Critically Sovereign: Indigenous Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies

 I took an introduction to editing course. In part, one of the goals in taking the course was to reduce the frequency in which I send an email and notice the typo after I hit send. And the second goal was to become better at providing feedback when someone hands me something, whether that be a draft article or an email, and asks me "can you take a look at this?"

One of the activities that editors sometimes do is to go through a text and write one summary per paragraph in order to create an outline. In order to extend my learning and develop my skills as a reader, I have been making a habit of doing this. In doing so, I noticed how frequently I as a reader read into what the author is saying, or infer meaning, and how often there is a bit of a gap between what the author explicitly says as opposed to what I take away from the reading. 

So, with that being said, for the introduction of today's book ( Critically sovereign: Indigenous gender, sexuality, and feminist studies edited by Joanne Barker), I am going to specify that my summary (below) of the introduction reflects what I took away from the reading, including my own inferences and elaborations. 

In the introduction, Joanne Barker begins by asserting that misrepresentations/appropriations are not accidental, they are part of a larger mainstream political practice of upholding imperialism and colonialism. She notes that the apologies for misrepresentations/appropriations often fall flat because they don't address this aspect of the issue and also because they just keep happening. These misrepresentations are often gendered. Violence and discrimination based on gender and sexuality is a core element of imperialism and colonialism. Thus, addressing Indigenous gender and Indigenous sexuality is a core element of decolonization. 

She asserts that this book is political, and the chapters in this book address ongoing conversations about Indigenous identity, Indigenous gender, and Indigenous sexuality. 

 She emphasizes that Indigenous studies engages the polity of the Indigenous, which is "the unique governance, territory, and culture of Indigenous peoples in unique and related systems of (non) human relationships and responsibilities to each other." She posits that "Indigenous" is in part defined by political solidarity against US and Canadian imperialism and colonialism. 

She differentiates Indigenous studies from a number of disciplines/areas of study:

• Indigenous studies looks at both Indigenous peoples' rights within the state as well as Indigenous collectives' relation to the state. This added element of relation to the state as Indigenous sovereigns sets it apart from civil rights studies, as civil rights is about one's rights within the state as an individual, as opposed to collective sovereign to sovereign rights. In my words (although, granted, much of this summary is in my own words) - Indigenous studies has an international relations element which is absence in civil rights studies. 
• Similarly, Indigenous studies is separate from minority studies because of the history of Indigenous peoples' relation to the state and conversations around sovereignty and self-determination. 
• Indigenous studies is different than feminism because feminism takes gender and specifically women as the starting point for analysis, while Indigenous studies takes Indigenous polity as the starting point for analysis. There are core fractures between these two approaches. For example, some feminists assert that discrimination against women is universal across time and space, whereas some Indigenous studies folks point out that some communities have a history of cultures which do not oppress women, thus this claim to universal sexism is incorrect and feminism could in fact learn from Indigenous people. Indigenous studies has criticized feminism for colluding with imperialism, colonialism, and racism. 
• Indigenous studies is different from gender and sexuality studies. Gender and sexuality studies emphasizes the social construction of gender, whereas some Indigenous studies projects focus on gender roles and responsibilities and constructions which emphasize binaries (e.g. matriarchy). However, there have also been some Indigenous studies projects which coalesce with gender studies, such as projects which acknowledge and celebrate third genders. 
• Individuals within Indigenous studies have criticized Indigenous studies for its marginalization of gender, sexuality, and feminism. Homophobia with Indigenous conversations has not been properly addressed. And there is a difficult history where individuals who have tried to raise gender, sexuality, and feminism within Indigenous debates have been accused of being anti-Indigenous. 

Aaaaaand feminism and gender studies also disagree with each other (biological sex as fixed and the basis for discrimination, biological sex is a social construction - to assume that sex is fixed is oppression). I found this section really valuable. Sometimes I enter a conversation, and I just know what because of the diversity of perspectives in the conversation, no matter what I say, I am going to say something "wrong." Nonetheless, I engage in the conversation, because dialoguing across difference is important. As a human, I want to connect with others. And I believe that it is important to learn from others, even if I don't agree with everything that they say. And if I don't understand what they are saying, it is even more important to dialogue. Anyhow, this section of the chapter helped me understand those moments where I am talking about something with someone and we are not disagreeing but also somehow not saying the same thing. 

In this introduction, in addition to distinguishing Indigenous studies from other fields of study, she also traces the development of Indigenous studies from 1968 on. She asserts that while Indigenous studies began to establish itself within institutions in 1968, conversations around the intersections of Indigenous identity, gender, and sexuality were taking place prior to 1968, and she seeks to provide an overview of some of the roots of contemporary conversations within Indigenous studies. In this section I got a little bit turned around because she interspersed the introduction of foundational texts with commentary from others regarding the significance of foundational texts. But that's on me because sometimes I am easily overwhelmed when there are a lot of names in a small number of pages. Anyhow, some of the foundational texts that she points to in the area of Indigenous studies, feminism, gender, and sexuality include:

• Life among the Piutes: Their wrongs and claims 
• Hawaii's Story by Hawaii's Queen
• Cogewea, the half blood 
• The Hidden half : studies of Plains Indian women
• A gathering of spirit: A collection of writing and art by North American Indian Women 
• Living the spirit : A gay American Indian anthology
• The sacred hoop: Recovering the feminine in American Indian traditions

While she celebrates these texts, she also cautions that these texts often include an appeal to liberalism because they were a product of their time. When reading these books (and any books for that matter) it’s important to contextualize work and understand “the profound contentions and difficulties Indigenous peoples confront in having to constantly negotiate and contest the social terms and conditions of imperial and colonial imaginaries, policies, and actions.” (P.18)

I think that reading this introduction helped me understand the nuances of various ongoing conversations, and as such, succeeded in its goal of ensuring that I had a foundational framework of knowledge to draw from when reading the subsequent chapters. 

_____________

I read all of the chapters in this book and personally, I thought it was a delightful collection. All of the chapters were helpful in expanding my thinking around Indigenous identity, feminism, gender, and identity. The chapter which I found most interesting was Melissa K. Nelson's chapter "Getting dirty: The eco-eroticisms of women in Indigenous oral literatures." Basically, her inquiry question is "why are Indigenous women in stories always falling in love with non-human animate and non-animate beings?" 

I found the question very intriguing. I grew up with some of these types of stories, and I had always just assumed that the non-humans were shapeshifters, and that these stories took place in a time when everyone shapeshifted. These types of stories are not just limited to traditional oral stories. Nathan Adler's story "Abacus" in the anthology Love after the end: An anthology of Two-Spirit and Indigiqueer speculative fiction involves a boy who calls in love with an AI rat. And Aaron Paquette's Lightfinder involves a love story between humans who also shapeshift into foxes. 

Sometimes I forget that this is a culturally situated concept. For example, a few years ago I participated in a canoe event hosted by an organization. The person next to me said that there was a man on the hill. Habitually, I said that it was sasquatch and he was going to grab her and make her his wife. As soon as the words left my mouth, I silently thought "oh my god - you can't say that here." This casual joke, which has been said to me in various contexts and which I have probably said to others, was not appropriate within a professional event hosted by a non-Indigenous organization. In the immediate moment, I just thought "I hope this person is not offended" and she seemed not to be. Later, I reflected on the odd nature of this joke. Not only the interspecies element of it (assuming that you believe that sasquatch is not human), or the spiritual element of it (assuming that you believe that sasquatch is a spiritual entity), but also the compulsory heterosexuality and non-consent within it. When I reflected on the joke, it occurred to me that there were some really dark things below the joke. I wondered whether or not I had some kind of weird internalized misogyny or something. But actually, underneath the joke is a caution. If you are a woman, be careful, for there are dangers out there. Anyhow, that was one moment which reminded me that the interspecies stories are culturally situated. Another moment was when I was at the gym and someone asked me how my day was going. And I told them good, I was just reading a story about a woman who married a bear. And they were visibly shocked and troubled, because they had no cultural context apparently to process even the premise of such a story. I forget sometimes that not everyone grew up with these types of stories. 

