When Cheri Power tried to book a new round of therapy this week at her clinic of 16 years, she got an unwelcome email.
“You must provide proof of Indigenous ancestry,” it said.
It was a new policy, the Wabano Centre for Aboriginal Health informed her. She would need a status card or an official letter from a federally recognized band.
Power has relied on the Ottawa clinic for her doctor, for mental health and addiction support and for everything from nutritionists to chiropractors. Though she’s able to hold onto her doctor for now, she was devastated to read that she would lose access to other services with so little warning.
“It’s just not fair,” Power said. “To do this without any notice to their clients is cruel.”
Wabano says the new policy is needed to combat fraudulent claims of Indigenous identity and that it will offer a transitional period to allow people to gather documents.
But Power doesn’t think she should have to revisit past trauma to keep care.
Her Cree mother was a day school survivor facing homelessness and drug problems, Power said, when she was born. Put in foster care and then adopted out to a white family, Power said she was always told she was Indigenous.
She said she finally found her birth mother five years ago.
“I don’t have the paperwork to prove any of that,” she said. “All of a sudden, there’s this incredible barrier to service that I don’t know how I’m going to overcome.”
‘It’s a lot of bureaucracy’
Colleen Hele-Cardinal of the Sixties Scoop Network said the barrier can be high and it can sometimes take years to surmount it.
“If you know that you’re First Nation, but you can’t prove it and the band doesn’t sign you on as a member, it’s very difficult for you to get status,” she said.
“The time it takes to write for this information [and] to get it back [is substantial]. And if you don’t get the right information, you have to send out more requests. It’s a lot of bureaucracy.”
Survivors can face redacted child welfare records, she said. The problems can be far worse if their father is the one with status but doesn’t appear on their birth certificate.
“Once you get the information, you have to apply to [Indigenous Services Canada], and there’s a huge backlog for that as well,” said Hele-Cardinal.
Wabano blames fraud that denies Indigenous people care
In a statement to CBC, Wabano’s director of administration, communications and engagement, Natalie Lloyd, said the centre will accept other ways of confirming Indigenous identity.
Those could include “a letter of kinship connection” for Indigenous people who were caught up in the Sixties Scoop or have no formal records, Lloyd said.
But that possibility was not mentioned in the email to Power, who said it also never came up in subsequent phone calls with the centre.
Lloyd told CBC the policy change was necessary to conserve limited resources for Indigenous people in the face of increasing fraud that deprives Indigenous people of health resources they need.
“Akin to other organizations across Canada, we have seen an increase in individuals fraudulently claiming Indigenous identity to access services and benefits,” she said.
“Over the last two years we have consulted with subject matter experts and community stakeholders to assist us in developing our eligibility policy to prevent misuse of limited resources funded for First Nations, Inuit and Métis.”
Lloyd would not share how many of Wabano’s clients could be affected by the policy change, citing privacy reasons. She said the centre will help any patients who can’t prove their Indigenous identity find appropriate health and wellness services elsewhere in Ottawa.
She did not respond to follow-up questions on how long the transitional period will last and whether it applies to all services.
Revisiting past ‘filled with emotion and turmoil and pain’
Power said she’d have little chance of getting an official letter from a band she has never been to. She said she has previously tried to get her status card but faced similar issues to those Hele-Cardinal described.
Since finding her mother, she now has more information.
“I have a place to start, but this isn’t something I ever expected I’d have to deal with or be forced to do,” she said. “All of it is so murky, and so filled with emotion and turmoil and pain that it’s really hard to even think about starting.”
She called the experience of having her Indigenous identity questioned and losing access to medical care “painful and traumatic.”
“It’s difficult, because a lot of us don’t know where we come from,” she said. “It touches a really sore spot for a lot of people.”
As for the transitional period, Power said it wasn’t offered for mental health services. She confirmed she is still being allowed to see her doctor, and saw a nurse on Thursday, though she doesn’t know how long that will continue.
“I have a recent diagnosis of a genetic condition that requires a lot of medical follow through right now, and I’m in a bit of medical turmoil requiring a lot of care with surgery and specialists and a lot of co-ordinating,” she said.
“That now is all uncertain. What do I do?”