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0 Written by Harley Galarneau
Editorial Note: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author only. This article has been published as an opinion piece and is intended to contribute to discussion on a matter of public interest to the local community. Readers are encouraged to engage critically with the perspectives presented.
On Whose Orders?
Students banging drums at Frances Widdowson during the February protest at the University of Lethbridge.
Photo taken by Harley Galarneau
Since the release of the legacy media coverage of Frances Widdowson’s attempt on Feburary 4th, 2026 to denounce residential school genocide at the University of Lethbridge, our students have been broadcasted by many names and aliases across the country.
Orange Shirt Totalitarians.
Native Rights Mobs.
TRC Rioters.
Emeritus Anthony Hall, the former U of L professor suspended without pay and forcibly retired for promoting holocaust denialism in 2018, accompanied Widdowson to the school for a session of street spectrum epistemology to debate whether or not the residential school system had carried out a genocide towards Indigenous people. In the days following the protest, Hall insisted that the email the university’s counselling services sent to students, warning of an unnamed “controversial figure on campus,” was actually a call to action from the administration for students to form a mob against Widdowson.
Additionally, Widdowson tweets to this day that the university should have intervened as soon as a protest began, and that they should threaten expulsion for the students that wouldn’t let her be heard over their drumming. She sees their not-doing-so being a confirmation that they provoked the event.
Of course, while institutions do bear responsibility for the events that transpire in their name, what all these articles, news clips, and ranting Substacks and tweets from Widdowson and Hall fail to grasp is that the protest explicitly did not happen in the University’s name.
An Interview With Foster Wright
I had the honour of speaking with Foster Wright (he/him), a Kwakiutl fourth-year addictions counselling student and the President of All My Relations (AMR) at U of L, regarding the accusation.
While unable to physically attend the protest on February 4th, Foster worked virtually to spread warnings to AMR members and students, and later helped coordinate the presence of drums within the atrium. He recalled the 2023 protest during Widdowson’s first visit to the university, and told me of the pride he felt towards the campus community’s continuous pushback against hate. “The community turnout was so fascinating,” he said, “It’s always nice to see the displeasure when [IRS denialism] happens, and how it brings people together.”
Aspiring to focus my article on the detrimental impacts of such denialism to our Indigenous students, I asked Foster what these conspiracies meant to him. He affirmed several times during our meeting how a “debate” dismisses survivors and those affected by generational trauma from the genocide. Moreover, being heavily documented in federal policy, he stated that it is silly for people to deny its impact, as it’s not only a fact in history, but a story he’s lived through since he was a boy.
Foster’s biological mother went to a residential school, as did his grandmother and uncle. The trauma from the IRS system sent him into the equally neglectful foster care and adoption system. When later experiencing homelessness and struggling with addiction, it was traditional and cultural knowledge that taught him that his people have an inherent place on this Earth, and that they are not going away. It was these very teachings that cultivate identity and Indigenous ways of knowing that were sentenced to eradication by the Canadian Government through both the Catholic and Christian Church from 1870-1996. To deny that is to deny what he and his family, as well as thousands of families across Canada, went through.
Reflecting on the actions of students taken on February 4th, he expressed enthusiastically to me, “It was clear they cared about the issue; lots of people actually knew what was happening and had a personal connection. Solidarity and allyship are about showing up for each other. Real support is always listening and standing up for our communities. It showed how people on campus want to put in the work for reconciliation.”
A protester wearing the university’s official TRC Day shirt and holding up a handmade sign during the protest. Photo taken by Harley Galarneau
A collection of gratitude displays found in UHall the morning after the protest, left by notable and local CKXU 88.3 FM host, Apummakii.
Photo taken by Harley Galarneau
“You could feel the energy; it didn’t look like anger, it looked like passion.”