Anyhow, I think that the culturally situated nature of this topic means that it doesn't receive very much scholarly attention. So Melissa Nelson's is definitely a novel contribution to scholarship. 

In this chapter, she examines a number of stories which involve Indigenous women falling in love with non-human and sometimes inanimate beings. Here are the stories she discusses:

• Star husband 
• Stick husband 
• Woman who married a beaver 
• Woman who married a bear 
• Birth of Nanaboozho 

Here are some quotes which illustrate her perspective on the value of these types of stories:

• “These stories offer teachings about reciprocity, belonging, communal connections, and kinship bonds. Tragically, these beautiful stories of embodied connection to. Have been demonized and silenced by patriarchal, colonial, and Judeo-Christian ideologies, and these rich eco-erotic experiences have been suppressed and, in many cases, extinguished… I  committed to remembering these stories of relationship and re-awakening and embodying the metaphysics and praxis of Indigenous eco-erotics.” (p.232-233).
•  “I assert that these stories provide critical insights about humans’ eco-erotic relationship with other than human beings and that stories about falling in love with a star or a beaver should be considered signs of intelligence about the ethics involved with maintaining harmonious and resilient kinship relations.” (p.238).
•  “These stories tell us we should care for and love these ‘others’ - whether animal, plant, stone, stick, or star - and do so with a sense of ethics and consent.” (p.251).
• “most likely, sex is a metaphor. Sex is a symbol for intimate, visceral, embodied kinship relations with other species and with natural phenomenon… [it] is an emotional and ethical transaction, and agreement, a treaty of obligations.” (p.252).

The whole time I was reading her chapter, I just kept thinking "this is so interesting." If you are on the fence about reading this book, I would recommend picking it up for this chapter alone. 

One of the commitments that came out of my dissertation was a commitment to learn more about Indigenous gender studies. I think that this book is an excellent resource for anyone who wants to learn more about Indigenous feminism, gender, and sexuality. 

Moon of the Turning Leaves by Waubgeshig Rice *spoilers*

I went to Splatsin last weekend to go to Brock Thomas's memorial stickgames. Brock was a friend of mine. I jumped on a random team and took second in the tournament and so I got a hoodie. Gratitude to the family for everything that they did in order to create an event where we could come together and remember Brock. 

I am on holidays right now. In addition to checking out events, I hope to do some reading for enjoyment. I selected Moon of the Turning Leaves as my first post-student life novel to read. I bought it before I finished my studies  and I saved it until I knew that I could read it in a relaxed state of mind. When I did my MA it took me a year to read a book because I was tired. But this time around it only took a few months, so yay to faster recovery. 

This post contains spoilers. If you (like me) like to read spoilers before reading the book, this post is for you. Or, if you have already read the book and are looking to extend your enjoyment of the book by reading someone's perspective on it, then this post is for you. 

The story begins with a birth in the new community, which was established after the community in Moon of the Crusted Snow decides to leave the rez and set up a new home in the bush. They have been established in their new home in the bush for over a decade, and the new place has been good to them. But they are exhausting the resources of that spot. They discuss how their ancestors used to move rather than staying in one place, and they also discuss how their current home is not actually where they are from. Prior to the apocalypse, they had been relocated to their present area. Prior to living in their present area, they were actually from down south where they lived on a shore of one of the great lakes.

As a community, they gather and make a decision to send a scouting party out to their former territory down south in order to gather information which would then help them to decide whether or not it would be feasible to return to their former territory.

Among those in the scouting party are Evan (protagonist in Moon of the Crusted Snow) and Nangohns, his daughter who was a very small child at the time of the apocalypse and who had little or no memory of their old life. Here is her understanding of what happened previously:

When she was seven or eight, Cal had told her a story about her father and the stranger called Justin Scott - a mammoth, bald white man who had appeared on their rez a few weeks into the first winter without power. He had some by snowmobile, bringing with him booze and drugs (things the younger kids knew only by name and reputation) - and guns. Cal said he had heard his uncles talking and they said Scott had tried to take over the old band council and eventually lured people under his influence, including Evan's younger brother, Cam, Nangohns' uncle. Cal told her that when everyone was starving and dying off that first winter, Scott had promised them food, but when Evan and the others found out that what they were eating was the bodies of the dead, there was a fight - Evan got shot, and the white lady, Meghan, had finished it by shooting Justin Scott in the head. 

Nangohns had suspect4ed that Cal, as one of th older kids back then, was trying to scare her, but the story would still creep back into her mind at night. The few times she asked her mom and dad about it, they said it wasn't' Cal's or his uncles' place to tell tales about the bad old days. Often, Evan would become stern and gloomy to the point where Nangohns was afraid he'd never look at her again. He also wouldn't talk about his brother Cam, who survived Scott's rule but was never the same, and disappeared one night the following winter. Evan's cold responses eventually deterred her from asking. It was generally known that there had been violence that first winter, and that Evan had taken a bullet. And it was, in a way, a source of pride. But in their household, it wasn't something they discussed. 

Twelve years on, the violence of that time haunted them all in different ways. For the younger ones, it was a ghost story pieced together through fragments. A story tinged not only with horror but also with their elders' shame - for allowing a monster into their midsts, and for what they had to do to destroy it. (p.57-58)

An element of the story that I loved was the relationship between Evan and his daughter, Nangohns. Here is the scene in which they discuss how she got her name:

"Looks like the stars are coming out already," she said. 

"Your namesake."

"Hmmm," she sighed, and smiled again in recognition. 

"I remember when me and your mom found out you were coming. It was late in the fall. I was coming home from a hunt. I didn't get nothing, so I figured it was time to go home."

Nangohns had heard the origin story of her name countless times in her young life, but she let her father tell it again. He'd been out on foot in the bush and got turned around, so he tried to reorient himself by the stars.  

"There was one little start sitting just above the trees on the horizon," he said. Something told me to go in the direction of that little star. It wasn't as bright as the other ones that were coming out, and it flickered just so - I just knew I had to walk towards it." It led him to one of the main roads, and he walked home from there. "I came hoe and told your mother about it. It was late by then, and she had been worried. I told her there was this little star that I followed out of the bush. And she said, "Well, I'm glad you made it, because I have some news," and she showed me the pregnancy test with the two lines. And then I knew that light was you, guiding me home." 

"So you asked all your grandparents if you could name me that, and they said yeah," Nangohns interrupted, finishing the story for him. "And nine months later you flew into that hospital, and when I came out you called me Nangohns." 

Evan smiled and nodded. The quiet of the evening carried the voices over from the beach. 

"I love that story," Nangohns said. "Miigwech, Noos." 

They both looked up at the stars and watched them reveal themselves one at a time. (p.80-81).

At one point in the story, the scouting party contemplates whether or not they should continue. Nangohn's, as the voice of her generation, urges the group to continue. 

"What about us?" Nangohns's raised voice cut through the emptiness of the space. 

Everyone, including J.C., twisted their necks in her direction. 

