We’re Not Broken.

Gently Unpacking Lateral Violence in our Communities

By: Kaila Maillet, Founder of Cocahq N’Pisun (Spirit Medicine)

DISCLAIMER!

Parts of this post might be...unsettling and while that is the intention, I don’t want it to hurt so let’s begin gently. If you feel activated at any point reading this, I want you to take deep breaths. You are safe, we are safe. This might sting at first, and before you proceed you should know that once you begin this shift, there is no going back. You are here for a reason. Lets walk together.

You are not the problem. Our people are not the problem. The truth is much of the hurt we see in our communities is not born from who we are, but from what has been done to us. Lateral violence is one of those hurts. In Indigenous communities across Turtle Island, lateral violence often goes unnamed. It hides beneath everyday interactions “Lazy, stupid, dirty, no-good, wrong, weak”. Lateral violence lives in our homes, it attends our community meetings, it’s even part of our elections. It looks like blame. Like shaming. Like public callouts and backdoor whispers. It looks like trying to "fix" problems dressed up as people. It’s not helpful or insightful its superiority complexes framed as “the way forward”, it’s internalized colonialism.

What is Lateral Violence?

Lateral violence is harmful behaviour that we direct toward each other, rather than toward the systems responsible for our oppression (Clark et al., 2016). It can include gossip, bullying, shaming, exclusion, and internalized oppression. The term recognizes that violence has been pushed laterally (onto one another) rather than up, toward the systems and structures that have harmed us. People who are criticizing or belittling community members who receive income assistance, using election platforms OR social media reach to highlight community “weakness” in punitive ways. Framing community challenges as personal failings rather than systemic outcomes. Shaming people for not speaking the language, not participating in ceremony or not meeting a standard of “good Indigeneity”. Lateral violence is exile from the people and communities who are responsible for caring and nurturing us.

Deep Roots & Bitter Medicine.

Colonialism disrupted Indigenous systems of governance, kinship, and support. The residential school system, the Sixties Scoop, and ongoing systemic racism introduced punishment-based, hierarchical models of control. When we use shame, hierarchy, and punitive accountability against our own people, we’re replicating colonial logics (Bailey, 2021). Promises and slogans framed around "fixing" people are actually grounded in settler colonial values. Productivity over wellbeing, individual blame over collective care, and respectability over radical inclusion (Alfred, 2009). If I am being SO for real (I mean this as respectfully as I possibly can) my greatest “opposition” in professional settings is never the person in the room I THINK it is going to be. It is always the person who looks like my auntie, and talks like a cop. And I ALWAYS react, because it hurts more when it comes from the face across the table that you thought would “get it”.

Helping rooted in ceremony NOT stigma.

Rejecting lateral violence doesn’t mean rejecting accountability. We can hold each other in love. Many of us are remembering how to frame community needs in terms of support, not punishment. We’re asking, “What happened to you?” instead of “What’s wrong with you?” We are rebuilding systems that respond to harm with healing, not exile. We are learning to speak up with compassion when we see internalized oppression playing out. Our ancestors practiced relational accountability. Not control, not punishment. Let us return to that.

Stay Woke Fam;

This post isn’t to call anyone out. It’s to call us back. Back to community. Back to relational strength. Back to remembering that we are not broken, we are burdened. We carry so much and we continue to rise. We remember. We reclaim. We heal when we lift each other up not when we tear each other down. Choose love, choose legacy. Skoooo

If this read stirred something in you be it grief, recognition, defensiveness, or even hope, you’re not alone. These conversations are hard. But they are also sacred.

We created a free, reflective companion called Unsettling the Helpers for anyone walking with others in a professional or personal way. It’s a gentle, non-judgmental guide designed to help us identify and release colonial patterns in how we show up to help.

🪶 Download the reflection tool here:https://www.cocahqnpisunspiritmedicine.ca/s/Unsettling-Crisis-Support.png

(Link will open in a new tab. Use it privately or as a group resource for learning and unlearning together.)

