Their bodies were cast into rivers, tossed into incinerators
Preliminary ground-penetrating radar identified 93 reflections suggesting possible children's graves; only 14 of 470 hectares examined so far. Survivors reported children were incinerated, disposed in rivers and lakes; at least 50 burials appear unrelated to the existing cemetery.
- 93 potential burial reflections identified through ground-penetrating radar at St. Joseph's Mission Residential School
- Only 14 of 470 hectares examined; 50 of the 93 potential burials appear unrelated to the existing cemetery
- School operated from 1891 to 1981; survivors reported children were incinerated or disposed in water
- Critical documents missing from 1941-1981, including school quarterly returns and daily pupil registers
Williams Lake First Nation reports geophysical investigation found 93 potential burial reflections at former St. Joseph's Mission Residential School, with excavation needed to confirm human remains.
On a Tuesday in late January, Chief Willie Sellars of the Williams Lake First Nation stood before his community with findings that would reshape the ongoing reckoning with Canada's residential school system. A preliminary geophysical investigation had identified 93 reflections in the earth around the former St. Joseph's Mission Residential School—potential indicators of children's graves. But Sellars was careful with his language. Only excavation would tell them what was actually there. Only digging would confirm whether these 93 signals represented human remains, or something else entirely.
The investigation covered just 14 of 470 hectares surrounding the school, a sprawling property near Williams Lake in British Columbia's interior. The work had been guided by something crucial: the voices of survivors. Their accounts—of children fathered by priests being burned, of bodies cast into rivers and lakes, of children who simply never came home—had pointed researchers toward specific areas worth examining. Aerial imaging had helped locate the footprints of former buildings, roads, and irrigation ditches. The ground-penetrating radar had done the rest, sending signals into the soil and listening for what bounced back.
Of the 93 potential burials identified, 50 appeared to have no connection to the existing cemetery on the grounds. This distinction mattered. It suggested that many of the children who died at St. Joseph's Mission—which operated from 1891 until 1981 as an industrial school where First Nations children performed labor like timber splitting and cattle rearing—were not buried in any formal, recorded way. Whitney Spearing, who led the investigation, explained that the reflections had been sorted by probability: some showed high likelihood of being human remains based on their location, depth, and surroundings. Others were less certain. Much more work remained. Additional radar sweeps were planned. Historical burial records needed analysis. Headstones in the modern cemetery were being documented in detail.
The discovery came in the wake of similar findings at the Kamloops residential school, where ground-penetrating radar had suggested the presence of 215 unmarked graves the previous year. That investigation had jolted the country into a wider acknowledgment of what the residential school system had actually been: not a school, but a machine for cultural erasure that killed thousands of children through neglect, disease, and abuse. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission had documented at least 4,100 deaths across the government-funded schools operated by various Christian denominations.
Sellars spoke with the weight of that history. "Their bodies were cast into the river, left at the bottom of lakes, tossed like garbage into the incinerators," he said, recounting what survivors had told him. "For those children there will be no headstone, no unmarked grave, no small fragment of bone to be forensically analyzed. For those families there will be no closure. It is for those children and families that we grieve the most." The school's legacy, he said, remained visible in the intergenerational trauma that rippled through First Nations communities across the region.
Support was being mobilized. Survivors and members of the Williams Lake First Nation and nearly a dozen neighboring First Nations would be offered cultural and mental health resources as the investigation continued. The federal government had recently announced it would release more records to the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, though investigators noted that critical documents remained missing—school quarterly returns spanning 1941 to 1980, daily pupil registers from 1941 to 1981. Without these records, the full scope of what happened at St. Joseph's Mission would remain incomplete.
British Columbia's minister of Indigenous relations and reconciliation issued a statement of support, acknowledging the courage required to undertake this work. Chief Judy Wilson, representing the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs, stood with Williams Lake and the Tk'emlups te Secwepemc First Nation in Kamloops, recognizing the shared burden of what she called "the painful, traumatizing task of identifying and honouring stolen children." The investigation was far from over. The real work—the excavation, the confirmation, the naming of the dead—still lay ahead.
Notable Quotes
For those children there will be no headstone, no unmarked grave, no small fragment of bone to be forensically analyzed. For those families there will be no closure.— Chief Willie Sellars, Williams Lake First Nation
The horrors that occurred inside the walls of St. Joseph's Mission are still very real for those who lived there. And the legacy of these atrocities is still readily apparent in the numerous ways that intergenerational trauma manifests in First Nations communities.— Chief Willie Sellars
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that only 14 of 470 hectares have been examined so far?
Because the scale is still unknown. Those 93 reflections could be just the beginning. The land is enormous, and they've barely scratched the surface. Every hectare they haven't looked at yet could hold more graves.
The source mentions that 50 of the 93 burials appear unrelated to the cemetery. What does that tell us?
It tells us these children weren't buried in any official way. They weren't recorded. The families wouldn't have known where to grieve. Some were incinerated, some thrown into water. The ones in unmarked graves outside the cemetery—those are the ones the school tried to hide.
Why did survivors' accounts matter so much to the investigation?
Because the ground-penetrating radar alone wouldn't have known where to look. A 470-hectare property is too large to scan everywhere. The survivors remembered. They knew which buildings stood where, which areas the children went to. Their testimony became the map.
The article mentions missing documents from 1941 to 1981. Why are those specific years significant?
Because that's when the school was operating at its largest, when the most children were there. Those quarterly returns and daily registers would show who was enrolled, who left, who died. Without them, you can't match names to graves. You can't tell families what happened to their children.
What happens next after they confirm these are actually graves?
Then comes the harder part. Excavation, identification, the attempt to return remains to families. But many of these children won't be identifiable. The bodies were destroyed deliberately. Families will have closure without answers.