"The young ones. The next generation. The future. We didn't choose where we got to be born. But we trusted you to care for us. To love us. To make the right decisions for us. And you did. We're alive today because of you. You found a way to make a good life for us. Nmiigwechiwendam. I am thankful." She case her long, slender face down to the ground before she continued. "But for a long time, you didn't tell us everything about what happened when we were little kids," she spoke slowly, looking them each in the eyes. 

Amber held on to Cal's torso while looking over at the younger woman. 

"We asked you, over and over. But you ignored us. Or you didn't tell us the whole story. I know you were trying to protect us. But did you forget what it's like? Didn't you think we'd outgrow that little place? I love it there, and I respect that land. But you all know we were supposed to disappear there. They sent us there to disappear. They didn't want us to survive on that land. They wanted us to die." 

Evan swallowed hard as he felt tears well at the corners of his eyes. J.C. rubbed his forehead. 

"Now look around you," continued Nangohns. "Who survived? Who is left? We still don't know. But we're here. We should be proud of that. Look at these buildings. They're falling apart. Soon they're all going to fall to the ground, and Mother Earth is gonna take this place back. She's already grabbed hold. Soon she's gonna start over. And she's doing that for all of us. So yea, we owe the next steps to our ancestors." 

Nangohns began to conclude her speech. "We're here because of them, and we respect them. But we have to think about the future. We'll still be here after you're gone. And we deserve a say in the world we're going to live in. I say we keep going." (p.110-111).

Because this is a sequel, I had a number of expectations going into the story. In Moon of the Crusted Snow, Indigenous identity was a source of strength. The community relied on their own knowledge of how to survive as well as their values of taking care of the community in order to survive not just as individuals, but rather, to survive as a community. In Moon of the Crusted Snow, the community began to create their own structures. For example, they began creating their own language education for the children. Moon of the Crusted Snow also contained a high degree of cultural specificity (as opposed to pan-Indigenous content). With its focus on a specific place and small cast of characters, Moon of the Crusted Snow was also really easy to settle into. 

Moon of the Turning Leaves fulfilled all of those expectations that I had as a reader, and more. 

Something which I really appreciated about it was that one of the main characters, Nangohns, is portrayed in a way which does not conform to mainstream expectations of gender. She is a skilled fisher and hunter. And as part of the scouting party, she is a brave adventurer. 

I was a little bit worried in the first thirty pages of the book because there were so many names introduced in a short period of time. I get easily overwhelmed by too many names. But relatively early on the book shifts from being about everyone in the community to being about the scouting party of six, and their journey.

This book also gives clues about the nature of the apocalypse (some kind of dead zone, northern lights) and the impact on the general population (flu, some other pandemic, violence, widespread death). The antagonists are a predominantly male group of white supremacists made of of pre-apocalyptic alt-right militia. They are men who claim to be all about the future, however, it is cynical as in one part of the book they actually kill a child (or children). It was weirdly timely to read this at the same time as there were men in this movement who were recently arrested in Quebec for "ideologically motivated violent extremism.", and when one of the commanders of the Canadian army has stepped down due to his membership in a social media group which promoted hate. 

During the journey, the group meets another Indigenous community who give them information about a previous scouting group who never returned. And then the group, after a series of challenges, eventually arrives at the shore of their traditional territory, and there they find an island which appears to be a safe and sustainable long term place of what Kyle Powys Whyte refers to as collective continuance: 

Collective continuance is a community’s aptitude for being adaptive in ways sufficient for the livelihoods of its members to flourish into the future. The flourishing of livelihoods refers to both indigenous conceptions of (1) how to contest colonial hardships, like religious discrimination and disrespect for treaty rights, and (2) how to pursue comprehensive aims at robust living, like building cohesive societies, vibrant cultures, strong subsistence and commercial economies, and peaceful relations with a range of neighbors. 

I think that this novel is a good example of Indigenous futurisms. I also thought that from a decolonial perspective, it was interesting to see that a central aspect of the plot is addressing the colonial policy of forced displacement/relocation of Indigenous communities. 

I think sequels can be a little bit tricky because as a reader, I want a story that is consistent with the previous story yet novel enough that I feel like I am reading something new. I think that this book did a good job of carrying forward the characters of the previous book while giving them a fresh plot. Whenever I watch a post-apocalyptic or horror movie in theatre, I try to predict what the sequel will be about. Usually there are really obvious clues in a movie. In this book, there are a few clear opportunities for a sequel. First, previous scouts had set out to learn about the world, but they never returned. A sequel might follow up with them to find out what happened to them. Second, now that the scouting party has found a new place of refuge, they need to go back and get the rest of the community. And so that journey, which would now include many ages, could be a new book. And finally, the process of integrating the northern community into the island community and the various governance choices could be interesting to read about. I could also foresee a book where this is some kind of war between the militia and the island community. Honestly, I'd be happy to see a sequel on any of these items, or something else. If this expanded into some kind of expansive Star Wars-esque expansive and sprawling series of books, I'd probably read them all. What if there was a book for each moon? Sometimes when there is a series or sequels, the sequels get progressively less good over time (I'm looking at you Mad Max Thunderdome) but sometimes the sequels are as good or better as the original (Mad Max Fury Road and Furiosa). I'd say that this sequel is as good or better than the original. But, also, if Waubgeshig decided he wanted to move onto something new, I'd totally understand. I just hope he keeps writing fiction. 

Disclaimer: this is NOT a sponsored post. To read my ethics statement regarding reviews, see this page. Disclaimer on the disclaimer - the ethics statement is a work in progress. 

Sources and Methods in Indigenous Studies

 I was at the 2025 Squamish Nation Youth Pow Wow on the weekend. It was great to be out and about, enjoying the good vibes, and listening to the drums. Here I am with Bowinn Ma, amazing BCNDP MLA, and Ray Thunderchild. I wrote briefly about the film Night Raiders in my dissertation, and Ray was an actor in that film. He played Tiny. And he was also the emcee for the Squamish Nation Youth Pow Wow. 

Sources and Methods in Indigenous Studies

Anyhow, today's book is Sources and Methods in Indigenous Studies, edited by  Chris Anderson and Jean M. O'Brien. It was published in 2017 and is part of a series (the Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources). It has 33 chapters, but they are concise chapters and the book is just over 300 pages. 

The editors describe the development of the collection as such: "We have, through our own long-standing networks, brought together a disciplinarily extensive and geographically expansive group of Indigenous Studies scholars who have, regardless of their formal disciplinary affiliation and training, signalled a commitment to Indigenous studies as a growing field - perhaps - disipline. Our invitation to participate made clear that participation would not require a 'toeing the line' in terms of what we wanted the contribution to look like. Instead, we left the shape of the argument nearly solely up to the authors, limited only by word count (about 4,000 words) and animated by a single question: 'What is your methodological approach to the way you undertake research, and how does it differ from past research in your field or discipline?'" (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.4). This approach resulted in a wide variety of interesting writing. This was one of those books where every chapter felt like a whole new world, and so it was easy to sit down and read one chapter in a sitting, but I found that it was very difficult to read more than one chapter in a sitting because I needed time to digest and shift gears. The chapters contained enough material to whet the appetite, and so I think it's a good sampler of a broad range of approaches. It contained a mix of voices that I was familiar with (Daniel Heath Justice, Brendan Hokowhitu, Sheryl Lightfoot, Heidi Kiiwetinepinesiik Stark) as well as a number of people who's work was new to me. I didn't read all of the chapters. I would say I read over a third of the chapters. I think that I would probably return to it if I were in the early stages of a new inquiry on a topic outside of my usual interests (Indigenous literature, education). 

