Indigenous Motherhood in the Academy

I went to 2S Glam at Bill Reid Gallery as one of the last activities of my 2025 summer vacation.

I've never been to a drag event before. It was a lot of fun. It was a family event and the host gave us an orientation of sorts at the beginning. Several of the performers (Jaylene Tyme, Beth, Xana) were contestants in Canada's Drag Race, and the King (Theo Rhetical) was recently featured in a series called Long Live Kings. The music was provided by DJ Osho. Everyone put on a great show and the outfits were stunning. I can't believe I have never been to a drag show before. It's so much fun. 

Related Podcasts 

Today's book is Indigenous Motherhood in the Academy by Robin Zape-Hol-Ah Minthorn, Christine A. Nelson, and Heather J. Shotton. I learned about the book from a University of Washington podcast episode called Indigenous Motherhood in the Academy. While I waited for the book, I listened to another podcast from one of the editors called Indigenizing Higher Education. I thought the Indigenizing Higher Education contained a lot of interesting discussion, including: 

• a project in which Robin Zape-Tah-Hol-Ah Minthorn moved to Arizona, which is an area that she is not Indigenous to. In order to do program planning in her new role, she met with the 19 Indigenous communities in Arizona (either tribal leaders or their delegates) to hear about what their priorities were for post secondary and what they wanted their students to learn. 
• while planning a doctoral program for University of Washington, she met with Muckleshoot 22 times in order to co-develop a program with them, which was eventually co-delivered with the tribal college. 

As an educator, I thrive on concrete examples, and so I appreciated the way that a theoretical concept, Indigenizing Higher Education, was brought to life through concrete examples of structuring programs in such a way that leaders from communities Indigenous to the place where the institution is located have input into what happens in the institution. There are a lot of scholarly debates around "what does acknowledgement of territory mean?" I think that this is an example of how a scholar can walk the talk of acknowledging territory. She also talked in the episode about some of her negative experiences in post-secondary, such as when she had to switch advisors in her doctoral program because her first advisor was not supportive of her vision for her work, and her second advisor was a white man, but he supported her work, and so she was able to pursue what she wanted. I think that these personal stories of navigating difficulties in the academy are important, because current students may be struggling with similar issues, and so it's important for them to know that they are not alone when they are feeling unsupported in pursuing what they want to do, and that if their first supervisor is not supportive, they often do have the option of trying to find someone else who will support their work. In today's academic job market, there is a lot of pressure to only focus on accomplishments. Talking about challenges encountered along the way does not take away from one's  accomplishments. 

I like academic podcasts for a number of reasons. First, post-pandemic I am still reluctant to travel to conferences. I'm not sure whether or not that reluctance will fade over time, but it's where I am at. Right now, I like spending time where I live and with my family, and conferences take away from that time. Air travel is hectic and uncomfortable and bad for the environment. And it's hard to meet my nutritional and physical activity goals while travelling a lot. So, with podcasts, I can experience people talking about their work without travelling. Someone might say "but if you go to a conference you might be able to talk to the presenter." That's true... but I rarely do. Usually I just sort of hang around with people that I know, and I think most people who go to conferences also mostly hang around people that they know, and so theoretically I could go meet the speaker, I rarely do. Maybe when I go to conferences I should be better about networking. Anyhow, I also like podcasts because when I am on the fence about buying a book, I have this free option to get an idea of what the book is like, and then I can make a decision. I also like podcasts because I can listen to them while I am doing chores or commuting. I'm a big fan of academic podcasts and really grateful for scholars who make their ideas broadly accessible to the world for free. 

