THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

It's the middle of December, and classes at the University of Manitoba are over for the first semester. Students, including Bisons athletes are winding down their last exams and getting ready for a well-deserved break. On a Tuesday afternoon, Investors Group Athletic Centre, where the Bisons court teams practice and play, is completely quiet.
 
Except for one person.
 
Forward Emily Mandamin, a proud member of Iskatewizaagegan 39 Independent First Nation [also known as Shoal Lake #39] is tossing up shots on the far court. She continues to do this for well over an hour on her own. She is in her own world, completely removed from the chaos of life.
 
In this moment, everything feels right.
 
For Mandamin – the first-ever person from her home community [a population of roughly 698 people] to earn a college basketball scholarship in the states – the court is home. No matter what's gone on in her life, the good or the bad, she's found solace in the sport of basketball.
 
"Basketball has saved my life so many times. There's been so many nights where I've felt so alone and I've been crying and I've been upset, and I don't understand how to deal with what I'm feeling and what I'm going through. I'll just find myself in the gym, listening to the ball bounce and seeing the ball go through the net," she says powerfully.
 
"All of a sudden things start clicking in my brain. I understand why I feel a certain way. Everything makes sense when I have a basketball in my hand. On the court I feel more confident than anywhere else."
 
Mandamin has shared her story before. Her journey, from Shoal Lake, to Winnipeg, to the states and back again has been well covered by national media. But she's proud to tell it again, and again, and again.
 
It's not for her own sake. It's for all her Indigenous brothers and sisters back home and across Canada. She hopes her words will provide hope to the next generation, for those that are like her, those looking for a voice, for a purpose.
 
"I always like to tell this one story where my cousin came up to me and we were talking about basketball. She said 'I've always wanted to play basketball but I've never had the opportunity. I couldn't find people to drive me to practices or I couldn't afford to play,'" recalls Mandamin.
 
"My dad always found ways to sacrifice and find ways to get me to practice two or three days a week from Kenora to my home community of Winnipeg. A couple of weeks later I found out that she had taken her life. That just speaks to the things that happen in Indigenous communities. I often think about maybe if she had the opportunity to play basketball, would she still be here, along with me on this journey? I always try to be grateful for where I am and where I'm at."
 

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As Mandamin references, Indigenous communities across Canada are facing a suicide crisis.
 
In a 2019 report by Statistics Canada, it was determined that from 2011 to 2016, the suicide rate among First Nations people (24.3 deaths per 100,000 person-years at risk, roughly understood as number of deaths per persons per year) was three times higher than among the non-Indigenous population (8.0 deaths per 100,000 person-years at risk).
 
Among First Nations people living on a reserve, the suicide rate was about twice as high as that among those living off reserve.
 
The suicide rate among self-identifying Métis (14.7 deaths per 100,000 person-years at risk) was also roughly twice as high as the rate among non-Indigenous people, and among Inuit (72.3 deaths per 100,000 person-years at risk), the rate was approximately nine times higher than the non-Indigenous rate (8.1 deaths per 100,000 person-years at risk).
 
There's a variety of reasons for these concerning numbers, however there's no denying that colonization – specifically the forced placement of Indigenous children in residential schools in the 19th and the 20th centuries, along with the removal of Indigenous children from their families and communities during the "Sixties Scoop," and the forced relocation of communities – has played a major role.
 
The creation of such schools, funded by the Canadian government's Department of Indian Affairs, destroyed family connections, shattered Indigenous language and culture and resulted in intergenerational transmission of trauma that is still felt to this day.
 
Residential schools were designed to "take the Indian out of the child." Thankfully, Indigenous peoples of Canada are resilient, and through determination and courage, many continue to practice their culture and share their stories.
 
But that doesn't change the past.
 
It doesn't change what so many went through and have to cope with. A trickle-down effect has resulted in countless Indigenous youth feeling the effects of intergenerational trauma, of not knowing what it means to be Indigenous.
 
