#indigenousheroes

John Standing Elk was a proud Anishinaabe warrior from a small, windswept reserve on the shores of Lake Superior. As a young man, he listened intently to the stories of his ancestors, tales woven with resilience and hope. When war swept across Europe, John, like many Indigenous men across Canada, felt the pull of duty—not just to defend the land he loved but to uphold the warrior spirit ingrained in his people. He enlisted, despite the whispers from the elders warning him of broken promises and mistreatment that came too easily from those who ruled the nation. In 1942, John found himself across the ocean, surrounded by mud, smoke, and the sharp scent of gunpowder. He stood shoulder to shoulder with men from all corners of Canada, his long black braid a testament to who he was and the people he fought for. The camaraderie was real; in the trenches, they were all brothers, sharing rations and hopes of seeing home again. John’s keen eyes and quiet determination earned him respect, and his comrades soon realized he could read the land and weather with an uncanny precision that saved their lives more than once.

But when the battles subsided and medals were pinned on chests, the chasm of inequality became stark. John, with a chest full of ribbons and a soldier’s battered heart, returned to Canada expecting, perhaps naively, a sense of belonging and gratitude. Instead, he was met with barriers. While non-Indigenous soldiers were given plots of land or assistance to rebuild their lives, John was told he couldn’t claim land on the reserve because it was held in trust by the government. He faced indifference when he tried to secure a job; too often, potential employers saw only the colour of his skin and not the bravery he had shown.

Veteran support services often turned him away or provided minimal help. He’d hear, “This isn’t for you,” as if the uniform he had worn was a borrowed costume rather than the fabric of his sacrifice. The pain stung sharper than any wound he had sustained in battle. His fellow Indigenous veterans faced similar struggles, trying to reintegrate into a society that pushed them to the margins despite their shared sacrifice.

Yet, in the face of rejection, John did what his ancestors had done: he persevered. With a resolve that mirrored the steady drumbeat of his community’s ceremonies, he told stories to the youth on the reserve. He spoke not only of the war but of what it meant to stand up, to defend, even when the reward was little more than pride. The stories became lessons; they reminded the next generation that their worth was not tied to the recognition of others but to the spirit they carried.

John’s struggle was shared by thousands of Indigenous soldiers who faced discrimination both before and after their service. Their courage had helped shape Canada’s history, yet their sacrifice was met too often with silence and forgotten promises.

Despite this, John harbored no resentment. In his heart, there was still love for the land and its people. He knew that in the eyes of his children and grandchildren, he was a hero. And in time, the country would begin to see it too. His life, though marked by hardship, inspired change. Movements grew, voices rose, and stories like his began to be acknowledged.

Today, Canada stands with a more honest understanding of its past, recognizing the brave service of Indigenous soldiers like John. And while wounds from those years linger, there is a collective gratitude that echoes through ceremonies, monuments, and moments of remembrance. It is gratitude for those who fought despite the odds, who proved that even in a flawed system, courage and honour could shine brighter than prejudice.