I think that the introduction, and in particular the first few pages, is valuable as a primer to Indigenous Studies as a discipline and as a thread within other disciplines. The editors begin by asking, "What isn't Indigenous Studies?" (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.1). And, "Were we to understand Indigenous Studies in all it's various iterations... what does that mean in practice?" (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.1). The book is almost ten years old, and so a lot has been written since that which could inform the answers to these questions. In their exploration of these questions, they rely on Clara Sue Kidwell, Jace Weaver, Duane Champagne, Elizabeth Cook-Lynn, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, and Robert Innes.

The editors discuss the ideas of Indigenous Studies as a discipline, and state that disciplines possess important epistemological prescriptions (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.1), and "as Indigenous studies continues to emerge, it continues to draw on a huge array of disciplines and methodological debates to inform our perspectives and work, and it has tended to do so in a context with little collective strategy or long term planning." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.2). The authors discuss the work of several scholars who have worked to describe Indigenous Studies. They state in a summary of Innes work that, "Innes argues that Indigenous Studies must practice methodological diversity. He suggests that Native studies ought to be broadly multi-disciplinary insofar as the issues we examine should dictate the methods and theories used."(Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.3). They state that Innes says that "Native studies is not the same thing as Indigenous knowledge, although in any given instance, it may incorporate Indigenous knowledge as part of its explanatory framework. Distinguishing between the two and not losing sight of their key differences is, we suggest, important to building the legitimacy of Indigenous Studies in the academy and in Indigenous communities, both theoretically and, more importantly here, methodologically... This means that Indigenous Studies is different from - but in certain cases and under the right conditions can be broadly allied with - Indigenous knowledge, particularly as situated and practiced outside of the academy." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.3-4).

There were a few chapters that I found particularly engaging, and I will discuss them below. 

Anderson and Kukutai

I found the chapter on statistics interesting. In the introduction, the editors have this to say about the chapter: "Michif (Metis) scholar Chris Anderson and Māori scholar Tahu Kukutai speak to the ways that quantitative information, particularly through official data like the census, has constructed Indigenous communities statistically, the manner in which this has produced simplistic and stereotypical depictions, and how Indigenous Studies scholars have more recently made creative use of official datasets to 'speak back' against these conversations." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.5). 

In the chapter, the authors begin by outlining an argument taken by some Indigenous scholars, that "Colonial regimes the world over have devalued Indigenous ways of being and knowing. Part of this devaluation has included their overlay and erasure by Western paradigms of knowledge. Quantitative research methodologies are part and parcel of the positivism that characterizes Western knowledge (and scientific inquiry more specifically). As such, positivism, within its reliance on 'external evidence, testing and universal laws of generalizability... contradict[s] a more integrated, holistic and contextualized Indigenous approach to knowledge' (Kovach 2009: 78). Hence, the devaluation of 'Indigenous ways of knowing.'" (Anderson & Kukutai, 2017, p.43). 

Having outlined this argument, the authors challenge it, stating that: "While it is certainly true that quantitative research methodologies that focus solely on aggregate patterns do abstract from the local context, we argue that this is neither inevitably a bad thing, nor is it the only contemporary research methodology that does so (see Walter and Anderson 2013: 19). The issue is not so much that simple abstraction from local (Indigenous) milieus has led to the production and legitimation of stereotypes about Indigenous communities. Rather, we argue, it is the historical contexts within which this abstraction occurred: namely, in the stark absence of any collaboration with the Indigenous communities and peoples who provided this information. We turn to a discussion of sources now." (Anderson & Kukutai, 2017, p.43). They then go on to say that "valuable information can be gleaned from undertaking respectful and collaborative quantitative research with Indigenous communities" and "failing to heed Indigenous voices and expertise produces bad statistics." (Anderson & Kukutai, 2017, p.45). 

I appreciate the way that the authors create space for Indigenous statistics.  I also appreciate the way that they challenge narratives which, taken literally, have the potential to inadvertently rule out the very concept of Indigenous statistics. 

Hokowhitu

The next chapter that I found interesting was a chapter on Indigenous masculinity studies. The editors summarize it in the introduction: "Maori scholar Brendan Hokowhitu explores how, unlike the typical ahistorical treatment of masculinity within the general field, Indigenous masculinity scholarship is linked to the tenants of Indigenous Studies more broadly. That is a common method that has developed within this nexus has characteristically been 'genealogical' in nature in that more scholars have tended to locate the production of contemporary Indigenous male bodies within the broader frames of settler colonialism and colonial history." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.8).

In the chapter, Hokowhitu begins by examining men's rights movement and mainstream masculinity studies. I won't go into depth into his summary here, except to say that in a short space he did a good job of pointing out some of the problematic elements of mainstream masculinity studies, both in terms of how to it positions itself in relation to feminism and also how it perpetuates stereotypes about Indigenous men. He doesn't say the word "manosphere" - but manosphere is an offshoot of men's rights, which he does discuss as a root of mainstream masculinity studies. And so in some ways it is adjacent to masculinity studies - a poor cousin or sorts. I think it's important for anyone who consumes online media or who has friends or family who consume online media (AKA everyone) to be aware of the manosphere and capable of critically examining the narratives within it. The Species podcast, by evolutionary psychology science educator Macken Murphy has an episode called Pilled which critically analyzes both the ideas within the manosphere and also the impact that it has on society. Macken interviews a researcher who has created a systemic analysis of the manosphere, and then they pick apart the ways that it has distorted actual science and become a form of pseudoscience. It's good to be aware of these distortions in order to spot them (and depending on the situation, address them) as they arise in conversation with friends and family. Some people might think that this is an obscure topic however, the CBC recently just reported on a trend where married men who consume misogynistic content online adopt misogynistic attitudes towards women, leading to the destruction of their marriages. The CBC article illustrates the impact of online extremism on everyday people. 

Anyhow, Hokowhitu contrasts mainstream masculinity studies with Indigenous masculinity studies. He says "Indigenous male dysfunction within Indigenous Studies has typically been treated as a symptom of colonialization," and as an example he points to narratives that point out that "hyper-masculinity, along with the traditionalization of homosexuality, homophobia and patriarchy" are ways in which Indigenous men mimic Victorian masculinity (Hokowhitu, 2017, p.199). He claims that Indigenous Masculinity Studies methodology "lays the groundwork for Indigenous masculinity scholars to work with Indigenous feminist scholars to lay waste the constructions of masculinity that serve to oppress Indigenous communities." (Hokowhitu, 2017, p.199). He claims that with the right methodology, this approach can move beyond binaries. He points out that one of the challenges of confronting manifestations of colonialism (such as rigid gender roles) is that "traditions (false or otherwise) are embodied by the very real community members." (Hokowhitu, 2017, p.202). 

Overall, I like Hokowhitu's approach and I agree that careful attention is required in order to challenge the nefarious ways that colonialism has negatively impacted gender equity within Indigenous communities. That being said, I don't know whether Indigenous Masculine Studies is the answer. I actually have tried to read an Indigenous masculinity essay before by a prominent scholar, and I found that it did contain mimicry. The author's background was in the armed forces, and the masculinity he espoused did not fit with my lived experience of masculinities that I encountered in friends and family. Based on that other reading, I don't think that all Indigenous masculinity studies adhere to the ideals espoused by Hokowhitu. And I actually wonder whether the aims that Hokowhitu aspires to can be served just as well if not better through Indigenous Studies generally. I think that limiting the conversation to masculinity risks obscuring the ways that colonial gender roles negatively impact women and diverse gender identities and Indigenous collectives/communities generally. I question whether or not centering men is an effective way to address patriarchy. That being said, Hokowhitu's work will inform how I read works on masculinity in the future. 

