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rickbertrand1966 · 4 years

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To whom it may concern,

My name is Ricki Darren Bertrand. I was born February 27th, 1966 in the "Deep River Improvement District" of Deep River, Ontario. Shortly after, my family moved around before trying to settle in North Bay, Ontario. Being that the earliest memories I have start in North Bay, I will go from there.

I am the second youngest of seven First Nation children to my parents Joseph Albert Bertrand and Claire Bernadette Miller. For you to understand how bad it was for us would mean I would have to explore memories that I would rather not remember. As painful as the prospect seems, I've come to a point in my life where I know I must, in order to have the truth known. It is here where I should describe the conditions of the life I had with my family.

My parents, being alcoholics in the extreme form, are difficult for me to talk about...not just because of the pain associated...also the embarrassment. When I think of my family, the first thing to come to mind is how abnormal we were. Whereas other families function as a unit, ours was the opposite. The cycle was a pretty repetitive one. My parents would drink when they had money, then they would sell what they had to buy more. I can honestly say that in all my life, I've never seen a worse house. We had little...and what we did have was often of no use. The living conditions were horrible. I remember animal waste strewn about the house from all the cats we had as if it were normal. When my mother drank, she would leave to escape my father. She would often abandon us to go where, I can only guess. She was a quiet woman who had a quiet demeanour. I also remember knowing how sad she was. I believe she loved my dad...and also feared him. I witnessed her attempt suicide by threatening to jump off our roof. Now I understand this was more likely a cry for help or maybe attention, but to a 5 year old boy at the time, I remember crying so hard at all the confusion and screaming. It truly was horrible. I also remember having to ask people to go into the Belmont Hotel in North Bay to ask for my parents to come home because we were hungry. Sometimes they would...but mostly they wouldn't. I have yet to see a made for TV movie that comes close to how bad it was for us...for me.

I don't keep in touch with my siblings...but when I had heard my dad had passed, my younger sister Tracy told me I was his favourite. I find that difficult to believe because I remember a lot of drunken rage and physical abuse. I was beaten by him if I was around...so I learned not to be seen. Though this slowed the abuse...it didn't stop it. After coming into some money, my parents abandoned us. My father was known for taking the welfare money and going to Toronto for strip clubs and prostitutes. I can actually remember hearing him brag about it. He would often go with my uncle, my brother and my step brother. As for my mother, I've heard from my brother Dan that she was unfaithful as well...and the result was my half-sister. I once walked in on my brother Randy as he was sexually abusing my half sister, Tracy. When I immediately told my father, I was beaten for mentioning it.

My brother Randy in his own way was worse than my father. He would take great delight in beating me as well. Here is another part of my story that is so difficult for me to talk about...and this is the first time I've ever talked about this. Aside from beating me...Randy would also sexually abuse me. To say he was sick is an understatement. Once he took me by Greyhound to Toronto...and then abandoned me there. The C.A.S. in Toronto as well as the Toronto Police will verify this. After I was returned home, Randy was gone. He had been sent away into a group home somewhere and I didn't see him for years. I remember Randy would laugh about the abuse in front of my father. My own father did nothing. On this topic, I'm going to stop here.

I can't say everything about my dad was bad. When they had parties, it seemed to me that everyone really enjoyed his company. He had a quick joking humour that was playful when he was in a good mood. But the more intoxicated he would become, he would often go into a crying phase...after that was the blind rage. For me to convey to you the nature of my father, I can say this, often he would find amusement in throwing my sisters guinea pigs to our dog. He would watch...bellowing laughter that could sometimes seem friendly and at others seem so sadistic.

As it turned out, my father sexually abused my eldest sister, Janice who became pregnant with his child. She was sent to Toronto to stay at my uncles, where she gave birth to a girl she named Tammy. Janice returned to North Bay and I remember seeing her try to get my father to hold their baby…he resisted, then held Tammy briefly before giving her back to Janice.

