Ross Parker, Architect and Accredited Learning Environment Planner

Contributors:
Faye Strong, Accredited Learning Environment Planner from Calgary, Alberta.

Dr. Terri-Lynn Fox, Educator, sociologist, and member of the Blood Tribe

Clifton Cross, Member and education portfolio holder of the Frog Lake First Nation

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THE PAST: DESTRUCTION AND ERASURE

I expect that many of you reading this never attended a school with a cemetery for your classmates, your predecessors, or your lost uncles or aunties. I did not. I was raised in a rural area outside of Victoria, BC, Canada. My playgrounds were forests, streams, and mountains. For my first 9 years of school I was very fortunate to attend schools that valued outdoor learning, play, and exploration in the schools’ private fields, forests, and beaches. Later, when working as an architect with Indigenous clients in remote communities, I learned that I had had the learning experiences that many of them were denied. I was never taken from my parents and culture and sent hundreds of miles away to be isolated from all that I knew. I had no church overseers who brutalized or raped me, or forced me into harsh manual labor for my school’s profit. None of my schools had cemeteries for my classmates or missing relatives, but as I later learned, several of my friends, colleagues, and clients did.

 

General awareness of the historic Indigenous Schools has grown exponentially in recent years with the release of many hundreds (if not thousands) of newly documented unmarked graves of Indigenous students at former residential schools in Canada. None of this is new to Indigenous peoples – for many generations they have lived with the burden of genocide inflicted on them by governments and churches. This century-and-a-half legacy has been officially termed cultural genocide by the Canadian government. Many say it goes beyond the cultural and is better termed as genocide.

 

Dr. Terri-Lynn Fox:

"(The Canadian government official responsible for the Indian Residential Schools) Duncan Campbell Scott in 1920 stated, 'Our object is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic and there is no Indian question.' The schools hurt the children. The schools also hurt their families and their communities. Children were deprived of healthy examples of love and respect. The distinct cultures, traditions, languages, and knowledge systems of First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples were eroded by forced assimilation. The damages inflicted by Residential Schools continue to this day. “We now recognize that it was wrong to separate children from rich and vibrant cultures and traditions and that it created a void in many lives and communities, and we apologize,” said Prime Minister Stephen Harper in 2008. 'These institutions gave rise to abuse or neglect and were inadequately controlled and we apologize for failing to protect you.'"

 

These institutions are total institutions. They alter one’s identity. Indian residential schools are similar to prisons.

 

Kaamotaan: To overcome; to survive; to recover; reconciliation. We do not inherit the land we walk upon, we borrow it from our children. We are responsible for the seven generations before us, and the seven generations to come after us; our actions span across 14 generations. We are resilient. We will survive.”

 

These schools trace their origins back to the 17th Century in what became the United States. Canada closed its last government-funded and/or operated boarding schools in 1997. Several dozen continue to operate in the USA. The churches ran the schools until the 1970’s in both countries. 

 

The Goal:

These race-based schools were designed to destroy relationships - between family members and all that make up a culture: language, religion, history; to place, and of particular importance to Indigenous peoples, to nature.

 

In 1887 the US federal government created the system of “Indian Boarding Schools” with the stated goal, in the words of its founder, US Army Captain Richard Henry Pratt, to “kill the Indian, save the man.”  Officially, their purpose was “to provide for the U.S. government a method to education and civilize Indian children away from the influences of their savage lifestyle and unchristian ways.” Later, the Canadian official overseeing that country’s “Indian Residential Schools” system, modeled after the USA’s version, labelled it “the final solution to the Indian problem.” The US military also determined that forced assimilation through indoctrination was significantly less costly than physical annihilation. Though largely unstated, the ultimate goal was to wrest control of the land and resources away from the Indigenous peoples and into the hands of the colonizers/settlers.

 

The Method:

Governments in both countries turned to Christian churches to operate the schools, funded in part by the federal governments. Four church denominations in Canada operated over 140 residential boarding schools in Canada, and 14 denominations operated an estimated 408 schools in the USA. In both countries, the majority were operated by the Catholic Church. The students were taken at a very young age, typically by age seven but not uncommonly much younger, and released at varying ages, typically 15-17. From thousands of hours of testimony, we know that for many, their journey into the system included the following:

 

• Forcible removal from home, suddenly, and with threat of arrest by attending police officers for those who tried to hide their children or otherwise tried to stop their forcible removal.

• Transport hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

• Many parents had no way of knowing where their children were taken or any means of communicating, except by occasional mail delivery; in later years, infrequent visits granted as special privilege for some.

• Kids were “welcomed” by having their clothes stripped away, typically to be burned.

• De-lousing powder, such as DDT, thrown in their face and all over their body.

• Scrubbed raw in a cold shower.

• Forced to sleep in dormitories with scores of traumatized children, frequently unheated.

• Beaten for speaking their only known language.

• Given “christian” names, and for many, only numbers; documentation includes names assigned by church officials, such as “Dummy bad boy”.

• Rape, torture, murder.

• Indentured servitude or slavery.

• Human trafficking - sale of young children to White people, sight unseen, by priests, through the postal service, for as little as $10 in the 1950’s, with no consultation or notification of the child’s real parents.

• Babies born to young girls as the product of rape in the schools, thrown live into incinerators.