Raheja

I also enjoyed Michelle Raheja's chapter, which the editors summarize by saying that she, "analyzes Indigenous film history through the lens of settler colonialism, arguing that, since film's inception, motion picture companies have participated in a 'logic of elimination' (Wolfe, 2006) designed to erase Indigenous people visually. The chapter contrasts these desires by demonstrating the success of contemporary Indigenous science fiction filmmakers in drawing from both Indigenous speculative oral narrative as well as colonial literary and visual culture representations of 'first contact' to institute new modes of thinking about Indigenous futurity." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.9). I really liked this chapter because she highlighted Tsilhqot'in film The Cave/?E?anx by Helen Haig Brown (Raheja, 2017, p.241, 243-244).

Stark

I also enjoyed the chapter by Heidi Kiiwetinepinesiik Stark. The editors summarize it by saying that she, "makes the methodological argument that understanding story as law not only unearths a rich body of Indigenous thought, it also dispels the notion of inviolability of the law, demonstrating that law is likewise a set of stories. In examining the creation stories of the state, she explores how Western law took form and functions to legitimate the settler nation-state through Indigenous dispossession. The study of Indigenous law, in presenting alternative frameworks for the restoration of Indigenous-state relations, not only contains the potential to produce new methodological approaches, but may also unearth alternate methods for living together differently." (Anderson & O'Brien, 2017, p.9). I really like the work of John Borrows, and her work is in the same vein. She also edited a book on resurgence and reconciliation. I like her writing.

Overall, I found that this book did an excellent job of illustrating the wide range of sources and methods in Indigenous Studies the discipline and/or in people who are basically changing their disciplines by approaching them in a way that could also be considered Indigenous Studies. The questions around "how do we know what we know" or "where are we getting our information from" and "what counts as evidence" are all relevant questions for Indigenous Studies researchers. But these are also important questions for citizens who read the news and individuals engaged in conversations about public policy, so I think that the audience for this book is broader than just Indigenous Studies scholars.

Having gone through a reading spree where I read a lot of edited collections of scholarly essays, I think that I am done reading collections of scholarly essays for a bit. I haven't picked my next book yet, which is a weird place to be. I might start re-reading some of the novels that I read while studying, and really enjoying them in a relaxed manner. And that may or may not result in some blog posts if I feel moved to share the experience. I have been meaning to write some scholarly articles. Blogging is more fun, though. But if I am MIA from my blog for awhile it means I am off having random adventures and/or working on articles. 

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In other news, the SFU Indigenous Student Centre held an Honoring Feast for Indigenous students in June, and they recently sent out photos. Here I am at the event. They gifted each graduate a very cool sash and a cedar headband, as well as some other items. For a minute when I arrived, I was a little bit disappointed by the fact that my robe was the same colour as everyone else's. In the regular event, PhDs wear regalia which is distinct from the other degrees, along with a distinct hat. But then I checked myself... after five years in the institution, of course my impulse was to extol the virtues of rank, status, and hierarchy. Deep in the belly of a western institution, I had internalized its values. I realized that what was most important was that my family was there, I got a degree, and I was symbolically moving on from the student phase of my life. I reflect on this moment in order to be transparent about the little decolonial transformation that I made while getting ready, and also to proactively address any reader who might ask "why are you not wearing the colours typically worn by SFU PhD Education grads?" The fact that I am even concerned that a reader might be concerned that I am not wearing the correct clothing speaks to the degree to which, in spite of this reflection and self-awareness, the logic of institution continues to take up a lot of space in my head. I was surprised by the attire, but at the end of the day, extremely happy to be part of the event and extremely grateful for the work of everyone who organized it and participated in it. And I am really grateful for all of the support and encouragement that I received while studying. 

Crossing the stage. I didn't get my parchment here. I didn't go to the big convocation so I didn't pick it up there either. And I am never on campus so I didn't go to the office to pick it up.  I'm currently waiting for it to come in the mail. Really drawing out the anticipation of getting my degree lol.

Yay! So many Indigenous grads!

Fancy scarf that they gave us as a gift - thank you ISC!

Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature

I went to Tsleil-Waututh for a coastal jam this weekend. It was really awesome to hear the songs and to see so many youth out on the floor. Ever since I finished my studies I have been challenging myself to become socially connected again. After several years of saying no to fun activities, it's so nice to say yes to things. Speaking of my studies, my dissertation is online. I feel weird about it. A dissertation is not a view of the butterfly. It's a view of the messy process that happens inside of the cocoon. I feel very self-conscious about it. But it exists. I'm going to try to take some sections and make them into articles. Having been a student for long and thus having benefitted from the scholars who went before me, I now feel called to contribute to the scholarly world by creating scholarly writing. I have some articles in my head... it's just a slow process to get them on paper. 

Tsleil-Waututh has the most awesome traffic safety campaign in the world

In other news, I went to a CLEBC conference on Indigenous legal orders a few weeks ago. The keynote was the Honourable Madam Justice Ardith Walpetko We’dalx Walkem. She wrote the Expanding our Vision: Cultural Equality and Indigenous Peoples Human Rights report for the BC Human Rights Tribunal. In 2020 she was the first Indigenous woman to be appointed as a Judge to BC's Supreme Court. Her keynote was awesome. She talked about learning from elders in Lytton and about all of the work going on across Canada in order to bring Indigenous legal orders into the Canadian legal system. She also gave some examples of how traditional stories contain laws and/or influence interpretation of laws.  I thought she was an excellent keynote and I feel so lucky that I had the opportunity to hear her speak. One of the things that she mentioned is that the legal system may have to look outside of the legal profession for expertise, and she referred to Dr. Jeannette Armstrong as an absolute expert. Jeannette Armstrong is a Canada Research Chair and also recently was awarded an Order of Canada.

Speaking of Jeannette Armstrong, she is the editor of today's book - Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature. This book is out of print. One site that I saw had it listed for over $350. I had a family member get it for much less on eBay (I can't use eBay because of a weird glitch or maybe it's user error). It was published in 1993 by Theytus. A lot of the ideas in the book stand the test of time. However, some of the content is also like a snapshot of a particular period of time within Canadian publishing. For example, the late Greg Young-Ing has a chapter in which he examines the marginalization of Indigenous people within publishing, and as a conclusion, he states that this is why we need Indigenous publishing houses (Young-Ing, 1993, p. 187). 

The book is a collection of essays by a variety of Indigenous scholars. It is the product of a forum, which was held in Oklahoma in 1992. Jeannette makes reference to it in her editor's note, and then D.L. Birchfield dedicates an entire chapter to it. The forum included 368 Native writers (Birchfield, 1993, p. 191). It was four days long (p.191) and held in a theatre in the round space (p.193). There is a considerable amount of affection in their description of the event. They note that on one of the evenings, twenty-two poets got together and collaborated on "A Really Big, Group Indian Poem" (p.195). In order to underscore the special-ness of this event, the author writes:

one must realize that man university-educated Indians went through a difficult period of engagement. Many were teaching at colleges far from home, where they were often the only (token) Indian on the faculty. Others were off working in the Western world where their circumstances were often very similar.. It took them some time to discover that there were other Indians, scattered throughout the continent, who were very much like them.  

