TWO weeks ago, this column began as a tale about the trials of 1,929 Mushkegowuk people in the remote James Bay area of Northern Ontario.
Then, as Mother Earth took a few more turns, two events in British Columbia converged to give the story a much wider dimension than anyone could have predicted.
Emphasizing the phrase "who live under our Protection," Theresa Spence, Chief of the Attawapiskat, quoted the essence of the 1763 proclamation of Britain's King George III in her own letter to Queen Elizabeth the Second on Feb. 21.
Living in turbulent times and still unable to read at age 11, George III signed that proclamation when he was only 25, presumably on the advice of then British prime minister George Grenville.
Mostly, though, the king became known for his bouts of mental illness that may have begun when he was 27 - illnesses that, today, are thought to have been caused by ingestion of increasing amounts of arsenic.
History notwithstanding, it is important to note that Section 25(a) of Canada's 1982 Charter of Rights and Freedoms continued "any (aboriginal) rights or freedoms that have been recognized by the Royal Proclamation of October 7, 1763. . . ."
That explains why Spence wrote to enlist the Queen's support for the Attawapiskat in their negotiations with the federal government to relieve the deplorable conditions under which they were living.
In brief, Prime Minister Harper's initial position was that the federal government had already sent $90 million to the band, with no appreciable improvement to show for it.
Then, in Nov. 2011, after almost a decade of co-management, the government inflamed the situation. Alleging that the Attawapiskat were in default of their Comprehensive Funding Agreement, a third party manager was imposed on the nation.
Unfortunately for Harper, financial management was not the emergency. Deplorable housing conditions and the lack of heat and water in the face of an advancing northern winter was the problem.
Because, as Spence wrote in her letter, Attawapiskat members were living in 30-to 40-year-old homes that were "prone to mould, rot and collapse."
Saying the homes were originally "not equipped with running water, electricity or access to a sewage system," she explained that "installation of these basic utilities some years later caused structural and other damage" to the houses.
After noting politicians were less to blame than the bureaucracy for the manner in which the relationship had deteriorated, Federal Court Justice Michael Phelan struck down the appointment Aug. 1 because a ". . . decision to appoint a TPM, where the remedy chosen does not respond to the (actual) problem (is) not reasonable."
By that time, however, Harper's government had already removed the appointee.
As with so many other First Nations people whose stories have come to light over the past two decades, Spence also revealed that Canada had forced "most of the adults" in her community - herself included - to attend residential school.
The four-page letter and more can be found at: attawapiskat.org.
Then I read Laura Robinson's Sept. 27 Georgia Straight story, John Furlong Biography Omits Secret Past in Burns Lake.
Robinson wrote that although Furlong's ". . . official Olympic CV and his book, Patriot Hearts, say he arrived in Canada in the fall of 1974. He actually arrived years previously, in 1969, as an Oblate Frontier Apostle missionary."
Robinson's story notes that the Straight has received "signed affidavits" from eight former students "alleging (Furlong's) physical and mental abuse."
Furlong has vehemently denied the allegations and has a right to be considered innocent unless proven guilty in a court of law.
However the story plays out, presentation of the affidavits suggests Furlong's former First Nations students are prepared to defend their position in the courts, albeit they may be armed only with their 43-year old childhood memories - undiminished though those memories may be.
A recurring theme in the commentary that followed publication of Robinson's story concerned the manner in which memories are suppressed only to surface three or four decades later. The cynicism being, of course, that memories are unreliable and, perhaps, embellished or "convenient."
Without doubt, societal attitudes to disciplining children are vastly different today than they were 43 years ago.
But then so are our attitudes to acknowledgment of past wrongs and many other aspects of our human condition: marriage, religion, women's equality, impaired driving and, important for the third story, to bullying.
Anyone inclined to doubt that childhood memories of harsh discipline, corporal punishment and bullying can affect a person for life, should read James Weldon's moving Oct 3 story, Yearbook Slur Haunts Argyle Grad 42 Years Later, and the editorial that accompanied it in the same issue of the North Shore News.
One sentence from Robin Tomlin, a man now dying from liver disease, says it all: "I feel like, emotionally, they've been beating me with a stick for 42 years," Weldon recorded.
All Tomlin hoped for was the apology he has now received from school superintendent John Lewis - a simple apology and enough money to cover his travel expenses from his home in the Kootenays so that he can see and hear it face-to-face.
So there you have it, three very different stories with one common thread: childhood innocence destroyed; lifetimes of unrelenting anguish.
Today, it is of little consequence to know the memories of so many children are sad ones.
What matters now is to know whether we are prepared - whether Canada is prepared - to take responsibility for all who live under our protection and make amends to whatever extent we can.
As the Oct. 3 News editorial said, the words "I'm sorry" can heal many bruised feelings - but they need to be sincerely meant.
