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A commissioner who served on the inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls says top-down attitudes and the centralized structure of the RCMP are leading to racist practices against Indigenous people in Canada. She said there should be Indigenous oversight of the RCMP through a civilian body that can listen to complaints and be trusted by the people who make them. Audette said the mistrust between Indigenous communities and the RCMP exists because the RCMP for decades removed Indigenous children from their families and took them to residential schools. School curriculums should be modernized to teach Indigenous culture and history to dissipate ignorance, she said, adding that young people want to learn the history of Indigenous Peoples. Audette said police officers who are well-trained and sensitive can protect Indigenous people and save their lives. This story was produced with the financial assistance of the Facebook and Canadian Press News Fellowship. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. Want to support local journalism during the pandemic? Make a donation here. There has been an average of more than 1, people in hospital each day in the past week. Racism Is The Product Of Ignorance And

The personal is always political, and leading the best lives that we can often hinges on the governments we elect. As we Iw the homestretch of and look to a new president and to newly elected officials to help us weather the many challenges the U. From the Covid pandemic to climate change to racial justice and more — there are many big issues Prosuct must tackle as a nation.

We asked nine thought leaders about how we can create a healthier America Racism Is The Product Of Ignorance And how we move forward now. I thought I told you never to play with those awful colored kids. The angry mom was warning her daughter against playing with me.

Read More. I humbly acknowledge that my life-long encounters with racism as a South Asian American may amount to a fraction of the ugly hatred long endured by Black, indigenous, and other people of color across this country. Nevertheless, on that sunny summer day in Georgia, those hurtful words shattered my innocence and redefined my budding self-identity.

My parents arrived from India in the s and settled in suburban Atlanta, where they worked late nights running a small business.

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They embraced the immigrant desire to ensure my brother and I respected our colorful traditions, appreciated the savory cuisine, and achieved fluency in Gujarati. These values flourished read article the multi-cultural pockets of our community. An array of sepia skin tones smiled out from the pages of our school yearbooks, and languages from more than 48 countries rang out through the hallways between classes.

The battle became personal. Only this time, I had the power to fight back. Though I was slow to understand it then, diversity came with consequences. As is the case in mostly Black and brown neighborhoods across the country, toxic industrial pollution surrounded us.

On the bank of a small creek right next article source my school sat a hulking quarry and asphalt facility. The company attempted to hide its activities behind a wall of trees, but we could see the tops of giant equipment moving around the site and hear the constant clank of machinery.

When I exited the school building most afternoons, a thin film of brownish-gray dust coated the school's windows, parking lots, and Ignorahce fields. I recall quizzing the adults around me: How can this company pollute our air? Will the dust hurt us? Pollution in the name of profits was the order of the day. Government agencies rubber-stamped permit approvals.

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Decades later, equipped with a law degree, I found myself on a small patrol boat thousands of miles from my childhood home, zipping across the cool, choppy waters of the San Francisco Bay. The skipper and I were heading to a highly industrial spot along the shoreline, where Pdoduct and conveyor systems loomed over the edge of the water. Caution signs dotted the piers warning the fish were too toxic to eat. As we neared our destination, the skipper slowed the boat down and cut the engines until we bobbed with the waves.

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The pile sat precariously close to the edge of the dock, and in the eerie silence it seemed that the ominous dark material could tumble down at any moment. Then a breeze came up, blowing coal dust into the Bay — and onto us.

That day, our field investigators surveyed the facility and captured photo and video evidence. Our scientists collected and analyzed water samples. And then, we sued. They wanted to get rid of us pesky environmental activists, and over two years of legal maneuvering, they nearly succeeded.]