From Iqaluit to Montreal, “I'm here no matter what.” Meet Mary Kelly

“The way I am built, I could hurt people, but in fact I was born to heal them,” says Mary Kelly, who has worked in the community for over twenty years. This Forty-year-old Inuk, who is outspoken and has a strong personality, is very confident, perhaps intimidating for some, but comforting for many others.

“I'm surprised that my legendary energy didn't burn your camera,” she laughs.

Today, she works as a counsellor in Milton-Parc, where many homeless Inuit live. I spoke to her to draw a portrait of her. We met at the offices of Comm-Un, a community organization that offers services and activities to the itinerant community in the Milton-Parc neighborhood.

The counsellor greets everyone who enters with enthusiasm, sometimes inviting them to sit down with her during our interview. Her hair is held in by two pigtails, she is dressed in warm tights and a sweater, ready for her patrol in the cold of the night.

The atmosphere at Comm-Un is friendly, you can hear the other speakers and visitors of the center talking in another room. It's sometimes loud, people come in and out of the offices, pass by the kitchen near us, greet us and show up, but it all shows the dynamism of Mary's community.

When asked about her ties to the Inuit community in Milton-Parc, Mary answers: “The family. Why do you think I get along well with everyone? she asks. “Because you are connected to them? ” I answer him. “Because I am Related to them,” she rectifies. “I come from the biggest families in the North, on both my mother's and my father's side. I am related to each of them. I respect them. I sit and listen. I drink and I make money with them. I am no different. I don't judge them. I am there for them no matter what happens.”

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From independence to motherhood

Mary Kelly did not receive the support of her family growing up in Iqaluit, or when she moved to the city to attend elementary school. “When I was growing up, I had no one. There were no mentors with me. I had to finance myself. I had to find everything by myself. I started at 16 to go to high school, to go to university and to college,” she recalls.

“I graduated high school with distinction. I went to university to design video games. And then what happened was that I was... you know The Matrix ? Code is written there. I was dreaming in this damn code. It's a true story. I still have friends who are in the field and who tell me: “I can't get out of the code, man,” says the 40-year-old with a laugh.

She ended up enrolling in the School of Social Work at McGill University to follow the Indigenous Social Work program. To say the least, she has a rich and varied resume: a qualified first aid and firefighter, she has worked in the field of sexual health and has contributed to the development of the ecosystem of community organizations in Montreal that serve marginalized indigenous populations, such as Projects Autochtones du Québec (PAQ) and the Native Friendship Center.

She approaches her work with a certain sense of humor. “When I was 28, I was a sexual health coordinator. I invited 24 participants from across Canada to meet in Kuujjuaq. They came from Cambridge Bay, Gjoa Haven, all sorts of different places. In Kuujjuaq, I showed up at the airport dressed up in a huge yellow condom and said, “Thanks for coming!”” , says the speaker with a laugh.

As her tasks intensify, Mary Kelly becomes a mother, which encourages her to take a break.

“I had children who are 13, 11, 8, and 6, and the eldest will soon be 22. I was responsible for their lives. Now they are great. They are so beautiful. They make me so proud,” she reveals in a soft voice, smiling.

She is of the opinion that motherhood has “softened her.” “I always believed that I was perfect, that I was so good. Until I started to feel bad. When you have children, you start to feel certain things,” says the counsellor. “I couldn't manage my work. I couldn't take him home. I couldn't do this work,” she explains.

“When the father and I reached an agreement and he took custody of the children, I was able to leave and continue. And that is why I am here, because they are not with me. I don't bring anything home, no emotional charge.”

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Protecting your community

Today, Mary Kelly devotes her energy to fiercely protecting her community. She uses her proficiency in Inuktitut and her versatile training on the streets.

Shlee, another Aboriginal worker, came and sat next to him for a moment. She tells how one night, Mary Kelly came to the aid of an Inuk in distress who could not be heard on the street.

“I have already tried to intervene with this Inuit person, but they are not my tribe or my nation. And yet it was so easy. Mary came speaking the language, he listened to it and he got what he needed,” explains Shlee.

Mary continues her story, her anger is obvious when she mentions paramedics who then pulled her away. “The crappy thing is that these guys said, 'We don't want to listen to you. ' I said, “I don't care if you don't want to listen to me! You're going to do it because it's my family. You are going to listen to it,” says the speaker.

The man said in Inuktitut that he wanted to go to the hospital, but the paramedics thought he wanted to go to a shelter. Faced with the insistence of the counsellor, they finally brought the man to the hospital so that he could receive medical care. “Imagine if it happened to you, you don't speak the language and we take you somewhere where you are going to die! ”, says Mary Kelly.

Shortly after Shlee left, CJ, an older Inuit woman, came and sat with us. She's a bit shy, but she wants to show her love for Mary. “She's great. Yes, really great. She is one of the most amazing people I have ever met,” she said, before Mary hugged her.

After the interview, they go out into the night with an exclusively female street patrol, which they call Girls Night. CJ is dressed warmly for the outing. “The atmosphere at Girls Night is good! ” she exclaims.

“It's for young women like her that I save lives,” Mary exclaims, pointing to CJ. “If a man puts his hands on her, this is what will happen to her,” she threatens, raising her fist. “I love you,” replies CJ.

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From the bottom, we push up

Mary Kelly recognizes that her work can also be cumbersome. She uses alcohol to free herself, but she also uses spiritual practices and relies on the support of her loved ones.

“I've had at least six detox courses and treatments. I freed myself from some things when I was in rehab. I thought it was me, I was wearing things. It wasn't me. I evacuated these things through sweating, as I am doing now [in this interview]. I'm doing it with you,” she said, pointing at me and shaking her head.

“Let things go! I have learned to do it. Because if you can't express them, I swear to you, you'll be carrying them for days, the burden will be heavy, and you will die,” Mary explains with an intense look. “When I don't drink, I have to be like a 'White Lady Mary',” she declares, exaggerating her upright posture and articulating her words excessively.

“I am tired of convenience. Everyone should be tired of it. Everyone should be able to know what snow tastes like. No one should feel uncomfortable sitting on the floor. Nobody,” she declares.

The people on the streets were very supportive of her, as was she for them. “I have a housing program. I was homeless last year. I told myself that if I can fall and get up, fall back and get up again, so can a lot of others. I am not special. I am strong, but I am not special. These people [there] are special,” she said, pointing to the outside. “They're the ones who say, “Mary, you're going to get there, don't worry about what happens. You are capable.”

“I have never heard that in my own family. Nobody thinks that when you sit down with these “poor guys,” as they call them...” She speaks out loud in Inuktitut, looking for the right word in English. ” Hobo ” she says with a laugh. “It's a funny word. You would not imagine that these people have a strength whose reach you can only grasp if you sit down with them,” she said.

As community organizations and governments look for ways to “end the homeless situation,” Mary believes that it is important to work at the forefront. “A true leader doesn't just move forward. A real leader is at the bottom of the ladder, he pushes up. That's what I did. If a leader can't sit here and have a snack with you, we don't need them,” Mary Kelly concludes.