A rare glimpse inside two B.C. jails and their attempts to stop inmates from reoffending (2024)

FORD MOUNTAIN CORRECTIONAL CENTRE, CHILLIWACK — Under an overcast February sky, six men shed their red, jail-issued uniforms, crawl into an intensely hot sweat lodge and sit on blankets in pitch darkness for an Indigenous purification ritual.

“When the door closes, it’s pretty dark inside,” said Jack, 39, from the Lake Babine Nation in northern B.C. “You can say what needs to be said and you respect the other guys — it stays in there. So it’s a great place to … let out those things that sometimes you hold in, that can be hard in life to release.”

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The small, dome-shaped sweat lodge sits on the wooded grounds of the Ford Mountain Correctional Centre in the rural outskirts of Chilliwack. The lodge is made from willow planks milled at the jail and covered by a waterproof tarp.

Fire-keepers heat the rocks, dubbed “grandfathers,” in an outside pit, before placing them inside the lodge where the temperature, as one volunteer describes it, is “well above comfortable and just a little lower than unbearable.”

The men sweat out their negative energy before emerging into the cool air, and repeat this four times to represent the four directions, the four seasons and the four stages of life.

Jack, who was raised in foster care, says that until he was incarcerated he had never participated in a spirit bath or stepped foot in a sweat lodge. The experiences helped him get in touch with himself again.

“It’s spiritual,” he said. “It’s like a deep cleansing for me.”

This sweat lodge is part of several cultural programs offered at B.C.’s 10 provincial jails in an effort to address the overrepresentation of Indigenous people ensnared in the justice system: They are six per cent of B.C.’s population, but represent 35 per cent of those in provincial custody, where offenders serve sentences of less than two years.

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The numbers are no better in the federal corrections system, where prisoners are incarcerated for longer than two years: Indigenous people are just five per cent of Canada’s population but make up 32 per cent of all people in federal custody. And the statistics are even more shocking when it comes to females: one out of every two federally incarcerated women is Indigenous.

“We’ve made a commitment as an organization to address the overrepresentation of Indigenous people in custody,” said Ford’s deputy warden, Kenneth Kay. “Part of it is connecting the people that we have in custody with the culture supports that they need to be successful upon their release.”

Jail staff encourage offenders to participate in the programs run by Indigenous cultural liaisons inside the institutions, which has significantly increased demand for these services, says a statement from the Public Safety Ministry and Solicitor General.

In addition to visiting Ford’s sweat lodge and “spirit bath” in a local river for this story, Postmedia News also witnessed a smudging ceremony, drum circle and traditional craft-making inside the Indigenous Cultural Centre at the Fraser Regional Correctional Centre in Maple Ridge.

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After walking down a maze of institutional-grey hallways and through several locked doors, entering Fraser’s cultural centre is a feast to the senses: the air smells like fresh cedar, a dozen inmates chat as they bead or paint, and lining the top of the colourful walls is “thank you” written in each of B.C.’s 33 Indigenous languages.

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‘You can change your future’

Métis knowledge-keeper Marie-Josée Houlé, who works at the four-year-old centre, believes the lessons learned inside can help the men live crime-free on the outside, if they embrace the teachings.

“That’s something I tell them every day: ‘You can’t change the past. You can change your future,'” she said. “I always tell them, ‘It’s your life, you have to walk your path, you’re the only one who can make those decisions. I can help guide you, I can give you tools, I can give you ways of thinking more positive things.’

“You’ve got to love yourself to want to better your life.”

Some offenders enter jail knowing little of their culture.

Last week was the first time Aaron, 24, had ever been inside a sweat lodge. The experience with the other men at Ford, he said afterwards, was empowering.

“When we were sitting there listening to all the other brothers, it gives you time to think about yourself, your feelings, your past, who you want to be. Everyone gets their chance to talk. You don’t feel the judgment. There’s a lot of love in the circle,” said Aaron, who is also from the Babine Lake Nation.

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“Today’s probably the closest I ever felt to anything cultural. I grew up outside of it. My grandma was in the residential school system. And my mother was part of the ’60s Scoop. So a lot of that was taken from us. So I’m just starting on the path of trying to figure out who I am, and how I fit into this world.”