Some feel embarrassed. They watch friends and family suffer, all while searching for a purpose, to not be just another statistic.
 
In these Indigenous communities where poverty exists, and the death toll continues to rise, the need for an escape, for a save-haven, is paramount.
 
"I understand that there's a lot of battles and things that happen behind the scenes in [Indigenous] communities," says Mandamin.
 
"I think sport is a great way to save lives and create new beginnings and bring hope to the youth. That's what they're all looking for. They're looking for a place to feel important and a place to feel looked after and loved and thought of."
 
Mandamin has felt the effects of intergenerational trauma firsthand, as her grandfather and uncle are survivors of residential schools. Many in Mandamin's home community went to Cecilia Jeffrey School. It was built in 1901 just east of Iskatewizaagegan, and later moved to Kenora.
 
In 1966, 12-year-old Chanie Wenjack from Marten Falls First Nation ran away from the school. He told his friends that he wanted to go see his father, and at the inquest into his death, it was concluded that he ran away because he was lonely.
 
Wenjack was trying to go see his father in Ogoki Post, roughly 600 kilometres away, but never made it. He succumbed to starvation and exposure roughly a week after escaping the residential school.
 
Wejack's death sparked the first inquest into the treatment of Indigenous children in Canadian residential schools, and Gord Downie's multimedia storytelling project in 2016, called The Secret Path, is about Wenjack.
 
The project has been widely adopted by many schools as a teaching tool on Indigenous history lesssons about residential schools.
 
"The reason they moved Cecilia Jeffrey into Kenora was because they said our people were polluting the lake trying to visit their children at the school," details Mandamin.
 
"There was a lot of stuff that happened. A lot of people in my community went to school with Chanie Wenjack. That hit home to me in high school."
 
"[My grandfather] struggled with his own issues and brought that down to my mom, who struggled with addiction and poverty and gambling. That trickled down to me. I had to go through this and figure out how to break the cycle that's been going on for generations," she continues.
 
"They struggled a lot with their identity and that carries along to the family after them. It wasn't that long ago that the last residential school closed in 1996. My oldest brother could've went, thankfully he did not. I often say that the things we are dealing with, they are very recent and very common. There's not a lot of people in high level sports or high paying jobs that come from reservations due to the lack of funding and resources and supports."

Mandamin wants to break the cycle, to be a voice for the voiceless.
 
This past summer, she worked with the Ontario Liquor and Gaming Commission to completely refurbish her home reserve's basketball court in Northwestern Ontario.
 
The court features a mural by local Indigenous artist Alicia Kejick, Mandamin's cousin who went to the same community school that she did. The mural is based on "Ziigwan" (zee-gwan) which represents the season of spring and is the beginning of a new year in Anishinaabe culture.
 

The court is a safe space in the community. For Mandamin, the youngest of five siblings, it represents unlimited possibilities, to dare to dream that anything is possible.
 
"My mom wasn't around at a young age for me, so my sister was my motherly figure. We would be at the basketball court and she would be teaching me little things she learned at practice. It was a trickle down effect. After a while my love for the game grew. It was always where I found myself," she explains.
 
"I always go back to this one story. My mom was with us in the reserve for a couple of months and her and my dad at the time got into a really big argument. I just remember feeling like nobody was listening to me or cared about what I was feeling. You have to listen to your parents screaming in the other room going like what's going on? You're kind of lost. I grabbed a ball and went to the basketball court.
 
I started bouncing the ball and all these emotions came out. It opened my eyes to the opportunity the sport gave me. I have a safe place between these lines. I can truly be me, regardless of what's happening in my life."
 

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Mandamin's a versatile player, but she's most well known for her three-point shot.
 
She's currently second in the Canada West conference, shooting 44.4 percent from distance. Her sharp-shooting style is credited to the countless hours put in behind the scenes at the local YMCA and on her own time.
 
