By Janet Allingham a parishioner of St. Barnabas, Ottawa.
Ottawa: September 30, 2025
The morning was clear, but the day was unseasonably hot. Despite the forecast, the Centre for Truth and Reconciliation had predicted that a large crowd would gather on Parliament Hill, focus of the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. I had attended Orange Shirt events on the Hill several times over the years, but this year would be different. I had been invited to serve as one of the volunteers who would bear the 60-metre long Memorial Cloth on its journey across the Hill.
Clad in an orange shirt and wide-brimmed Tilley, water bottle and sunscreen in a backpack, I set out for Parliament Hill. Heading northward along Kent Street, I concluded that the organizer’s prediction was correct. Looking north and east, I made out what appeared to be numerous patches of orange moving toward the Hill. This was an optimistic sign that hot weather was not deterring Canadians from marking the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. Once on the Hill, orange shirts and ribbon skirts abounded, while the beat of a drum spoke to the solemnity of the day.
The Memorial Cloth, bearing the names of 4,200 of the survivors and children who did not return from residential schools already listed in the current National Student Memorial Register, was laid out on the reception desk. By September 30, 2025, The National Centre for Truth and Re-conciliation had verified 1,143 new names, with more names to be added in the future.
In preparation for the day’s events, the Memorial Cloth had been blessed and smudged by Elders: signifying its historical “weight”. We were advised that carrying it would be “hard work”. Given that there would be about fifty of us, I wondered why this would be “hard work”. Only later would I learn that the Cloth’s “weight” would prove more emotional than physical.
Curious about the fabric itself, I touched the closest edge. This action elicited a stern warning from one of the organizers: “Don’t touch the Cloth, except later when we process across the Hill.” The explanation that followed was unexpected, numbing and very moving: “For some Survivors and family members this Memorial Cloth is all they have left of those they lost.” These words were transformative: through them, this piece of cloth began to embody an emotional weight I had not anticipated.
The day wore on until it was time to process across Parliament Hill. We bearers then received further, more specific, instructions: “Hold the Cloth up and stay in close formation so that onlookers can see all the names.” While these actions turned out to be harder than I had expected, another directive was more informative: “No wrinkles...a wrinkle might hide a name.” The importance of these instructions was further reinforced by the monitor who walked back and forth along the line with us. “Move in shoulder to shoulder...A fold in the fabric might hide a name”. Through these words I finally felt the “weight” of the piece of fabric I was holding. Tears running down my cheeks, I could barely grasp “my” piece of the symbolic Memorial Cloth. At the same time, I could not fail to notice that grief was etched on the faces of the crowd: Canadians, and visitors to Canada, were confronting the pain of history.
We bearers benefited from our unique vantage point as unobtrusive participants. Although we will never be able to comprehend the suffering and grief of the Indigenous people, we had the privilege to partake with them on this portion of their journey of Truth and Reconciliation. For Survivors and for the families of those who died, the Memorial Cloth is truly “all they have now.” As an “outward and visible sign” of experience and loss, it spoke to many that day. Sincere thank you to National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation for organizing the event.