Bright orange fabric covers the table in Jennifer Qupanuaq May’s small home office in the Montreal suburb of Pointe-Claire.
The Inuk designer shows off one of her handmade shirts on a mannequin, the lettering on the back reading: “Grandson of a Residential School Survivor.”
“I made one for my daughter too and she wore it to school,” May recalled. “When the teachers and staff read the back of her shirt, they realized that these children are in the schools, in plain sight.”
May, an artist from Kuujjuaq, in the Nunavik region of northern Quebec, has been designing orange shirts for the past four years. For her, the work is deeply personal — and a way to spark difficult but necessary conversations.
“I wanted to create dialogue within the families around me,” she said. “Starting with the children, because this is where it all started.”
On Sept. 30, Orange Shirt Day — officially recognized as the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation — encourages people across the country to wear orange to honour the Indigenous children who attended residential schools and their families. But as the shirts become more commercially available, some fear the powerful message behind them is being diluted.
May, for her part, donates many of her shirts, but also sells some to cover her costs. Often, she gets help from her children.
“I could see it in their eyes that this meant a lot to them too,” May said.
The orange shirt itself comes from the story of Phyllis Webstad, who is Northern Secwepemc from the Stswecem’c Xgat’tem First Nation. On her first day at residential school at six years old in the 1970s, the brand new orange shirt her grandmother had given her was stripped away.
That moment has come to symbolize the larger erasure of culture, language and identity inflicted upon generations of Indigenous children through the residential school system.
Orange Shirt Day is a time to remember the children who never came home and the survivors who live with the trauma.
Big-box stores now sell orange shirts. For some Indigenous artists, that raises questions
But what began as grassroots designs by Indigenous artists has now entered the mainstream. Orange shirts are widely available online and in major retailers. For some, this expansion is troubling.
Stephen Jerome, a Mi’kmaw artist, says it feels like commercialization risks emptying the symbol of its meaning.
“I see all these ‘Every Child Matters’ T-shirts and I’m like, ‘What’s an organization like this doing profiting off the death of our First Nations people?” he asked.
May agrees. The artist said she tells people to buy directly from Indigenous artists or to wear a plain orange shirt rather than one from a chain store.
But others see mass production as a way to spread the message further. The Orange Shirt Society, which Webstad herself founded, has partnered with large retailers to increase visibility and raise funds.
“We want to collaborate with everyone,” said Simon Baker, a representative for the society. “It’s about spreading the word of Orange Shirt Day to people who may not know the story.”
The society says proceeds from official partnerships go to programs that support survivors and their families.
“We are here to teach, we are here to open up these avenues,” Baker said. “It was not heard of for so long, but now we are able to talk about it and share.”
For May, the work of making orange shirts remains a way to remember, educate and honour her community.
“I probably will make them until I can’t,” she emphasized.
And whether the shirts are stitched in a small home studio or sold on department store shelves, the artists and survivors say the message remains the same and must not be forgotten: every child matters.
