By Nicolas Maltais 
On September 30, I will put on an orange shirt and join countless others in marking Canada’s National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. As a union organizer and a descendant of Acadian settler families, this day stirs something deep in me. It’s a day of reflection, of mourning, and of resolve. I remember the first time I heard the story behind the orange shirt – how a little Indigenous girl’s bright new shirt was taken from her on her first day at a residential school. I felt a lump in my throat realizing what that symbolized. It made me think about the kind of country my ancestors helped build, and what solidarity truly means in the face of such painful history.
Truth and Reconciliation Day, often known as Orange Shirt Day, isn’t just another date on the calendar or a mere symbolic gesture. It’s a day when we honour survivors of the residential school system, remember the children who never made it home, and confront the truths of our colonial history. In the labour movement, we regularly talk about solidarity – that powerful bond between working people. On this day, solidarity takes on a broader meaning: it’s about standing with Indigenous peoples in their struggle for justice and healing. This article is my personal reflection on why this day matters so much, especially to those of us in the labour movement, and what we can do – humbly and sincerely – to walk the path of reconciliation together.
The Orange Shirt: More Than Just a Symbol
Every year at the end of September, an sea of orange shirts appears in workplaces, schools, and on the streets. But the orange shirt is far more than a piece of clothing – it’s a story. That story begins with Phyllis Webstad, a six-year-old girl excited for her first day at a church-run residential school in 1973. Phyllis’s grandmother had managed to buy her a brand-new orange shirt for the occasion. Imagine the pride and joy of a little girl wearing something bright and new, a shirt that made her feel special. But when Phyllis arrived at the school, they stripped her and took away that beautiful orange shirt. She never saw it again. In that moment, that innocent child was given a cruel lesson: that her feelings, her identity, did not matter.
Phyllis has bravely shared how losing that shirt made her feel worthless and invisible. For her, the color orange came to symbolize a childhood pain that echoed through her life. Yet out of that pain, she and other survivors created something powerful. Orange Shirt Day was born as an annual reminder that Every Child Matters – that not one single child should ever have to feel the way Phyllis did. What started as a grassroots movement in 2013 has grown into a national commemoration. When we wear orange, it’s a pledge to remember those children taken from their families. It’s a way to say: we see you, we hear the truth, and we will not forget.
Wearing an orange shirt on this day, it’s a small act, but it carries weight. For me, the orange shirt is also about humility – a reminder that I need to listen to Indigenous voices and experiences. It urges us not to shy away from the uncomfortable truths of our history. And it challenges us to ensure that no child, no worker, no person is ever made to feel like they don’t matter. In wearing orange, we honour Phyllis’s story and commit to making sure that her experience, and those of thousands of other Indigenous children, is never repeated.
Residential Schools: A History of Pain and Survival
To truly understand why Truth and Reconciliation Day is so important, we must confront the dark chapter of Indian residential schools in Canada. For well over a century, starting in the late 1800s and lasting into the 1990s, Indigenous children were forcibly taken from their families by government agents. Over 150,000 First Nations, Inuit, and Métis children passed through these schools, torn away from their parents’ love and their communities’ warmth. The goal was explicitly colonial: to “kill the Indian in the child,” in the chilling words of one official. In plain terms, it was an attempt at cultural genocide – a systemic effort to erase Indigenous cultures, languages, and identities.
The children in these church-run and government-funded institutions faced hardships most of us can hardly imagine. They were given new, Anglicized names, shorn of their long hair which often held cultural importance, and forbidden to speak their mother tongues. Siblings in the same school were often kept apart. Many endured physical, emotional, and sexual abuse at the hands of those charged with their “education.” They lived in cold, overcrowded buildings with meager food. Diseases like tuberculosis ran rampant, and thousands of children never made it back home. Instead, they were buried in graves behind those schools, often unmarked and forgotten by the authorities. It’s a horrific truth that Canadians are still coming to grips with: just recently, communities have been locating hundreds upon hundreds of unmarked graves at former residential school sites, bringing to light the full scope of this tragedy. Each discovery is like a wound reopened, reminding us that this history is not ancient – it lives on in survivors and their families today.
