The Dance of Justice: Canada's Sleeping Conscience and the Echoes of Forgotten Children

Hark! In the grand theater of human folly, where comfort-seekers slumber in their moral tepidity, a tale of profound significance unfolds. The Assembly of First Nations' National Chief Cindy Woodhouse Nepinak, standing amidst the marble halls of power, calls forth the International Criminal Court to pierce the veil of Canada's darkest legacy.

Assembly of First Nations National Chief Cindy Woodhouse Nepinak says Canada should be tried on international stage for residential schools.
Behold how the masses drowse in their contentment, while the ghosts of 150,000 children cry out from beneath the earth! What manner of society permits such slumber in the face of such horror? The herd, ever-seeking the warmth of ignorance, turns its gaze from truth most terrible.

In this land of the sleepers, where bureaucrats shuffle papers with the enthusiasm of sheep grazing upon withered grass, Special Interlocutor Kimberly Murray dares to speak of needles in children's spines and infants cast into flames. Such tales should rouse even the most torpid of souls, yet the machinery of state grinds ever onward, producing naught but hollow words and emptier promises.

woman at desk

Lo, observe how Jaime Battiste, that parliamentary secretary wrapped in the comfortable robes of state authority, asks with remarkable mediocrity: "How doth one prosecute a country?" Such is the query of those who would rather sleep than scale the mountains of justice!

A man in a blue suit with an Indigenous symbol on a necklace gestures with his hands as he speaks.
See how they cower behind their temporal limitations! July 1, 2022, they say, as if the blood of children knows such boundaries! The mediocre ones seek comfort in their legal manuscripts while truth lies buried beneath their feet.

In the great halls of The Hague, where justice presumably dwells, the gatekeepers of international law ponder their jurisdiction with the lethargy of winter flies. Yet Martha Sutherland, she who searches for her uncle Michael's remains at St. Anne's, demonstrates the will to power that the comfortable masses lack.

An exterior view of a building in the background with a large blue sign in front, on an angle, with the image of two olive branches surrounding a set of scales next to the words "International Criminal Court" written in white letters in English and French.

Mark Kersten speaks of "groundbreaking" precedents, while Heidi Matthews mutters of "admissibility hurdles" - such is the dance of the last men, who would rather debate procedure than confront the abyss of their nation's soul.

Hearken! The true crime lies not merely in the acts of yesterday, but in the slumber of today! Those who seek comfort in their ignorance, who shield their eyes from truth with the thin veil of bureaucracy - these are the true inheritors of shame!

Four thousand documented deaths, yet countless more lie hidden beneath the weight of institutional silence. The churches clutch their records like misers their gold, while government officials speak of "healing" with tongues that have never tasted the bitter draught of genuine accountability.

What redemption awaits a nation that would rather sleep than remember? What valor exists in a people who choose the warm embrace of denial over the cold steel of truth? The comfortable masses, in their quest for undisturbed dreams, have become architects of forgetfulness.

Rise, O Canada, from thy slumber most profound! The ghosts of children past shall not be quieted by thy bureaucratic lullabies, nor shall justice be denied by the soft pillows of thy legal equivocation!

Thus do we witness the dance of justice and complacency, while beneath our feet lie the bones of those who never returned home. The International Criminal Court may yet rouse this slumbering giant, but only if it dares to grasp the lightning rod of truth and strike at the heart of comfortable ignorance.