“The grass was dry, a fire was lit, and it went.”
That’s how Anne Robinson described the turbulent times of the 1970s in Nuu-chah-nulth territories, and the circumstances that sparked the creation of Haahuupayak School, celebrating its 40th anniversary this month.
That’s a phrase Anne had heard long ago about Pine Ridge, she said, and it aptly described the beginnings of Haahuupayak and Nuu-chah-nulth control over Nuu-chah-nulth education.
“Everything was ready. Everything was ready for that to happen … And when it started, there was no stopping it. It just went,” she told Ha-Shilth-Sa.
Haahuupayak, of the root haahuupa, which means “teaching with love” is a Nuu-chah-nulth school on Tseshaht land, born out of passion, discontent, and the very heart of the people.
There was huge unrest on the West Coast of Vancouver Island at the time of the school’s creation, said Robinson. She was the organizer of the 40th anniversary celebration held Oct. 8 at Haahuupayak School.
“Not only here, but all over B.C., probably all over Canada, and it was a motivated time for First Nations people. ... There was a lot going on.”
A group of Nuu-chah-nulth visionaries were turning the establishment on its head, wrestling governance for Nuu-chah-nulth Nations away from Indian Affairs, building the tribal council, establishing this very newspaper, and starting to talk about taking the education of their children back under their control.
Late George Watts, a legendary figure in Nuu-chah-nulth stories from that era, was a core member of that group, which included Simon Lucas, Charlie Thompson and the now late Nelson Keitlah, among others.
Watts “was very, very pivotal and instrumental at that time,” said Robinson, “and very passionate; very passionate. He had had enough.”
It was a time of push back against established colonial ways. The residential school era was winding down, but its replacement was a public school system that was racist, dangerous, and demoralizing for First Nations children, one that continued to disrespect ‘Indian’ children, their peoples’ ways, values and culture.
In his straight-forward and to the point way, Watts stood up against the government, and the Nuu-chah-nulth people stood behind him.
“He wasn’t afraid,” said Robinson. The old timers were the anchor—“keeping us true to our traditional values,” she explained, and the next generation was coming up with awareness.
“It was a time when everything came together,” she said.
Long Hot Summer
Denny Durocher had arrived on Vancouver Island in 1973, the same year that the West Coast District Council, the precursor to the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council, had started to take over Nuu-chah-nulth concerns from Ottawa.
At the time Durocher became close to the Nuu-chah-nulth communities and soon, as an “outsider”, he said, started working with them to help realize their aspirations.
Denny’s job was to organize with the unions and the churches on social justice issues—aboriginal people reclaiming their own lives, their own natural resources and their right to chart their own path into the future.
Two years later, in 1975, the year of the ‘long hot summer’ of Native unrest, Nuu-chah-nulth-aht were making serious noise about establishing their own education system.
“Things were percolating quite a bit then,” said Durocher.
Back in those days, said Robinson, Nuu-chah-nulth people were demanding—not asking—demanding a lot of change.
“And when the government needed to be squeezed,” Nuu-chah-nulth leadership “got us out there to block roads. They got us to do the sit-ins when the government needed to see that it was no longer going to be the way that they wanted it to be,” she said.
Durocher said he “was one of those people who were fortunate enough to be included as one of those dreamers and crazy people who said ‘Aboriginal people have a right to educate themselves according to their own priorities, and that we were tired—sick and tired—of the failure rates in the local school system.”
“We had a terrible time in the public school system,” said Robinson. “Before that, our parents and grandparents had a terrible time in residential school… And the people in that day wanted to make a change. They wanted something different. … They wanted Nuu-chah-nulth [children] to have the same concern, and love, as a way of preparing them for the future.
“Our way is you teach with love and then it goes right in, and it becomes a part of that person. They never have to look for it, because it’s in there.”
Nuu-chah-nulth-aht said ‘We’re going to take those kids who are thrown away by the local school system and start to do some educational stuff with them’, Durocher told the people gathered at the Haahuupayak anniversary celebrations.