Estranged from the home folks by distance and by multiple layerings of education, estranged from their colleagues by their Nativeness, the second half of the 20th century has produced few crueler, more lonely paths to privileged agony. Their spirits were dying. Imagine their joy when they discovered they were not alone. As they began discovering one another, mostly by reading one another's published poetry, the emotional explosion of affirmation and celebration created a new literature, now still in its infancy, as literature goes, now as old as the earth, as literature goes, changing, remaining constant, alive. (Birchfield, 1993, p.204). 

The author references a photo taken at the event (but the photo is not included in book), and names people in the photo, such as: Beth Brant, Basil H. Johnston, Joy Harjo, Jeannette Armstrong, Lee Maracle, Simon J. Ortiz, Armand Garnet Ruffo, Gret Young-Ing, and Alootook Ipellie. Even though I can't see the photo, I feel happy imagining all of these people who are like literary elders as young(er) people experiencing the joy of connecting with each other and talking about ideas. While reading this book, that energy is present throughout. 

There were several chapters that focused on analyzing In Search of April Raintree and Maria Campbell's Halfbreed, which were the major texts at that time. I particularly appreciated the editor's note by Jeannette Armstrong. She states: 

I suggest that First Nations cultures, in their various contemporary forms, whether an urban-modern, pan-Indian experience or clearly a tribal specific (traditional or contemporary), whether it is Eastern, Arctic, Plains, Southwest or West Coastal in region, have unique sensibilities which shape the voices coming forward into written English Literature.  

In that sense, I suggest that First Nations Literature will be defined by First Nations Writers, readers, academics, critics and perhaps only by writers and critics from within those varieties of First Nations contemporary practise and past practise of culture and the knowledge of it. (Armstrong, 1993, p.7). 

As a blogger, I find this very affirming. I don't think of myself as a critic. I think of myself as someone who likes to blog about Indigenous literature and share my experience of it. There is a sentiment that I encounter once and awhile where there sort of an implied message that Indigenous literature should not be criticized, or that one should either be silent about Indigenous texts or just promote them. But I come from a tradition where we take stories seriously, and we talk about what they might mean. And so my desire to write about literature is a reflection of that tradition. When I talk about a text, that means that it did something to me. When a text does something to me, I try to unpack it. I think that there is value in reflecting aloud on my experience of a text. So I love that Jeannette affirms that Indigenous academics and critics have a role to play within the world of Indigenous literature. Jeannette goes on to say:

I suggest that in reading First Nations Literature the questioning must first be an acknowledgement and recognition that the voices are culture-specific voices and that there are experts within those cultures who are essential to be drawn from and drawn out in order to incorporate into the reinterpretation through pedagogy, the context of English Literature coming from Native Americans.  

I suggest that the pedagogical insistence of such practise is integral to the process. In doing so, I suggest that First Nations literature, as a facet of cultural practise, contains symbolic significance and relevance that is an integral part of the deconstruction-construction of colonialism and the reconstruction of a new order of culturalism and relationships beyond colonial thought and practice. (Armstrong, 1993, p.8). 

Something that I like about this collection is that it contains models of how to talk about Indigenous literature by people like Kateri Damm, Gerry William, Armand Garnet Ruffo, and Kimberly Blaeser. Janice Acoose has two essays, "Post Halfbreed: Indigenous Writers as Authors of their Own Realities" and "Halfbreed: A Revisiting of Maria Campbell's text from an Indigenous Perspective." After years of referring to Acoose's 1995 book Iskwewak Kah’ Ki Yaw Ni Wahkomakanak, and then the 2016 second edition, it's cool to see earlier iterations of her thinking within these essays. 

I also really liked Marilyn Dumont's essay "Popular Images of Nativeness." She starts off by stating: 

If you are old, you are supposed to write legends, that is, stories that were passed down to you from your elders. If you are young, you are expected to relate stories about foster homes, street life and loss of culture and if you are middle, you are supposed to write about alcoholism and residential school. And somehow throughout this, you are to infuse everything you write with symbols of the native world view, that is: the circle, mother earth, the number four or the trickster figure. In other words, positive images of nativeness. 

But what if you are an urban Indian, have always been, or have now spent the greater part of your life living an urban lifestyle? Do you feign the significance of the circle, the number four, the trickster in your life? Do you just disregard these things? Or do you reconstruct these elements of culture in your life so you can write about them in "the authentic voice," so you can be identified (read 'marketed') as a native Artist? (Dumont, 1993, p.47). 

She goes on to explain the harmful impact of such pigeon-holing, and commits to speak in her own voice, regardless of expectations placed upon her. For, "if I, as a native person, engage in the denial of my own image then I am participating in just another variety of internalized colonialism which blinds me and fosters my disempowerment." (Dumont, 1993, p.49).  When I read her essay, I felt encouraged to stay true to my own authorial instincts, regardless of whether or not they adhered to popular expectations.

Overall, this is one of my favourite collections of Indigenous literary analysis. Perhaps even my very favourite. 

Armstrong, J. (1993). Editor's Note. In J. Armstrong (Ed.), Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature (pp.7-8). Penticton, BC: Theytus Books. 

Birchfield, D.L. (1993). In and Around the Forum.  In J. Armstrong (Ed.), Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature (pp.189-214). Penticton, BC: Theytus Books. 

Dumont, M. (1993). Popular Images of Nativeness.  In J. Armstrong (Ed.), Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature (pp.45-50). Penticton, BC: Theytus Books. 

Young-Ing, G. (1993). Aboriginal Peoples' Estrangement: Marginalization in the Publishing Industry.  In J. Armstrong (Ed.), Looking at the Words of Our People: First Nations Analysis of Literature (pp.177-188). Penticton, BC: Theytus Books. 

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Having taken the time to blog about this book, now I am going to go bead. Check out my recently taped loon set. Not for sale because it was donated as a prize for the coastal jam so it's already gone. 

The Routledge Companion to Native American Literature

I went to Eyes of the Beast at SFU's downtown theatre. What drew me to the show was the fact that my cousin is on the poster. She's the person in the middle rocking her Tsilhqot'in Radio hoodie! It turns out she only had about 30 seconds of speaking time but still glad I went. 

Eyes of the Beast promotional poster

The format was definitely unique. There were things hanging from the roof and images were projected onto the things. The show was a compilation of narratives from people who survived the heat dome in Victoria and Vancouver, the Lytton fire, and the Princeton flood. The narrative would begin with a projected image of the person talking, and then an actor would embody them and take over the delivery of their message. So it was like a movie which then became a play again and again. It was definitely more visceral than if it had just been a documentary. The narrative told from the perspective of the principal at Stein Valley Nlakapamux School was heart wrenching. She talked about evacuating the school. I was particularly moved when she talked about how days after being evacuated they did a circle and brought together the people who evacuated, and how the children were emotional because they hadn't seen each other since the day of the evacuation. 

I think that when a lot of people think about climate disaster, first they think about life and death, and then after that they think of the material impact. The narrative format brought home the emotional impact. One of the narratives was told from the perspective of a man who's home burnt down, but then he wasn't allowed to look at it and there was private security patrolling the area. So he snuck into town at night and crawled into his yard. As he described laying down among his planters that had nothing but ash in them, I wondered "how can we approach climate disaster through a trauma informed lens? Ideally we would prevent disasters, but if a disaster does happen, how can the response to the disaster mitigate (or at least not exacerbate) the PTSD from the disaster?"

The show was structured in a unique way. After the film/theatre section, then there was an audience talk back portion, and then there was a policy maker in the audience who reflected on what he had heard. We didn't stay for that portion because we had also gone to the Museum of Vancouver's opening of their exhibit The Work of Repair: Redress & Repatriation earlier in the evening, so I was kind of tired and wanted to go home. Even though I didn't stay for it, I think the concept of having a policy maker in the room to witness is a good concept. 

