Missing and murdered indigenous women and girls
The Story
We as Canadians need to do better.
56%. That is the proportion of Indigenous women in Canada who have suffered physical assault in their lifetimes, a staggering reality matched by the 46 % who have survived sexual assault. We are confronting a systemic crisis of violence that targets Indigenous women, a deep historical and ongoing failure of protection and justice that demands immediate attention. The numbers you cited from Statistics Canada paint a devastating picture, yet they only begin to map out a much older, deeper wound within the country.
When we look at the comparison, where about one -third of non -Indigenous women face similar assaults, the disparity becomes impossible to write off as a statistical anomaly. We are not looking at random, isolated acts of violence. We are examining an architecture of society that leaves a specific demographic perpetually exposed to harm. That disparity is the defining feature of a systemic crisis. It shifts the entire conversation away from individual tragedies and forces a critical look at the state apparatus.
The data reveals a disproportionate burden of violence that is so consistent it resembles a feature of the system rather than a bug. We have to question the historical trajectory that brought us to these percentages because these numbers represent a chronic multi -generational failure by the state to protect its citizens. To comprehend that trajectory, we must look at the final report of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, released in 2019. The inquiry was exhaustive, gathering testimony from thousands of family members and experts.
Their conclusion was explicit. The staggering rates of violence are not coincidental. They are caused by state actions and inactions rooted in colonialism. The commissioners went so far as to classify the crisis as a race, identity, and gender -based genocide. Using the word genocide in the context of modern Canada disrupts the conventional, often sanitized, narrative of the nation's history. Most people associate that term with immediate, mass casualties orchestrated in a compressed time frame.
The national inquiry, however, applied it to a slow, methodical, and systemic dismantling of communities over centuries. What specific historical mechanisms did the inquiry identify as the engines of this ongoing violence? Inquiry pointed to several interwoven mechanisms that systematically devalued indigenous lives. The residential school system is one of the most prominent, operating for over a century to forcibly remove children from their families in an attempt to eradicate their culture and language.
This destroyed traditional family structures and inflicted deep intergenerational trauma. Following that, you had the Sixties Scoop, where child welfare agencies removed massive numbers of indigenous children and placed them in non -indigenous homes. You must also factor in the Indian Act, a piece of legislation that legally entrenched discrimination. For decades, the Indian Act stripped Indigenous women of their formal status and treaty rights if they married a non -Indigenous man, essentially exiling them from their own communities.
The state engaged in a deliberate campaign to dismantle the traditional roles, protections, and authority that Indigenous women held within their societies. Prior to colonization, many of these communities held women in high esteem as leaders and decision makers. By displacing them from governance and stripping their legal status, colonial policies engineered a social environment where these women were marginalized. Systemic marginalization is the breeding ground for violence. That is a crucial distinction to make.
Indigenous advocates, such as the leadership at the Ontario Native Women's Association, stress that Indigenous women and girls are not inherently vulnerable. They are targeted. The colonial policies you mentioned created severe socioeconomic disparities, including poverty, insecure housing, and systemic barriers to education and health care. These factors push individuals into unsafe environments. But more insidiously, those policies cultivated a broader societal perception that indigenous women are less valuable, which emboldens perpetrators to act without fear of consequences.
That societal perception seems to have infected the very institutions that are mandated to offer protection. If the state creates the conditions for marginalization, the state's law enforcement apparatus inevitably reflects that same systemic devaluation. We see continuous reports, inquiries, and investigations highlighting police apathy, negligence, or outright hostility when investigating crimes against indigenous people. The National Inquiry dedicated a substantial portion of its work to examining the justice system and policing.
They established a forensic document review project specifically to audit police files across various jurisdictions. The findings validated what indigenous families have said for decades. Police frequently fail to properly investigate the disappearances or murders of indigenous women. Encounters with law enforcement are often characterized by racial stereotyping, where victims are dismissed, resulting in closed cases and a failure to obtain justice. That dynamic creates a terrifying paradox for the survivors.
The institutions tasked with delivering justice and safety are the very entities compounding the trauma. If an Indigenous woman faces a physical or sexual assault, and we know from the Statistics Canada survey that more than six in ten will experience at least one of these in their lifetime, her prescribed recourse is to call the police. But if the police force has a documented history of dismissing her humanity, the avenue for justice is blockaded. Trap survivors in a cycle of silence and escalating danger.