The legacy of residential schools did not end when the last school closed in 1996. When those children – the survivors – went home (if they had a home to return to), they often struggled with deep scars. Imagine being taken at six years old, raised without love, without family, without your language, and then being expected to return to society as if nothing happened. Many survivors had difficulty parenting because they themselves were never nurtured in a loving family environment. Whole generations lost their connections to culture and community. This is what we call intergenerational trauma: the pain and dysfunction that is passed down from survivors to their children and grandchildren. I have heard Indigenous friends and colleagues describe how the hurt their grandparents experienced in the schools still lives in their family – in struggles with identity, trust, mental health, and substance use. And yet, alongside the pain, there is also incredible resilience. The very survivors who endured this tried to break the cycle – some, like Phyllis Webstad or the Elders I’ve met at various events, chose to speak out, to educate, and to heal. They are survivors in every sense of the word, and they carry the strength of their ancestors.
As someone who has spent years fighting for workers’ rights, I see a parallel in these stories: the importance of speaking truth to power. Just as workers band together to demand fair treatment from employers, survivors banded together to demand Canada face the truth of what was done to Indigenous peoples. Their courage led to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, where over 6,000 survivor testimonies were recorded. That commission pulled back the curtain on this history for all Canadians, officially declaring that what happened in those schools was “cultural genocide.” Hearing those words as a Canadian and a union member, I felt both heartbroken and fired up. Heartbroken at the enormity of suffering and injustice, and fired up with a sense of responsibility: we have to fix what has been broken, as much as we possibly can.
Colonialism and Ongoing Injustice
One might ask, “Haven’t things improved? Residential schools are gone now.” It’s true, the last residential school shut its doors in the late 90s, but the system that created them – colonialism – did not disappear. The legacy of colonial attitudes and policies still shapes the reality for Indigenous peoples in Canada today. In fact, if we open our eyes, we can clearly see the connections between that past and the injustices of our present.
Think about the countless Indigenous families who are still being torn apart, not by residential schools, but by the child welfare system. Indigenous children are vastly overrepresented in foster care, often removed from their communities at alarming rates. This is sometimes called the “Millennium Scoop” (echoing the mass removals of the past), and it shows that we haven’t fully broken the pattern of assuming Indigenous kids are better off away from their culture and families.
Consider the crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. A national inquiry not long ago found that Indigenous women are around 12 times more likely to be murdered or go missing than other women in Canada. Twelve times. That stark number represents daughters, mothers, sisters, loved ones stolen or lost, often with inadequate investigation or justice. This ongoing tragedy has been rightly called a national genocide by the inquiry – a result of deep-rooted racism and the historic devaluation of Indigenous lives, especially women’s lives, that took root in the colonial era and still persists.
Then there are basic necessities and rights that most Canadians take for granted, but many Indigenous communities still struggle to obtain. In one of the richest countries in the world, there are Indigenous communities that have lived for years under boil-water advisories, meaning they can’t even drink tap water safely. The infrastructure gaps in housing, healthcare, and education between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities remain vast. My great-grandparents may have farmed their plot of land with clean water and government support back in the day, but I think about the First Nations not far from our communitites – how they’ve been pushing for a decent schools and clean water for decades, often met with indifference or red tape.
We also see the impact of colonialism in the justice system. Indigenous people make up only about 5% of Canada’s population today, yet they account for over 30% of the inmates in federal prisons. That’s not because Indigenous people commit more crime, but because poverty, discrimination, and trauma create a pipeline into prisons. It’s a cruel irony: the residential schools were often run like prisons for innocent children, and now far too many Indigenous adults end up in actual prisons. The cycle of over-policing and under-support continues.