After that, Tammy was quickly given up for adoption, and my father’s drinking increased. The CAS records mention my sister leaving to stay with relatives in Toronto…but there’s no mention of the incest my sister suffered. I believe the adoption papers will show proof of Tammy…and a blood test would prove who the father was. I also feel the CAS had to know something about this, and did nothing. This is common knowledge that my family knows…and they hide it due to the extreme nature of my family.

I remember I was approximately 6 years old when I first became acquainted with the Children's Aid Society. I need to make it known that precise dates that far back are unclear...but the experiences are not. You never forget being apprehended from your family, not understanding why and what is happening, being placed with strangers and knowing only the utter fear of having your whole world turned upside down.

For me to be very specific would require a novel...not a letter. To be honest, I have yet to see a made for TV movie that comes close to how bad it was for our family.

After a couple of failed foster home placements, my brother Dan and I were placed in the care of an English family living in Powassan, Ontario. I believe the year was 1977 and I was 11 years old. I would have to say I really liked this family when I first met them. They had a daughter of their own. They had already provided a home to other foster children in the region and, because they were involved with the community, they were known by many. My Foster Father was working for U.O.P. forest products and my Foster Mother was running an art store called Artisans. Their daughter, whom I won't name, had moved after completing high school. They all seemed like the picture perfect family to me and I found myself thriving in their company for the first time in my life.

After approximately two years of being in their care, Dan and I were sent back home to the care of my father in North Bay, Ontario. Though my mother was gone, my father still had difficulties with alcohol and lack of employment. He would abuse me physically on an almost regular basis...and yet I would remain defiant. I would often be brought home by the police for delinquent behaviour. Eventually, at the approximate age of 13, I had run away from home after being beaten again from my father. After my foster father found me, he convinced me to come back home with him. Dan was visiting them for the weekend and decided he wanted to come back to the care of the Foster home as well.

While I thrived under their care, Dan did not. After being around our family, he couldn't make the adjustment. A short time later, Dan returned home. I told the judge at family court I didn't want to go home, and asked if I could stay with my Foster Family. I was made a Crown Ward of the Children’s Aid Society. It was shortly after this time that my Foster Father was starting his own business called 'Veneertech' which began to demand a lot of his time. He would travel for days sometimes, visiting other companies to do business I assume. I won't go into details here...but that is when 8 months of sexual abuse began. At first the sexual abuse was through seduction but when I started to resist, it changed to painful abuse. She threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I learned through fear and embarrassment not to say anything. It was around that time that my grades began to drop. When I was in grade 9 at Almaguin Highlands Secondary School, I was transferred to West Ferris Secondary in North Bay for bringing my foster father's marijuana to school. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure that my foster father knew something was wrong.

At the end of my stay with this Foster Family, I called the C.A.S. myself and asked to be moved. I was 15 years old. They placed me with my sister Jeannie for one week and then after that I was placed with friends of my Foster Family. Shortly after, I was placed in care with a French family with whom I couldn't communicate. After uttering inappropriate words to the other foster children, I was moved to a foster home in North Bay which was known for taking difficult children. I saw my foster mother once after that. She told me she had confessed to my Foster Father what she had done to me. It was around this time that she attempted to commit suicide and was shortly hospitalized.

It wasn't long before I returned to criminal behaviour and was truant from school again. I ran away to Toronto from the group home I was in when I was 16. It was there that my path crossed with those of former police officers Randy Nelson, who is now CEO of PROAM Security, and Craig Lewers of Toronto Police Service 52 Division. I was stopped for no particular reason except for maybe being out at night alone.

They threatened me for hours, both of them and some of the other male officers working that night at Toronto Police Service 52 Division...and when that didn’t work, they handcuffed me to an office chair and threatened to roll me down the flight of stairs nearby...and telling me to confess to crimes I wasn’t responsible for.

I tried to stay brave but after that... I was terrified for my life. I cried and told them I’d sign anything they wanted if they would just stop. They then brought files of crimes and showed them to me...I said what they wanted so they say...and signed everything they made me sign. It was truly a horrific experience...and I’m still dealing with the psychological difficulties related to that. I’m currently receiving treatment for severe PTSD to this day, 38 years later...just as I’ve carried their names.