There was an attitude at the time, he said.
‘Ain’t nothing to it, but to do it.’ It meant that some things must be done “whether you are ready for them or not.”
“I’m not so sure we had all the answers to the questions, but we said, ‘We’re going to do it anyway’ … The main thing we did was say ‘We’re here, and we are not going away’.”
That statement received a hearty round of applause from the crowd.
“When you are on the right path, things move because it makes its own life,” said Robinson, “and you move with it, and that’s what was happening.
“It was the right time. We were on the right path. Things were moving out of the way. That’s what happens.”
They started with an alternative school, gathering the Nuu-chah-nulth children that had been rejected by the local school system, as well as pre-school and Kindergarten.
Durocher and Dave East were teachers for the alternative school, which “was set up for teenagers unsuccessful or unsatisfied with the public schools, Ha-Shilth-Sa reported at the time. Anne Robinson and April Thomas were teachers for the pre-school/Kindergarten. A report to the Haahuupayak Society from that year, as reported by Ha-Shilth-Sa, says the children were learning the alphabet, their numbers, “Indian phrases, words and songs and dances.
“Many of the things that the children are learning are to make the children more aware of themselves as Indians or more aware of the Indian people.”
Part Two: First Steps
Talk of the school began to take shape, and those people driving the dream did what their traditions told them to do: Talk to the Tyee.
Adam Shewish was Tyee Ha’wilth of Tseshaht at the time, and the discussion was brought to him. He was asked if he would be willing to host Nuu-chah-nulth Nations’ children in his territory.
Of course, he agreed, said Anne Robinson, organizer of the 40th anniversary celebrations for Haahuupayak School held Oct. 8.
“Tseshaht would be more than happy to welcome children to come to a place that’s going to be good for them.”
All of the Ha’wiih from the Barkley Sound got together at Shewish’s house, she recalled.
Anne, a woman in her 20s at the time, had also been called to sit and listen to the discussions.
She remembers that all were in agreement to the foundations of the school. It was to be in Tseshaht territory, so it would teach the Tseshaht language and cultural traditions, and it would be the Tseshaht who would take care of it.
“That’s where it started,” said Robinson. “That was the agreement among them, which none of us can change because we’re not Ha’wiih (hereditary chiefs).”
They did it out of the goodness of their hearts, because they wanted education to be different for Nuu-chah-nulth children.
Haahuupayak School came out of a time of great confusion and conflict, but “born out of something that turned brilliant,” Robinson said.
“It represented us; how we see ourselves. What we need to know about ourselves.”
Culture, language and history
Haahuupayak was long overdue, said Richard Watts, one of a group of people, along with George Watts, Denny Durocher, Doug Robinson, Mamie Wilson, Gloria Ross and Eileen Haggard, who in early 1976 applied for the school under the Societies Act and incorporated it.
The Nuu-chah-nulth sat with the school district at that time, said Richard “and they were animated and upset. They did not want the school.”
But there was no stopping it.
“For me, I never had any doubts,” said Robinson, “because the people who were looking after it were competent, and they were brave in so many ways. They had a vision. They had a drive.”
It grew from an alternative school with pre-school and Kindergarten classes, to Grade one and slowly all the way to Grade 6, with plans now to expand to accommodate Grade 7.
They had incorporated Nuu-chah-nulth culture, language and history in the classes, which grew positive feelings in the Nuu-chah-nulth students.
“We wanted their self-esteem to come up,” said Richard. “When I was a kid, I was made to feel less than everyone else because of who we were as First Nations kids… I grew up in a time when I did not learn my language because my parents were punished for speaking their language. They didn’t want us to be hurt by it.”
Government “wanted to get rid of us through education. That was a colonization issue. Through legislation they were trying to make it that we couldn’t do the things that our parents could do, governing, educating our own people. … We were well aware what education was. We knew how to educate our kids.”
