Like me, many of my Indigenous professional friends and colleagues occasionally find themselves between existential crisis and supporting community development.
According to what I have read online, existential crisis occurs when individuals question whether their lives have meaning, purpose, or value. Personally, I do not believe we do our jobs solely for the sake of after-hours recreation. I think many of us actually believe what we do, professionally or as volunteers, must be bettering the world on some level. In Indigenous communities, it’s a common expectation that individuals must give something back. This is often talked about but not always done by those who espouse the virtues of said volunteerism. There’s a big difference between being paid to do something and volunteering to do it. Many of my friends do both.
Moments of worry that someday you will be forgotten or that your life is futile can be signs of an existential crisis. Perhaps crisis is a strong term, but I often feel like my existence here needs to have meaning. In other words, I’ve experienced that existential sort of doubt along the way. Many years ago, one of my employees was sorting out the estate as the executor to his neighbor and family friend. The man who had passed had been a great national and community leader in the construction industry, engineering, post secondary, Boy Scouts, and many other community endeavors. The man had run a business for decades and, upon his death, his business closed. My colleague was asked, as part of his roles as executor of the estate, to clean out the business office and sell any assets he could for the family. I volunteered to tag along as we were interested in some of the items in the office. I had a long relationship with the deceased, both professionally and personally, and admired him greatly.
Going to his office was terribly sad. It was a normal engineering office of the era; desks and drafting tables, filing cabinets and engineering art consistent with their business as designers of roads. The walls of his personal office were full of awards and recognition for all the things he had achieved in his life. We boxed those things up and did a little bit of organizing. I brought back a number of historic maps of Saskatchewan cities which we later posted in the office. I remember thinking how sad it was that none of these memorabilia mattered to anyone. I also needed to believe everything I did as a volunteer and professional had to mean SOMETHING. Then I realized I was looking at the wrong things. My friend had left a legacy in many, many places. He changed me as a student, a volunteer, and an engineer. He showed me what it meant to step up as a leader. There have been many experiences in my life where I felt I needed to matter, but this event was life changing for me. I did not have the vocabulary for it at the time, but it was about the recognition that my life needed to matter. Like my friend, it wasn’t on the walls of his office, but in the hearts and minds of everyone he had interacted with over his life. There were no monuments to my friend, but he left a rich legacy nonetheless.
In working with First Nations, my friends and I strive to leave a legacy. We represent both origins on and off reserve, professionals and non-professionals, as well as leaders and followers. Whatever our background and current employment, we are all passionate about wanting to make a difference. We can have an impact in First Nations communities who need us. Those communities are, for the most part, welcoming, but not always. You must prove yourself professionally and personally of your sincerity. You need a thick skin as well as staying power. If we do all those things, an incredibly enriching experience and a true legacy can be created.
What surprises us is the large number of people working with First Nations who demonstrate they feel the way we do; extra work is necessary to bring positive change to these communities. Many consultants come in, win a contract to do some work, make their money, and leave precious little behind in the community. On occasion, there may be donations to community activities, but they are usually only a small fraction of the value of the work which has been completed. Some contractors are different, and they bring practical skills to helping the community in ways community members cannot, due to a lack of equipment or materials. What disappoints me, however, is the number of professional engineers and architects employed by First Nations who don’t even take the time to visit a classroom of kids and talk about what they do for a living.
As a First Nations professional engineer with decades of experience, I know my First Nations clients will trust me. That trust weighs heavily upon me. I want to do the best job I can professionally. That is a given. I also look for ways to do more; to add something to that relationship only I can bring. It may be talking to children in the classroom about science, technology, engineering or mathematics (STEM) careers. Creating the WorkFirst community engagement program is another contribution. I can also help First Nations communities by serving on corporate boards where my combination of global industrial and First Nations experience is a rare combination. I have managed large enterprises and projects. Whether they know it or not, there are people like me who apply for and serve on boards with a unique perspective. Don’t get me wrong, we are also very good board members, but we strive to contribute more.
It is also important to note First Nations communities expect us to support them with our time and money. I remember the first time I spoke to a group of elders about starting my business as a consulting engineer. I was worried about all the nasty things that might happen to me in terms of community acceptance. They told me all those things were indeed going to happen, and I should get over it by bringing benefits to the communities I work with. I’ve never forgotten that meeting, nor have I forgotten that promise. It may be unfair to expect that approach of both Indigenous and not non-Indigenous consultants, but that is what happened when I started my business. Consultants do not wish to be perceived as rich professionals getting richer on the backs of poor Indigenous people. As a First Nations professional, that’s not allowed. We have all the same cost as any other business, but we donate part of our profits and time to the communities. We are proud to do that. The benefits which are returned are manyfold.
So, is this conversation about existential crisis or about setting a high benchmark of expectations? I think, after working as a consultant for First Nations for almost 30 years, the perfect combination occurs when one feels both motivations strongly. To do a good job, one must believe the extra effort is a part of your purpose as a human being and a professional. It is also important to understand what the community desires, as their expectations likely arise from their short-term needs. One thing the Indigenous community has truly excelled in during the last few decades lies in honoring those motivations. I vacillate between accepting awards for my community involvement and turning them down due to the belief I am personally undeserving. At this time, I believe my awards are motivational for others, and my service as a role model is vitally important for future generations of community leaders. There are times, however, when awards are distracting and feel boastful. This feeling is probably typical for a Canadian or someone born in Saskatchewan, and I suspect I am not alone.
So, what are you doing for your community? Why do you do it? Do those efforts carried out in avoidance of feeling futile or because the community expects it of you? Please share your perspectives with us so we can keep learning and striving together.
Stay safe, everyone, and we’ll see you next week!
~Gary and the staff at Bosgoed Projects
