Doukhobor Sons of Freedom children.

| Continued

A visit to

New Denver

taken away from her and
Placed in the New Denver in-
Stitution.

-The house had three rooms,
a combination kitchen and liv-
ing room and two bedrooms
curtained off from the main
room. The kitchen-living room
Was plainly furnished, but
Spotlessly clean. A large kit-
Chen stove, table, chairs, couch,
Mantle radio, cupboard for
dishes, and a medicine cabinet
Completed the furnishings.

There was a sink, but no tap ©

Or pump. Water pails and wash
basins stood on’ the rough,
Covered porch by the door.
There was linoleum on the
floor and painted building
Paper on the’ walls.

The woman I spoke to was
berhaps 35 years old and proud
Of the fact she had been in
Jail three times, “fighting for.
What I believe in.” Although

rn in this country, she ex-
Pressed herself in English with
Some difficulty.

“Education is poison,” she
ld me. “We teach our chil-
dren, to read and write and to
Make their living by working
With their hands.

“Our girls learn to cook and
_S€w' and to work in the garden
8nd keep a home. Our boys
€arn to farm, to work in the
bush and to do mechanical

Work, %

“This is a useful life, the

Doukhobor way. We don't
°ree your childern to follow
‘le. Doukhobor way. Why
- Should you force us to adopt
Your way?” ~

Toil-worn from working in
tha fields and in the home, she
looked 10 years older than her
true age. In a few years, she
would be like any one of the
grandmothers you see in the
fields of Krestova on a hot day,
stooped over as she wields a

hoe, with only a kerchief to .

protect her head from the sun.

While most parents would
say, “I want my children to
have an easier life, a better
fuure than this,’ I was told
something different here. “Our
life is a simple one. We are
happy. We do not want our
children to become educated,
to live off other people with-
out working.”

I told her that I was going
to visit New Denver. She said
with some vehemence that the
place was a jail and the 100
children there were being hor-
ribly mistreated.

“T know they won’t let you
in, because it is a jail,” she
declared. “Stand on the street
about three o’clock and you
will see the children being
marched from the school to the
jail. Try and talk to them, but
if the policeman sees you, he
will chase you away.”

*

When I arrived in New Den-
ver, the children were
coming out of school. They
were not in marching forma-

tion, but were walking along -

the road, in pairs and in
groups, like any other school
children; °°

just.

The boys were dressed in
jeans, shirts and all manner of
headgear. Some had cowboy
hats. A number of them had
softball mitts, bats and balls.

The girls were dressed like
schoolgirls anywhere in the
province and some of the older
one had their hair done up in
pony tails. They appeared to
be healthy, normal children

with good color in their cheeks
and: full of life. :

As I listened to their conver-
sations, I heard as much Rus-
sian as English. Later, I learn-
ed that a number of them
could speak very little English
when they first came to New
Denver.

I discovered the Doukhobor
children who are detained in
the institution attend the pub-
lic school in New Denver, along
with the children who normal-
ly live there. Except for two
special classes for those who
had to be taught English, all
were intermixed with non-
Doukhobor students.

The administrator of the in-

stitution, John Clarkson, school
principal, agreed to show me
around. He appeared to be re-
luctant to-do so, as if he were
under heavy strain,

*

The dormitories were neat
and clean, with six beds to a
room. Hot water radiators
seemed plentiful and the lino-
leum on the floors was being
waxed.

In the girls’ domitory, there
was the feminine touch: flow-
ers, bright clothes and ker-
chiefs.

The kitchen was bright and
clean, but looked old-fashioned
with its huge coal and wood
stoves. The principal told me
he would soon have them re-
placed by electric ranges.

The dining room was the
usual institutional dining room.
Instead of small tables seating

four and individual chairs,
long benches, The waxed lino-
leum on the floor and the

polished arborite on the tables
could not kill the stiff form-
ality of the.room. This stiff-
ness was enhanced by the par-
tition to one side, to screen
the staff from the children.

As we strolled about, chil-
dren entered and left the
premises as casually as they
would in theit’ own homes. No
ohe seemed to show any hos-
tility. of fear towards the prin-
cipal or matrons, —~

The recreational instructor
came to the beach behind the
dormitories and soon he was
surrounded by children. Evi-
dently, he was very popular
with them. Within a few min-
utes, children of all ages were
swimming or paddling in Lake
Slocan.

