‘Tis the Season to be Brain Dead, but Listen up Anyway: A Holiday Message and an Invitation to Anglican Bishop Bob (“The Shredder”) Bennett and other assorted Scrooges

Posted on December 14, 2011 by itccs
By Kevin D. Annett

Dear Bob,

I hear you’ve told all your staff they’ll be fired if they talk to anyone about the documents you’re sitting on, concerning your Mush Hole Indian residential school where we’ve been unearthing tiny bones that are likely human.

That’s pretty harsh, Bob. It is Christmas, after all. And it’s not as if your secret is at risk, or anything. Even if somebody in your church developed a conscience and started spilling their guts about the Mush Hole, who are people going to believe: one disgruntled employee, or the entire Church of England?

So take a valium and some egg nog, Bob. Figure heads like you are supposed to remain calm at all times, and keep control of the narrative – in this case, concerning those missing 50,000 Indian children who passed through the tender mercies of your system on their one way trip to the bone yard. They all died of natural causes, don’t forget. They ran away. Maybe their records can’t be found. Hell, maybe they were even abducted by aliens.

Meanwhile, don’t forget, you have the best public relations boys in the business to rely on, and their sure-fire method called the Inoculation. It got started just yesterday on the CBC, which ran a big program on national television about the mass graves of children in Canada.

Now don’t shit yourself, Bob, they weren’t referring to the Indian residential schools, but the kids struck down by the Spanish flu in 1919. That was long, long ago. So don’t worry – our fellow pale Canadians got the message, loud and clear: massive numbers of dead kids in Canada is the result of an act of nature, and disease – not deliberate killing.

We’ve been inoculated now: prepared, conditioned, and molded in our responses. So the Mush Hole bones won’t seem so bad when they fully surface: “Mass graves? Oh yeah, I heard about that … probably the flu …”

It always works. Surely you of all people should know that, Bob. Besides, our November 21 public announcement of the discovery of probable children’s bones at your Anglican residential school in Brantford didn’t exactly cause a ripple of shock or protest anywhere here in lovely Canada. But still, you and your friends in government must be worried, to shoot us full of scandal-prevention serum like that, and just before Christmas.

After all, those little bones are exposed now, Bob, slip ups do happen, and not all of us are immunized to the bullshit. So I really do get why you’re perched these days so fretfully in your London, Ontario office astride those piles of documents about the Mush Hole. I hope you’re getting out for air, occasionally.

But I do know the score, Bob, and I realize that as a Bishop, you can conceal any evidence you like of a crime scene, and even shred it to your heart’s delight. Fred Hiltz, your big boss in Toronto, even said so the other day, when he declared that even he, the Primate (I love that term) for all Anglicans in Canada, couldn’t order you to release those documents. Fred answers to Lizzie Brit herself, Bob, and she is the Crown, after all. So that means you’re above and beyond the law.

So what is all the worry about?

I’ll tell you what. Leona Moses spilled the beans to me last month when I sat down in her home in Oshweken, on the scrap of land you guys have left her and her fellow Mohawks.

You remember Leona, Bob. She worked for your Huron Diocese as a researcher in 1999, until she and her co-worker, Wendy Fletcher, were both gagged for ten years by your church after they started talking about what they uncovered. Leona was told never to talk about what she’d seen in your archives: especially one particular document she found.

It seems that, back in 1870, your church signed a formal agreement with the puppet chiefs set up by your Crown to wipe out all the Mohawks by incarcerating their children in the Mush Hole residential school. It’s signed and sealed, in a document issued by the Crown and the New England Company, who set up the school. And it’s accompanied by a whack of letters proving that you guys and the Crown knew that children were dying en masse in the place, and you did nothing about it.

Of course, why would you? That was all in the game plan.

Now that’s what I’d call a smoking gun. But that particular document vanished, according to Leona, and ended up in something you call “the G 20 black box”.

So, Bob, the whole world wonders: where is this black box? And what else is tucked away in there?

In my teenage years, I got a real kick watching on TV former US President Big Dick Nixon sweat and lie to Congress about all the incriminating tapes and evidence he didn’t have in his possession. I like to think you’re closeted away in your drab office in the same manner, scowling and paranoid like old Dick, barking at subordinates and telling them to find a way to fix everything. But I know that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Instead, I’m sure you’re preaching to your flock this Sunday on reconciliation and healing, or whatever.

But that black box is still in your sanctum sanctorum somewhere, Bob, just itching to be explored. And I bet that even part of you is wanting it aired. Nobody, after all, is completely iniquitous. Isn’t that what you guys teach?