"When I used to play at the YMCA at the time, there weren't many girls there hooping with the guys, so when we played pickup I often had a hard time getting to the rim, because they were much bigger and more athletic. I found that a lot of times they didn't think I could shoot it, so I just continuously shot the ball," she says.
 
"It was a lot of fun for me. I always loved the energy of shooting the three. I remember last year I would make 500 threes a day to try and challenge myself to be better."
 

In grade 11, Mandamin's skills took her to Toronto to play prep basketball. The following year she suited up for Dakota Collegiate. It was there that she met her "second father," Lancers head coach Eric Sung.
 
He, along with Bisons head coach Michele, got to know Mandamin well.
 
Even when Mandamin went down south, from Illinois, to Kansas [where she played for Butler, one of the top JUCOS in the US] to Texas to play basketball, the Sungs were around.
 
Eric, in particular, was a reassuring voice. Mandamin – who received numerous NCAA Division 1 offers, but didn't have steady grades at the time – particularly struggled while she was in Texas.
 
"People would always talk to me in Spanish, and I'm like I don't speak Spanish. There was a lot of different things. I feel like the states aren't as far along as we are in Canada with truth and reconciliation and that whole process with the Indigenous peoples in North America. A lot of the time I'd get called an Indian."
 
In those times of tribulation, isolated and alone, Mandamin leaned on her culture and practices, something her father has always placed importance on.
 
He was in the sundance lodge for four years, and Mandamin also ended up entering the sundance lodge three years ago.
 
She's about to finish her last year this upcoming summer. It's "a big accomplishment for her and my family and my people."
 
"Indigenous peoples in Canada are resilient, looking back at our past and our history and all the things we've gone through. We're still here, still practicing our culture," she adds.
 
"I was always around my dad when he would go to ceremony, and all these meetings. He always talked to me about the importance of our teachings and our culture and our language."
 
Through perseverance and commitment, Mandamin made the Honour Roll and Deans List while playing for Panola College in Texas.
 
Her stay wasn't long though. She longed to come home, to be back with her loved ones and closest supporters, including Eric and Michele.
 
"There was weekends where Eric would be on the phone with her for a couple of hours and they'd be talking through scenarios," says Michele.
 
"I think she really developed a maturity about it."
 
"I struggled a lot with my mental health being by myself a lot of the time, feeling like I was under-represented in the states and that nobody really understood me," adds Mandamin.
 
"I felt like creator was calling me back home. I just kind of felt like I'd been everywhere and done everything. I'd always been tied to my family and I missed seeing them in in the crowd."
 
Whenever Mandamin was home, Michele offered for her to come join up and play in summer  runs. That conversation continued into a pitch to join the team, and in 2023, the timing was right.
 
"[Michele] always had her door open. This past year she took the ball in her own court and was like 'I'm going to heavily recruit you.' The conversation of me coming home started to stir up. I always said if I was going to come back home it would be to play for the University of Manitoba. It made sense. She put so much time into me, she made me feel welcome. It worked out and I committed."
 

On Mandamin's official visit, Michele made sure to take her to Migizii Agamik, the Indigenous Student Centre on campus. Mandamin visits the space often, sharing in community with the many staff who've made it a safe space for Indigenous students.
 
"Meeting a lot of them, they were all really happy and welcoming. They found ways to help me with supports for my classes and gave me a safe place to study. They always offered me food and medicine. How can I say no to that? It's definitely a safe place for me. "It's so important to see people that look like you, and that understand what you're talking about without having to explain it."
 

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Sung has "done a great job" of allowing Mandamin to be herself, and to introduce culture in the area of sport.
 
The ten-year head coach and Bisons alum has always been supportive of Indigenous education and outreach. It goes back to her time playing under Pam Danis, who coached the Herd from 2001-12 and is second in all-time wins, with 154.
 
During her time as bench boss, Danis helped created the Running with the Bison program. The partnership with Skownan First Nation, located roughly 288 kilometres north of Winnipeg, was designed for many reasons, one of which was as a way to help keep Indigenous youth in school through sport.
 
