Survivor Truths: The Art of Reconciliation

My whole name is William Charles August, but nowadays I’m known as Chucky. I’m from Ahousaht, B.C. west coast of Vancouver Island near Tofino. My grandfather brought me up fishing when I first started walking on my, on my own. Later on he taught me how to seal hunt, deer hunt, duck hunt, and everything else. My grandmother, I watched her cook, jar fish, bake bread. Everything fell apart after those people took us out of our grandfather’s house.

First thing, they brought us to a little room. I still remember to this day, they shaved our heads they thought we had bugs. Nits. That’s what they were thinking. Oh and talk about the food. It was garbage that they were giving us in school. They were saying that it was “good for you.” Mush, everyday. Mush that wasn’t even cooked. And lunch time, all we ever, ever had, every day was Cheez Whiz sandwich. Nothing else. Nothing. Didn’t get any juice or nothing.

I just started having Cheez Whiz sandwiches not too long ago. Couple years ago maybe. I started liking it because I could cook it myself. And those idiots who supervised us they had a dining room right beside where we were. You should have seen what they were eating, roasts, stuff like that, in front of us. And that principal had the balls to tell the courts that he was sitting with us, eating what we were having.

Couple nights after we got there, that first supervisor came down on me right away. Pulled my pajamas down, put his mouth on my little thing. Right from like day one. I seen him do it to other brothers. We were just little, little guys. He was doing that, I seen him doing that. That second supervisor, what he was doing to me too. Done one full year, every freaking morning. Put his thing in my butt. Ask me to put it in his mouth. He stunk. I remember that. He stunk. He had a bedroom in his office there. Every morning he’d grab me, one full straight year.

My painting is an island called Meares Island. That’s our island, it belongs to Ahousaht. There is a story behind that and that’s me, you know. That’s who I was and that’s what I did. Because I remember before, back in the day before I went to the residential school I had a great life with my grandparents. The residential school didn’t take it away from me, what they taught me. But they sure took my language, I wish I could speak it. I’d be speaking this to you guys in my language. I would, but I can’t. And this painting is thanks to my grandparents. Saying Kleco to my grandparents. It means I’m saying thank you to them in my language. Both my grandparents.