor?
- Uh-huh.
We lived here with my parents for a while when I was a kid.
Now everything's gone to shit.
- Well, we're still standing.
- There's that. We should be heading back soon.
The next session starts back up at two.
- That'd be nice.
Wisdom.
Why does everything have to mean two things in Cree?
- In Christianity, a crow is God's messenger
that brings bad luck.
- That makes so much sense to me.
- We can stay longer if you want.
There's no rush.
- Mom?
- You don't look so good there.
Thanks.
I've been having these panic attacks.
Ah... Fucks sakes.
- You look so beautiful
- They looked so beautiful together.
Like nothing could touch them.
I loved that sound.
- Sometimes...
it's the beautiful things that hurt the most to remember.
- Tay, come on. We have to leave. Now.
- Mom. I look terrible.
- Then here, put on another one.
- They all look the same.
Poor!
- Can we talk about this in
the truck on the way to school?
- I'm not going to school until I have something decent to wear.
- Is that right?
- I just want one normal thing.
Can't I have one normal thing?
- Normal is overrated.
- I want something new.
- Honey.
Jake and I will be on the porch waiting for you, okay?
It's not all about you.
Five minutes. That's all. Grab your lunches,
they're on the table.
Okay, let's go.
Yeah.
Good... I don't know what's wrong
with this family.
Now your father's keeping us.
Adam!
- Mom?!
- Mom?
- Stop! Stop!
- I should have gotten there earlier.
My dad would've still been with us.
- It's not your fault.
He wouldn't have wanted you to carry this.
It's not your fault.
My mom went to the same residential school.
- Really?
Sorry.
I'm used to making this all about me.
Once I start crying I can't stop.
That's why I don't start.
- I cry all the time.
It's fuckin' embarrassing.
- Let's go for a beer.
- So, you married?
- Once. But I believe everyone
should be married at least once.
- Mm.
- Now, not married.
You?
- Just about.
But his parents didn't approve.
- Mm...
Didn't like lawyers.
Wish my son would marry a lawyer.
- Didn't like Indians.
- Awkward.
- Oh, it was.
I have a beautiful daughter out of it. Ah, the best thing.
- Mm. - Mm-hmm.
So, what were you going to be?
- You mean if I wasn't a ruggedly handsome
forensic anthropologist?
- Yeah.
- I was gonna be a comedian.
- Really?
- Seriously.
I'm fuckin' funny.
And if you weren't lawyer of the year, a UN delegate,
assembly member, honorary this and that
of other fancy acronyms,
what were you gonna be?
Taylor?
- Maybe a rock star.
- Mission accomplished.
- How was your trip? Did you have fun?
- It was the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Affairs, Mom...
not a vacation.
- Excuse me.
- It's a call for change.
We're putting together action points between Aboriginal,
non-Aboriginal people for the government
and residential schools--
- Sounds nice.
- You're killing me.
- I know what it's about, Taylor.
- Where is everyone?
- In their rooms.
- Great.
I thought dinner was at 6.
- Well, we didn't know if you'd
make it back since your train was so delayed.
- Excellent. Well, I ended up catching the plane back.
Oh, what's for dinner?
- Oh, we've got it all covered. I'm just finishing this up.
- God knows we need more doilies.
- Pardon me?
- Nothing. I'm going to change. I'll be right back down.
Percy, hey.
What are you working on?
- Concert in two weeks.
- Ooh. When did you get in?
I thought you were in charge
of Thanksgiving dinner?
- Three, this afternoon.
We didn't think you'd be home tonight.
- So, you weren't going to eat?
- Well, we weren't going to go all crazy,
if that's what you mean.
- It's Thanksgiving.
- Yeah of retro-Mayflower
bullshit, nobody cares.
- Geez.
- Kokum didn't want me to go out and find a bird
if it was just gonna be us.
She said she had the frozen turkey dinners with
the compartments thing.
- Hopefully they're not from the 60s.
- Instructions were,
"Very back of the freezer."
That's all I know.
Gross.
- You should throw that in the wash.
- I will. Later.
- Do it now or you'll forget.
- You need to learn how to relax.
- I am relaxed.
Okay, I'm not relaxed. - Mm-hmm.
- I'll go put my pyjamas on.
- Great idea.
I'll see what I can do about these turkey dinners.
- Cardboard off, 350, poke a hole in the plastic.
Oh my God, I'm getting a flashback.
At least it's not a hot flash.
I love you, it's good to see you.
- Aww.
You should have did that at the beginning.
I love you.
It's good to see you.
- I'll be down in a few minutes, Okay?
- Okay.
I think you should think about taking a shower.
- You should think about knocking.
- I did knock.
When did you get here?
- Three days ago.
- Jake. Mum doesn't want
you drinking and drugging in our house.
- Did she say that?
- She should.
- I'm taking a couple days off.
- Off what?
- Off of-- - Not working?!
- It's hard trying to find another job.
- So, what's the plan?