All these injustices – whether it’s unsafe drinking water, stolen sisters, kids apprehended by child welfare, or over-incarceration – they aren’t isolated “Indigenous issues.” They are Canadian issues, union issues, human issues. They stem from the same rotten roots of colonialism that gave us the residential schools. Understanding that connection is crucial. Truth and Reconciliation Day calls on every one of us to see these present realities as part of the legacy we must address. It’s not about guilt for the past; it’s about responsibility for the present and future. When I connect the dots between historical colonial policies and the headlines I read today, I feel a deep sense of urgency. The truth is clear and often painful – now we, especially those of us who have benefited from the colonial system (settlers like me), must be part of changing the status quo.
Solidarity in the Labour Movement
Solidarity is the beating heart of the labour movement. We often say “An injury to one is an injury to all.” If that’s true, then what do we do when an entire people has been injured, generation after generation? As union members and leaders, we can’t compartmentalize social justice issues away from our workplace struggles. The fight for fair wages or safer working conditions goes hand in hand with the fight for human rights and dignity. Standing in solidarity with Indigenous communities is not a “political extra” – it is a core part of our mission of justice and equality.
The labour movement has a responsibility to be there, shoulder to shoulder, with Indigenous peoples. We are natural allies in the struggle for a fair society. Many Indigenous folks are workers, colleagues, and union members too, and they deserve to see their unions standing up for them not just at the bargaining table, but in the broader quest for respect and rights. We must ensure that Indigenous members feel safe, included, and supported in our unions and workplaces. That means zero tolerance for racist jokes or discrimination on the job. It means pushing employers to recognize and accommodate Indigenous cultural practices – for example, allowing Indigenous workers leave to attend ceremony or powwows just as we would for any other important family or religious event. It also means looking inwards at our own union practices and asking: are we doing enough to lift up Indigenous voices in our ranks? Are Indigenous members present at the leadership table, helping to shape our priorities? If not, how can we change that?
I’m proud of some steps our unions have started taking. For instance, many union gatherings now begin with a land acknowledgment, recognizing the traditional Indigenous territory we are on. This isn’t an empty ritual – it’s a moment to ground ourselves in truth and respect. My own union has organized workshops on Indigenous history and cultural awareness, helping members (myself included) unlearn stereotypes and understand the context behind today’s inequalities. Across Canada, unions have backed campaigns to implement the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action, and have advocated for justice in cases of Indigenous rights – from supporting the push for clean water and decent housing, to standing in solidarity when Indigenous communities assert their land and treaty rights.
Yet, I know we in the labour movement can do more, and we haven’t always gotten it right. There were times in the past when unions, like other institutions, overlooked Indigenous issues or even were complicit in policies that harmed Indigenous workers. For example, some early labour organizations excluded or ignored workers of color, including Indigenous people, from their ranks. That history too must be acknowledged as part of the truth. But today we have an opportunity to do better – to live up to our highest ideals. We believe in fairness, equality, and mutual support; reconciliation is an extension of those very principles.
On this Truth and Reconciliation Day, I challenge my brothers, sisters, and siblings in the labour movement to extend our solidarity beyond our usual scope. Just as we stand together on a picket line, we must stand together in confronting racism and colonialism. When Indigenous communities protest against injustices – whether it’s a pipeline threatening their sacred land or the lack of basic services – we should see those struggles as our struggles too. After all, what is a union if not a collective of people who have each other’s backs? Solidarity shouldn’t stop at the factory gate or the office door; it has to extend to our neighbours and fellow citizens.
A Settler’s Personal Reflection
I speak to you as someone who is, in many ways, an outsider to the Indigenous experience. I am not Indigenous; I am a person of Acadian settler descent. My ancestors arrived generations ago and settled on this land, worked it, raised their families – likely without ever thinking about whose land it originally was or what impact that settlement had on Indigenous peoples. As a child growing up in Canada, I wasn’t taught much about residential schools or the true history of colonialism. In high school history class, we skimmed over treaties and Indigenous resistance in a page or two. Frankly, I graduated knowing more about the world wars than about the fact that, in living memory, Indigenous kids were being taken away to those schools. I coasted through the first part of my life with a kind of comfortable ignorance – the privilege of not having to know.