• Thrown away

• Forgotten

 

Over 160,000 attended these schools in Canada. Over 6,000 are known to have perished, many anonymously and without return or even notification to their parents. The number of deaths in the US system is less well known but is estimated to be in the tens of thousands. What is known is that in Canada, the death rate of students was higher than for combat soldiers in the Second World War.

 

I know these are very harsh words, and hard to believe. But they did, until very recently, by those who were charged to be caregivers. I know people who were forced through that system. I’ve worked with them, and for them. Only recently did I learn the horrors of what a friend my age went thru at the hands of the priests who are still being hidden and sheltered by the church who has only recently offered an apology – of sorts - but paired with ongoing legal challenges to legal promises they made to provide financial compensation and to make true efforts toward healing.

 

As schools, the systems failed to live up to even their meager promise of providing industrial, agricultural, or domestic service education. The facilities were not suitable for their climate, frequently their location, and certainly not the community – if there was one nearby – or the culture of those served. For those that were designed with any architectural style, it was Eurocentric; not of the place or culture. The buildings were substandard, overcrowded, with insufficient heat and ventilation. Disease such as tuberculosis was rampant and killed many, as did fire. Food for students was at best substandard; for the priests and nuns, it was plentiful and appealing.

 

During the Sixties Scoop in Canada (which operated from the 1960’s until the 1980’s), and similarly with the Stolen Generation in Australia, government officials and social workers forcibly removed children from their homes to be adopted in White families instead of providing community resources and support. Families were faced with choosing between adoption or sending their kids to residential schools. Many chose what they could only hope would be less traumatic for their children, adoption and permanent separation from their birth parents and culture into a society they knew would never fully accept them.

 

After “completion” of their schooling in the boarding schools, the students were discharged. Many never returned to their home communities or families. For those who did, they faced new barriers of trying to re-learn a language they had been forced to forget. They faced family members who were unfamiliar to them. They re-entered communities who for years had no children in them. As young adults, they were frequently faced with becoming parents, yet without healthy experiences, role models, or mentors to guide them.

 

THE PRESENT: RECONCILIATION AND RE-ESTABLISHING

Since the late 1990’s, there has been significant acknowledgement that many fundamental relationships involving Indigenous peoples are in dire need. This began with the closure of the church and government-run boarding school system in Canada, progressing through the years-long Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, and more recently with the near-explosive public acknowledgement of the brutality of the Indigenous Schools systems and their lasting effects. Similar trends are occurring the US, although government and public acknowledgement is lagging what is occurring in Canada. From familial to community to local-distant governmental relationships, change has begun from levels of funding to granting control to local Indigenous communities and nations, to re-establishment of traditional Indigenous practices, in schools in both countries.

 

Those who endured the former school systems – and the majority of them are still alive in 2023 – they do not consider themselves graduates or alum of these schools. They are survivors, or victims. For many, the sign of a christian cross on school is a sign of superior education, high morals, hope, even eternal salvation. For millions of Indigenous peoples in North America, and likely elsewhere, it is a symbol of nothing less than brutality, torture, rape, and murder of young kids by priests, nuns, and other church and government officials.

 

The legacy has been nothing short of generational trauma. Sexual abuse, substance abuse, violence, unemployment, poverty, and shortened lifespans. A US government study released in 2022 found that for many survivors, their DNA had been altered by the trauma. It is estimated that as many as 75% of Indigenous students have special needs of one kind or another. Typical government funding is for less than 10% of the general population.

 

There are presently some 9,000 students in federally-funded Indian boarding schools in the USA, most on or adjacent to reservations and many operated by the local Indigenous peoples. Five remain distant from the home communities of the students. One in Alaska, Edgecumbe, is operated by the state and is a form of magnet school. It is a highly sought-after school for many Alaska Native children. The other four are operated by the US Bureau of Indian Education and serve only Indigenous students, many sent by the criminal justice system, some thousands of miles from their home communities – in Oregon, California, South Dakota, and Oklahoma. Architecturally, at least two resemble prisons. Chemawa Indian School, located on Indian School Road just north of Salem Oregon, has a still-functioning cemetery for students just outside of the school’s tall security fence.

 

For many communities, recent decades have seen many schools built in the Indigenous communities they serve. Alaska has led the way in creating schools for Indigenous communities, a result of the 1976 lawsuit brought by several teenage Alaska Natives: Tobeluk v. Lind, also known as the Molly Hootch Case after one of the plaintiffs, led to a consent decree whereby the state of Alaska committed to providing high schools in every community with at least 15 students. Eventually, 105 such schools were constructed. Many other community-based and operated schools have been established in Canada and the US, those more recently being specifically designed with local input, direction, and with local Indigenous control.

 

Funding of these schools in Canada is not yet equitable; as of 2022, per-student funding for Indigenous schools was increased from 75% to 90% of those for non-Indigenous students. Plans are underway to increase this by 2023 or 2024, however the 2023 Canadian federal budget allocated zero dollars for new Indigenous schools, making the increase theoretical.

 

CASE STUDY: Tus-Tuk-EE-SKAWS High School for the Frog Lake First Nation.

