Myrna discusses why psychological safety is an imperative in all our relationships and invites listeners to prioritize the same.
Myrna discusses why psychological safety is an imperative in all our relationships and invites listeners to prioritize the same. She also shares a recent experience where no safety was present or promised, as well as, an entirely different experience with a group of Indigenous people who knew exactly how to hold a safe space for her and each other.
I'm Myrna McCallum, Metis Cree lawyer and passionate promoter of trauma informed lawyering. Welcome back to the trauma Informed Lawyer podcast. As you know, I believe that law schools and bar courses are missing a critical competency requirement in their curriculum, trauma informed lawyering. Becoming a trauma informed lawyer will, among other things, challenge you to critically reflect on your personal behaviors, beliefs, and biases, call on you to positively transform the way you approach advocacy, guide your practice to avoid doing further harm to others, and ask that you commit to remaining open to learn new and old knowledge, you didn't know you needed before beginning your career. Your education starts right here, right now.
Today is a solo episode. I want to talk a little bit about safety and what safety means, why safety is necessary, and what we can do to prioritize it, make it a value of ours. Before I do that, though, I want to just remind folks that I'm holding my very first in person professional development retreat in Whistler British Columbia, from April 11 to the 13th, with an optional trauma informed practice incubator day on April 14. If you're so inclined to come to Whistler and spend a few days with me, you are welcome to do so even if you're not a lawyer, even if you don't work exactly in law or injustice, but you can tolerate conversations of law and justice, the door is open to you. Go to my website, myrnamccallum.co. Click on the link that says 2023 Whistler Retreat for more information and early bird discount is still on, so sign up register join us going to be a transformational event and I'm pretty excited about it. And I also want to thank the BC Law foundation. Without their support, there would not be a season three of the trauma informed lawyer podcast. The BC Law foundation connected me with sighted media, Gordon and Ren over there, who are working with me now to put together a production of six episodes for season three. So you will hear those starting to roll out this spring. But before then, you're going to hear another conversation with Gabor Mate. Okay, so let's talk about psychological safety. I've been thinking a lot about safety lately, just because it really dominates a lot of the spaces that I've been occupying in terms of the training that I do and conversations that I have. Safety, safety, safety is always at the center of it, and I don't think you could be trauma informed of in any way, shape, or form without acknowledging just how critically important safety is for everyone. Psychological safety. So not talking about physical safety, people have access to exits, et cetera, et cetera in case there's a fire. I'm talking about, like, psychological safety. This idea that people can fully show up and be themselves and that they don't need to fear being attacked or being harmed in some way. I think it's especially important when we're talking about traumatized people and people who have a collective experience of being traumatized. Why is that important? Well, because safety is something they were denied as a result of the traumatic experience that has caused them to carry around all of these trauma responses that are almost masquerading as their personality now. And for Indigenous people, it's especially paramount because for those of us who went to residential school or were the children or the grandchildren of folks who went to residential school, I mean, safety was denied. Denied, just like we weren't allowed to love each other, we weren't allowed to care for each other, we weren't allowed to protect each other. In fact, we were punished. Punished, punished, tortured. Like, everything. And a lot of folks are still, as they, like, explore their, like, how do I heal from this? Are still just kind of grappling with whether they're even entitled to basic psychological safety. Like, am, I even entitled to be safe? I don't even know what that means. Like, these are things that I hear all the time. So it's an imperative for anyone who invites Indigenous people into their spaces to prioritize safety, psychological safety has to be paramount. That means checking in with people. That means giving people a heads up on what might be happening in that space. It means being a little transparent. It means making some promises, having an agreement about what you can expect, it should matter to all of us. Like all of us. I invite you to think about all of your relationships. Could you be in those relationships in a good way if safety wasn't present? I'm going to say probably not. If you're a lawyer, how are you offering psychological safety to your client? And if you're thinking, oh, well, I don't. You know, I don't do that. Yeah, you do. When you promise them confidentiality, when you promise them solicitor client privilege, when you