Old Scrooge’s delight that glorious Christmas morning when he had found himself again, and reveled like the child we all are inside once he found it so easy to do the right thing, always struck me to the core, whenever it expressed itself in old movies or from the faded pages of my father’s Dickens collection. I laughed and I cried with Scrooge, when he discovered the real joy of the season. Just like I will laugh and will cry with you, one day, Bob.

It was Tiny Tim who said it all, in the Dickens tale. And I hear his words whisper up through the grounds of the Mush Hole, where so many other innocents lie, mangled and forgotten, almost lost to us.

You can help revive them, Bob. You can do the right thing. All you need to do is to come outside, and open all the locked and forbidden places, and secrets, and beg all those little ones for forgiveness – by telling the truth, and awaiting history’s judgment on you, and those like you.

But you’ll likely need a midnight visit by three ghosts, first. Or even 50,000 of them.

Season’s salutations,
Kevin

The Bone that Could Change Everything: A Time to End our Complicity in Murder, and Reinvent Canada

bone fragment
Bone Fragment unearthed at former Anglican Indian school in Brantford, Ontario

by Kevin D. Annett

The tiny bone weighs hardly anything, and yet it is the weightiest evidence in Canadian history.

The forensic specialists are nearly definite that it’s the upper thigh bone of a small child, maybe four or five years old. This month, their tests will confirm what I felt was true when I recently lifted it from the soil near the former Anglican Indian school in Brantford: that the first of Canada’s Disappeared – the missing and murdered residential school children – have begun to come home.

Canada and its churches tried for decades to bury and forget the bone, and the other remains of the 50,000 and more children who died in their residential “schools”. And when these innocents’ deaths could no longer be denied, the same guilty parties distracted us from their foul deed with “reconciliation” babble and a whitewashing “truth and reconciliation commission” that has not once turned over the soil at a residential school grave.

That’s all about to change, in a way that most of us have yet to realize.

For one thing, once this bone, or others, are positively identified as human, the entire Indian residential schools issue becomes no longer a matter of public platitudes about “healing”, but of a massive crime scene. Every possible church record and grave site connected to a residential school will have to be opened and examined by competent specialists – and that does not and cannot mean the RCMP, police or any agent of the Crown or church, who are, after all, complicit in the crime.

The opening of these graves, in other words, will require and compel us to reinvent Canada, transforming it from an agent of the Crown and its church partners to a sovereign Republic with the power to prosecute historic agents of genocide, such as, in the Brantford case, the Church of England and its head, Elizabeth Windsor.

Most mainstream Canadians want such a change to a Republic, anyway: 58% of them, in the latest national poll. And what better issue to ignite such sovereignty than the need to bring comfort and justice to innocent children who died at our hands?

Some of the good people in southern Ontario have already taken such a step by forming something called Not in Our Name!(Non!): a community network that wants to rally support for the excavations at the local residential school authorized by Mohawk elders recently, that I have helped to organize. But Non! is more than that. To quote one of its statements,

We are sickened and outraged by the acts of the Anglican, Catholic and United churches … For generations, our ancestors have been lied to and fooled by these churches and the crown to fund the slaughter of native people, our friends and neighbors. They have killed children in our name and continue to profit from their crime by not paying taxes and having we, the taxpayers, foot their legal bills! … The churches must instead account for their crimes not with words, or money, but by giving up their right to operate as protected corporations above the law … We must take back our churches and our culture by returning the land and wealth they stole from the original people, and disestablishing their right to operate as anything larger than individual congregations. Perhaps that will allow moral as well as material reparations to murdered children …

Non! could spell the death knell of the church corporations that have evaded justice for so long, simply because it’s a movement emerging from within the churches themselves. One of the Non! organizers is a retired clergyman who actually left the church over its cover up of the residential schools massacre: a man who, like me, was pilloried and persecuted for his stand, but, unlike me, has chosen to stay silent about what happened to him. Until now.

Our excavations at the Anglican Indian school in Brantford are waiting for the new year, and more research, to resume, but already, three other indigenous nations have asked me to come and help them begin similar digs at their local Indian residential school mass graves.

Meanwhile, Non! is spreading as well, and setting up similar groups across the country. “White” Canadians, it seems, are switching their allegiance, and laying the basis for a sovereign nation capable of facing its past crimes and present possibilities. It all seems to echo the words of a Mohawk elder whom I’ve come to befriend and respect, Bill Squire, who said to me last week,

Once we bring home our murdered children we’ve acted as a real nation, saying, this is our crime site. And then we’re going to put Canada on trial.

Bill Squire will get his chance this spring, when a European Union parliamentary committee will hear and see the forensic proof of the dead children at the Brantford school – and much more. Canada could then face sanctions, and an international war crimes tribunal. And it will all be thanks to a small bone fragment, and many more like it, that you and I and many others will bring to light, by saying our Non!, loudly and clearly, and through action.

Welcome to the Republic of Kanata.