Located in northern Alberta, Canada, the new school and library was designed by Reimagine Architects and completed in 2022. This project, envisioned, planned, and designed in close cooperation and under direction of the Frog Lake First Nation, is an example of emerging trends in schools in Indigenous communities in Canada, and how they incorporate and support Indigenous perspectives and practices. The following are a series of questions posed to Clifton Cross, Frog Lake First Nations Council Member and Education Portfolio holder, with his replies (given verbally, with very minor edits for clarity):

 

Why do you think it’s important to have a school within a First Nation? “It’s important because how better to capture the history of the local area than to provide it in the form of a schoolhouse. Which was promised in the treaty to the people of the treaty territory. Treaty 6 specifically mentioned that we capture all the culture and heritage. Outside the treaty we have access to understanding and empowerment to our members. On reserve, you can capture the teaching of Elders, the teaching of our family members, the teaching of the cultural roots and heritage for generations. You cannot get that outside of our communities. So, First Nations can actually benefit and augment the curriculum based on what they’ve learned, to reinforce the traditional values of an entire people within a structure that is hundreds of years old and refine the thinking of the community.”

 

What do you think will be the impact of having a new school in your community will have on students?
“It is tenfold. The hope within the community. Right now we’re going through some very trying times - Frog Lake is an oil and gas community and with the 2009 collapse of the oil and gas economy and the 2014 collapse of the economy, we did not have a great outlook. We did not secure ourselves a very bright future when we had the opportunity. This (new school) provided a streamline for hope - the opportunity to develop the capacity within our youth population, to be more valuable to the process to get out of the slump of the economy and reaching out to diversify means of actually providing a quality of life to those individuals and several different generational structures. The new school itself will provide a means of reaching out to their community officials. The school is attached to our arena, to our field house, attached to our administration building. All the leaders are in one place. The youth and elected officials are in one place, to reinvigorate a learning environment that is supposed to be lifelong learning. Within Frog Lake we took the initiative of utilizing the new school as a launching pad of other means of the lifelong learning strategy. Applying the daycare. Applying the library. Applying the Head Start. Applying the Child and Family Services reunification center where we bring families together in a sub-office. All along the same stretch. So we’ve really taken the initiative of taking that traditional knowledge of holistic knowledge and applying it cradle to grave. This is what the new school does.”

 

What impact do you think the school will have on families?  

“It’s again more of a structured base. They are welcome to come in through activities within the school and the library that is within the school, and they can access after-hours program at the fitness center, and after-hours activities that can be a family event. We actually have our monthly pipe ceremonies within the field house. All the grandparents and youth come out and take part in that ceremony once a month. It’s an honouring of what we have looking forward but also recognizing everything we had in the past. The vibrance of adult involvement, that are not school age, will be very prevalent. The fact that we take the radio station and utilize that to reach out to the grandmas who listen to it religiously on Ayik Radio. The home base of that is right adjacent to the school. You can apply the station to a CATS (Center for Academically Talented Students) program where the kids can actually get their voices out to the entire community and reach out to their parents. Again, the pride of the community will be showcased on all levels in every classroom program.”

 

How do you think the new school will help Elders preserve language and culture?

“The direction came directly from the Elders when we first started planning the school and showcasing that involvement. The fact that we tried to instill all of the directions that the Elders had at the very beginning really empowers them to be involved with it as it’s erected. Imaging the Elders gathering to seeing what the fruits of their labour … have provided to streamline all the ideas into one situation. The open area that provides the four directions, the four seasons, and all the respect that is garnered along the way really takes the family environment and puts it into the building scenario. The Elders themselves will be able to take part not only in the library, but that we made it so the vegetation around the building can be collected as we convey the hunter-gatherer mentality that we’ve all grown up with and has become a part of our heritage. So the trees, the berry-picking, the sap collection, that portion, the environment relays the cultural details of skinning, of smoking meat, of collecting and preserving berries and herbs is all what the Elders wanted us to convey: if we are to teach, we must teach our own way. This is their vision for the school.”

 

What do you envision for a new First Nation library?

“I believe it must have a holistic vision. If you can take any industrious person and give the opportunity to for that person to ask questions, and have all the answers at their fingertips. For Indigenous people, we don’t get the answers a lot. We get the runaround. If we pose a question, it usually takes a long time for us to get that answer back. But now with the availability of a library in the Nation, I have great hope in the ability for a person to actually reach out and have answers at their fingertips. It was promised to us many, many times. I want to underline one thing. Frog Lake First Nations became (with this community library in the school) the very first First Nation to have a library within the provincial system. So that is a big thing. And it also points to the fact that it was never there before. So, we’re talking about reconciliation. After 150 years of not having a library within a First Nation, really blazing that pathway forward, providing for generations to come, and for generations right now.”

 

FUTURE: TRANSFORMATION AND HEALING

“Education is what hurt us but I believe education is what will heal us” – Jeff Horvath, principal of Manyhorses High School, Tsuut’ina First Nation, near Calgary, Alberta, Canada.

 

On a similar timeline to awareness of Indigenous issues has been growing awareness of the highly damaging relationship humanity has with our planet. There is now general consensus that our environment is beginning to change in ways that may pose existential threats to humanity, and that we are major contributors. There is greater awareness about the highly dysfunctional relationships that exist in our societies – from the familial to the international level. There has also been significant research and exploration into potential solutions, from brain research, geopolitical, to the influence of the design of schools.