Book display at Museum of Vancouver

Anyhow, today's book is The Routledge Companion to Native American Literature, edited by Deborah L. Madsen. It was published in 2016 which is almost ten years ago, believe it or not. It's a collection of essays by many authors. There is an acknowledgement section in which various authors thank various people. In this section the author expresses gratitude to many scholars of Indigenous Studies who supported the project including Philip Deloria, Sam McKegney, and anonymous reviewers. The introduction, written by the editor, grapples with the words "Native," "American," and "Literature." Some introductions include summaries of the sections of the book or introduce each essay in the book. This book is massive (41 essays) and so introducing each piece would have been unwieldy. I did wonder when reading the introduction - were each of these essays written specifically for this book, or were any of them sourced from elsewhere? I read about half of the essays, prioritizing works written by Indigenous people and then after that just reading willy nilly based on whatever title stood out to me. The ones that I read seemed as though they were stand alone pieces (as opposed to being excerpts taken from a variety of larger texts).

The editor begins the introduction with this punchy quote: "When asked by an anthropologist what the Indians called America before the white man came, an Indian said simply, 'Ours.'" (Vine Deloria Jr. in Madsen, 2016, p. 1). In the introduction, the editor states the intention of the book as follows: 

The tribes of Native North America continue to constitute distinct social and cultural communities, each of which has been shaped in particular ways by the impact of European colonization. the interplay between the indigenous cultures that endure and these colonial impacts form a framework of allusions and references that characterize Native American literary texts. These allusions may not be familiar to non-Native readers, or indeed to Native readers whose heritage differs from that represented in a specific literary text. This is what the present Companion seeks to provide: a comprehensive yet manageable introduction to the contexts essential to reading Native American Literature." (Madsen, 2016, p. 2). 

Based on the chapters that I read, I think the book did a good job fulfilling this goal. The essays were written on a variety of topics, such as historical events (Marshall decisions), specific regions (e.g. Pacific including Samoa, the Compact of Free Association Countries, and Guahan), specific demographics (e.g. feminism), specific genres (e.g. short fiction). I thought Tova Cooper's essay on Assimilative Schools and Native American Literature was particularly relevant, reading as someone who works in the field of education. The geographical diversity of authors was interesting, as the collection includes scholars from the US and Canada, a well as Switzerland, Germany, Hungary, the UK, and Taiwan. 

A notably difference about this work in comparison to a lot of texts that I have read recently is that there is not very much situating of self at the beginning of the work. I'm not sure if that's reflective of the time it was written, or of the field of literary studies, or the way that the call to authors was framed. All of the essays were excellent, so this is not a criticism. It is just something that I enjoy and often expect and thus something that I missed when reading this work. 

We had a Pride Party at work, and so, in celebration of Pride I will highlight Alicia Cox's chapter "Recovering a Sovereign Erotic: Two-Spirit Writers 'Reclaim a Name for Ourselves.'"

Alicia Cox is a queer feminist of Cherokee and European heritage and a professor at University of California. Her essay begins by noting the challenge of queer Indigenous people, as their queerness is marginalized within Indigenous studies and their Indigeneity is marginalized within queer studies. She provides a brief overview on the way that settler colonialism has oppressed Native American queer people within their own communities, and harmed third gender traditions. She says Native American studies and queer theory is "a critical intersection." She says "contemporary Two-Spirit people have been at a loss for role models who might show then how to live their identities in culturally relevant ways." (Cox, 2016, p. 88).  And then she highlights for the reader a number texts written by queer Native American authors, including: 

• The 2004 issue of GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies - Nationality, Sexuality, Indigeneity: Rethinking that State at the Intersection of Native American and Queer Studies 
• Daniel Heath Justice's "Notes toward a Theory of Anomaly" which asserts that the Cherokee Nations position against same sex marriage was a violation of Cherokee traditional philosophy 
• Miranda's  "Extermination of the Joyas: Gendercide in Spanish California" which looks at the special role that third gender Joyas played in society. the colonial violence against Joyas, and attempts to recover the Joyas tradition 
• Miranda's Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir 
• Chrystos' poem "O Honeysuckle Woman"
• And the rabbit in Craig Womak's Red on Red

Overall, I think this book is a good book to have on your shelf if you read a lot of Indigenous literature. As it is literally a companion, I think if one were using this in a teaching context, it would be best to actually pair the essays with literature itself. For example, Bad Cree would go well with the essay "Indigenous Uncanniness: Windigo Revisited and Popular Culture." The essay could be read on its own, but the experience of reading the essay would be enhanced by pairing it with actual literature. 

A notable feature of the book is its "Further Reading" section which lists about 300 additional suggested readings. 

Cox, A. (2016). Recovering a Sovereign Erotic: Two-Spirit Writers "Reclaim a Name for Ourselves." In D. L. Masden (Ed.), The Routledge Companion to Native American Literature (pp. 84-94). New York, New York: Routledge. 

Madsen, D. L. (2016). Introduction. In D. L. Masden (Ed.), The Routledge Companion to Native American Literature (pp. 1-12). New York, New York: Routledge. 

The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures

 SFU's big convocation is tomorrow. I decided not to go for a few reasons, including the fact that there is a conference that I really want to go to happening at the same time, and also because I have an ergonomic thing going on right now. But I did go to the Indigenous grad. I was really happy my family was able to make it as well. 

The event was very beautiful. For me, the highlight was definitely the Nisga'a dance group. I enjoyed listening to all of the speakers. I did feel emotional, but I did not cry. I actually did cry the day that I submitted to the library in March. I had the day off on a weekday and after I submitted to the library, I went to a matinee of the Lion King and there was no one there. And then I randomly cried... I think it was out of relief. And also, just tiredness from carrying this for so long. I don't know. Anyhow, while waiting to cross the stage, I told myself "I already cried at Lion King, so no need to cry now."

I liked the way that the organizers subverted the logic of colonialism in the way that they set up the event. Rather than sitting at the front after crossing the stage, graduates went and sat with their families. Syeta'xtn (Director of Indigenous Relations and Reconciliation) explained that this was inspired by what happens in his community, where after one is done, they are presented to and returned to their families. Overall, I found SFU to be a supportive institution. There were difficult moments, but doing a PhD is an inherently difficult endeavor. In my experience, there are a lot of people at SFU who wish to be part of changing the institution in order to make it less colonial and more responsive to the needs of Indigenous people, and that means a lot to me. 

I did have a weird moment, though, where I remembered something that happened shortly after I finished my masters. Way back then, about ten years ago at a community event, someone said something really terrible to someone else in front of me. I expressed discouragement to the person who said the hurtful thing. I also followed up with the person who said the hurtful thing afterwards, to do some awareness building. It was a calling in - where an educational rather than adversarial approach was taken, but not all of it was in the moment. But I always had a weird feeling after that I wish I had reacted more quickly and loudly in the moment, or even acknowledged the impact of the words on the person who the words were directed to. It was not the first or last time that I wished I could respond more quickly, but it was definitely one of the most dramatic instances. People always ask - "what's next?" Now that I am certified book smart, I think that my next learning goal is to just become better at reacting in the moment, and becoming better at interrupting and interjecting when something really bothers me. That sounds like a weird goal. But I really want to live a life without regrets, and I think that developing this skill of overcoming my freeze reaction is a key element in that. 

And, of course, my goal is to just keep reading. 