make remarks like, I got your back, we're gonna prep you like it's gonna be all right. We're offering people psychological safety because everyone needs it. And I suspect that a question we always ask ourselves, even if we're not conscious that we're asking the question, am I safe with you? Right? Am I safe with you? Whether we're talking about a conversation with someone, we're going out on a date with someone, we're in a heated argument with our spouse or our parent or our sibling, or we're in a workplace situation, or we get hired at a workplace, one of the first things we're going to be gauging is safety. Safety. Am I safe here? Am I safe to be me? Am I safe to show up in, like, all of me? Do I have to compartmentalize? Do I have to park some of my personality in order to be here? Do I have to conceal my identity or my sexuality or, you know on and on to be able to be in these spaces? Am I safe here? Am I safe here? Am I safe here? These are questions we're always asking ourselves. Unless, like, you're just so harmed by a lifetime of trauma or a childhood full of trauma that maybe safety isn't even the question you ask. Maybe it's like, can I survive this because you're in survival mode. And that, you know, as I say, can I survive? Like, that? Just fucking breaks my heart a little bit that I know there are people out there who can't even get to safety because they're still in survival. Like, can I survive this relationship? Can I survive this environment? Can I survive this job? Can I survive this boss? Can I survive? Just, can I survive? I mean, it's heartbreaking. I'm really kind of pissed off right now. Like, a little angry. I'm angry for a few reasons. One, the fact that murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls is still such a hot topic. It's such an issue that I see women, Indigenous women and girls on the front lines demanding recognition, demanding protection, demanding accountability, demanding safety. I saw on the news just the other day, I skimmed it, that there's, like, some people are advocating for, like, a red dress hotline. Like, you know, for those of you who are outside of Canada don't understand that missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls is a huge, huge problem here in Canada. And I'm gonna say also in America, like, we're going missing an alarming rate. Being murdered. at like incredibly high rates. And sometime some years ago, folks started to hang out red dresses. And the red dresses were symbolic of murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls. Two spirit people. You know, the fact that people are now calling for having their own, like, red dress MMIWG hotline, it's heartbreaking that all the stuff is still happening. That there were murders in Winnipeg, Manitoba. And the police said, oh, we suspect the remains of those women are in the landfill, but we're not going to search. And then Indigenous women and girls and all their relatives had to show up and blockade access to that landfill, demanding that they go in there and look for their loved one. I mean, how fucking dehumanizing is that to just casually like, nope, your folks are in the landfill and we're not even going to look for them? Just makes me angry. What does that tell us about the worth and the value of an Indigenous woman, an Indigenous girl in this country that tells us we don't belong. We have no value. We're not worthy of protection. We're certainly not worthy of safety. We don't feel safe. I mean, I've been stalked by three men in my life, two of which were total strangers. I've never met them. Third was angry respondent in a, in a workplace investigation. I mean, the more recent ones, as an adult, like, there was no policing. And we're not taking these threats seriously. Doesn't matter that he threatened to kill your daughter. Didn't matter that he had made a veiled threat to kill you. We're not taking him seriously. I can't help but think, well, fuck, if I was like, a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes and sporting, like, a puffer jacket and lululemons, would they be then taking me seriously, maybe even without the puffer jacket and the lululemon to get that kind of attention, action. And no, I'm not like an angry Indian. I have every right to be angry right now because of what Indigenous people in this country are experiencing. Indigenous women and girls today. I got home today from Montreal, and I saw on the news when I landed that Melanie Mark, who was one of. I think she was our 1st. 1st Nations MLA here in British Columbia, and she resigned. And she said that she was tired of being attacked and labeled and cussed at and called down by white men in the legislature. Clearly that environment was not a safe space for her. And all I could think is, like, where were the people protecting her? Where were the protectors? Where were the people holding those white men full of rage, holding them accountable? I didn't hear any of those stories about, like, here are the efforts that we went through to hold this person accountable for their statements against you, Miss Melanie Mark, and hear any of that. I just saw this Indigenous woman shaking, holding a feather, speaking truth to power, telling everyone in that space that it was like a torture chamber and she's done and she’s