- The plan...
is to take a couple days off on the fuckin' national holiday
of Thanksgiving and then make a plan.
- Fuck.
You can't move back in here. I've already brought up a teenager.
- It's not up to you.
It's up to Mum.
- Well, we'll see about that.
Why don't you go back to school then?
- That ship already sailed when I got fucked over.
I'm trying to get back into it.
- Into what?
- Into my art. Into painting.
You know...
life.
Who I am.
- Well, I wouldn't wait too long.
Life is passing by.
- Wow!
Deep. Deep shit, counsellor.
You're always so perfect.
Above us all.
You think you're better than me?
You're not.
You're just some kind of machine. Stuff shit down.
Presses it up in a complete tight-ass package.
- Would you rather I just sit in my room
and feel sorry for myself?
Oh, wait, Jake. That's always been your job.
- What's your job, Tay?
- To clean up the fucking mess!
- Fucking dirty squaw.
- Subtle.
- We still got more time on the clock.
- Not on my clock you don't.
Go get changed.
How's it going, Taylor?
- Great.
- They're not gonna stop.
- We're on the same team. - Are you?
- Supposed to be.
- "Supposed to be," doesn't make it so.
- They don't say anything about you.
- That's because I'm the boss.
You gotta be the boss girl.
You gotta play the same game,
same rules but be better at it.
Be better than them.
Be the best. And don't take shit.
- Yeah.
- Ever!
- This is one tough bird.
Tough crowd.
- I think I might take a trip.
- Like, go to your room?
Ow!
Geez, you have pointy feet
for an old lady.
- Yeah.
Like, uh... out of the city.
- So what's the plan?
- Well, that's the beauty of it.
There is none.
Wanna go, Momma?
Get away from all this crochet?
Get out of this crocheted world.
And go way, way out there.
- Fuck, you're nuts.
- Whoa.
- Do you know what that's the map of?
- I don't know.
- Red if for former residential school students who are actively
pursuing civil suit cases of physical and sexual abuse.
- Blue?
- Cases that went to court
in the 70's and 80's.
- And the black ones?
- Ah...
Game changers.
1993. Mowatt vs. Clarke.
Eight former students from the St. George's Indian
Residential School in Lytton, BC,
put a case forward that the Anglican Church of Canada
and the Canadian Government are jointly liable
to the tune of 60/40.
They're settling.
1989,
Mount Cashel Orphanage, Newfoundland.
Non-Aboriginal Orphanage.
Sexual abuse cases paved the way for residential school victims.
Williams Lake, BC, 1990,
St. Joseph's Catholic Church, same thing.
- Better get out your black pins.
I just got a call from a lawyer in Nova Scotia.
John McKiggen. He wants us to fly to Halifax tomorrow.
There's a Mi'kmaq activist,
a Shubenacadie Residential School survivor.
Nora Bernard.
She wants to file the first
National Class Action lawsuit
against the Government of Canada
and the four mainstream Christian churches.
- Wait, what does that mean?
- It means that all the residential school, sexual,
physical and cultural abuse cases in Canada
could all align as one.
This will be the biggest class-action lawsuit
in Canadian history.
- But what does it mean for the Churches?
- Bankruptcy.
- Shit.
Sorry.
- Have you met?
- Not officially.
- Katrina's our summer intern.
Wants to see if she can cut it as a lawyer.
- Hi. - Hi.
- This is Taylor-- - Whallach. I know who you are.
That's why I'm here.
- I'm gonna go to our nine o'clock in the boardroom.
- I'll be right there.
How do you know who I am?
- You were on the Royal Commission for Aboriginal
Peoples that came out of Oka.
I was there.
I was one of the kids in the cars when the rocks came down.
- I'm sorry.
That must have been so terrible.
- Do you think the report will help people understand?
- I think the report will lead to positive things...
a better understanding, a better relationship
that will help frame the cases for residential school survivors
that is going to hit like a tidal wave.
Maybe it will be healing.
- You don't sound convinced.
- They've needed to see us as less in order to do whatever
they wanted to us, to take whatever they chose fit.
Truth should be enough, but it's not part of their history.
Their history is about being the winner in a rigged game.
Hard to give that up.
Is that mine? - Yeah.
That's why we're here.
- Smart girl.
Reconciliation can be a bitch.
- Aw. Well, you might as well know what we think of you.
What do you have to say, dirty savage?
I saw her mother coming in all welfare-like.
Probably just getting out of bed.
- Fuck you!
- What are you gonna do about it?
- I'm gonna rip your fucking bitty tits off.
- Yes. Yes.
Bravo.
By the way, excellent chord work.
Practice, practice makes perfect.
Okay, I think that's all the time we have for today.
Off you go my little angels.
Good work, lads. Good work.
And um... Oh, Freddie.
Do you want to go over next week's chord progression?
- Yes, Father.
- Good. Well, why don't you come
and help me to uh...
clean up a little?