Having experienced working on the administration side as well as living as a student, Foster relayed his disappointment in the university’s approach to handling Widdowson’s presence. “They have a responsibility to balance academic freedom with the safety of students, and even allowing her back onto campus feels contradictory to that responsibility to create a safe learning environment for everybody, especially Indigenous people. This was a direct attack on our communities… there shouldn’t have been reluctance on how to handle the situation. It’s in their mission statement, it’s their job.”
“This was a test,” he continued, “Widdowson was a test to see how the University would respond, and they did not pass… It’s a lack of empathy to Indigenous students as a whole.”
When asked about Widdowson and her supporters’ call for academic freedom, Foster shared his experience as an Indigenous man of leadership in Western academia, “I’ve worked with lots of people; academic freedom has lots of views. Some see it as allowing theoretical questions to be up for debate and open discussions on difficult topics without censorship, in a positive way. Others think it’s an excuse to say the N-word because they’re reading and writing about it. It crosses the line of white fragility, and they think ‘I can’t be racist because I’m researching this’, or ‘I have a native friend’, ‘How can I be racist if I am working with someone from that community?’Academic freedom comes with responsibility to understand the difference of right and wrong of how you perceive and present yourself. When statements move from evidence and well documented historical harms, it crosses that line. It crosses the rhetoric that academic freedom doesn’t have censorship, and becomes hate.”
“Widdowson was doing just that.” He continued. “A meaningful academic discussion happens when you bring opposite people to a table. She has never had an academic discussion with a mediator present, and has always coerced individuals she does debate with, to back her bias and rhetoric. That’s not academic freedom; that is taking advantage of someone’s lived experience. When she comes and spreads something so hateful, student protection is violated. That’s what happened at the protest. She created a space unsafe for Indigenous people to learn, thrive, and access their human rights.”
As our meeting neared a close, I returned to Widdowson and Hall’s theory that the email sent to students warning of a ‘controversial character’ on campus was a call-to-action to accost Widdowson, to which he vehemently disagreed. “My reasoning for the protest was not affected by the email. I already knew who it was and why she was showing up before that. For media outlets to say it was a riot is very racist. Just because we were natives banging drums and singing traditional songs, we were rioting?”
“Just because someone has authority doesn’t mean they can make others do something.” He added. “It was a personal and individual decision. It was the students’ choice, not the University’s. We gave tools to express ourselves in a traditional and healthy way. Just because it was in a way you weren’t used to or didn’t like, you can’t describe it as something it was not. It was not a violent protest, nor a riot. It was allies and people expressing themselves freely to someone trying to spread hateful speech.”
Additional Interviews
Carly Ironshirt, the student who began the initial prayer of the protest, Naima Young Pine, the VP of Communications for All My Relations, Nitanis Auger, the Vice-President of All My Relations, and Leroy Little Bear, the Provost and Academic Vice-President of Iniskim Indigenous Relations, were also contacted for an interview regarding their story of what happened on and since February 4th. However, unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts, I was unable to record their testimony.
The Verdict
Protesters chanting and drumming before Widdowson. Photo taken by Harley Galarneau
While the hundreds of protestors were U of L students and the protest occurred in the UHall Atrium, the events of February 4th were not manufactured by any institution. They were cultivated through a spontaneous, raw, and human community that refused to stand back, be silent, or worse, humour hatred, in response to the administration’s complete failure of prioritizing their protection.
The University of Lethbridge is not just an academic institution. It is a home, a living residence, a space to learn, play, and gather to support one another. Widdowson didn’t just step into a public space. She invaded a home. She invaded a community.
Students responded accordingly. They prayed. They drummed. They swore. They screamed. They disregarded personal space. They took her table, her chairs, and ripped and drew on her scripts. They got her to leave.
Genocide isn’t up for debate.
Widdowson wanted freedom of expression?
Our students gave her theirs.
Editorial Note: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author only. This article has been published as an opinion piece and is intended to contribute to discussion on a matter of public interest to the local community. Readers are encouraged to engage critically with the perspectives presented.