Tamara Rampanen started in the first pre-school class at Haahuupayak in 1976. “I had no doubt in my mind when I was four years old that my teacher loved me,” she said.
“I learned about my culture at Haahuupayak. I learned how proud I was just to be Nuu-chah-nulth.”
Rampanen spoke of Dr. Martin Brokenleg and the four elements he says a child needs to develop resiliency. “Belonging, mastery, independence and generosity: I was very fortunate that those were the four things that I received in my very first year of education,” she said.
It would be too simple a story to say that the growth and success of Haahuupayk School was easy and sailed on smooth waters.
Joyce Little worked at the school and was on the board of directors for about 12 years. Her son Trevor Little is one of the cultural instructors employed at the school today.
When Joyce enrolled her two children in the school, there were only about 35 kids and Haahuupayak seemed to have hit a wall.
Joyce wondered why more people weren’t sending their children to the school. She and another board member visited with parents to discuss any concerns. They asked, ‘If they could fix the things worrying the parents, would they enroll their children?’ Many said yes.
Soon Haahuupayak had 70 students enrolled, and that grew to more than 130 kids, with another 35 children on a waiting list.
Joyce also acknowledged the sacrifices many staff members and community members made over the years, contributing to Haahuupayak’s success. Kathy Robinson and Caroline Little were key.
In their 50s and with very big families, they went off to post-secondary school to learn how to develop the curriculum for the school and effectively teach the language, said Anne Robinson.
They worked for nothing in the summer to continually improve that curriculum, said Joyce. They started breakfast and lunch programs because they saw that the children were hungry.
And “the teachers gave and gave and gave,” Joyce said.
Part Three: The results are clear
Finding the funding to keep Haahuupayak School up and running was an ongoing struggle for most of its 40 years. It wasn’t until about seven years ago that a tripartite agreement was reached with the province and the federal government to provide reciprocal funding.
Until then the Haahuupayak Society Board of Directors and staff spent a lot of time fundraising.
Brenda Sayers has been the financial officer for the school for the past 20 years.
“We paid our teachers 20 per cent less than the school district. I don’t even think we had any [education assistants] at the time. We didn’t have a library,” she said of those days.
“I was the ‘no’ person. No you can’t have that resource, no you can’t do this or that… the government grossly, grossly underfunded our people. The fact that they draw from our natural resources in the valley here, they could have done a lot better.
“But we survived. We made it.”
Martin Watts is the Chair of the Board of Directors. He thanked the teachers for putting up with having so very few resources.
“Brenda’s right. We had so little and they just made due with what we had and they were happy to be here…. That made our love for them even more,” he said.
Children who lived off the reserve, but who attended Haahuupayak School, were funded by the province at half the rate they would be in public schools.
About 12 years ago though, Haahuupayak and 13 other First Nations running schools began to pursue “education jurisdiction” and equitable funding for children enrolled in their classes.
So, the last of seven years has been easier for the board, said Martin. Thanks to Brenda’s frugalness, they’ve purchased a new school bus, installed a new playground, and provided curriculum that sets the school apart from that in the public school system.
“Today we have EAs in every classroom,” said Sayers, and iPads and computers… “We have a beautiful stocked-full library. And we have access to resources and curriculum that we weren’t able to afford before.
“Our staff are properly paid now, with benefits … It was a victory for the people, for the school.”
Still, the school over the years had many milestone moments.
In 1977/78, a Native studies teacher was added.
In 1987, a new school bus was purchased and Haahuupayak students got three of the scholarships given each year by the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council.
In 1989, the board was informed that the school had been put on the five-year list for getting a new building. They had been using one of the old residential school buildings for classes.
In 1991, feasibility study funding was obtained and the site for the new school was approved by Tseshaht.
By 1993, a school building committee was formed with representation from NTC, the Tseshaht education committee, parents of students, and Haahuupayak representatives.
In 1995, Haahuupayak is at the head of the list for a new school. It would be another two years until construction of the school would begin.
In 1997 the school struck out to provide a month-long language immersion project. Caledonia Fred, a student in an added adult education centre was a part of that class.
