I was somewhere in the middle of Québec on highway 20 on my way to Nova Scotia to bring my daughter back to Ottawa when I heard the news of the discovery of 215 children buried on the former Kamloops (Tk’emlups) Indian Residential School grounds. I had to pull over for a few minutes before getting back on the road. My daughter, who is six and a half, wanted to spend time with her grandparents while doing online school. Over the four weeks at my parents house, my daughter heard stories from my parents’ childhood, she gardened with them, she prayed with them and learned our traditions, she helped prepare delicious south Indian meals, she danced to Indian music, and she got to practice Telugu (my mother tongue) every day. 

I was on my way to pick up my daughter who was being enriched by her heritage and by her elders. This is my privilege. This is the settler privilege.