out of there. I don't know why people have such a hard time holding space for Indigenous people. I don't know why white people have such a hard time holding space for Indigenous people? Why non Indigenous people have a hard time holding space for Indigenous people? I don't know why that is. I don't know why there is little recognition of just how important safety is, how critical safety is. So I'm going to share a little story. It's like little contrasting. I have two stories for you. So recently, I went to a Canadian Bar Association event in New Brunswick, their midwinter conference. I was on a panel. I was there to talk about trauma informed lawyering and I was on a panel where my co panelist was a racism expert, apparently. And she was going to talk about how racism has really informed the over incarceration of Indigenous people in this country. So here in Canada, 50% of federal female prisoners are Indigenous women. And apparently, statistically, Indigenous people only make up 5% of the population here in Canada. In the federal prison, Indigenous men, I think, are at like 30, 35% of the population in prison. Ivan Zinger, who's a correctional investigator, has written reports on the indigenization of federal prisons. And I bet that number is higher for provincial prisons, particularly in the prairies, right, correctional centers. I don't know what those stats are. So I'm on this panel to talk about over representation of Indigenous people in jail. That's the panel. I'm there to talk about. Trauma informed lawyering. It didn't happen. There was a fellow, a white, older white guy, who really positioned himself sort of in the center of the room, and I noticed him right away because of where he chose to sit. And as soon as my co panelist started to read from her reports or her statistics, he just kept interrupting her, challenging her, challenging the information, and really suggesting things like there had to be some other explanation for the over incarceration of Indigenous people. Couldn't be racism or just race. I don't know, just racism or couldn't be racism. Had to be other things. At one point, he turns to me and says, you know, wouldn't I agree or wouldn't we agree that one of the reasons why Indigenous people in this country don't get parole and end up having to do their full sentence or don't get released at bail hearings, interim release is because they're poor, can't afford to get out, got nowhere to go. They're poor. So you want to blame poverty, but I mean, like, let's unpack poverty. Why are we so poor? There's a whole history, right, of colonization that has created these reservations, and for many of us on lands that fucking produce nothing. Like, I was so angry sitting there. I was in about 40 minutes in, I still hadn't said anything. I thought about leaving because, like, his questions and his comments and, and his, like, taking up all the air in the room was just too much. And at one point, he was challenging my co panelist, when she was noting, so the suicides in prisons are predominantly Indigenous people, and he wanted a number. Can't remember what the number was. She gave it to him, and he was like, well, that's not so bad. That's not really high. Like, that's not bad. And that just enraged me because one suicide is too many. One Indigenous life lost to suicide is too many. One life of any race lost to suicide is too many. So I couldn't believe that he was like, that's not so bad. And the whole time he's doing all of this, he's doing it with a smile on his face and a really sweet tone in his voice. It was so disturbing to me. I didn't feel safe. I felt harmed. And I had said it earlier because they had played a video that was really triggering for me, and no one told me they were going to play this video that kicked up my own residential school experience. It was painful. It was really painful to be in that room. And I know there were some people in that room who knew it was like, it hurt me. I was being hurt sitting there, and they knew it, and they expressed empathy, and they tried to get that guy to shut up, and he would not shut up. But it wasn't just him, you know, who harmed me and who offended me. It was also my co panelist. I don't think she was any better spouting off statistics. Like, I wasn't sitting right there, right next to her. Like, she's not talking about my lived experience, like, she's not talking about my life, my family, my people. I felt like I didn't exist in that space. I felt like I was some kind of artifact, like a thing. Like, it was so dehumanizing. It was so dehumanizing. Afterward, I guess a lot of people were chatting about what had happened in that session, and somebody had reached out to me, a young lady who was part Indigenous, and she was really quite upset as well about what had happened. And she was saying, oh, yeah, there's been lots of chatter in all these other sessions, like, people are talking about it. And, you know, I was really surprised that nobody called me, nobody phoned me. No one wanted to follow up with me. Like, even though I knew the executive committee and the organizers were hearing about it, nobody called me. It wasn't until I complained that I heard from no one to some random New Brunswick lawyer who emailed me that moments after I emailed that person to