THUNDER BAY – I have 1,400 friends on Facebook. That number used to mean something vibrant—a reflection of life, community, connections forged through family, work, friendships, shared struggles and laughter.
But recently, as I scrolled through my list of friends, a much darker truth emerged.
Eighteen names. Eighteen faces.
Gone.
All young.
All Indigenous.
All now memories.
Some were taken by addiction. Some by alcohol abuse. Some overdosed. Some were murdered. Each name represents a life that was once full of potential, of stories unwritten, of dreams deferred—permanently.
🖤 A Personal Grief Becomes a Shared Reality
To say I was astonished is an understatement. I’ve tried to be a supporter, an ally, someone who walks alongside my friends and neighbours—especially Indigenous youth—through the hard times as well as the good. But the magnitude of loss in such a short span of time shakes me deeply.
These are not statistics. These were people I knew.
Eighteen lives. On one person’s friend list. Multiply that across our communities, and it’s clear: we are in a crisis.
💔 Addiction Is Not a Choice—It’s a Crisis
I have never been drawn to drugs. Never smoked cannabis. My idea of a painkiller is Aleve, Advil, or maybe a baby aspirin for those creaky mornings.
I live by a personal mantra: “Get high on life.”
But I’m starting to realize something: For many, life doesn’t feel like something worth getting high on.
For too many young Indigenous people, life in Northern communities can feel isolated, traumatizing, and void of opportunity or support. The scars of intergenerational trauma, systemic racism, underfunded education, a lack of housing, mental health supports, and access to meaningful employment—these are all parts of a system that has failed repeatedly.
Addiction is often a symptom, not the cause.
🧭 Are We Really Making Things Better?
This is the hardest question I’ve had to ask myself lately:
Is what we’re doing to make life better for young people—actually working?
Because if we measure success by lives saved, by hope renewed, by futures reclaimed—then the answer is heartbreakingly clear.
Not yet. Not enough. Not fast enough.
Thunder Bay, like so many Northern communities, is grappling with a toxic mix of poverty, drugs, violence, and disconnection.
Indigenous youth are dying, and despite all the headlines, roundtables, funding announcements, and social media awareness, too little has truly changed on the ground.
🔊 A Call to Our Community, and Ourselves
I don’t claim to have the answers.
But I do know that eighteen is too many.
I do know that silence helps no one.
And I do know that our hearts break a little more every time another obituary is posted.
If you are someone reading this who’s struggling: You matter. You are not alone. There is a path forward—and there are people who will walk it with you.
If you’re someone with power, privilege, or platform—use it to build something better. Invest in healing, not headlines. In hope, not handouts.
And if you, like me, are grieving and wondering how we got here—hold space for the hard questions, but don’t let the heartbreak paralyze you. Let it move you. Let it motivate you.
Because eighteen young lives can’t be forgotten.
Not now. Not ever.
James Murray