Reflection Questions (for personal or group use)

• Have I ever witnessed lateral violence in community spaces? How did it make me feel?

• Have I unintentionally participated in lateral violence? What do I need to unlearn?

• What is a supportive, loving alternative to the behavior I saw or participated in?

• How can I use my voice to interrupt harm without causing more harm?

Citations (for the academics among us)

Alfred, T. (2009). Wasase: Indigenous pathways of action and freedom. University of Toronto Press.

Bailey, K. A. (2021). "Decolonizing shame: A journey into healing." Canadian Journal of Native Education, 43(1), 98-113.

Clark, N., Hunt, S., & Ferris, C. (2016). Intergenerational trauma and Indigenous healing: A qualitative study with Indigenous women. University of British Columbia

The Land Remembers.

Why we need to Rethink Land Acknowledgements

By: Kaila Maillet | Founder of Cocahq N’Pisun

Land acknowledgements are everywhere, from school announcements to Zoom calls to government meetings.

But something has been lost along the way. Somewhere between the printed agendas and the polished statements, we forgot what these words are really for. At Cocahq N'pisun, we say this often: "The land remembers. We are responsible for making sure the people on the land do not forget." This is where our work begins.

Acknowledgement is not performance. Land acknowledgements were never meant to be a box to check, a moment of guilt, or a token of allyship. They are an invitation. A grounding. A call to memory. The land you are standing on right now holds story, sovereignty, grief, and resistance. It holds ancestors. Treaties. Agreements broken and upheld. It remembers.

When we treat land acknowledgements like a script, we lose their power. When we turn them into obligation instead of opportunity, we rob them of their relational roots. The problem isn’t the words. It’s the forgetting.

We’ve see organizations with land acknowledgements on their websites, continuing to uphold policies that harm Indigenous people. We watched speakers fumble through a territory name they don’t understand and then move on as if the work is done.

Acknowledging land is not about feeling bad. It’s about showing up better. It’s about remembering what the land already knows, and asking ourselves how we are living in relationship with that truth. Acknowledgements are for grounding, not guilt. Western guilt doesn’t move us, it freezes us. It centers western feelings instead of First Nations realities. That’s why our approach at Cocahq N’pisun isn’t about guilt. It’s about grounding, about inviting people to drop into the present moment, place their feet on the land, and listen.

Our workshop, "The Land Remembers: A Living Approach to Land Acknowledgements", is designed to guide organizations and individuals into a deeper understanding of what land acknowledgements can do, and what they require from us in return, what the land needs from us

In the workshop, we explore:

• Why land acknowledgements started, and who they are for

• How to avoid performative practices

• How to ground your acknowledgements in action, memory, and relationship

• Questions you can ask to deepen your connection to the land you occupy

We also share our own land acknowledgement. One that speaks from Treaty 6 territory, where Cocahq N'pisun was born. Acknowledging the land is how we begin every conversation. But it’s never the end of the work. We invite you to join us in remembering.

If you’re ready to move beyond the script. To return to memory, meaning, and sacred accountability this offering is for you.

Because the land remembers. And we are responsible to not forget.

Workshop Info

A gentle yet honest reframe of what land acknowledgements mean in practice. It invites participants to step beyond scripted statements into a space of memory, responsibility, and relational truth-telling.

Length: 30–45 minutes

Intended Audience: Support providers, frontline staff, educators, administrators, community leaders

Delivery Format: In-person or virtual

Contact: info@cocahqnpisunspiritmedicine.ca

Citations (for the academics) Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2012). Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 1–40.

Simpson, L. B. (2014). Land as pedagogy: Nishnaabeg intelligence and rebellious transformation. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 3(3), 1–25.

Borrows, J. (2010). Canada’s Indigenous Constitution. University of Toronto Press.

Coulthard, G. S. (2014). Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition. University of Minnesota Press.