Finally after signing what they made me sign, I was allowed to call a friend of my former foster father’s, James Phelan of Toronto. He assured me he’d be at my bail hearing and would post bail once it was set by the judge. That’s when the police realized that I was a Crown Ward of the Children’s Aid.

After two CAS workers from North Bay took me for one of the hearings that followed, the charges were quickly thrown out of court.

I was a minor...a 16 year old Native Crown Ward of the CAS. I was homeless and recently sexually abused...this is why I ran away from North Bay, Ontario. I needed their help, not their racism and brutality.

At this time, I knew my life was coming apart. I was angry, afraid and I felt cheated. I ran away from the group home again and was shortly arrested for 'break and enter'. I was sentenced to 1 year probation, in which I had to reside at the House of Concord outside London, Ontario. On my 17th birthday, I received a card from the C.A.S. in which I also received a summons to appear in court because the C.A.S. had made an application to terminate my wardship. They also included 10 dollars.

I don't know if you can understand the kind of impact this had on my life. I felt abandoned, angry, depressed and even suicidal. Because I had chosen the C.A.S., I was estranged from my family. I knew at that point, I had no one. Not understanding my rights and also because I was incarcerated, the hearing proceeded without me, and my wardship was terminated.

While incarcerated during the eighties at the Ontario Correctional Institute, I was a part of a study of the effect of Neurobiofeedback on repeat offenders. I met with Dr. Douglas Quirk and was treated by him. It was my second time sentenced to the custody of O.C.I., but not my second time in jail. By then, due to my committing repeated break and enters, I was well acquainted with being in jail.

As I mentioned earlier, the psychiatric staff at O.C.I. tried to help me break this pattern. Their names are Dr. Brian Harris, Dr Harriet D'Mello, Dr. Pat Sutkar...and of course, Dr. Douglas Quirk. After lengthy testing, I was treated for displaying signs of a chronic anxiety disorder, with severe antisocial tendencies. Dr. Quirk stated that my intelligence was in the 95th percentile...and before I go any further, let me state that I don't say this with pride. My reason is to help you understand who I am and why my life turned out the way it has. In the meeting we had that day, Dr. Quirk also drew a picture of three 'stick people', two large one side....one small on the other....and a drawing of a bottle in between. He asked me what this meant to me...I remember thinking for a moment and then I remember saying that the bottle was bigger than the child, meaning to me the wine was more important. In retrospect, I believe I was in error and what Dr. Quirk meant by the drawing was that the presence of alcohol interfered with my fetal development.

He prescribed months of Biofeedback, repeated one to one sessions as well as peer review sessions. To make a very long story much shorter, I will say that I spent most of the following 4 years in and out of custody. This pattern started to end after I received medical treatment while in custody at the Ontario Correctional Institute. It was after this that I went to jail once more in 1991 and have not returned since.

What I can say about my family is this…all my brothers, sisters and I suffer from the same symptoms on varying levels. As F.A.S.D. can cause sexual deviancy, my family has many sexual predators in it. Many of us have been sexually abused within the family. My nephew through one sister is autistic and my nephew through my other sister was being medicated for A.D.H.D. If you knew the total spectrum of disorders that everyone in my family are being treated for, and added with the high likelihood of fetal alcohol exposure, I'm sure the pattern would be apparent to you.

What I can say about my life is this. It is very difficult for me because I was not diagnosed for years...and at best have only been able to maintain intermittent treatment of symptoms through drugs like Atarax, Zoloft, Amitriptyline, Effexor and more. I didn't like the side effects of some so I would discontinue taking it. I have a history of severe depression because of the continuous isolation and have attempted suicide once. I can't hold down a job because I can't relate with people. I can't even maintain eye contact. I have had counselling but I've moved around from town to town, so that never really amounted to anything. I am overly sensitive and don't know how to relate with people. I'm often considered odd...even when I try to fit in. It is very difficult to maintain clear thought, yet my long term memory is uncanny. I often rant on the same topic. I am adept in computers and like numbers. I require routine. I find it very difficult to tolerate changes to my routine. Often my symptoms lead to depression, isolation and suicidal tendencies. Needless to say, the picture paints itself.