Pam connected with academics at the University of Manitoba at the time, one being Joannie Halas, PhD.
 
Halas "has long been an ally for Indigenous peoples," and one of her research areas is "issues of access to quality and culturally relevant physical and health education for Indigenous youth and other under-represented groups in physical education, along with "development and delivery of Indigenous youth mentorship programs."
 
"What they did was use sport and gym and math to give students in reserves an experiential learning unit," recalls Sung. "If they were using fractions, they would take the stats from our game and learn why it was important and they'd learn percentages.
 
Sung and her teammates took part in the mentorship program with Skownan, an experience that was extremely impactful to her.
 
"I was from southern Ontario. I was not exposed to Indigenous culture at all. I lived 45 minutes from the largest urban reserve in Canada, which is Six Nations in Brantford. I knew nothing about it. I already felt the opportunity to learn and grow just by being here. It was very much at the forefront at the U of M in general," she says.
 
"Joannie, still to this day, was such an ally without being condescending or self-serving. I literally took every class that she taught, because she was Joannie. To this day I still use the gender neutral language when I'm coaching and teaching. I got exposed to a different part of Winnipeg. I did my mentorship program at Children of the Earth School. I didn't even know schools like that existed."
 
Sung has continued the legacy started by allies like Panis and Hallas. This past summer, she and Mandamin, along with teammates Ayva Khan and Emerson Martin, travelled to Mandamin's home community for outreach.
 
It was a life-changing experience, and another incredible example of the power of sport, and the impact that Indigenous leaders can have on the next generation.
 
"When we went to [Mandamin's] community, she hasn't lived there full-time in like five years, but she knows every kid. I was like hey Em, this one kid, she was a little bit off this morning. I don't know what happened. She just starts doing all these ball-handling drills, and the kid tells her what happened. The rest of the day she's got a little shadow. Emily has a way of not making it feel like a burden. It was really cool," beams Sung.
 
"It's not about basketball. It's about girls hanging out in the gym. We rolled up to her community at 8 am. There were five girls between the ages of eight and 12. They're playing on the play structure. It's 8 am, they have not eaten and have slept for like three hours because there's stuff going on at their house and they needed to leave. We go into the gym, and we give them their sports bras. They are in love.
 
"When I played, going to Skownan, it was powerful with it being for females. I experienced it in Emily's community, it was insane just giving girls their own space, it was huge."
 

Back at UM's Fort Garry campus, Mandamin has many safe spaces to go. Sung lets her practice her culture freely, including smudging – a ceremonial practice or prayer – in the locker room.
 
"Often times we have the four sacred medicines, which are sweetgrass, cedar, tobacco and sage. People use whatever they feel comfortable using or can get a hold of. It's known to cleanse, and that's what we use it for, to cleanse your mind, body and spirit. You just pray to creator and the ancestors that are with you. You give your thanks and ask for what you are looking for in a good way, and ask that creator helps along in your journey," says Mandamin.
 
"Michelle has done a great job of allowing me to be myself and introduce my culture in the area of sport. My teammates have been nothing but supportive and have been open to smudging and teaching and learning where I come from. I've never had a coach or teammates support me in my cultural endeavors the way that they do."
 
Indigenous peoples are resilient.
 
It's something Mandamin hammers home numerous times while sharing her story. That determination has meshed with her basketball career, and she continues to inspire others with her journey.
 
"This past summer I went up to Nunavik, and they have the highest suicide rates in the country. They're one of the most isolated communities, and hearing their stories I could relate, because I was once there in that position," adds Mandamin passionately.  
 
"When I was younger I dealt a lot with under-representation. I didn't see a lot of athletes that look like me at a higher level, or come from where I've come from. That's why I'm hoping to tell my story, to tell these kids that it's possible to get here. I want you to make it farther than I'm going to make it, and I want you to be better and I want you to be greater."