And then we'll go back
to that little space of ours
and practice.
Come on.
You can start with the pencils, put those away.
Good boy.
Hello. You look very serious.
It's just a little idea I had about, you know,
shaking things up around here.
Guitar rock choir mass. It's really not that bad.
Now?
- I'll call the diocese.
- Uh, um...
I don't know why I'm here. I'm a priest.
I'm not a common criminal.
Unless, of course, starting
a guitar rock mass with a choir is some kind of offence.
That's supposed to be a joke.
Um... would you mind not?
No, it's fine. It's the smoke.
It's just catching in my throat just a little.
Yeah?
You know, I was going to be either a priest or a policeman.
Yeah.
Ah, there you are. Got you.
Yes. That's all we had in my family.
Priests and policemen. I mean, they're both men of the cloth.
They're both of a higher calling. Wouldn't you say?
I think I would have made a lousy policeman, though.
You know?
Ugh, it was just my mother,
she was bent on me becoming a priest and so, you know,
those were the times one simply obeyed,
back in the day. What about yourself?
- I like pussy.
Any more questions?
- Yes. How much longer do I have to stay here?
Well, my boss is talking to your boss.
- And what's that supposed to mean?
- Means the guy that I answer to is talking to the guy
that you answer to.
- I answer to God. Yeah?
- Well, that's not my department.
It's way above my pay scale.
- I'm losing my patience here.
- I hear that happens. It's what you might call...
purgatory.
- What does that mean?
- Well, when the Church official shows up with the Church lawyer
and spends more than three hours in the police chief's office,
that generally means that some kind of work around is being...
worked around.
- But what has that got to do with me?
- Oh, I think you know what it's got to do with you.
Don't you, Father?
- You don't like me, do you, Officer Murphy?
- We had ones like you in St. John.
- Yes, well. Murphy? Isn't that--
- Irish.
The best part of me is Mi'kmaq.
You know, three families from Sainte-Therese D'Avila
came here this morning. More here now.
Stirring up all kinds of stuff.
You know, mothers crying and fathers mad as hell.
- There's obviously been some sort of misunderstanding.
Would you please put that cigarette out? I can't breathe.
- Oh? That's too bad.
Would you like a Coke, Father? Or are you Pepsi man?
- We're gonna take him...
- Well, no hard feelings, eh?
- My mother wouldn't touch that hand. Now get out of my sight.
- Mr. James here has the details of your transfer.
Everything is arranged.
- Your Excellency. I would just like to say that--
- Look, I've said it for you. You have put the sanctity
of our very existence in great jeopardy.
We have to protect ourselves, Father Kenner.
We need to protect the Church
from those whose actions threaten to take us down.
I hate what you've done. And what you represent.
But I will pray for you.
- We've secured another placement for you.
As a Catholic Youth Director in
a remote community in Chile...
- Padre, Padre!
I suspect you will find it to your liking.
And I hope you find your place in the sun.
- It's a beautiful West Coast day.
You have to love the rain to live here.
If I knew you better, I'd take my shoes off
and show you my webbed feet.
Come, nephew.
The wharf right there? The salt took that.
Grandma and Bandit, they were there on the wharf.
We had planned to escape before
they took us to residential school
but my brother went to get our dog and...
got caught. We had to leave him with Grandma.
- We had no choice. We had to leave Adam behind.
We narrowly escaped.
- He went to residential school
and I was raised with our parents across the water.
Your father and I tried to have a relationship, but...
there was so much pain in the silence between us.
So many things left unsaid.
That distance stretched a lifetime.
There's nothing left of that residential school
your father went to.
It burnt down.
Like all good residential schools.
But some things were meant to last.
Are you ready?
- I don't know.
- We're all your family.
Come.
This is Jake, the son of my brother, Adam Whallach.
One of our sons has come home.
...and Solomon Joe... great-grandson...
grandson of
Tessa Whallach...
Jake... son...
Son of my brother, Adam Whallach.
Welcome home, my nephew.
The sun always rises. The darkness always ends.
The mornings are infinite.
And we pray for a new day.
Breathe with me.
Just let it go.
Blow your negative thoughts away.
Let go of your fear.
And you're under the water and you look up at the sun.
Blow those doubts away.
And you blow your trauma away.
And you look up out of the water...
and you let go.
No fear.
- Please be all right.
- Uncle, he's here.
- I know.
- They're here.
- Please be all right.
Shut the fuck up!
- Sometimes the heaviest things
weighing us down can be transformed into light.
All we have to do is look up and recognize
that we were always a part of something bigger.
We were always a part of the light.
And that light is a part of us.
- What are you doing?
- Taking up embroidery.
- Wow.
- Never too old to learn.
- Now that's radical.
First crochet and now political embroidery.
I love the warrior.
And the star.
- My mother would say, we're made from the stars.
And that anything is possible
because we're part of the universe that is good.
- I like that.
- It's gonna be all right.
- The stars tell you that?
- Yup.