You've got to love yourself to want to better your life.

Métis knowledge-keeper Marie-Josée Houlé

This new knowledge makes Aaron feel more optimistic about his future.

“Before I came in, I carried a lot of hateful feelings and distressfulness, because I isolated myself. Me being here, I’ve been building connections with people, trying to find my roots. It gives me a base to rebuild.”

Aaron’s last name, as well as those of the other incarcerated men interviewed for this story, are being kept anonymous at the request of the Public Safety Ministry.

The province hasn’t done a formal audit to assess the outcomes of these Indigenous cultural services, but elders have said they’re making a difference, the ministry’s email said. Data is also being collected to determine how best to expand these programs.

Indigenous cultural liaison Carlos Garibay has volunteered for 20 years at Ford, a low-security jail where inmates are referred to as residents or, in Garibay’s parlance, “brothers.” He said there have been fewer brothers reoffending and returning to the jail since the start of these cultural programs, which aren’t just for Indigenous offenders but used by people of all backgrounds.

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Lower recidivism rates

“Recidivism? My experience being here is very low. It does happen, but very, very low,” said Garibay, who is Indigenous from Peru and has close ties with the Sto:lo Nation in Chilliwack. “I take that very personally, and make sure that doesn’t happen, that they don’t come back here again.”

A Corrections Canada internal review in 2022 found that half the 125 Indigenous elders contracted to work at federal prisons were exhausted, partly because there weren’t enough of them to meet demand. This week, the federal government said it’s making changes to better support elders working in prisons.

There are references to the benefit of these types of programs in some federal parole board rulings. Derik Christopher Lord, convicted in a high-profile double murder in Tsawwassen in 1990, when he was just 17 years old, discovered in prison that he was Métis and participated in “cultural interventions” and is now on parole, a 2023 parole decision says.

Christopher Maurice Alexander, convicted of the brutal killing of a Terrace mother in her home in 1998 when he was also 17, reconnected with his Indigenous’ roots while incarcerated, something his family members were unable to teach him because they were sent to residential schools, according to a 2023 parole board decision. While in custody, he was actively involved in Indigenous ceremonies and occasionally ran the sweat lodge, and is also now on parole from a federal prison.

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Inmates inside provincial jails, who serve shorter sentences for less serious crimes compared with their federal counterparts, also say these Indigenous teachings are beneficial.

Dwayne, from the Mi’kmaq Nation in Nova Scotia, says the lessons learned inside Fraser’s Indigenous cultural centre will help guide him when he’s released. He’s been working for months on beading a lanyard that he plans to wear around his neck when he’s outside the jail walls, to remind him of the progress he made on the inside.

“When you’re feeling down, you look at something that you made and it reconnects your positive thoughts,” he said, meticulously weaving together blue and gold beads. “It’s peaceful, it’s therapeutic. You empty your head, you don’t worry about where you’re at.”

When he’s done beading, Dwayne joins four other men in the jail’s courtyard, where Houlé runs a smudging ceremony, smoke from the smouldering sage in her abalone shell drifting skyward.

One at a time, she brings the shell to the men, who scoop the smoke with their hands to cleanse their eyes so they can see clearly; their ears so they can listen to good ideas; their mouths so they speak the truth; their hearts so they can love themselves; and their feet to stay on the path toward their goals.

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“The smoke when it rises, it’s like the Creator is taking our worries, taking the dirt off our bodies, taking our anxieties,” Houlé said.

She taps the inmates with an eagle feather, asking them to share gratitude for something.

“Air in my lungs,” one man says.

“Keeping myself grounded,” says another.

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Loud drum beats away negative feelings

After the smudging, Dwayne’s group heads back to the cultural centre, taking a seat on 12 stumps encircling a large drum. Clad in mukluks, Houlé walks behind them drumming, her beats picking up in volume and speed until the room is vibrating with the sound.

The men bow their heads, their hands clasped in their laps and are told to purge themselves of negativity from their past.

“The whole point is to help ground them so that they can focus on the priorities and maybe change their outcome. By focusing on something more positive, creating change for their lives,” Houlé explained.

After the deafening drum beats fade into silence, she asks how the men feel.