When trust in the justice system evaporates, crimes go unreported. When crimes go unreported, predators operate with total impunity. The homicide data illustrates the lethal endpoint of this impunity. Between 2009 and 2021, the rate of homicide for First Nations, Métis, and Inuit women and girls was six times higher than the rate for non -Indigenous women. In some areas, that multiplier is even higher. Six times higher is an astronomical disparity for a developed nation. The disparity does not end at the crime scene.
When these cases actually make it to the courts, the outcomes reflect the same systemic devaluation. Reports and legal reviews indicate that homicides involving indigenous female victims frequently result in less serious charges, such as manslaughter, rather than first -degree murder. The legal system itself appears to place a lower premium on their lives, offering discounted sentences to those who take them.
The National Inquiry issued 231 calls for justice and they were deliberately not restricted to the police or the courts. They were directed at governments, institutions, social service providers, industries and all Canadians. The report underscored that everyday racism, negative stereotypes perpetuated by the media, and general public apathy create the fertile ground where this violence takes root and thrives. This brings up a critical tension in the current political landscape. We have official government apologies, inquiries, and promises of sweeping reform.
Politicians frequently invoke the language of reconciliation and announce new funding initiatives. The violence, however, persists unabated. It forces a critical examination of whether the current attempts at reform are merely performative gestures designed to manage public relations or if they are genuinely aimed at dismantling the colonial structures. Many advocates and frontline workers argue that the state's response remains fundamentally inadequate. While there has been funding allocated for specific programs, the core structural transformations, such as establishing robust, well -funded indigenous civilian police oversight bodies, often stall in bureaucratic limbo.
Organizations continually point out that reports and recommendations have existed for decades. The issue is not a deficit of knowledge or a lack of proposed solutions. It is a profound lack of political and moral will to enact those solutions. That lack of will is the most damning indictment of the entire situation. Society tends to treat these statistics as if they are a natural disaster, a tragic but unavoidable phenomenon. The data from Statistics Canada and the exhaustive findings of the national inquiry proved this is a human -made catastrophe.
It is a catastrophe maintained by a system that refuses to relinquish its power, acknowledge its fundamental flaws, or prioritize the lives of Indigenous women over the status quo. We must also center the resistance and strength of indigenous women in the face of this catastrophe. Movements like Red Dress Day, where empty red dresses are hung in public spaces to represent the missing and murdered, force the public to confront the physical absence of these women. These grassroots campaigns are spearheaded by families, survivors, and community leaders who refuse to let the state or the public look away from the crisis.
The visual impact of the red dress is profound. It takes a cold statistic like the 56 % physical assault rate and gives it a visceral, undeniable form. It serves as a stark reminder that safety is not an abstract concept. It is a lived experience that is currently distributed as a privilege. We have constructed a society where the right to walk home safely is conditional upon your race and gender. Confronting that reality is deeply uncomfortable for many people because it requires acknowledging that the comfort and security enjoyed by the majority are built on a foundation of systemic exclusion.
The national inquiries called to decolonize is partly an educational mandate, learning the unvarnished history of the land, but it is also a demand to dismantle the power dynamics that continue to oppress. Decolonization is a term that frequently gets co -opted and sanitized in corporate or institutional settings. It is often reduced to adding an indigenous author to a syllabus or reciting a land acknowledgement before a corporate meeting. What the inquiry describes is a radical restructuring of power and resources.
It means transferring jurisdiction over child welfare back to indigenous communities so they can keep their families intact. It means creating a justice framework that does not inherently criminalize their existence. Restoring self -determination is the central pillar of any viable solution. The persistent violence is a direct symptom of stripped autonomy. When communities have the resources, the land, and the legal authority to govern themselves and protect their citizens according to their own cultural frameworks, the foundation for safety is rebuilt.
The inquiry framed this specifically as restoring the fundamental rights to culture, health, security, and justice. That framing shifts the narrative away from one of permanent victimhood to one of stolen rights that must be immediately returned. It demands that the state stop positioning itself as a flawed but well -meaning savior and start acting as a legally and morally accountable partner. Accountability requires confronting ugly contemporary realities. It means looking at situations where families have to fight tooth and nail to have landfill searched for the remains of murdered indigenous women, and asking how a supposedly progressive nation tolerates such profound indignity.
