As Monday’s federal election approaches, Conservative candidate Aaron Gunn’s campaign is bringing long-simmering tensions to the surface in the North Island-Powell River riding. A little more than one voter in 10 is Indigenous on the sparsely populated northern tip of Vancouver Island, and recent weeks have brought a sense of unease as Gunn’s past comments have come under intense scrutiny.

Spring has arrived with me here on Campbell River’s postcard-perfect coastline, painting the streets with cherry blossoms as the morning fog lifts slowly off Boundary Bay. Tourists stroll between art galleries and boutiques, many unaware they’re walking through contested ground where Canada’s painful colonial legacy continues to shape present-day realities. 

Gunn, who was parachuted into the riding from Langford on southern Vancouver Island, has previously stated on social media that while Canada developed the residential school system, he doesn’t believe the resulting harm qualifies Canada as a “genocidal” state. 

In a post from October 2020, he wrote: “There was no genocide. Stop lying to people and read a book. The Holocaust was a genocide.” He also claimed in June 2021 that “residential schools were asked for by Indigenous bands in Eastern Ontario” – assertions that directly contradict historical evidence and the findings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which labeled the residential school system as “cultural genocide” in its final report released in 2015. Even Pope Francis called the residential school system a “genocide.”

A survivor’s story

Verna Flanders, an 83-year-old survivor of Alert Bay Indian residential school, clutches three DVDs that document her experiences, including her testimony at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. She’s sitting near the beach in a lawn chair, part of a small group gathered to express their concern about Gunn’s candidacy and his viewpoints on residential schools.

Alert Bay was notorious for abuses against First Nations children. Located in a haunting, isolated region of the island, it was a place where children were stolen from their families and forced to learn the doctrines of colonial society and the Catholic religion.

“I remember I was always really afraid to get up at night to use the washroom,” recalls Flanders. “So we wet the bed. And when we would get up in the morning, the supervisor grabbed our sheets and rubbed all the wet sheets all over our face and called us a dirty little Indian… the strappings… There were times I got strapped for nothing. There were times we were made to take all of our clothes off and walk around naked in the dorms. We, as survivors, we went through hell.”

Flanders was just six years old when she arrived at the school after her mother died and her aunt and uncle could no longer care for her. She was immediately stripped of her dignity — even her name was taken away. For the entire 10 years she stayed there, she was only referred to as number 688.

A distant look comes into her eyes. “It was really bad. Aaron Gunn believes we went through a good time in residential school — I can never tell you that… we went through so much pain.”

The experience broke her, she says. “I had nobody in 10 years. I grew up by myself. I was raped in that school at seven years old. In that school, it was really, really bad. When I got out at 17, I was so messed up. I drank and drank to forget.”

After her release, Verna slept under bridges and was homeless. She didn’t know what love was or how to love. She attempted suicide several times because the pain was too heavy to bear. The last time, she was standing at a wharf looking down at the water, knowing if she jumped, she would drown — and with her, all of the unbearable pain. But she felt an invisible hand touch her back and pull her away.

“It was spirit, spirit came to save me.”

She struggled with alcoholism for years afterward, had children, and finally, at age 40, quit drinking and began her healing journey.

“I have three sons,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion. “I even drank when they were small. I felt pretty bad when I did that. In my mind I didn’t know what good things were, I just knew what bad things were. When I turned 40, I gathered my three sons, I told them my story. I cried and I told them ‘mom’s not going to drink anymore, mom is going to be there for you.’ Now I am stronger. I have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I thank God everyday he gave me the strength to live.”

Beside her sits her friend, also named Verna — Verna Wallace, 66, of We Wai Kai (Cape Mudge Band) First Nation — who shares a similar history at Alert Bay. She and her eight siblings were stolen from their parents when she was six years old.

“It really scares me,” she says when thinking about Gunn and his possible election as MP. Her hands twist the strings tightly on her gray hoodie as if releasing tension as she speaks. “How dare you say nothing happened in the Indian residential schools. How dare you say we weren’t tortured? What the hell is wrong with you? He shouldn’t be saying those things because he doesn’t know a damn thing that happened.”

Wallace questions Gunn’s presence in her riding entirely. “Who brought him here? I want to know who brought him here because we don’t want him here,” she says, referring to Gunn’s arrival from Langford in southern Vancouver Island to contest the North Island-Powell River seat.

Her voice grows intense “I got raped at the school, I got forced to eat maggots in porridge. I got forced to take cod liver oil — if I threw it up, they would put it back in my mouth. If I spoke my language, they would smack me right across my face. That’s what they did to us. It was horrible.”