The principal told me that
there would soon be an en-
closed swimming area with
proper breakwaters, floats and
diving boards.

Looking around, I saw fur-
ther’ signs of expansion. To
one side of the new adminis-

;

tration building, a gymnasium
was being constructed. The
grounds were being cleaned
up and repairs were being
made to the dormitory build-
ing, formerly used as tuber-
cular sanitarium for Japanese
people during the war.

Along one side of the prop-
erty, I noticed deep postholes
at regular intervals. Eventual-
ly, there will be a fence all
round; the property, except for
the lake front. This fence will
be used to keep parents on the
outside. The principal seemed
to fear that they would some
day try to occupy the build-
ings and refuse to leave with-
out their children.

*

I asked if this expansion
meant that the provincial gov-
ernment intended to hold on to
the children they have in cus-
tody and to seize more chil-

dren. In both cases the an-
swer was yes.
“Are the children happy

here? Do you think it is right

to take them from their par-
ents? Do you think this is the
solution, to the problem?”

Before replying, the princi-
pal, a short man about 40, with
greying hair and a tired face,
jooked at me very carefully.

“Yes,” he replied, “we think
we have the solution to the
problem now. These children
Were born in Canada and must
be educated as Canadians.

“T believe they should be
with their parents, provided
their parents send them to
school. Any child here will be
released where the parents
agree’to send him to school.

“The ones we have now are
very happy. We have them en-
rolled in six regular classes and
two special classes for those
who can’t speak English; one
for the younger children and
one for the older ones. I am
proud to say that-next year
three of my students will
graduate into junior high.”

“But do you’ believe it is
right to separate children from
their parents? How can they
be happy that way?”

“As I told| you, Mr. Phillips,
they can go back to their par-
ents — if the parents will send
them to school near home.
They are happy in this place,
except. when their parents
come to see them, once every
second Sunday, and get them
worked up.

“Tm sorry this school is so
close to their parents, and
sorry that we can’t keep the
children after they reach the
age of 15. We get some at 12,
13 or 14 and, before we can
do very much, we have to re-
lease them, unless they choose
to go to trade school at the
expense of the government.

“Other children, who wil
graduate from here, will be
able to continue their educa-
tion as wards of the govern-
ment, if they so choose. Of
course, if they want to be sent
home, they will be released. I

wish we could keep them all
till they were 21.”

“In short, Victoria would be
their guardian?”

“No, not Victoria, but
Welfare Branch.”

the

“Do you make any attempt
to teach them Russian and give
them religious education along
Doukhobor lines?”

“No. We use the standard
curriculum here. As for the
Russian language, they speak
‘as much of that as English. I
hardly think they will forget
Prk

“What will the children do
during the summer vacation?”

“Those who wish to will be
able to attend. classes in the
morning. There will be swim-
ming, hikes, games, movies and
other recreational activities. I
am sure they will enjoy them=-
selves,”

*

As I left, I asked him about
the visiting privileges for par-
ents.

“They are allowed to come
every second Sunday and
spend an hour with the chil-
dren. We allow the children to
stand on the road in front of
the administration building
and meet their parents there.

“I make sure that all mem-
bers of the staff, including my-
self, are not around. If we
were anywhere in sight we
would be insulted and abused.
About two or three hundred of
them come up in cats and they
get very worked up and emo-
tional. That’s why I turned
over the visiting hour to the
RCMP. They stand by and
keep the situation under con-
trol.

“These people don’t visit
their children like you and I
would. They speak to their
children for a while and then
start talking in groups and
throwing insults at the staff.”

“I. suppose,- Mr. Clarkson,
that is their way of showing
you they want their children
back?” :

“Yes, I guess you're right.”

*

Of course, the Doukhobors
want their children back — as
you would want your children
back if they were taken from
you by governmental order
and placed in an institution
violating all your beliefs. That
is their elemental right and
the Social Credit government’s
denial of that right is at the
same time a threat to the right
of all parents.

New Denver may be a fine

_ institution, its staff sincere in

their belief that they are do-
ing the tight thing by the
children. But they cannot give
the children ‘the love that wells
from the heart of a parent nor
erase the pain of separation.

In face of so great a wrong,
the Doukhobors’ patience and
forbearance rebukes those who
have shown so little of either.

MAY 24, 1957 — PACIFIC TRIBUNE—PAGE ll