It goes undetected until it's too late
In the rain of an early June morning, the Mohawk community of Kahnawake gathered for its first Kidney Walk — not merely to raise funds, but to name a burden that has long gone unspoken. Indigenous communities across Canada face disproportionate rates of diabetes and kidney disease, and in Kahnawake, that statistical reality has a human face: a man who has spent twenty-five years on dialysis, a chief who lost his mother, a sister who watched her brother suffer for eighteen. The $17,225 raised will support research and services, but the deeper yield of the day may be the questions now circulating in the community — and the dream of a local dialysis clinic that no longer seems impossible.
- Indigenous people on reserve face diabetes rates exceeding 17%, making kidney disease not a distant risk but a present and recurring reality in communities like Kahnawake.
- For patients like Angus Bordeau, who has endured dialysis for over twenty-five years, the absence of a local clinic means a grueling, decades-long routine of travel that compounds an already heavy burden.
- Rain and all, roughly a hundred residents showed up — some to honor the dead, some to support the living, some simply because they had started hearing questions in the community they hadn't heard before.
- Organizers, health officials, and McGill researchers converged on the same message: awareness is the first medicine, and this walk administered a visible, public dose.
- The $17,225 raised points toward research and prevention, but the conversation it has opened points toward something more local — a dialysis clinic in Kahnawake that could transform daily life for those who need it most.
Rain fell on Kahnawake on June 6, but about a hundred people kept walking anyway. The community's first-ever Kidney Walk raised $17,225 for the Kidney Foundation of Canada — money earmarked for research, prevention, and support services — while planting something harder to measure: a new awareness of kidney disease in everyday conversation.
The event grew from personal grief and personal endurance. Angus "Nias" Bordeau, who has lived with kidney dialysis for more than twenty-five years, served as the walk's ambassador. MCK chief Arnold Boyer championed the cause after losing his mother Sheila to chronic kidney disease two years prior. "It could be prevented," Boyer said. "Get yourself tested. It goes undetected until it's too late."
The walk was organized by Onkwata'karitáhtshera, Kahnawake's health and social services coalition, and hospital centre executive director Valerie Diabo measured success not only in dollars raised but in questions she'd begun hearing around the community. That shift in awareness carries particular weight here: over 17% of reserve-dwelling Indigenous people in Canada have diabetes, one of the leading causes of kidney failure.
For many participants, the walk was an act of remembrance. Eleanor Paul came to honor her brother Russell, who spent eighteen years on dialysis. Lois Montour, who donated a kidney in 2016, saw the fundraising as an investment in future treatments. Boyer's granddaughter Sarah felt the emotion of the crowd and thought of her grandmother.
Beneath the day's warmth ran a practical hope: a local dialysis clinic in Kahnawake. Patients like Bordeau currently travel for every treatment, a routine that has defined decades of his life. "Maybe next year will be bigger," he said, taking in the community's effort. The walk has made that next step — treatment at home — newly visible.
Rain fell on Kahnawake on the morning of June 6, but the umbrellas kept moving. About a hundred people gathered at Karonhianónhnha Tsi Ionterihwaienstáhkhwa for the community's first Kidney Walk, and the weather did nothing to slow them. By day's end, they had raised $17,225 for the Kidney Foundation of Canada—money that will fund research, prevention programs, and support services for people living with kidney disease.
The walk was born from a specific person and a specific need. Angus "Nias" Bordeau has been on kidney dialysis for more than twenty-five years. He served as the event's ambassador, having done the same work at a similar walk in Chateauguay the year before. MCK chief Arnold Boyer championed the idea, drawing inspiration from Bordeau's long fight and his own family's loss. Two years earlier, Boyer's mother, Sheila, had died of chronic kidney disease. "After her passing, I wanted to bring chronic kidney disease to the community's attention," Boyer said. "It could be prevented. Medications are out there. Get yourself tested. It goes undetected until it's too late."