The refusal by authorities to search the landfill in Winnipeg for the remains of murdered indigenous women is a potent, modern manifestation of the systemic apathy we are discussing. Families of the victims have had to set up blockades and protest camps just to demand that their loved ones are granted the basic dignity of a recovery effort. It highlights the stark, brutal contrast between how the state mobilizes immense resources to rescue or recover some citizens while completely abandoning others.
That specific incident encapsulates the entire crisis. It demonstrates the intersection of racial discrimination, institutional inertia, and the sheer unending exhaustion of families who must fight the government every step of the way just to grieve properly. It lays bare the fact that the legacy of the Indian Act and the residential schools is not confined to the history books. It is actively dictating the decisions and resource allocations of policymakers today. The unbroken continuity of those policies is exactly what makes the term genocide appropriate in the eyes of the inquiry.
The mechanics of the oppression have shifted over time, from forced assimilation in residential schools to systemic neglect, over -incarceration, and disproportionate violence in the streets, but the outcome remains consistent. The outcome is the destruction of indigenous lives, families, and communities. We also need to examine the psychological toll this continuity exacts. If you are an indigenous woman growing up with the knowledge that you are statistically far more likely to face violence and you turn on the news to see the state refusing to search a landfill for murdered women, the psychological burden must be crushing.
It goes far beyond the immediate physical danger and permeates the daily experience of existing in a society that constantly signals your disposability. The Statistics Canada data from 2022 touched on this psychological dimension. It found that Indigenous women were significantly more likely to experience psychological abuse by an intimate partner compared to non -Indigenous women. The trauma is pervasive and multifaceted. It degrades mental health, it contributes to higher rates of housing insecurity, and it creates a compounding cycle of marginalization that requires massive structural intervention to dismantle.
That compounding cycle is frequently weaponized by the system to blame the victims for their own victimization. We constantly hear narratives in the media or from law enforcement that point to addiction, poverty, or homelessness as the primary causes of the violence. Those factors are symptoms of colonial trauma. By focusing exclusively on the symptoms, the state conveniently absolves itself of the responsibility for engineering the underlying conditions. Blaming the victim is the ultimate mechanism for deflecting accountability.
When society fixates on a person's socioeconomic struggles or substance use at the time they were assaulted, it distracts from the predator who chose to commit the crime and the system that allowed that predator to operate unchecked. Organizations like the Ontario Native Women's Association make it clear. The perpetrators of this violence are often empowered by the systemic biases that assure them they will not face severe consequences. Addressing this requires a monumental shift in how we conceive of justice.
The calls for justice from the national inquiry outline a comprehensive overhaul of the legal and social framework. they also demand a profound shift in the societal mindset. It seems that until the broader public views the violence against indigenous women with the exact same urgency, horror, and outrage as violence against any other demographic, the political pressure required to force real reform will remain elusive. Public outrage is an essential catalyst for political action. The Red Dress Movement, the community marches, the relentless advocacy by Indigenous leaders are all concerted efforts to generate and sustain that outrage.
The objective is to make it politically impossible for leaders to commission a report and then let it gather dust. The goal is to force a reckoning that translates into immediate, tangible changes in jurisdiction, legal accountability, and the return of land and resources. As we reflect on the depth of this conversation, the core takeaway is unmistakable. The statistics we started with are a searing indictment of a system that is operating exactly as it was designed to. The staggering disparity in violence is the result of deliberate historical choices, maintained by modern apathy and institutional racism.
The path forward demands far more than passive sympathy or empty political rhetoric. It requires the active dismantling of colonial structures and the relentless, unyielding demand for a society where safety is an absolute right for everyone, not a conditional privilege. The path forward also requires a commitment to listening to the voices of indigenous women, families, and two -spirit people who have been clearly articulating the solutions for decades. The roadmaps for change already exist, detailed extensively in the MMIWG inquiry and countless community -led initiatives.
The mandate for society now is not to study the problem further, but to implement the solutions. We have laid out the historical mechanisms, the institutional failures, and the statistical reality of this ongoing crisis. It is a reality that challenges the very foundation of how we view justice and equity. Recommend this episode to a friend to help build the collective understanding we need to push for lasting change.
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