My dissertation was on Indigenous speculative fiction, but I did not approach it through literary theory. In fact, once I did my qualifying exam, I tried to shift my focus to the stories themselves. The way that I structured my methodology was also sort of a turn away from literary theory. So now I am kind of in a weird spot where I am now reading literary theory stuff that I did not read, because my attention was elsewhere. I am catching up, in the visiting sense (catching up with my old friend - the field of literary studies), not in the remedial sense (because I am not behind, I am exactly where I need to be). 

So, in that spirit, I did obtain a copy of The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures by Kristina Baudemann. The future imaginary is a literary term coined by Jason Edward Lewis (Samoan, Hawaiian). "The concept describes visions of the future that are shared by a group of people and used to motivate change in the present. Future imaginaries provide groups with a shared vocabulary for discussing the future and strategies for getting to the future they desire." (Lewis, 2023, p.11). 

I did cite Baudermann in my dissertation - but an article, not this book. I only became aware of the book after I finished. The book is a version of her dissertation. A free sample of the book can be found here.

She captures a range of media in her study, including visual art, film, literature, jewelry, and virtual reality. Something that I found really interesting right off the bat is that when describing the actions of colonial governments, she does mention eugenics (Baudemann, 2022, p.5) alongside things like residential schools. I am in Canada, and it is extremely unusual for people to acknowledge that eugenics against Indigenous people here occurred very recently... and some might even question whether it even ended. It's just not a word that comes up in common conversation. Perhaps due to the public liability of calling it what it is. There was actually just a decision last month in which an Alberta court denied the attempt to do a class action lawsuit on forced sterilization of Indigenous women, and instead said that if people want to pursue this, they have to do so as individuals. Baudemann's dissertation was done in Germany. I actually wonder - if it were carried out in Canada, would this matter of fact statement of eugenics have been readily accepted without having to justify it? 

When I first started reading the book, I found it a little disorienting. I'm used to reading Indigenous scholarship in education. Usually, the first thing people do in that context is state their place-based relationality. It was a little bit weird to begin reading a book length text on Indigenous creative works that did not ground itself in place-based relationality, and for a minute I thought "not sure whether or not I like this." But when I saw the inclusion of eugenics, I thought "there is value in reading things that are written from different perspectives, even if it is initially uncomfortable" and "maybe the fact that she is writing from Germany and not North America enables her to say things that we cannot easily say here." 

I haven't read the whole book yet. I read a few of the first chapters and then the conclusion. And then I started reading the chapter on Stephen Graham Jones. It's slow going because it is very abstract and theoretical. I think I would get more out of it if a googled each creative work and read summaries of the works or viewed the visual items. If I don't read the whole book, I might still use it just for inspiration to look up creative works by Indigenous people.

I definitely would not recommend this book for a general audience. It is not light and easy reading. There are some good nuggets in it. For example, she says "In a colonial context, the future belongs to the colonizer." (p. 21). And then goes on to talk about how creative works by Indigenous people about the future challenge the colonial context, and in doing so, assert Indigenous futures. So even though it is not an easy read, I do like her writing. 

Bauadermann, K. (2022). The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures. Routledge. 

Lewis, J.E. (2023). The Future Imaginary. In T.J. Taylor, I. Lavendar III, G.L. Dillon, & B. Chattopadhyay (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of CoFuturisms (pp. 11-23). Routledge Press. 

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A little plug before I go. I was at the Museum of Vancouver today. My mom arranged a sneak peek of Nexwenen Nataghelʔilh, which is about the repatriation of Tsilhqot'in artifacts from the Museum of Vancouver. It's a beautiful exhibit which includes baskets, photos, a film, and even a quote by my mom. The larger exhibit that it is housed in is called The Work of Repair: Redress & Repatriation at the Museum of Vancouver. It opens on June 20th, and features stories of repatriation of artifacts from a number of communities, as well as stories about projects that bring Indigenous knowledges into the future, so that future generations are able to create as well. What I saw today was not yet complete, but even in a not yet complete stage, I thought it was beautiful and powerful. Highly recommend if you are looking for an activity to do in order to recognize National Indigenous Peoples Day on June 21. 

Introduction to Indigenous Literary Criticism in Canada

I checked out Komasket. It was fun. But I was really tired because of the sinkhole. My drive was not actually longer due to the sinkhole (I don't think) but the idea that a pothole on a highway could actually be a giant underground hole requires some time and energy to process. Still processing. 

Lately, when driving through Hope I stop by the Silver Creek gas station which has the best Nanaimo bars. Yes, even better than the Nanaimo bars in Nanaimo. But for this trip, as I was taking highway one and was already in downtown Hope anyways, I stopped in at the Blue Moose for coffee and quiche. Delicious, as always. 

My current read is Introduction to Indigenous Literary Criticism in Canada, edited by Heather Macfarlane and Armand Garnet Ruffo, and published in 2016. It includes 26 essays from Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars which explore Indigenous literary criticism. The book itself contains introductory content, and then each section also contains an introduction by the editors. These little introductions create cohesion within the book. 

It has taken me a relatively long time to read this book. Every time I sit down, I read a section, and then my brain is tired. On average the sections are less than 15 pages long, so at first I was a little perplexed as to why it was taking so long to read. I reflected, and realized that it is because of the inherent diversity of Indigenous approaches to literary criticism. 

If you were to take, for example, an anthology of sociological writing, there would be some core underlying concepts that the book is based on, which originate from a specific time and place, and from a specifical cultural lens on the world. There are core beliefs that undergird the work - such as a belief that we can study society systemically or that there is value in studying society systemically. And often, core disciplinary touchstones that we all recognize as foundational. That is what would make the book sociological. And then each essay would be tied together by some or all of these things. 

But this book is diverse in that it includes people from a broad range of places. In spite of the name, the essays are geographically broader than Canada (N. Scott Momaday) and also broader than people Indigenous to Canada (e.g. Thomas King). Culturally, there are a number of Indigenous groups represented, as well as non-Indigenous people, and everyone brings in their own cultural background in different ways. Plus, the authors are not all educated in a single discipline. And even the ones that are educated in literary criticism have differing ways of confronting colonialism within their discipline. So each chapter requires one to assume a completely new frame. And that's why I can't speed read this book. This is not a complaint. It is a book that can be savored intellectually. This is also implicitly Indigenous epistemology - unconstrained by disciplines, reflective of land-based knowledges, diverse, and dynamic. 

I'm a sucker for familiarity, so of course my favourite reads are chapters by people who's work I am already familiar with (Jeannette Armstrong, Jo-Ann Episkenew, Lee Maracle, Emma LaRocque). In some cases, I have even read the essays itself before, but when I encounter it again it is like seeing an old friend. And there were some voices in here which were new to me, and that is always welcome. 

In the acknowledgements the authors speak to how they canvassed other scholars to ask which essays they use to teach, and that is how they came up with this compilation. 

A notable absence in the book is how to respond to/engage with the TRC Calls to Action, because the book was published shortly after they were released (and so likely in the works before the TRC Calls to Action were released). I don't think that is a shortfall of the book. Any book is a snapshot of a conversation at a specific point in time. There is content in the book about residential schools and reconciliation, though. 

It is a good primer on engaging with Indigenous literature. It is definitely not a how-to guide. Rather, it is food for thought so that one can develop their own approach to Indigenous literary criticism. I did not try to do literary criticism during my PhD because I was using hermeneutics. So I feel like because I am emerging from a period of intensely not doing literary criticism, what I knew before is fragile and I am having to learn everything I knew about it again, but of course, in a different way because I am a different person now than I was when I previously spent time reading literary criticism. It is a little bit challenging but in a good way.