Truth & Reconciliation: What This Day Really Feels Like

Every year as September 30th approaches, my heart feels heavy. For many Indigenous people, “Truth & Reconciliation Day” isn’t a day of reflection — it’s a reminder of how much emotional labour we are constantly asked to carry.

We’re endlessly called upon to speak, to teach, to show up when we are already spread thin. We’re expected to pour our energy into educating others — often in the face of growing hostility, residential school denialism, and overt racism that makes it painfully clear reconciliation is still far from reality. The truth is, there are not enough of us to keep standing on the front lines, endlessly working to educate the masses.

On top of that, we’re still processing our own intergenerational trauma. I’ve been actively working on my healing journey since I was a teenager, and still — decades later — this day can feel exhausting.

And then there are the orange shirts. While the intentions behind the movement are positive, it has also become a breeding ground for performative allyship. I see it even within my own customer base: those who make a one time purchase of an orange shirt, and those same people are the first to unsubscribe from our newsletter when we share cultural information or educational content. Too often, the shirt becomes a convenient badge — a way to look supportive in professional or social spaces — without doing the actual work of challenging the issues that still exist today.

The truth is this: wearing an orange shirt solves nothing without substantive acts to create change. Truth and Reconciliation isn’t supposed to be about a shirt. It’s about taking responsibility. It’s about dismantling the systems that allowed residential schools to happen and continue to cause harm. It’s about advocating for the 94 Calls to Action to be fulfilled — in the face of the bleak reality that the vast majority remain unmet. I mean, how many Canadians have even read them? You can: Read the 94 Calls to Action here)

So let me be direct: it’s not our job to carry this fight. We’ve been carrying the weight of it for generations and it isn’t getting any easier. The torch needs to be taken up by those who see this country’s unjust past for what it is — and who are willing to actively work to right the wrongs that continue today.

Not to mention the number of last-minute requests we get for bulk orders — sometimes 150+ shirts, dropped on us just two weeks or even a single week before September 30th. As a small producer, we need more lead time. It’s about respect for our time and the work that goes into having these shirts available. Too often, when we can’t meet these impossible deadlines, people don’t even have the decency to reply to our emails, as they scramble to find other suppliers. For them, it’s an afterthought. For us, it becomes an expectation — another weight we’re asked to carry. That in itself is performative allyship: rushing to wear the shirt without considering the meaning, the planning, or the people behind it.

That means moving past performative allyship into real, daily action. It means confronting denialism, pushing back against racism, and refusing to let apathy set in. It means holding governments, institutions, and communities accountable to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action — not just talking about them once a year, but demanding progress every day.

For me, this day is about telling the truth — even when it’s messy. Reconciliation will never come from performative acts. But it will come from the hard work of allies who refuse to let denialism, hate, and indifference win.