Wallace has also testified at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. She explains that she has endured racism her whole life, from Alert Bay to Campbell River and her home in Comox. She is concerned it will only get worse due to rising denialism of the violence of colonialism in Canada, including residential schools and the blatant disregard for Indigenous issues and experiences.

Though it took gruelling years of struggle to heal from her past, this election campaign has reignited her pain. She is angry, she says, and will not forgive Gunn or anyone who holds views similar to his. She has shown up at protests against Gunn in recent weeks. Both Vernas have already cast their votes in advance polls.

A candidate’s controversial past

Gunn arrived in the riding with campaign promises focused on “bringing back common sense” through economic revitalization and addressing the drug crisis. But for many Indigenous residents, his previous statements about residential schools represent a painful step backward.

On social media, Gunn has previously stated that while Canada developed the residential school system, he doesn’t believe the resulting harm qualifies Canada as a “genocidal” state.

Bob Chamberlin, former vice-president of the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs, has called for the Conservative Party to drop Gunn as a candidate. “I find it extremely troubling that a candidate for any party could make such blatantly racist comments,” he said.

Election tensions

As campaign signs multiply across front yards and business windows, conversations about Gunn’s candidacy have reopened discussions about reconciliation and what it actually means in practice.

Terry Teegee, B.C. regional chief for the Assembly of First Nations, has stated: “Mr. Gunn certainly hasn’t read up on the term that is genocide. It’s really concerning that perhaps the Conservatives can’t work with First Nations peoples across this country, especially with a party that supports an individual of this type of view.”

The House of Commons unanimously passed a motion in 2022 recognizing Canada’s residential schools as genocide. The motion was passed after the late Pope Francis described residential schools as genocide during his visit to Canada in July 2022.

Despite this, Gunn has found vocal supporters. Last weekend, a letter supporting him was circulated by elected officials on the island, including Campbell River mayor Kermit Dahl and several city councillors, claiming his “character and record have been profoundly misrepresented in a troubling smear campaign.”

Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre has stood by his candidate, dismissing criticism as “misinformation” during a campaign stop in British Columbia. “He has not denied the impact of residential schools. That’s just misinformation,” Poilievre said. “He wants to continue to condemn the residential schools and build stronger partnerships with First Nations people to unlock our resources.”

Chief Nicole Rempel of K’ómoks First Nation disagrees. “Elected officials should represent all their constituents,” she said. “With a narrow and racist belief system that Gunn proudly displays, he has proven he cannot.”

Community division intensifies

The controversy has split the community. By mid-April, an online petition calling for the Conservative Party to remove Gunn from the ballot had gathered more than 17,000 signatures. Petitioners include city councillors from Courtenay, Comox, Cumberland, Tahsis, Powell River, Zeballos, Port Hardy, Campbell River, as well as MLAs, mayors, and numerous First Nation chiefs and Hereditary Chiefs across the region.

Rallies both for and against Gunn have been organized throughout Vancouver Island. 

In Campbell River in early April, about 75 people gathered at an anti-Gunn demonstration organized by several community groups, including Stop The Vote Split North Island-Powell River, North Island Network, and the Qathet Anti Racist Society.

NDP candidate for North Island-Powell River, Tanille Johnston, has called Gunn’s candidacy ‘horrific,’ criticizing the Conservatives for running a candidate “that carries such divisive and harmful beliefs.”

“In a riding where a large number of voters are Indigenous, there is no room for racism, for denialism, nor for willful ignorance in 2025,” says Rempel, echoing the sentiments of UBCIC Grand Chief Stewart Phillip, who called Gunn’s posts “absolutely reprehensible and repugnant and completely devoid of any sense of compassion for Indigenous Peoples who suffered enormously through the residential school experience.”

Rising tensions and local activism

Leslie Hnatiw, a 38-year-old member of Wei Wai Kum First Nation in Campbell River, says racism has been prevalent in the community for years, but the current political climate has made things worse.

“It’s just disgusting. The division in this community. I’ve never seen it like this before,” says Hnatiw, who has led campaigns to raise awareness about the crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls.

In May 2024, she oversaw the creation of approximately 40 wooden painted red dresses that were installed along highways and throughout the city — a memorial and reminder of the continuing violence faced by Indigenous women. Within five months, only a few remained standing because people repeatedly vandalized and destroyed them.

“They actually physically broke the dresses into multiple pieces, which is when I fell apart,” she says, her voice tightening with emotion. “People were making comments online, saying ‘can we put up white dresses?’ And someone said, ‘you do, you have crosses and nobody touches those crosses.’ These are memorials for Missing and Murdered Indigenous women.”

Hnatiw fears Gunn’s election would legitimize racist attitudes that have been simmering beneath the surface.

