On Jan. 3, Wilmer Nadjiwon, residential school survivor, Second World War combat veteran, visionary politician, gifted carver, author, and champion of Indigenous autonomy, commenced his journey to the spirit world. He was 96.

If resilience had a human form, it would bear a striking resemblance to Wilmer Nadjiwon.

In November 2012, with the publication of his memoir, Not Wolf, Nor Dog, I invited Nadjiwon to my University of Toronto environmental studies class.

As the 500 students filed in, he seemed nervous.

“Steve,” he said, “I only have a Grade 3 education, and they all have their computers on.”

“Wilmer,” I said, “just tell them your story.”

Wilmer faced the sea of young faces and began quietly.

“I was raped in residential school. I am going to tell you about it.”

Slowly, earbuds were removed, computers were quietly closed, and Nadjiwon told the story of being raped by a cleric for an entire summer at St. Peter Claver Residential School in Spanish, Ont.

He had gotten their attention.

Nadjiwon also gained the attention of many at Neyaashiinigmiing Aboriginal Reserve No. 2 (Cape Croker) on the Saugeen (Bruce) Peninsula, home of the Chippewas of Nawash Unceded First Nation, when he returned to the reserve one day and found the Indian agent burning their treaty records. Kicking out one of the files, Nadjiwon was rebuked by the Indian agent.

Soon after, Nadjiwon and several other community members attended a public lecture by the then-head of Indian Affairs. Following the presentation, Nadjiwon asked if the official had approved the burning of their treaty records, and, if so, by what authority he did so.

The meeting abruptly adjourned.

Impressed by his courage, community members induced Wilmer to run for chief, a position he held from 1964 to 1978. As chief, Wilmer worked diligently for the economic independence of his community. He established a woodworking company that earned various furniture contracts and supplied picnic tables for Ontario’s provincial parks.

When one day, however, the Indian agent abruptly cancelled a business meeting with invited consultants, Wilmer intercepted the agent and told him, “There is only one chief on this reserve, and that is me. If you are not off our territory by tomorrow, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

With his dismissal of this and other high-handed Indian agents, Nadjiwon was part of the termination of the Indian agent system across Canada. Such temerity would also mark his career as a paladin of Indigenous self-determination.

As a construction worker in United States, Nadjiwon saw the power of unions and founded the Union of Ontario Indians in the early 1960s, a forerunner of the Assembly of First Nations. In this role, he successfully resisted the federal government’s attempts to restrict Indigenous rights to their unceded reserve lands.

He fought for housing assistance for the Attawapiskat First Nation long before the dire living conditions there became publicized, and rejected direct government patrolling of band councils, claiming that this would blunt Indigenous criticism of government policies.

He brought the same spirited determination to environmental concerns. In his late ’80s, he joined Mohawk artist and activist Danny Beaton and Indigenous women leaders from Christian Island in their protest against Dumpsite 41, a project near Elmvale, Ont. that jeopardized one of the cleanest aquifers in the world. Owing to such efforts, the dump site was dumped.

Despite having endured severe hardships and remarkable racism, Nadjiwon maintained a quiet smile, a winsome sense of humour, and developed a gifted artistry of wood carving. His works now grace museums, galleries, and homes around the globe, depicting the beauty of the natural world, but also the chaos and confusion of our present ecological morass.

Two days shy of his 96th birthday, Nadjiwon joined me at a Truth and Reconciliation event in Tobermory, Ont., where he spoke about his past and hopes for the future. The organizers had baked him a cake, the capacity crowd sang “Happy Birthday,” members of his family drummed in his honour, and Nadjiwon, for a brief moment, experienced gratitude for his remarkable life.

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“It was a good night,” he told me.

And Wilmer Nadjiwon’s was a great life.

Stephen Bede Scharper teaches environmental studies at the University of Toronto. Stephen.scharper@utoronto.ca