“Relaxing, and it’s good to hear the Native side of me,” says Justin, 32, a Cree from Saskatchewan who knew little about his Indigenous heritage before entering Fraser.

Houlé then shuffles a deck of animal cards and pulls out the cougar, a symbol of confidence, asking what changes the men will make to take charge of their lives.

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“I’m going to try to be more understanding with my family and my wife, and I want to get out of jail and deal with these charges,” said Justin, who is making a wooden jewelry box for his wife at the cultural centre.

Ameet, 33, responds: “I will reach out to certain family members. I haven’t been confident enough to do that.”

All 170 inmates at Fraser have the option, like Ameet’s group, to visit the centre twice a week, where they can make dream catchers and jewelry, learn Indigenous traditions and read books on everything from residential schools to parenting.

“We really promote the connection of dads to their children,” said Jillian Currie, Fraser’s Indigenous cultural liaison. “They make things for their children and they send it in the mail.”

The men also make beaded, leather baby moccasins and donate them to local Indigenous programs, at times completing as many as 15 pairs a week.

Currie and the seven other people on her team can help the men apply for status cards or renew ties with families and friends.

“Many of the individuals we work with have been disconnected with their communities due to the effects of colonization or banned due to the crime that has taken place,” she said.

Currie hopes sharing Indigenous culture with inmates of other backgrounds will strengthen the path toward reconciliation.

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It's good to have another route than criminality.

Inmate Ameet

Ameet, who is Punjabi, said he’s found a “community” in the cultural centre, and that the teachings and crafts are similar to his roots. He is stitching tiny brown beads on a leather medicine pouch, which he plans to fill with sage after being taught the cultural significance of the bag and what goes inside it.

“It’s something to take with me on the outside, maybe it will help me,” Ameet said. “It’s good to have another route than criminality.”

Currie, who is Métis, has been doing this work for eight years through her company Ravens Vision, and her team also provides Indigenous cultural services at the North Fraser Pretrial Centre and the Alouette Correctional Centre for Women.

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‘First true feeling of family’

The Indigenous liaison program gives some inmates “their first true feeling of family” and encourages everyone to be hopeful about their future, said Richard Lacroix, the warden of both Fraser and Ford.

“While you’re incarcerated, don’t feel that’s the end of the line,” Lacroix said. “This is the beginning of never coming back again, dealing with maybe some demons and some traumatic events, then learning why you’re a good person.”

Last June, Ford became the first jail in B.C. to have a spirit bath, Kay said. Residents and staff built a trail to the nearby Chilliwack River, where residents follow Indigenous customs by cleansing themselves in the fast-moving, frigid water.

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Earl Moulton, who is part of Garibay’s cultural team and helped create the spirit bath, said he encourages the residents, many of whom struggle with painful histories, to use the powerful water to wash their grief away.

“So whatever is going on in their head at the time, I tell them to pick up a stone … and throw it downstream until it is gone. Don’t take it back,” said Moulton, standing on a metal platform the men use to get in and out of the raging river.

Jordan, 32, from the Central Coast Nations of Heiltsuk and Kitasoo-Xai’xais, has been to the spirit bath twice.

“Whatever negativity that we hold in, as we dive into the water, that flowing water just runs off of our bodies and heals the mind,” he said.

He said it’s one of several Indigenous programs preparing him for his release.

“I’ll definitely be leaving these gates with a lot more clarity in life,” Jordan said. “I’m currently making plans of spending more time with my family, getting more involved in my culture. Having difficult conversations with people who I associated myself with in the past, just to let them know where I’m at. I’m in a really good place right now, mentally.”

When Postmedia visited Ford last week, Ray, 59, was preparing to leave the next day, after serving one year there. He used the sweat lodge, helped build the spirit bath trail and reconnected with some long-forgotten Indigenous traditions.

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“When I first started drawing and painting again, it was so shaky. It took me a long time to recover. There are good people around here that are willing to help you along your path. Keep you on the right track,” said Ray, who planned to see his family once he was free.

“If you really don’t want to spend your life in jail, this is where you should come to get a new start in life.”

— With files from Lora Grindlay and Douglas Quan, Postmedia News

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