Peace and Good Order by Harold R. Johnson

Author:Harold R. Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2019-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

7

Going to a white man’s court and testifying against a community member feels like betrayal.

WITNESSES EVEN TO the most tragic of events are reluctant to testify. Often what I encountered among potential witnesses was an unwillingness to cooperate with a foreign system. Going to a white man’s court and testifying against a community member feels like betrayal of one’s people.

Court in northern communities takes place once or twice a month. The court plane flies in, bringing a judge, a prosecutor, a legal aid lawyer, a clerk and sometimes a probation officer. We landed at the airport if there was an airport, or with skis or floats on the lake if there wasn’t. During breakup and freeze-up, when planes cannot land on the lake, we flew in like rock stars in a helicopter. The RCMP were there to meet us, and we loaded our briefcases in the back of the truck and piled in for the ride to the band office or community hall where we would hold court for the day.

We were a strange sight in our suits, ties and other southern apparel. We not only looked white; we dressed more white than white. I once asked Saskatchewan’s chief judge why as an Indigenous person I was required to wear a suit and tie, the dress of an elite European, before I could appear in court. He didn’t have an answer.

There is a government restriction on travel when the temperature falls below minus thirty degrees Celsius. If, on the morning before we left our larger southern centres, the temperature was minus thirty-one, either at our point of departure or our destination, court would be cancelled. It might seem like a safe, rational thing to do, but in northern communities of people familiar with living on the land, a temperature of minus thirty is a rather pleasant winter day. We only appeared more foreign with our fear of winter weather.

We were outsiders and for the most part we behaved as such. We would spend little time in the community other than in the building where court was held. We might go to a restaurant for lunch, if the community had a restaurant, and when we got there we would all sit together, often along with the RCMP officer who drove us. Very rarely did we attend a community event, not more than once a year. I recall one Treaty Day celebration at Hatchet Lake First Nation. A large tent had been set up and lunch was being served to the community. I was disappointed to learn that I was lining up for hamburgers and hotdogs. I happened to look through a gap and saw people behind the tent cooking fish over an open fire. I took my plate and arrived just as someone was taking a whitefish off the fire. I was invited to share it with him. I noted that when the cook took his portion, he left the head. I asked him if it was okay if I took it.

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