 

In 2015 the University of Salford in the UK released a study entitled Clever Classrooms, that for the first time, documented the impact on academic test results of such environmental characteristics in schools as naturalness, natural light, fresh air, and appropriate stimulation. (The results were significantly positive). Put another way, just eight years prior to this writing, western science first documented what has been known and practiced by Indigenous peoples for millennia. With a high degree of local control, Many indigenous communities are embracing the opportunities afforded for healing and restoring the health of their people.

 

Pedagogical Models

 

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This image is a simplistic overview of the main tenets of the most widespread instructional models, or pedagogy, that have emerged since the late 19th Century.

 

The Eurocentric model, sometimes called the traditional or Factory Model, was developed from the Prussian Model brought to North America in the late 19th Century by Horace Mann. It focused on creating an efficient system for educating the most students as possible for the least effort, with a goal to providing knowledge needed for emerging industrializing societies. It was largely knowledge-based with separation between academic and experiential or hand-on learning, such as trades for boys and home economics for girls. This was the dominant model throughout the 20th Century and continues today as a dominant pedagogy in much of the world. Another term for the physical and pedagogical design, which is typified by multiple identical classrooms aligned on either side of a long hallway (or double-loaded corridor), and with students sitting in straight rows facing a teacher learning by direct instruction, is the Factory Model. This has been termed “cells with bells”; indeed, much of the planning was derived from, or at least developed in tandem with, designs for prisons, where the need for efficiency and control is paramount. The knowledge is broken into separate periods of time, and with older students, each classroom or teacher is dedicated to a single subject. The teachers and their subject-focused classrooms may be organized into departments and disciplines. Learning is siloed, with little crossover between subjects or projects. Especially with academic subjects - those which are not hands-on or project-based such as trades, art, or science - the knowledge transfer is uni-directional. This pedagogy has also been termed “sage on the stage”,

 

The 21st Century Model, which has early 20th century roots in the Progressive Model, including the Montessori Method, experienced only intermittent popularity until re-emerging as “21st Century learning”. It is skills-based and includes integration of academic and experiential learning, including project-based, problem-based, and other interdisciplinary approaches. It is noted for tenets which are commonly styled “the 4-C’s”: collaboration, communication, creativity, and critical thinking. Other “C’s” are frequently included, such as community and citizenship. This has also been called “Next Generation Learning”. Learning spaces may be organized into neighborhoods or pods, frequently with shared access to flexible spaces, labs, or specialized learning spaces. For younger students, each neighborhood may contain a cohort of multiple grades, so that students stay amongst familiar teachers, spaces, and classmates over multiple years. For older students, classrooms in each neighborhood may each be dedicated to different subjects, so while students may move amongst spaces, they remain mostly within the same area and with the same cohort of students. This model supports project and problem-based learning, mentoring amongst different age students, differentiated and personalized learning, team-teaching, and similar other interdisciplinary and collaborative pedagogies. This configuration also supports different school organizational models, from departmental, academy, to small schools / schools-within-a-school.

 

The Nature-Holistic Model (my term, offered here until another gains acceptance), reflects emerging trends seen in many areas. The Holistic Model, incorporating holism, is essentially the 21st century model but with addition of spirituality and social-emotional components. The definition is varied and evolving. This has most recently begun to focus more on specific approaches such as trauma informed design, equity, inclusion, and belonging. The Nature-Holistic Model builds upon these to incorporate an emphasis on culture and natural connections.

 

The Indigenous Model, whose tenets are commonly found in many Indigenous cultures in North America, is on the face of it no different from the previous model. (There is of course no singular model that applies to all Indigenous cultures or practices, which as highly diverse, but there are strong commonalities among many. No doubt others will emerge into general awareness). In the diagram, you can see the square boxes, which indicate the walls of the classroom or school building. The circles and the squares in the diagram are very intentional – as we are seemingly learning more every day, we round Eurocentric humans are actually rebelling against being constrained within simple boxes. We are learning that in order to thrive, our round bodies need to be outside of the square boxes we build.

 

In the Eurocentric Model, the boxes quite closely reflect the shape of the typical learning environment, including many with little to no exposure or connection to the outdoors. The Progressive and 21st Century model incorporates outdoor learning spaces, frequently highly controlled spaces which may be best described as outdoor classrooms. A pioneering example of this is the Crow Island School, designed in the 1930’s and located in the mostly-White, affluent suburban community of Winnetka, Illinois.

 

[Image: Cow Island School]

In the Nature-Holistic Model, the walls begin to break down, through transparency and openings allowing movement from indoors to outdoors. In the Indigenous model, the walls are all but gone; it’s not that Indigenous schools don’t have indoor spaces, or even traditional classrooms, but that the outdoor experience is incorporated throughout the curriculum. This recognized the outdoor learning experiences of students during and after school hours. For some schools, outdoor learning is the dominant form, ranging from part of a given day or to some schools in northern Canada where students the majority of their academic year being continuously outdoors over many consecutive days and weeks.

 

The Indigenous Model is holistic and focused on the whole child, both key tenets of 21st Century and Next Gen+ Learning. The holistic approach involves not just placing the learner at the center of the learning experience, but also reflects, instructs, and demonstrates about the learners’ place in their environment – social and natural, both at and away from school. From the perspective of the “whole child approach”, six main areas emerge, in both Indigenous and mainstream models:

 

• Pedagogy: experiential, project-based and problem-based, critical thinking.

• Curriculum: science, art, math, activities.