Fred had been a student at Haahuupayak during her first years of school—pre-school and Kindergarten—but spent the rest of her time in public school until she dropped out in Grade 9.
“I remember a science book, with them still referring to us as savages,” Fred said of her public school experience. “That made me not like school… I couldn’t stand it there.”
She came back to Haahuupayak through the adult education centre after having two children.
“They asked me, ‘What do you want to get out of this?’ I thought Grade 12 was going to be the hardest thing in my life. I didn’t see myself going to university or college,” said Fred.
“My self-confidence was very low. My experience in the school system was very poor… Getting a Grade 12 to get a job was what I was trying to do.”
“I ended up in a class where people taught us to speak in our language, and it inspired me…. I was so impressed that after one month I was able to learn the language and go back and share everything.”
Fred said she sat in the graduation ceremony for the language program ‘bawling my eyes out.’
“I felt my ancestors looking down on me, because I could speak my language and I knew who I was as a person. And it gave me my identity back as a first nations person growing up in a system that didn’t seem to appreciate that part, and coming back and feeling whole again.”
It encouraged her to go out and further her education.
After two years, Fred said she came out thinking she was going to become a certified general accountant, “and had the confidence to say, ‘I can do this. I have that within me’.”
“We hear so many other success stories of our children” who attended the school, said Judith Sayers, a Haahuupayak board member for years.
Her daughter Alana graduated from Haahuupayak in 1999 and is now finishing off her masters in English literature. Judith’s son Cole is almost finished his bachelor’s degree.
The Nuu-chah-nulth school is getting results, and it is grounding the children in their identity to be able to succeed in a world that isn’t soon going to change.
“Kids coming from Haahuupayak are stronger and have more of a sense of identity,” said Anne Robinson, one of the first teachers at the school. The generations before had that ripped out of them.
“All that they knew was that their people were bad or evil, or that they weren’t relevant in any way. The generations coming out of here now, they have a lot stronger sense of who they are and what’s of value to us.”
“They are fearless in some ways.”
Cultural instructor Lena Ross has been with the school, on and off, since 1998. She delivers a language program at the school, plus history and cultural protocol, song and dance, teaching alongside Trevor Little.
Resource people come in regularly to bring cultural lessons that Lena and Trevor can’t teach.
When Ross attended public school she learned about Prairie Indians, not her own Nuu-chah-nulth peoples. By contrast, students at Haahuupayak learn about their own culture.
“They can own this,” said Ross. “It’s a part of who they are—Nuu-chah-nulth.”
Haahuupayak teaches the Tseshaht dialect. The dialects on the coast are closely related. They have three 45-minute language classes a week, and the rest of school has incorporated language in their classes and activities.
“They are getting pieces of the culture the whole time.”
When asked to comment on the vision of those who created the school, Ross became very thoughtful.
“You know what I really, truly believe? They created the school for their “usma”, their precious ones.
They saw that their precious ones were not being educated and nurtured in a way that they deserved to be educated and nurtured as they developed as children…
“I am a grandmother now, and I would do anything for my grandchildren to ensure that they have a strong foundation to grow up on.”
Ross said she knows that those people from the past wanted to “rebuild the culture because they knew that it brings a strength to us that nothing else can.”
Culture has filled her spirit, personally. “It filled an empty hole within me…
“To have children growing in the culture will ensure they are going to be stronger, more resilient.”
The result is stronger families, stronger communities.
“I’m very grateful to Haahuupayak for helping my children find that pride within themselves, so that those things that might harm them out there will kind of roll off them, and they say, ‘You know what? We’re different and there is nothing wrong with being different and we are strong within who we are.”
She said her granddaughter has moved on from Haahuupayak into the high school in Port Alberni and she’s very comfortable “being a Nuu-chah-nulth young lady in that big school.”
There is still work to be done, though, said Ross.
“We’re still evolving… As we accomplish one dream, we start onto another.”
