One night while at work I was listening to CBC Radio One. I was listening to a show called "Breaking The Silence". I was listening to Ted Quewezance of the Keeseekoose First Nation speak about the time he broke his silence, being one of the survivors of Canada's residential schools. He spoke about when he was telling his experience, people tried to silence him. People of his own community, wanting to forget, like sweeping a family secret into a closet. He also mentioned how Canada had failed reconciliation to the people, because there is no truth telling. The government keeps giving out "hush money" instead of letting the truth come forward and be expressed.
I was visiting a friend in who bought a house in Alert Bay. We went on a few walk-about's and explored the island over the few days I was there. Through the park's trails at the top of the island, the board walk where the community used to thrive from fishing and the cannery that ran there. On the last day he thought it would be a good idea to visit the museum. We walked on the long board walk through the town centre, passing old buildings that used to be part of the industry that used to flourish, passed the ferry terminal, houses with friendly people who waved and greeted us as we walked along the boardwalk. 'Till near the end of the road, close to the museum, I noticed a group of young trees growing around some rubble. There was a small pit inside the rubble. I asked "What was that?". He told me it was St. Michael’s Residential School. The last residential school to operate in Canada. A sudden chill ran up my spine and I stared at that pile of ruble for sometime. I realised I did not know what the residential schools were, what happened there and how they effected the community, the country.
St. Michael’s Residential School was constructed in 1929 as a regional facility to serve aboriginal communities from Campbell River to Saint Rupert. Operated by the Anglican Church and in 1934, the Indian Residential School Commission of the Missionary Society of the Church of England published that it thanked
“Almighty God for what has been accomplished: for a race of people brought in the shortest period of time known in history from the most debasing savagery to citizenship both in the Kingdom of our God and in his God-blessed Dominion of Canada.”
With these words, it is quite easy to tell what these facilities were meant to do.
The Haunted Building That Fell — and the Voices That Rose with It
The old residential facility finally shut its doors in 1975, but its shadow over the community stretched on for decades. The building changed hands and purposes over the years, but it remained a powerful reminder of a painful past: a past marked by forced assimilation, family separation, loss of language and culture, and suffering. Little wonder that even when the structure was empty, or repurposed, many felt its presence as a wound that never healed.
By the early 2010s, the building had deteriorated badly. Roof leaks, water damage, hazardous materials like asbestos and lead paint made it unsafe. Maintenance costs were rising, and the haunting emptiness of the structure became unbearable — both physically and emotionally. For many survivors and their families, the building itself had become a symbol of trauma — not heritage. Namgis First Nation northislandgazette.com
So in early 2015, the decision was made: it was time to tear it down. But this wouldn’t be an ordinary demolition. Instead, it would be a communal catharsis — a chance to transform sorrow into healing, loss into remembrance, pain into hope. Namgis First Nation canadianinquirer.net
A Ceremony of Mourning, Cleansing, and Hope
On February 18, 2015, on the grounds of the former school at Alert Bay, the ’Namgis First Nation hosted a healing and cleansing ceremony that hundreds of survivors, elders, community members, church leaders, politicians, and descendants attended. haroldkalman.ca
As the day began, a large screen was placed over the front stairs of the school, a symbolic mask covering something too painful to face directly. At a chosen moment, the screen was lifted and lowered four times, each lift a gesture calling out years of pain, each descent a commitment to letting the past go. The air was filled with drumbeats, the solemn wail of mourning songs, the cries and sobs of those present, and the quiet overhead circling of eagles, Earth’s own witnesses. Namgis First Nation
Then came the moment of dismantling. Heavy equipment smashed through the old school’s front porch as survivors and onlookers cheered, blew car horns, shouted chants: “Close that door!” “Tear it down!” Times Colonist
Further Reading & Sources
These sources provide historical context, survivor testimonies, and official documentation related to St. Michael's Indian Residential School (Alert Bay) and its demolition.