Wednesday, October 24, 2018


Last year was the 150th anniversary of the confederation of Canadian provinces – the country’s “sesquicentennial.” As a member of Vancouver Men’s Chorus, I sang various songs on the occasion and/or pretext of Canada’s birthday. Many of those events began with acknowledgement that we met on the unceded lands of various identified First Peoples. 

Even if they are only words, they are words I cannot imagine hearing in Donald Trump’s America. In fact, when Microsoft Word refused to accept “unceded” as a word, I checked my internal lexicon against the internet. According to the Collins English Dictionary, in British and Canadian English the word means “not ceded or handed over; unyielded,” as in “The reserves are unceded lands, remnants of the Indian realm of old.” 

Americans don’t even have a word for their original sin.


Yesterday’s essay, “Lost in a Good Book,” was my 150th post since starting this blog last year – my sesquicentennial. Thanks to everyone for their interest and encouragement.

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