The walk was organized by Onkwata'karitáhtshera, Kahnawake's health and social services agency, a coalition that includes the Mohawk Council of Kahnawake, the community services organization, the Kateri Memorial Hospital Centre, and the Fire Brigade. Valerie Diabo, executive director of the hospital centre, saw the event as already successful before the first step was taken. "The awareness is out there, even if you're not here," she said. "I hear people asking questions in the community about kidney health now, and that was our objective."
That awareness matters because Indigenous populations face a disproportionate burden. Over seventeen percent of Indigenous people living on reserve across Canada have diabetes, according to Diabetes Canada, and diabetes is one of the major causes of kidney disease. Alex McComber, an assistant professor at McGill University who was recognized last year with a lifetime achievement award for his work in Indigenous health, sees events like this walk as catalysts. "It wakes up communities," he said. "It brings folks together. People are more aware of what's involved and needed to have healthy lifestyles."
For many who came out in the rain, the walk was personal. Eleanor Paul attended to honor her brother Russell, who had been diabetic and spent eighteen years on dialysis. "I came here to support this walk because my brother suffered from kidney disease," she said. "That's why I'm here, to support awareness of kidney problems." Lois Montour, who donated a kidney in 2016, saw the fundraising as a path forward. "This funding helps research so improvements can happen in the future."
Boyar walked alongside his fellow chiefs, and he acknowledged the weather with a shrug. "Everybody's here helping each other out. What more could you ask for? Maybe a sunny day? It'd probably be too hot," he said. His granddaughter Sarah Boyer, thinking of her grandmother Sheila, felt the weight of the moment. "It's moving. It's emotional to see everybody showing up."
The $17,225 raised will support the Kidney Foundation's programs and services, but for some in the community, the walk pointed toward something larger. Eleanor Paul voiced a hope that echoed through conversations: a local dialysis clinic in Kahnawake. Patients like Bordeau currently travel for treatment, a grueling routine that has defined his life for more than two decades. "It feels great," Bordeau said as he took in the community's effort. "We've got a lot of support. Maybe next year will be bigger." That possibility—a clinic of their own, treatment at home—hangs in the air now, a next step that the walk has made visible.
Citações Notáveis
The awareness is out there, even if you're not here. I hear people asking questions in the community about kidney health now, and that was our objective.— Valerie Diabo, executive director of Kateri Memorial Hospital Centre
It could be prevented. Medications are out there. Get yourself tested. It goes undetected until it's too late.— MCK chief Arnold Boyer, on why he wanted to bring kidney disease awareness to the community
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did this first walk matter so much to Kahnawake, beyond the money raised?
Because kidney disease had been invisible in the community until Angus Bordeau and Arnold Boyer decided to make it visible. People weren't talking about it. Now they are. That shift—from silence to conversation—is what Valerie Diabo meant when she said the awareness goal was already met.
The rain seems almost symbolic in the reporting. Was it actually a problem?
Not really. Boyer joked about it. What the rain actually did was prove something: that people cared enough to show up anyway. A hundred people in the rain is a statement. It says this matters more than comfort.
You mention the diabetes connection. How direct is that link for Indigenous communities?
Very direct. Seventeen percent of Indigenous people on reserve have diabetes. Diabetes damages the kidneys over time. So you're looking at a disease that's already prevalent in the population, creating a secondary disease that's harder to detect and treat. It's a cascade.
What does Bordeau represent in this story?
He's the reason the walk exists. Twenty-five years on dialysis. He could have disappeared into that routine, but instead he became an advocate. He's the living argument for why this matters—and also for why a local clinic would change everything.
Eleanor Paul mentions hoping for a dialysis clinic. Is that realistic?
It's a hope, not a plan yet. But the walk made it speakable. That's how change starts in communities—someone says it out loud, others nod, and suddenly it's on the agenda.
What surprised you most about this event?
That it happened at all. A community doesn't organize its first kidney walk without someone—in this case, Bordeau and Boyer—deciding that the status quo isn't acceptable anymore.