• Physical health: fresh air, physical activity.

• Social emotional health: focus, de-stress, trauma, empathy.

• Culture: history, community, connectedness.

 

For the Indigenous Model, there are at least three additional aspects connecting each of these:

• Spirituality

• Family

• Nature

 

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PEDAGOGICAL ELEMENTS

The Indigenous Model of learning is highly focused on relationships:  interpersonal, social, and nature-based. The following are notable examples of how the Indigenous Model differs from the mainstream models.

 

Interconnected: “I am because we are”, or “humanity towards others”, is at the core of Ubuntu philosophy. It is integral to many societies, with different descriptors and practices. But it is not perfunctory or purely historical, such as John Donne’s 17th century line “no man is an island”.

 

An example of this worldview – which is clearly not reflective of a mainstream western mindset - was described by Jared Qwustenuzum Williams, a First Nations educator on Vancouver Island, in a 2023 social media post:

 

"Any knowledge I hold, any wisdom I share, any of my language videos or stories, those are not mine. You may watch these videos and you see me, but this information is from … all of the ancestors and the direct work I’ve had with the elders. Like my late grandmother, Qwustanulwut. Or my auntie, t’awawiyu’. Or my really good friend Luschim. Or Hwiemtun. The list goes on and on and on, and I would have nothing if I didn’t have any of them. And so what I share is not mine in the way that they say we don’t own our names, we wear them. Well, I don’t own this knowledge, I wear it and I’m sharing it with everybody. Because that is how I was raised. You share.”

 

Storytelling is critical for cultural survival, and not just for societies that did not (or for some, still do not) have written languages that can store libraries of history and knowledge. For many Indigenous societies in North America, written language only came with colonization. As such, any written form of knowledge, including recording in Indigenous languages, was inevitably distorted and limited by outsiders’ understandings, translating abilities, and cultural distortions. In many cases it was not benign neglect or error, but intentional misrepresentations to codify Indigenous people as “less-than” the settlers or to overlay religious dogma and perspectives. In recent years there have been increasing efforts and government initiatives to preserve languages in their original form, including specialized phonetic alphabets that convey particulars of different languages – including generating sounds by using parts of the speakers’ mouth, tongue, and throats not used by the settlers. An example from Africa is the well-known comedian Trevor Noah speaking in his native Xhosa language, whose clicks and throat contortions produce sounds not found in western speech.

 

Beyond the mechanics of the sounds of different languages, meanings are highly culture-based. Kanyen'kéha, the language of the Haudenosaunee or Mohawk people, is verb-based; things are described not just with names, such as “computer”, but with descriptors of their uses. In Cree, the word for “brother” translates as “he who walks through life with me.” This non-DNA-based perspective is a profoundly different worldview to the individual or nuclear-family-based society in which most of us live.

 

Beyond the informational sharing and the ceremony that often accompanies storytelling, the simple act of verbally conveying information affects the storyteller: they need to learn and remember the information, but actually telling the story fosters retention. This process also fosters empathic interactions between storyteller and the audience. For some cultures, the storytelling starts when two people meet for the first time, such as how Dr. Terri-Lynn Fox introduces herself:

 

“The protocol for introducing one’s self to other Indigenous people is to provide information about one’s cultural location, so that connection can be made on political, cultural and social grounds and relations established. Oki, niistoo’akoka Aapiihkwikomootakii, Miracle Healing Woman. I am Miracle Healing Woman, as my traditional Siksikaitsitapi name details. My English name is Terri-Lynn Fox. My ancestral land I am connected to is the Siksikaitsitapi, or Blackfoot Confederacy. I have four children and six grandsons; my parents are O’taikimakii ki Ihkitsikam. My maternal grandmother, Poonah, was the daughter of Miikskimm, Mary Derouge (Blackfeet and White heritage), and Tatsiiki’poyi (Joe) Iron, who was the son of Ki’somm, Moon. My maternal grandfather, Mookakin, was adopted by Weaselhead. My paternal grandmother, Pi’akii, was the daughter of Morris Many Fingers and Annie Pace. My paternal grandfather, Tsa’tsii, was the son of Stephen Fox and Cecile Charging Woman.”

 

Intergenerational Mentorship involves all ages participating, where knowledge is passed directly through observation and participation. This may involve diverse activities such as harvesting a crop or constructing a building. Although not unique to Indigenous communities, it is no longer common in other cultures, and highly uncommon in schools where students are strictly separated by age. An example of how this manifests was provided to me by an Indigenous educator. Each person is assigned – or gravitates – towards age-related tasks. What this means is that everyone can see the entire process: what they will be doing as they grow older and what they did when they were younger. Mentoring and sharing of wisdom from community knowledge-keepers is natural; instruction is through demonstration, open observation, and hands-on experience. It is cultural, interdisciplinary, and intergenerational. Expertise is not held by official instructors but by all: family members, neighbors, and elders. Knowledge is shared widely and equitably within the whole community.

 

Culture impacts many aspects and subject areas within the Indigenous model. Beyond students learning and being taught in the language spoken at home or by their elders – and ancestors – it involves different knowledge bases regarding science, horticulture, and even mathematics and astronomy. It extends beyond Indigenous alternatives to western mythological overlays of the cosmos – Ancient Greek and Roman gods assigned to various patterns of stars. In what is perhaps the greatest contrast to non-Indigenous learning models, for Indigenous people, culture is inseparable from nature.