Having been raised in the care of the Children's Aid Society...I have no normal relationships in my family. For that matter, I don't socialize. I can honestly say I only have one person in my life that I can call friend. I can't maintain normal relationships. In all honesty, I wouldn't know how. But after being rotated through the foster care system, I never had any steady medical or psychiatric care. Plus having been in and out of jail for 10 years, I believe I was lost in the medical shuffle.

My life has been hell....pure and simple. The effect I've had on people has also been hell for some I’m sure. I’ve made many mistakes in life for which I’m so sorry. My life is not one of inspiration and success but rather of failure, isolation and poverty. I have lived on the streets, slept in apartment stairwells and laundry rooms, stayed in missions and eaten in soup lines. I’ve seen many holidays go by and when I wasn’t homeless, except for my experience at O.C.I., I was sent to correctional institutions where I was further victimized for being different. I’m still paying the price for many things that were out of my control...and it’s truly unfortunate to have to have dealt with all of this for so long.

Currently, I am 54 years old...but I still very much feel like that abused kid. I still carry all the pain and anger associated with this. It has never gone away for me.

After going over my Children’s Aid records, summaries of my medical files, my parents history with severe alcoholism, the social class of my family, the behavioural problems that run through most of my family members in varying degrees, a list of most prevalent genetic disorders amongst First Nations people, and the very course of difficulties I’ve endured in my life, I finally found a clinic that caters to Natives. I asked them to please validate my suspicions of undiagnosed FASD...and everything went into motion finally.

I’ve been to see the Genetics Clinic at C.H.E.O. in Ottawa for genetic testing but because there is no diagnostic test for Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder, all they could do was rule out other possible disorders, which came back negative. By process of elimination though, this supports my concern of brain injury due to prenatal exposure to alcohol.

During this time, I also reached out to lead FASD researcher, Pascal Gagne for the Fetal Alcohol Resource Centre of the Ottawa Citizen Advocacy. I was then referred to his boss, Nancy Lockwood. It wasn’t long before I was asked to be a panel member for their Symposium regarding FASD research and funding. I agreed and shortly after, the symposium proceeded as planned last November 2019 at Richmond Hall in Ottawa.

I now am being treated as a Native with FASD...and most if not all of the medical complications associated with it. The damage is finally being assessed by someone who really cares finally at least. Being recognized for being afflicted with F.A.S.D. near the end of my life is bittersweet. I often think of what my life could have been had I had the proper help I so desperately needed. If only...

What I do know is this. My name is Rick Bertrand, I’m a survivor of severe sexual and physical abuse, I’ve endured racism and police brutality, and I’ve had undiagnosed and untreated F.A.S.D. all my life, until now.

Sincerely

Ricki Bertrand

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rickbertrand1966 · 4 years

Text

To whom it may concern,

For me to be very specific would require a novel...not a letter. To be honest, I have yet to see a made for TV movie that comes close to how bad it was for our family.

It wasn't long before I returned to criminal behaviour and was truant from school again. I ran away to Toronto from the group home I was in when I was 16. It was there that my path crossed with two former police officers of the Toronto Police Service. I was stopped for no particular reason except for maybe being out at night alone.

They threatened me for hours, both of them and some of the other male officers working that night at the Toronto Police Service, and when that didn’t work, they handcuffed me to an office chair and threatened to roll me down the flight of stairs nearby...and telling me to confess to crimes I wasn’t responsible for.

Finally after signing what they made me sign, I was allowed to call a friend of my former foster father’s from Toronto. He assured me he’d be at my bail hearing and would post bail once it was set by the judge. That’s when the police realized that I was a Crown Ward of the Children’s Aid.

After two CAS workers from North Bay took me for one of the hearings that followed, the charges were quickly thrown out of court.

Currently, I am 54 years old...but I still very much feel like that abused kid. I still carry all the pain and anger associated with this. It has never gone away for me.

Thank you for reading,

Rick Bertrand

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