“When these leaders, like Mayor Kermit and Aaron Gunn, [are] being publicly racist, it gives this space for these people that are racist, [it gives them] a voice,” she explains. “Five years ago, people were more about reconciliation. If it wasn’t for these want-to-be leaders or leaders like the mayor publicly endorsing and denying that there was a genocide in Canada, it opens up that space for more racism and hate to happen.”

She has organized protests against Gunn in recent weeks, including one at his campaign office that he avoided by rescheduling a rally elsewhere. 

“One of the questions my daughter’s friend asked Gunn at a high school visit was, ‘Have you ever personally gone and spoken to a residential school survivor and took the time to listen to their story?’ And he answered ‘yes’ and said that he spoke with a granddaughter of a residential school survivor,” Hnatiw recounts with frustration. “It’s completely pathetic. The answer’s ‘no’ because it was actually a protester. He said, ‘Yeah, we spoke to some protestors.’ He tried to run away in Port McNeill. He ran away from the Natives. He changed the location of his rally and tried to run away from the Natives and wouldn’t let them be heard.”

Hnatiw worries about what Gunn’s election could mean for Indigenous rights and reconciliation efforts in the region.

“I wonder how he will actually represent — there’s 22 First Nations in this riding. He cannot properly represent us if he’s too scared to even talk to us,” she says. “We’ve made strides in reconciliation and what’s gonna happen with that? I just feel like it’s gonna get stronger against our rights.”

For Hnatiw and many other Indigenous residents, the election isn’t just about economics or policy positions — it’s about whether their communities will be respected, their histories acknowledged, and their rights protected.

Referring to concerns about wild salmon conservation that she believes Gunn doesn’t understand, she says “that’s how we feed our families. That is part of our culture, our identity. It’s the lack of respect and the blatant racism in this town that has gotten out of hand.”

A fraught encounter

On Saturday evening, Gunn held his “Final Rally for Common Sense” at a privately owned business in an industrial area near the Campbell River airport. Since the controversy broke out, Gunn has only been holding private rallies where pre-registration is required and security guards patrol the entrances.

Despite this, Flanders was determined to lay eyes on Gunn himself. She approached the entrance to the rally, pushing her wheelchair walker. The attendants asked for her ID, wrote down her information, and allowed her in.

She entered a large garage with about 100 people in attendance. Gunn stood on a platform in the middle, microphone in hand, speaking dynamically about his platform — the crowd responding with enthusiasm. Verna settled quietly on the seat of her walker at the back of the room, taking the measure of the young man with a neatly trimmed beard, blue jeans, and slicked-back hair, his booming voice delivering right-wing rhetoric.

Throughout his speech, Gunn didn’t mention anything about Indigenous issues or reconciliation.

Afterward, Flanders approached Gunn, who was surrounded by a crowd. This Ricochet journalist questioned him about his views on reconciliation and his controversial statements on Indian residential schools while Flanders watched him intently, despite all the noise of the rally music and crowd around them.

Gunn looked distracted due to all the commotion, but was quick to respond. “For the most part, I’ve never defended residential schools. There is a lot of misinformation going on. I’ve never objected to any of the findings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. There is [sic] a lot of people that went through horrible experiences. I accept all of their truth and their experiences.”

Gunn made eye contact with Flanders and reached for her hand to greet her. “I’ve never met you before,” he said. She introduced herself and told him she had been in the Alert Bay residential school for over 10 years. The crowd was loud, the music playing, but Flanders, who hadn’t been able to attend other rallies because of their private nature, seized this opportunity to meet Gunn for herself — to tell him his past comments were wrong.

“I was there in 2015 when Alert Bay was finally demolished,” she told him with satisfaction.

Gunn replied, “Thank you so much for coming. It is horrible what has happened to so many people there.”

The crowd moved in, and Flanders faded out.

Outside the building afterward, Flanders looked disillusioned. She had mixed feelings about her encounter with Gunn. She said she didn’t feel he listened, that he was distant — it was as if she was “talking to herself” in there.

For these survivors and many others in the Indigenous community, Gunn’s candidacy represents more than just a political choice — it’s a painful reminder of how easily their histories can be dismissed or rewritten. As Campbell River’s residents prepare to cast their votes on Monday, the question of who represents them takes on profound significance, especially for those whose voices have too often been silenced.

Ricochet’s coverage of the 2025 federal election is supported in part by the Covering Canada: Election 2025 Fund, an initiative of the Michener Awards Foundation, the Rideau Hall Foundation and the Public Policy Forum. You can help us do more award-winning journalism by signing up for our free newsletter, and becoming a monthly donor. You can also watch our election night livestream, featuring an expert panel of all-star journalists, real-time results and correspondents across the country — presented in partnership with Canada’s National Observer.