Meadowlarks

Bluesky

Between the mid-Fifties and early Eighties, in the so-called Sixties Scoop, approximately 20,000 indigenous children living on the territories it claimed were ‘scooped up’ by authorities of the Canadian government and given to white families in an attempt to force social assimilation. Frequently forbidden to contact their original families, engage in their traditional cultural practices or even speak their own languages, they suffered intense trauma which often continued to affect them throughout their lives. Tasha Hubbard’s first foray into fiction imagines a reunion between three sisters and their older brother, 50 years after they were taken. In a quiet cabin just outside Banff they talk, exchange gifts, realise how little they have in common and how much it means to be together.

Four stories provide four opportunities to explore paths followed by those caught up in the Scoop. Anthony (Michael Greyeyes) reflects on his experiences in the Adopt a Métis scheme and the children’s home where he learned to survive by not speaking out, as well as the confused, messy early adulthood that followed. Marianne (Alex Rice), adopted by a family in Antwerp and now more comfortable speaking French, initially seems well-adjusted, but struggles with the rift between different aspects of her life. Connie (Carmen Moore), likewise raised by a white family, wants to return to her roots but doesn’t know how, nor even if she still has a place there. As for Gwen (Michelle Thrush), she says very little, coming across as the calm one, looking after the others, but there are little hints of a pain that’s buried deep. All the things she doesn’t talk about point the way to the damage done.

They’re familiar stories within affected communuties; still rare in cinema more broadly, and still in need of exploration. A fifth story inhabits the margins of the narrative: that of another brother, George, who failed to respond to his invitation. Some of those who are taken, even when traced, never return. There are pressures created by the reunion itself which aggravate some aspects of the experience. It is inevitably unable to live up to expectations, even as the photographs and mementos which the siblings share fall short of filling in the emotional gaps. It gradually becomes clear that if they are to mesh successfully as family, memories are not enough – they will have to create something new.

The phenomenon of people returning to the community after experiences like this is not unusual, and the siblings receive support from locals after an encounter at a local market. This enables Hubbard to introduce elements of undiluted Métis culture and supply an external perspective. It is all very gently done. The building of new bonds is also enabled by exploring the area – until the prospect of crossing a gently swaying bridge between mountain peaks proves too much for Connie, leading to a series of reckonings for which nobody is really prepared.

There’s an age-specific aspect to the story, whereby all the main characters are at a point where it’s natural for them to look back on their experiences to date in the understanding that they now only have so much time left, that they need to figure out what’s important. This fits in neatly with a sense of cultural reflection as opportunities for progress and better treatment are finally starting to emerge. The strong emotions beuing processed by the characters need to be understood in light of the cultural impact of this sort of experience being widespread. Meadowlarks celebrates the potential for healing, but does not pretend it will be easy.

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