 

Food is important in many cultures, but in particular to those who live closes to its source. Most, but not all, Indigenous peoples in North America live outside of large urban centers, many at great distances. Unlike westernized farms, in particular modern large-scale agribusinesses, most Indigenous communities that hunt and fish for significant portions of their food supply. The natural and living resources that are harvested commercially for sale do play an important part in the economies of these communities, but to a large part the food that is caught, hunted, or grown is consumed by people known to those who grow, gather, catch, or hunt this food. This is a continuation of hunter-gatherer and ancient agricultural practices that have sustained communities since time immemorial. It is not unexpected then to find food as not just an integral, but vitally important to communities that live closely to the land – from agricultural and farming communities, remote locations with only distant connections to centers of civilization, and cultures with largely unbroken connections to the land and sea on which they depend for all aspects of life.

 

Food sources for many Indigenous peoples are not distant and impersonal. Communities have seasonal celebrations honouring migrations of animals important to peoples’ survival, such as the roaming plains bison or the return of the whales. The means of catching, hunting, and growing the food are passed on through generations of families and community elders – as are means of preparing, cooking, serving, and celebrating. Foods not easily found – or not found at all – in urban centers and therefore known only to rural Indigenous communities include muktuk (whale blubber), oolichan (small fish used for oil), wild rice (as a seasonal staple), caribou, or bear. Similarly, plants and herbs known for medicinal qualities are only now being examined and recognized as valuable by western scientists. Where I live, berries found in summer and autumn on roadsides, public parks, nature trails, or even in ornamental gardens are frequently shunned as anything other than ornamental, or mistaken as poisonous; their value as flavourful food, medicine, and dyes in artwork are surprisingly unknown to most who live amongst them, although well known to those of us who have been fortunate to have heard Indigenous teachings.

 

Emotional and behavioral skills need particular support for Indigenous communities dealing with isolation and disconnection from the opportunities offered by mainstream society, and in particular, with the generational effects of the residential schools systems. Many families are dysfunctional and suffer from problems of dire poverty, parents who received inadequate or even culturally harmful education, substance abuse, suicide, etc. Special programs and specialists in the schools are key to understanding and fostering connections and healthy relationships needed for learning.

 

Restorative practices are an integral part of many Indigenous cultures. Instead of punishment instilled by a 3rd party, such as a court, restorative practices bring offender and victim – and everyone affected by the offensive act – together to discuss not just the act, but its causes, its impact, and how healing can begin. It’s not about punishment, it’s about restoring and repairing broken relationships. It’s been found to have huge impacts on communities of all kinds and is being introduced in schools, prisons, and other organizations – in part, as a means of countering the school-to-prison pipeline. Restorative Justice Practices have been incorporated into special courts in Ontario and Yukon.

 

Relationships amongst people and with the natural world are seen very differently in many Indigenous cultures than with settler cultures. Over the past year I had two encounters that each offer powerful examples of how different are perspectives of Indigenous and settler cultures.

 

The first was a video that demonstrated how the depth and power of one’s relationship with nature is formally recognized and celebrated in non-settler cultures. The Nehiyawak people of northern Canada perform what they call a Walking Out Ceremony. Before a child reaches about one year of age, they are not allowed to walk on the ground until a formal introduction is made. A special ceremony is then held with extended family and community elders that has the parents lead their children outside carrying small tools they will be expected to use when they venture outside – an axe, container for collecting water, bag for herbs, etc. Each, held upright by their parents, are dressed in traditional formal wear and are introduced to a tree and other natural things they will encounter as they venture out on their own in later years. I later learned from colleagues and friends from central and western Africa that similar ceremonies are common there.

 

The second was social in nature, and although many of us present had lived close to Northwest Indigenous peoples for most of our lives, this event offered fresh new insight for most, if not all, of the non-Indigenous peoples there. At the conclusion of a dedication of a new high school in southern Washington state, for which I had led the design, there was a performance by the local tribe’s drum band. (Although a public school, local Indigenous people were significant community partners). At the conclusion, the lead Elder, dressed in the traditional formal regalia of her people, spoke: “During that song, there was a mistake made by one of our drummers. We’re all taught you come ready with your regalia, with your equipment, your drumstick ready. There was a mistake made, so we need to send an apology. Mr. (Superintendent), I am apologizing for the drumstick that fell on the ground. Mr. (tribal member) is our carver, and he did a lot of work for us here, so I want to acknowledge him, and apologize for the drumstick that fell on the floor.  We have the architect, that helped with this building, and I want to shake your hand and apologize for the drumstick. This is how we do things in our way.” Each of us was invited up to shake the Elder’s hand and receive their solemn apology, a small gift. It was powerful and humbling, and spoke of deep and sincere respect for others in a way that I had not previously experienced.

 

Case Study: Yukon First Nations School Board

In early 2022, a school board was established across Yukon Territory for schools with significant First Nations populations. Yukon occupies the northwestern-most portion of Canada which borders on Alaska, comprising an area larger than all but two US states, yet has a population less than 45,000, of which one quarter are Indigenous (Frist Nations, Metis, and Inuit). Eight schools opted to join to develop Indigenous curricula and programs that are culturally relevant and supportive of students and their communities. Their organization chart places the students at the center, followed by Families, the Land, various levels of institutions, and with all embraced by the Elders and Knowledge Keepers.