It was only later, through my involvement in the union and community events, that I began to really learn these truths. I’ll never forget a particular union conference about two years ago, where a friend spoke to us about the effects residential schools had on his family. He spoke of his parents attending, the abuse they endured and the intergenerational challenges that followed. But he also spoke of hope – hope that by sharing truth, people like me would listen and act. I felt a profound mix of shame and determination that day. Shame that I had lived here so long not knowing her story and others like it; determination to be part of positive change going forward.
Being a settler descendant in this country means that I inherit some of the responsibility for reconciliation. I don’t carry personal guilt for what happened decades before I was born, but I do carry an obligation. I have benefited from living in a society that was built on seized land and broken treaties. I have never had to suffer the things Indigenous peoples have endured – my culture, language, and family were never targeted for erasure. So, it’s incumbent on me to approach reconciliation with humility. To listen more than I speak. To accept that sometimes I will feel uncomfortable truths, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s necessary.
I believe reconciliation begins with each of us settlers acknowledging that we are indeed settlers – that we are here on someone else’s ancestral homeland. It’s about building relationships based on respect and equality, rather than the old colonial mindset of dominance or paternalism. Personally, I’ve started with small acts: having heartfelt conversations with Indigenous coworkers and neighbours, reading books by Indigenous authors to educate myself, attending community events like powwows and sacred fires when invited. I’ve learned it’s okay not to have all the answers – what matters is being willing to learn and to do better.
Reconciliation isn’t just a project or a checklist – it’s a way of living, every day. As a union activist, I can’t just issue a statement on September 30th and call it done. I have to carry those values into how I treat people daily, how I raise my daughter to understand our history, how I vote, how I show up when called. Yes, I am a settler, but I want to be an ally and a friend. And I know I will make mistakes in this process – perhaps say the wrong thing or not understand an issue fully – but a sincere, humble heart and consistent effort can bridge that. If there’s one personal promise I’ve made, it’s that I will not turn away from the truth, no matter how heavy it feels, and I will find ways to be part of healing these wounds.
From Reflection to Action: What Can Workers and Unions Do?
Reflection without action will not bring about change. Reconciliation is not a spectator sport – it calls for concrete steps from all of us, especially those of us in the labour movement who believe in justice. We often negotiate contracts and policies to improve workplaces; now we also need to negotiate the journey of reconciliation in our communities. Here are some tangible actions and commitments workers and unions can take to promote truth, education, and reconciliation:
- Educate Ourselves and Others: Understanding the truth is the first step. Unions can organize educational sessions about Indigenous history and the residential schools for their members. As individuals, we can read the Truth and Reconciliation Commission report summaries, learn about the local First Nations or Métis history in our area, and listen to Indigenous voices (books, podcasts, talks). Share what you learn with your coworkers. Knowledge builds empathy, and empathy sparks change.
- Build Relationships and Partnerships: Unions should reach out to Indigenous communities and organizations to build genuine partnerships. This could mean inviting Indigenous Elders or youth to speak at union events, collaborating on community projects (like improving a community center or organizing a charity drive for a remote community), or simply showing up to support Indigenous-led events. Building trust and relationships is key – it shows that our solidarity is not just in words but in deeds.
- Support Indigenous-Led Movements: When Indigenous peoples mobilize for their rights – whether it’s a protest to protect their land from harmful development, a campaign for justice for missing women, or a movement like Idle No More – unions and workers can offer support. This might be through public statements of solidarity, joining rallies, providing material support (like food, legal aid, or space for meetings), or even using our collective power to put pressure on decision-makers. We should take our lead from Indigenous leaders and activists, respecting their guidance on how to help. Supporting Indigenous self-determination is crucial; sometimes the best thing we can do is amplify their voices and demands within our own circles.