say, yeah, you know, I haven't even heard from anyone. I got, an email right away. But even when they asked me, like, well, what do you want? Like, what do you want? Was really, like, the question I remember from that call, and I remember saying, look, I want a statement on, like, anti Indigenous racism. Like, that. This is not going to be tolerated. I want a meaningful statement. You know, I remember in that call focusing on that, and I remember person I was talking to say something like, well, you don't want us to call him out or. You're not asking for that, are you? And I was like, well, no. To which I heard, oh, well, that's relief. And it just kind of also felt like, okay, well, maybe our priority is actually protecting this white man who was saying all of these things. I didn't hear anything about accountability. I didn't hear anything about meaningful learning. I didn't hear anything about anything, really, in that call. And then a week later, sometime later, I get some random email. I guess everyone who was in that session got an email that said, oh, we heard about this session. It was like, it was a heavy session that you were in, which, you know, bullshit. Like, that guy made it a completely disturbing traumatic experience. They didn't learn anything from the session. Cause we never got to talk about systemic, racism. Never got to really introduce trauma informed lawyering, any of it in any meaningful way. So, it was really his show whole time. And then they said something like, we hear you, we see you, we're, you know, we're here for you. And then the next line was, if you're feeling distressed, go call the lawyer's assistance program. And it's like, really, you're here for me, but now, like, fuck off. Go call someone else. Like, there's no line here where I can call you. There's. Ugh. it just. The whole thing felt like meaningless platitudes. Like, okay, well, we're done with this. Oh, there was no apology. Like, the whole vibe was sorry. Not sorry. The sorry. Why am I pissed off about this? Like, I certainly am not saying all New Brunswick lawyers are racist. I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that those who make up the executive committee of the Canadian Bar association in New Brunswick, and the organizers of this midwinter conference would benefit from practicing a little humility and maybe even a little authenticity. I mean, why couldn't they hold space for me? Why couldn't they hold space for others who were upset by what occurred? Why couldn't they ask in a meaningful way, how were you impacted? Were you feeling what should have been done? What should we do as an organization to ensure accountability and to communicate and convey that any anti Indigenous racism or sentiment will not be tolerated? Right. Like, none of those questions came. What needs to be done to make sure this never happens again? How do we demonstrate how important Indigenous issues and Indigenous lawyers are to us as an organization, as a community? How do we create a safe space that is inclusive and welcoming of Indigenous lawyers? I never heard any of those questions. There was no follow up, no follow through, no meaningful engagement. In other words, what I felt was like, we're not holding space for you. Like, we just want you to shut up, stop talking about this, and we're not even going to respond to you. I mean, I know they saw my TikTok, but I was sitting on that panel talking about how I was hurt, so I started identifying my experience immediately, right then, right there. And then I told them again on the phone, and then I said it again to the world on TikTok. I mean, there's a bit of a pattern that was happening in Moncton. I mean, yes, that experience on that panel, which was, like, horrible. But also, I went to this keynote because our very first Indigenous Supreme Court of Canada, Justice Michelle O’Bonsawin, was giving a keynote, on mental health. And I had gotten an email a couple weeks prior about how the whole event was sold out. And I was like, oh, my God, I hope I can get in the door. I hope, you know, I can attend and listen, see what she has to say at this sold out event. Then when I was there, the room was almost empty. Like, it was. It was like a conference room, right? It was a big room, but there was not a lot of people in that room. The room definitely wasn't full. It wasn't even half full. Hell, there were more people outside the conference room mingling in the lobby area, like in the registration lineup. There was a bunch of lawyers outside the door. And I was really surprised at how few people showed up. And when I mentioned it to one of the organizers, she did that thing that I think the kids like to call gaslighting. She pretty well told me, you know, I didn't see what I saw, she's like, oh, well, I guess by a Vancouver standard it would look like, you know, it wasn't a very good turnout, but by our standards, it was an exceptional turnout. Like, yeah, it was sold out. And yet the room was, you know, mostly empty for sure half empty. That young woman I mentioned, she said, you know, like, I don't know, less than 50 people. When I hear sold out, I think all the tables are full, the seats are taken, standing room only, that sort of thing. And I'm sure if it was like it was one of the male white Supreme