 

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DESIGN ELEMENTS

Certain elements of design are of particular importance, and are important differentiators, for Indigenous schools. Some are directly related to the learning program elements described previously/

 

Winston Churchill observed that “we shape our architecture; thereafter it shapes us”. The building he was referring to was the British House of Commons, whose physical form is the model for the what is known as the Westminster style of government: two groups facing each other, historically separated by a distance of two sword lengths; government and opposition; winners to one side and losers to the other. This configuration both represents and reinforces – even dictates – systemic behavior that is the antithesis of collaboration and consensus. It is argued that it is a strength – it inarguably is the dominant approach throughout much of the world. But it is not the Indigenous way.

 

Engagement processes needed for an authentic and successful design process begins with developing trust. For Indigenous communities in particular, that can be very difficult when dealing with design teams and “experts” from outside the community, from the dominant culture that continues to inflict harm. Major design projects are by their nature disruptive to the way any community functions, from seemingly straightforward interruptions of daily routines to attend design or review meetings to opening of issues not frequently discussed. For Indigenous communities, this may involve opening wounds that range from generational trauma to recent and familiar to anyone. Trust at many levels has broken down, and establishing a safe place for open communication is key. Sometimes the barriers are linguistic – many Elders in remote communities don’t speak the same language as youth, or outsiders. Other barriers may be cultural – beyond linguistic, the concepts and perspectives don’t always translate easily. For many, these meetings are the first opportunities for people to imagine a better future.

 

Embracing the community’s ways and relationships can be key; having the designers and project leaders – especially if from outside the community – step back and turn over control of the meetings and questions to those from the community, where they become observers. It is not uncommon for such a process to have Elders open up to their own families in group settings and discuss past events, traditional ways, and future dreams in ways not otherwise shared. Suppressing such ways of thinking and expressing oneself are remnants of what was inflicted on many current Elders by church officials when they were in the residential schools. Engaging the youth not only facilitates intergenerational connection, but also places the learners at the center of determining how their school – the new center of their community – will be. Beyond the engagement process, incorporating youth into the design and construction process – as interns, apprentices, and workers – contributes to the economy and future opportunities. Students, families, and Elders are all gatekeepers to understanding and developing the community.

 

Time has different interpretations in different cultures. Westerners (in varying degrees) tend to be rigid in imposing schedules and timelines that dictate our actions: when we get up, report for work, eat our meals, etc.. Those living closer to nature tend to follow nature’s lead and not impose a timeline upon nature: farmers know when to plant and harvest based on the weather; hunters and fishers know when to follow the seasons and weather events, from melting rivers to extended warm/cold periods. Following nature’s lead is not uncommon in Indigenous communities. An Inuit tour guide once told me, “Things happen when they happen. They take as long as they take. That is when I will be back.” An Elder from the Nisga’a Nation advised our project team that the start of Spring construction for their new facility would be late as “the oolichan are running early.” His forecast based on the Fall migration of the local smelt-like fish was correct. This is not mysticism, but a type of science different than the Western model, based on generational knowledge derived from close observation and a lifestyle integrated with nature. It was not possible to determine a fixed date for the opening of the Fall session of the Northwest Territories Legislature – on whose decisions our project depended – as many members were traveling over distance by land and water, likely on snowshoes or snowmobiles depending on the weather. They would arrive when they arrive.

 

The Indigenous approach to time can also involve a perspective spanning more than a lifetime. The Seventh Generation principal, developed by the Haudenosaunee Confederacy many centuries ago, is a philosophy that considers impacts of actions made today seven generations into the future, and to remember the seven generations who came before. This term has been accepted beyond Indigenous thinking for the advancement of sustainable practices (and products). Incorporating this into design may require significant changes of the design, location, size, materials, systems, use, maintenance, and nearly every feature of a facility.

 

What this means for the design process for a school is not to eliminate clocks or athletic timeclocks, but to build in more time than would otherwise be allocated for outreach, engagement, planning, and construction. People’s availability cannot be as structured and dictated as is common in urban settings. Major decisions frequently take longer; hearing all voices, deliberating silently, and arriving at consensus all take more time than many designers are used to. In my experience, it is not uncommon for meetings with Indigenous communities and individuals to have periods of silence; far more than with Westerners, silence is not to be avoided as it serves a purpose for contemplation and quiet deliberation. Voices will speak up when it is time.

 

 

 

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Aesthetics in community buildings such as schools commonly integrate art and symbology from the local culture, including language and frequently family. These range from form and materials to vibrant colours and applied art, such as large logs or teepees. Indigenous signage may be in several languages, including special alphabets bearing little resemblance to mainstream characters.

 

Outdoor learning spaces are important for providing healthy natural learning spaces, for engaging with nature, and for performing learning that is not suited for indoors. These range from simply inquiry to the very messy: horticulture, hunting, processing of game and fish, and even cooking. Many traditional foods require cooking over an open fire or smoking in a smokehouse or tent.

 

Traditional food can also need a place for a feast, such as in a school commons or lunchroom. A kitchen needs to be suitable for community members, not just those trained to operate a professional commercial kitchen. Incorporating these traditional foods and methods support awareness and practice of healthy eating, community and cultural engagement, and career and technical training.