Introduction 

Anyhow, back to the book. This book came about because Robin had a dream while she was holding her newborn baby (Minthorn, Shotten & Nelson, 2022, p.2). She shared that dream with a friend and another friend, and they made it happen. They describe the nature of the book as such: 

"Through various methods, like storytelling, letter writing, and poetry, the contributors invite you into their lives to understand what the Indigenous motherhood in the academy journey means for different tribes, different communities, and even different generations. As Indigenous mothers, we are not homogenous, but we are connected by our journeys, including finding a spiritual balance and nurturing our children, who have been given to us and who carry our/their ancestors' bloodline and legacy wit them. Our intention with this book is to tell these stories from a complex place where Indigenous mother-scholars are fostering and sustaining mothering/nurturing spaces while simultaneously challenging the colonial structures of the academy. Before diving into the contributors' narratives, we outline our shared (and ever-changing) definition of what we mean by motherhood in the academy." (Minthorn, Shotten & Nelson, 2022, p.3). 

There is a little bit of discussion around rematriation in the introduction (p.5-6) but overall I was surprised that it didn't arise as a bigger theme within the book. The book is about motherhood, but beyond biological motherhood and inclusive of other types of care such as being an aunt. The authors note in the introduction that they wished that they had more gender diversity in the book, and they attributed some of the lack of gender diversity as being reflective of their personal networks as well as due to the ways that gender diverse Indigenous mothers may be systemically excluded from the academy. And so they note that perhaps future books on the same topic will be more gender diverse (p.8). I love it when a movie drops breadcrumbs for the sequel and I look forward to Indigenous Motherhood in the Academy, Vol.2 🌈. I think it is interesting when the authors of a collection note an absence in the collection, and reflect on why the absence exists while also expressing a wish for things to be different. They could have just said nothing, but I think that it was better that they did say something. 

The book contains 24 chapters from a wide range of Indigenous mother-scholars. There are a lot of personal narratives, and the contributors are transparent about challenges they encountered as mother-scholars, the help they received along the way, the complexity of bringing children on to campus, and conflicting cultural expectations around parenting. The authors also model the ways that they honour Indigenous motherhood through their relationships with their mothers, even when those relationships are fraught with complexities caused by colonial trauma. There is a lot of trauma in this book, but it is not presented in a sensationalist, stereotypical, or re-traumatizing way.  I feel like the authors care about their readers, and talk about trauma in a trauma informed way, while also being role models who openly shared how they sought out support through family, community, culture, and therapy in order to pursue their goals in spite of trauma. 

Various Chapters 

There were a wide variety of contributors to this book. One of the most prominent contributors was Shelly Lowe. She was the Chair of the National Endowment for the Humanities until recently when you-know-who removed her. In her chapter, she spoke to  the power of reproduction, literally and metaphorically. And she also spoke to the isolation and alienation of working at an Ivy League where there are very few other Indigenous staff. She included specific examples of anti-Indigenous racism that she experienced, but didn't say whether they occurred at Harvard or Yale, both of which being places where she worked. But she also spoke to the ways that her work was meaningful and important to her, and the way that she felt rewarded when students succeeded and let her know that she was part of her success. 

Some of the chapters spoke to the tension between the ideal scholar, or the type of scholar which the institution was structured to reward, versus the Indigneous mother scholar. For example, in the chapter, "My children are my teachers: Lessons learned as a Kanaka Maoli mother-sholar," Nicole Alia Salis Reyes says: 

 "In the professoriate, following from the ideal scholar trope, there seems to be less variation regarding how to be a so-called successful academic. The master narrative suggests that when you are on the job market, you should cast a relatively wide net and accept a position at the most prestigious institution possible. Next, once you are on the job, you should spend minimal time tending to your teaching and service responsibilities and maximum time researching through the use of widely accepted methodologies and theoretical frameworks. Moreover, you should publish completed research primarily in the most well-respected journals with the highest impact factors. Finally, only after you have achieved tenure and gained national and international status as a scholar through following these steps may you begin to devote more time to the research, teaching, and service activities that you might care most about but are least rewarded in the academy. This master narrative upholds the experiences and intentions of white and male faculty as normative." (Salis Reyes, 2022, p.55).

