尤物视频

By SKD

This year marked the 34th anniversary of the Women's Memorial March in Vancouver鈥檚 Downtown Eastside (DTES) community since it began in 1992 (Ajik, 2023). The March is held annually to remember the missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and 2-spirit (MMIWG2S) loved ones from our community. So many people in Vancouver seem to be fighting for change, one can鈥檛 help but notice the growing layers of posters around the city illustrating different marches and protests. I want to show solidarity for a number of these movements, but I often find myself lacking in time and energy for most. It is strange, however, that every February 14th I find myself back in the DTES, marching alongside hundreds to remember these women. There is something about this movement in particular that keeps calling me back.

It was a good day for marching; the sun came through to warm us after a week of snow. I knew of some friends, classmates and old co-workers who would be attending, so I planned to meet up with them on the day of the March. Around noon, we all gathered at East Hastings and Main Street, by that time a crowd of people had already formed outside the Carnegie Community Centre. This event is organized by Indigenous women from the DTES, many of whom have lost loved ones and are active advocates for Indigenous rights and other social issues within the community. Marching together allows the community to not only grieve the loss of their loved ones but also call attention to the severity of this crisis. The MMIWG2S crisis is rooted in Canada鈥檚 colonial history and has been ongoing since 1492 (Morin, 2022). The Canadian government only began to recognize this as a crisis within the last few decades, most notably with the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, which found that Indigenous women are 12 times more likely to be murdered than any other group in the country (City of Winnipeg, 2024). However, the Canadian government and the 鈥渏ustice鈥� system continue to discriminate against Indigenous women and ignore their calls for justice.

The Final Report of the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (National Inquiry, 2019) outlines 231 calls for justice. A CBC analysis determined that only two of those demands have been completed, and more than half have not even been started (Carreiro, 2023). One of these uncompleted calls asks that our governments provide long-term funding to Indigenous communities and organizations that work towards violence prevention.

During the March, it was clear to see how much effort the women of the DTES had put into organizing this event. It requires immense emotional labour to tell one's story over and over again, and this storytelling in itself is the most powerful form of violence prevention awareness and education. Grassroots organizations like these are doing the essential work in supporting survivors of violence and creating safer communities, so it was infuriating to see how underfunded and under-supported they are by the Canadian government.

Family members of the victims, alongside elders and medicine holders, led us in the March. Looking behind me I could see no end to our trail, we filled every inch of the streets and moved as if we were a single entity. We stopped often, each time at the site where a woman was last seen before going missing. These streets had been marked by such awful loss, that I felt as if the only thing I could do was cry. Even so, all around me, I could see an undeniable abundance of love. People embraced each other and walked hand in hand. Some people danced, and the sound of their jingle dresses synchronized with the beating of drums. Every few minutes or so, a waft of sage smoke would pass me by as people took part in smudging ceremonies. This wasn't just marching, it was healing.

After walking through Gastown, we circled back up along Hastings Street and made our way back to Main again after a few hours. The elders sat under tents and volunteers handed out bannock and warm drinks. After everyone had settled, a woman stepped up to the microphone near the front and introduced herself in Cree, then again in English. The woman explained how compared to last year, walking these streets had become harder for her; this was because her daughter was among the thousands who had gone missing. She called out the name of her lost daughter, 鈥淐YNTHIA! CYNTHIA! CYNTHIA!鈥� It was a gut-wrenching cry and her voice became choked. The people joined her cry and continued to chant, 鈥淐YNTHIA! CYNTHIA! CYNTHIA!鈥� It sounded like a hundred hands reaching out for Cynthia, asking for her safe return home and reminding her that she had not been forgotten. As more and more people joined the cry, we became louder and this hand took form and direction. This hand pointed at the VPD officers surrounding our perimeter, at the justice system and institutions that failed these women. The message was clear; don't you dare forget us.

When I think about the pull the Women's Memorial March has had on me, and why I keep coming back year after year, I think about a particular moment illustrated by Brandi Morin in her book, Our Voice of Fire (2022). Morin describes her time working on an article for the New York Times when she interviewed the great-aunt of 15-year-old Tina Fontaine, who was murdered in 2014. During her visit, Morin details the feeling of fire rising within her, as she walks into the place where young Tina once lived and played. Looking at young Tina鈥檚 photo, Morin feels panicked and repeats 鈥淭ina died. I survived. Tina died. I survived. I am her. She is me.鈥� (p.12). Once I had read them, the words became stuck in my mind, and I recalled the day of the March.

Cynthia is gone. I am here. Cynthia is gone. I am here. I am her. She is me. I am a settler of French and British descent, a white woman with no ties to Indigeneity; but when I hear the aunty before me cry out 鈥淐YNTHIA! CYNTHIA! CYNTHIA!鈥� I wonder how any woman could ignore the fury and sorrow invoked by her cry. How could any woman, in this violently misogynistic world, stand to hear the cry of another woman, and not fight alongside her?

The Women's Memorial March is my reminder that as a woman living in East Vancouver, I cannot ignore the ongoing colonial violence affecting the women in my community. I have a responsibility to recognize and stand in solidarity with these women. I will remember Cynthia, and for as long as I am still here, I will march for her, because none of us are free until all of us are free.