- Confront Racism and Colonial Attitudes at Work: Workplaces are a microcosm of society. That means prejudices can surface there too. Unions can bargain for anti-racism training that includes Indigenous cultural awareness, and ensure strong language in collective agreements against discrimination and harassment. As workers, we must call out racist or derogatory remarks when we hear them on the job. Don’t let stereotypes or misinformation go unchecked in lunchroom conversations. Create a work environment where Indigenous employees feel respected, safe, and heard. Also, push employers to recruit and advance Indigenous staff – a diverse workplace makes us all stronger. Remember that reconciliation also means making space for Indigenous people to lead and succeed in every arena, including our unions and workplaces.
- Honor Indigenous Rights in Our Policies: This can include concrete measures like negotiating for paid leave on Indigenous ceremonial days, or ensuring that union contracts respect traditional practices (for instance, allowing space for smudging or prayer at work if requested). It means examining our union policies and constitutions through a reconciliation lens: do they include Indigenous perspectives and needs? If not, we can reform them. Some unions have created Indigenous liaison or representative positions to ensure Indigenous members have a direct voice in union decisions – that’s a practice to be encouraged. Essentially, we should strive to decolonize our workplaces and union halls, which means recognizing and removing the subtle ways that “business-as-usual” might be sidelining Indigenous cultures or contributions.
Each of these actions requires commitment and sometimes courage. But I truly believe that workers and unions, with our long history of fighting for justice, are up to the task. We know how to organize for change – we do it for wages and benefits, so we can do it for societal healing too. It’s also important to remember that reconciliation is not a one-day thing or a checklist you complete in a year. It’s ongoing. Some days it will feel symbolic – like wearing orange or attending a ceremony – and other days it will be very practical – like sitting in a negotiating meeting pushing for better policies for Indigenous members. All of it matters.
Conclusion: Walking Forward Together
On this Truth and Reconciliation Day, I find myself feeling both heartbroken and hopeful. Heartbroken for the immense suffering that Indigenous peoples have endured, much of it hidden in plain sight for so long. But hopeful because I see more and more of my fellow Canadians, and fellow union members, opening their hearts and minds to the truth. I see colleagues who once might have said “that’s not a labour issue” now standing proudly with orange shirts and demanding real change. I see conversations happening in lunchrooms, people respectfully asking questions and seeking understanding. Change often starts small – a change of heart here, a step in a new direction there – but it grows. And I can feel that growth in our unions and communities.
For those of us from settler backgrounds, reconciliation is teaching us how to be better allies and better humans. It’s teaching us that acknowledging a painful truth is not about wallowing in guilt; it’s about unleashing compassion and building a better future. I am learning that humility and listening are strengths, not weaknesses. And Indigenous peoples are teaching us that healing is possible, that dignity can be restored, and that there is a place for everyone in the circle if we come with respect.
To my brothers, sisters, and comrades in the labour movement: our work has always been about uplifting the downtrodden and challenging injustice. Truth and Reconciliation Day is a call to live those values fully. Let’s not treat it as just a moment of silence or a token gesture. Wear that orange shirt, yes, but wear it with purpose. Wear it knowing it represents a promise to do better by the First Peoples of this land. Let’s commit to ongoing actions throughout the year – educating our members, advocating for Indigenous rights, and standing up against racism wherever it shows.
In our union, we often sing “Solidarity Forever” at rallies and on picket lines. Solidarity forever means forever – it means for all, and for always. Indigenous peoples have shown incredible solidarity with each other and with other social justice causes, even when they’ve been mistreated. It’s time for all of us to show that same unwavering solidarity with them. An injury to one is truly an injury to all, and the injuries wrought by colonialism cut deep. We must be part of the healing.
I’ll end with the image that stays with me: that little orange shirt taken away from a child so many years ago. Today, that orange shirt has become a nation’s conscience. It urges us to remember, to grieve, and to learn – but above all, to act. As a union worker and as a Canadian, I am ready to act, and I invite you to join me. Let’s walk forward together – settlers and Indigenous, workers and allies – on the path of truth, reconciliation, and justice. In the spirit of solidarity, let’s ensure that every child, every family, every community truly matters. The road is long, but if we walk it side by side, we will get there.
Mireille