Niigaanwewidam Sinclair sheds light on what school didn't teach him, and how it altered his worldview

CBC

24-02-2025

Turtle Island is original short story by Niigaanwewidam (Niigaan) Sinclair. It is part of Mirrors, a special series of new, original writing featuring work by the English-language winners of the 2024 Governor General's Literary Awards, presented in partnership with the Canada Council for the Arts.
"[It's] how Canadians have been conditioned (in education, etc) to "see" (or, rather, not see) one another — which creates a self-fulfilling and very self-centred prophecy," Sinclair told CBC Books.
CBC's Radio One will host an episode featuring participants from this original series.
Sinclair won the 2024 Governor General's Literary Award for nonfiction for Wînipêk: Visions of Canada from an Indigenous Centre.
Turtle Island
It's grade six.
Your teacher walks in, hurriedly, with a pile of papers.
"Pull out your pencil crayons," she says. "Today, we are going to learn about Canada."
You open your brand new package of sharpened pencil crayons, purchased for you by your parents last summer. There are twenty-four colours.
Your teacher hands out the still-warm, newly photocopied papers.
"The first assignment is to colour all of Canada," she announces. "Fill it all in. Make sure not to go outside the lines."
You begin, performing long strokes of green across the map.
"Wait," she says, "don't colour over the water. Mark the rivers and lakes with blue."
You quickly and carefully create Canada. That wasn't hard.
"Good," your teacher remarks. "Now, we will do it again."
The teacher hands out another set of the same maps.
"Take out thirteen more colours now," she instructs. "Ten provinces. Three territories. Colour those and do not, I repeat, do not, go outside their boundaries and lines."
You begin. This one will be much harder.
"On yeah, and don't forget blue for the water."
Colour those and do not, I repeat, do not, go outside their boundaries and lines.
You recall your dad telling you that they only used twelve colours when they were your age — and your grandpa only had to use eleven.
What an easier time they must have had.
With long-practiced skill and precision, you carve out the land, rivers, and lakes. You are very thankful for the rectangles that make up the Prairies. You smile at how little time it takes to do the Maritimes. What takes the longest are all of those tiny little northern islands.
You finish and hand in your two maps, scrawling your name across the top of both.
"Excellent," your teacher says, "as usual."
You walk out of the classroom and into the hallway. You notice the pretty posters and signs adorned with words and numbers you've been taught since you first entered this place. You greet teachers, who basically all look the same. You pass by the office, adorned with a large photo of a king. You walk out the front door, where a flag hangs prominently.
You walk down streets named after explorers and pioneers. You arrive at your beautiful home, built in the form of a barn and complete with a fence surrounding it. You unlock the front door, step inside and immediately feel the warmth of your home, complete with memories, stories and life.
You sit down on your couch and turn on your phone, staring at the small screen. After skipping the advertisements (for cars and alcohol, by the way), you notice something scroll past your eye.
It's a post re-posted by your cousin of armed police officers wrestling with young people. The police officers are armed with guns, helmets and shields. The young people wear masks, camouflage and carry flags you don't recognize.
One carries a sign you can barely make out: "Turtle Island," it says.
Your cousin has added their own editorial: "Thank god. I don't know why these people have to protest and complain all the time."
You are curious. You open up a browser. Quickly, you type in: "Turtle Island."
A map pops up with detailed, intricate and complicated patterns. You read new names of places you thought you knew in letters and languages you don't. It is then you realize these are nations, communities and families.
You notice large swaths of territories overlap. How can there be some lines that matter and some that don't, you ask yourself.
You see hundreds of nations you never knew existed. Thousands of cultures. Millions of years.
Looking up, the world around looks different.
Not the simple place you thought it was.
Now you see it.
About Niigaanwewidam Sinclair
Niigaanwewidam Sinclair is an Anishinaabe (St. Peter's/Little Peguis) thinker and assistant professor of Native Studies at the University of Manitoba. He has written for The Exile Edition of Native Canadian Fiction and Drama, The Guardian and CBC Books and is a regular contributor on APTN, CTV and CBC News.
Sinclair is also the editor of The Debwe Series and the author and co-editor of award-winning Manitowapow and Centering Anishinaabeg Studies.
The English-language books that won the 2024 Governor General's Literary Awards demonstrate how stories help us reflect on our lives, understand ourselves more deeply and see the world in new ways.
CBC Books asked the winners to further explore the power of reflection in original works. The special series, themed around the theme of mirrors, challenges how we see ourselves and our society — unearthing hidden truths, exploring alternative identities and blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.