We Were Children

In the remote interiors of mid‑20th‑century Canada, a network of government‑funded boarding schools looms as a place where the nation’s policy of forced assimilation collides with the fragile lives of its youngest members. The film opens a quiet yet unsettling window onto these institutions, where language, tradition, and identity are systematically stripped away beneath the rhythm of strict routines, religious observances, and the ever‑present hum of distant authority. The atmosphere is both stark and intimate, a canvas painted with muted colors that echo the quiet resilience of those forced to live within its walls.

At the heart of the story are two young voices whose memories guide the narrative. Glen Anaquod arrives with a mixture of hope and bewilderment, his eyes reflecting the sharp contrast between the world he knows and the unfamiliar rules that now govern his days. Lyna Hart, barely more than a child, clutches the remnants of her family’s love as she is carried far from the landscapes she calls home. Their perspectives intertwine, offering a personal lens through which the broader tragedy of cultural erasure is felt, rather than recounted in abstract terms.

The film’s tone balances a haunting melancholy with moments of quiet defiance, allowing the audience to sense the weight of the past without being led through each harrowing detail. Through subtle cinematography and sound, the daily cadence of meals, prayers, and enforced discipline becomes a backdrop for the inner lives of the children, whose whispered stories and lingering memories hint at both loss and an unbreakable bond to their heritage. The narrative invites viewers to sit beside these young survivors, feeling the pull of their longing for home and the faint, persistent glow of hope that persists even in the most controlled of environments.

Last Updated: August 20, 2025 at 17:44