Opinion: A renaming done right in Winnipeg
There is a right way and a wrong way to rename a civic asset to correct a historical wrong. First, the wrong way.
Toronto city council is forging ahead with plans to rename the Yonge-Dundas Square — the bustling public square located in the heart of that city’s downtown — to Sankofa, a Twi word borrowed from the Akan tribe of Ghana that, loosely translated, urges all of us to reflect on the teachings of the past and apply them to the future.
The decision to remove the name “Dundas” from this civic asset was intended to, in part, expunge the name of Henry Dundas, a British lawyer who has been accused of obstructing the abolitionist movement in the United Kingdom. It didn’t help Dundas’ cause that he never actually set foot in Canada.
MIKAELA MACKENZIE / FREE PRESS
Mayor Scott Gillingham speaks at the Abinojii Mikanah renaming ceremony June 21.
Notwithstanding those arguments, the choice of name has been soundly disparaged by Torontonians, who believe it is somewhat of a cultural non-sequitur: a word of lovely sentiment that has no obvious connection to the city on the whole. In recent polls, nearly three quarters of Torontonians disapproved of the name change.
There have also been concerns city council has misread the history of Dundas. His descendants point out that contrary to the opinions of some Toronto politicians, Dundas was actually a strident abolitionist who once defended a runaway slave.
Although there is little justification for retaining the names of proven historical villains on current amenities and infrastructure, Toronto’s efforts have spiralled out of control and in the process, undermined the painful but sometimes necessary process of renaming things to correct a wrong.
Winnipeg, thankfully, has provided an alternative to the Toronto debacle.
On June 21, a ceremony featuring Mayor Scott Gillingham, city councillors and Indigenous leaders was held to officially rename Bishop Grandin Boulevard to Abinojii Mikanah, a Anishinaabemowin phrase that means “children’s way.” Councillors also approved the renaming of Grandin Street in St. Boniface to Taapweewin Way, which means “truth” in Michif, the ancestral language of the Red River Métis.
Renaming things to remove the names of historical figures is never completely non-controversial. But in the Winnipeg example, Grandin had already been identified by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a chief architect of the residential schools system, a diabolical social experiment carried out against Indigenous people that is still having a profound impact on generations of family survivors.
In short, although there were no doubt some Winnipeggers felt there was no justification in removing Grandin’s name from street signs, in this city, at this time, there was no good argument for keeping it.
Winnipeg also took the time to conduct a thorough consultation process to find new names that acknowledged the importance of Indigenous people in the origin story of this city. It also does not hurt the cause that the name has a beautiful, lyrical quality and is easy for non-Indigenous people to pronounce.
After comparing the efforts of two local governments, both trying to do the same thing but in much different ways, we’re left with this undeniable truth.
In Toronto, the cause of removing the names of historical victims has been dealt a likely fatal blow, as it seems no civic politician in Canada’s largest will be rushing to this cause any time soon.
In Winnipeg, notwithstanding the fact that some residents will always object to attempts to rewrite even the worst episodes of history, the renaming of these streets has been a successful gesture of reconciliation, at a time when we desperately need more.