 

Connections to the outdoors can be structured to involve little travel to the outside. For just one example, locating suitable trees close to indoor learning spaces can provide habitat for birds. Students can design and building bird feeders, hang them in the trees, and study and paint or draw them through windows.

Outdoor learning may require nothing more from architects and designers than providing access and perhaps a place to sit or shelter from the sun, rain, or wind.

 

[image of shelter]

Integrating Nature into the Curriculum

[image of fish process]

The circle of life is taught and integral to Indigenous learning. One example is in this collection of images – although from different communities around the world, they tell a singular story: elders practicing their art of creating fishing implements; adults teaching youth to fish; places to gut and clean the fish; studying the fish and its anatomy in science labs; cleaning, cooking, and serving the fish to students (no preservatives such as formaldehyde are used). The fish is part of the culture, community, curriculum, and ceremony. Each of these requires spaces and places, each with specific physical characteristics. In many instances, equipment may be shared with others found in any school; some may require modifications to type of location; others, such as places to process hunted game, may require new types of facilities located on or even distant from the school grounds. Some may require working with local health departments and other agencies to help them understand the intent and importance of these unfamiliar elements.

 

Counseling and Sensory rooms are especially important for communities where an estimated 70% of student can be classified as special needs. Providing support for trauma-based care involves meeting and training spaces, places for students to power up, power down, and to heal. Methods and equipment may range from modern sensory spaces with special safety features to the traditional, such as a Cree swing.

 

Places for Ceremonies and Prayer are very important for healing. Re-establishing spiritual traditions amongst kids is a common programmatic request of Indigenous communities and Elders. Traditional healing practices may involve simple gathering in a circle, a place for smudging (with considerations for smoke), or a sweat lodge (a large room with special environmental features). Such community-based elements are not normally found in government funding models, and may require partnering or connection to other community buildings, such as described earlier for the new school at Frog Lake.

 

 

Room Configurations

 

[Images of NWT and HoC]

Do we put the circle in our rectangular box, or do we shape our spaces to suit the activities and relationships? I had the honour and privilege of being part of the design team for The Northwest Territories Legislative Assembly Building in Yellowknife in northern Canada. It was the first legislature in Canada designed for Indigenous peoples where their interests, culture, ways of governance, and connections to the land and sky were enshrined in the design.  Its main spaces are circular in form, generated by the seating arrangements of the elected officials. Unique in Canada to its three northern territories, each with numerically significant or dominant Indigenous populations, elected officials do not belong to a political party; there are no votes, no concepts of majority rule; decisions are by consensus. Debates take as long as they need to take. There is no “us versus them” approach to the proceedings or to the form. Seating is non-hierarchical, with special positioning reserved only for the presiding Speaker. Surrounding the chamber are interpreters’ booths for simultaneous translation into the 11 official languages, all but two being Indigenous. Above the booths is seating for the public, and above them is a continuous ring of skylights to capture the 360 degrees of summer daylight.

 

The circle is an important design feature in many Indigenous cultures, for reasons of symbolism, natural connections, and organization. The societies tend to be more communal as opposed to the western individualistic, and with less hierarchy. Tradition indicates this form of seating came from the campfire, where seating surrounded the source of heat and light. Artwork and placement is frequently organized around the healing circle with the four cardinal points, or quadrants, each infused with specific meaning, from directional to deeper symbolism.

 

[image of circle]

For schools and learning environments, natural connections bring specific requirements and challenges. Outdoor activities mean different clothing and footwear. Space needs to be provided at entries and other areas for changing and storing. Space needs to be provided in the school schedule for this additional transition time (if there is a rigid schedule). A class trip may involve a 500 km/300 mile excursion to hunt a moose; after dressing it, the carcass is brought to the school for carving, distributing, and cooking and eating at school as well as at home. In the words of Plains Cree person, Darcy Lindberg, writing in Maclean’s in 2018:

“This is what Cree people describe as “four-bodied learning,” engaging with our physical, intellectual, spiritual and emotional selves. The practice ensures we are employing not just our intellectual selves, but relating to the ecological world around us with our full humanity. Practising Cree law requires us to move beyond our intellectual aspects, as we must physically endure, spiritually connect and emotionally embrace our obligations to the moose’s life.”

 

 

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Natural Connections and Biophilia

These concepts and designs are important for everyone as they seek to provide healthier environments and reinforce and educate about our natural connections. They are especially critical for Indigenous culture, spirituality, and science. Biophillic design seeks to emulate nature in order to benefit from lower first costs, long term operational demands, and to have reduced or even positive impact on nature.

 

A Restorative Model.

 

Unemployment and poverty are rampant amongst Indigenous peoples across North America and much of the colonized world. Many of these cultures are seeing the start of a resurgence in rebuilding cultures and communities. At the same time, the entire world is becoming aware of the dire future we face as climate change begins to take hold, and as our centuries of devastation and polluting our air, water, land, forests, and oceans approach tipping points. It is becoming increasingly obvious to many that indigenous perspectives and practices – the very ways of being – contain a wealth of knowledge and wisdom for all to learn from. This speaks to enormous opportunity– for Indigenous people to be supported in their learning, and to be supported by being engaged – hired as teachers, for pay - to help all humanity learn a better way. Better for our societies and better for our planet. We have little to lose and potentially everything to gain by trying.