Court of Canada justices, maybe that is exactly what I would have saw. Anyway, this organizer is like, yeah, you didn't see what you saw. It was sold out. It was, a really good event. We were really happy with the turnout. It was well attended. She was our first choice for speaker and went on to explain why she was so important. That whole conversation just lacked authenticity. It lacked meaning, it lacked safety. Anyway, the whole event was really hurtful. And the lack of meaningful follow up also hurt. But it's not just me that was hurt was the other person in the room who identifies as Indigenous. And honestly, all I could think, like, leaving Moncton, leaving New Brunswick is like, wow, how are Indigenous lawyers in that province doing? Like, who's holding space for them? Who's prioritizing their psychological safety? Who's recognizing why that might be so incredibly important in committing to upholding psychological safety for their Indigenous colleagues and taking a solid stance on anti Indigenous racism? rhetoric, bullshit tactics. Like who is demonstrating real allyship. It certainly isn't the New Brunswick CBA mid winter conference organizing. There is an executive committee. Anyway, contrast this experience with the recent experience. So I just got home from Montreal and I was, working in an Indigenous community for a couple of days. We had to have a hard conversation there about how trauma takes up space there and in every Indigenous community across the land because unfortunately, that's one significant consequence of the residential school system. We didn't cause the trauma. We didn't break the spirits of these children who are now adults and elders in these communities. We didn't make the mess, but we have to clean it up. We have to repair what the government and the church broke or tried to break. We got to fix it. We got to clean it up. We talked about why it's important to call our spirits back, but also call back our love and our cultures and our languages and our practices and our protection mechanisms and our safety. We talked about why it's important to be safe, to feel safe, that we have the right to be safe. And that I know was hard in that space, particularly for one survivor who did a little bit of talking about not feeling safe for a really long time because there was no safety in residential school. I think there are lots of survivors out there who are still struggling to feel safe in their own skin. All the more reason for us to have to prioritize holding space for Indigenous people and prioritizing safety above all else. Safety. Because at the end of it all, in every relationship, in every workplace, in every romantic entanglement, in everything, we're all going to be asking ourselves consciously or subconsciously, am I safe with you? And maybe where the answer is no, the question then becomes, well, can I survive you? Can I survive you as a workplace? Can I survive you as a lover? Can I survive you as a husband? Can I survive you as a town? Can I survive you as a culture? I really wish we could move past basic survival and start having conversations about safety, but unfortunately, that just isn't the reality for all of us. We just all don't have that privilege. And it sucks. It really sucks. So I hope as you listen to me, you're not like, oh, Myrna's ranting today. I'm really not. Like, I'm upset for sure, but I have every right to be upset. You would be upset, too, if this happened to you. If you've been fighting for safety your whole life and fighting to move past survival only to be confronted with a group of educated folks who just completely disregard your need for safety, refuse to even truly see you, hear you just sucks. All the more reason for us to fight for safety, to prioritize seeing each other, carrying each other, holding space for each other. I mean, I will hold space for people, but I need them to hold space for me. Because reciprocity is everything. And when safety is some kind of, like, stranger to us, all the more reason for all of us to become more acquainted with it and all that it offers us. Once we maybe get to a place of safety, we could get to, dare I say, reconciliation, but certainly get to good relationships. I don't think we can have good relationships without safety. So, you know, going forward, when I get invited into spaces to give a talk, give a keynote, give a training, the very first question I am intentionally going to ask myself out loud is, am I safe with you? That's it, folks. That's my episode for today. I hope that as you listen to me, you're not thinking, oh, that's just a Myrna problem. That's just an Indigenous problem. Nope. This is a collective problem. Safety should matter to you because we all need it. You need it, I need it. Every needs it. Regardless of color, gender, sexual orientation, we all need it. How do we bring it into our practice? That's the task. That's the challenge. If you want to learn more about how to do this kind of work, come and join me in Whistler, April 11 to the 13th. Thank you for listening. You can find me on Instagram. The trauma informed lawyer on LinkedIn, on Twitter, at the tilpodcast. Until next time, take care, everyone. This episode was recorded on the traditional and unceded ancestral territory of the Tsleil-waututh people.