Similarly, in her chapter "The (time) line in the sand," Miranda Belarde-Lewis says: 

"the widely accepted norm to move across the country fof an academic job is what we as academics are "supposed to do" to cross pollinate our ideas and to subject ourselves and our families to the harsh transition of entirely different towns, neighborhoods, schools, friends, cultures of research, and institutional politics." (Belarde-Lewis, 2022, p.92).

I can definitely see how these expectations of the ideal scholar are at odds with things like developing relationships with Indigenous communities, developing deep connection to place, and parenting. As an Indigenous mother-scholar myself (I'm assuming that the term scholar here is inclusive of people who studied, and not just faculty, although I note that the contributors are faculty and/or admin, so maybe I am wrong, maybe scholar only includes people who are scholars by vocation? Thinking aloud her, maybe I should say "as an Indigenous mother who has studied a lot"), I find that there is a pragmatic tension between some key concepts in various Indigenous epistemologies and the ideal scholar. For example, Indigenous epistemologies often put a high value on deep knowledge and engagement with place. Yet, the ideal scholar will not do all of their education in one place. These things are in opposition to each other. And these tensions are larger than any one individual person. 

The contributors do not provide simplistic individual solutions to systemic problems, and I am glad they didn't, because that would have trivialized the scope, scale, and weight of these systemic tensions. However, the contributors do model how they rely on the Indigenous identity as a resource in order to navigate these systemic tensions. For example, in the chapter "Mvskoke eckvlke (Muscogee motherhood) in academic spaces," Dwanna L. McKay says that she was a teen mom, and she describes her own culturally informed understanding of motherhood:

"As part of a matrilineal culture, Muscogee mother were traditionally considered the head of the household and women possessed full rigths to their children and to the lands and houses in each town. Within Muscogee culture, motherhood is not a burden, role, or job but rather a sacred space that grounds and connects the people within a larger culture. Mvskoke Eckvlk (Muscogee motherhood) organizes the lives, ceremonies, and histories of our people, marking where and to whom we belong." (McKay, 2022, p.85). 

She reflects on her choice to spend time working on her PhD instead of spending time with her mother, and then her mother died shortly after she finished. She says, "the cost for my accomplishments, even for the good of my people and family, felt too high then and now." (McKay, 2022, p.88). She then went on to accept a position at an institution where she faced anti-Indigenous comments, including a department head making a comment about how she is from one of the "civilized tribes." (McKay, 2022, p.88). Eventually she left the institution, delaying tenure by two years (McKay, 2022, p.88). These narratives are sometimes difficult to read, and there were several times where I felt sad about the sacrifices one must make in order to gain tenure. I think an unasked question in the book is whether there is a way to restructure the academy and scholarship as a vocation in order to increase support for Indigenous mother-scholars. The book describes tensions, and describes ways that individuals navigate tensions. The book does not prescribe a systemic agenda for change. It promotes concepts, like Indigenization or decolonization. But it does not contain a multitude of specific structural recommendations.

A unique feature of the book is that it has a collective chapter, where women share their stories without sharing their identities. The author is listed as Indigenous Mother-Scholars and the name of the chapter is "Honouring our relations: Collective stories." It contains unnamed anecdotes. For example, one woman recalls how she received a tentative offer for a postdoctoral position. As part of the process, she went to the university to do a presentation, and her presentation included ways which being a mother informed her work. After the presentation, the private investigator hugged her and told her "let's just forget this postdoctoral and let you just focus on your children, who should be most important." (p.132).  Her focus on motherhood led to the offer being revoked. Another mother-scholar says, "I have often thought about what the academy has taken from me, what I have sacrificed to it as my price for admission into this space." (p.129). As an example, she shares that she had a miscarriage in her office and her graduate assistant had to take her to emergency. After having a procedure and while coming out of anesthesia, she asked her doctor if she could still travel to a conference in two days (p.129).

Another unique feature of the book is a chapter written by the editors, which contains both named and unnamed comments from the contributors about the impact of the pandemic on Indigenous mother-scholars. One scholar notes that when she was on campus, she had to do a lot of unpaid labour educating colleagues about Indigenous issues (Minthorn, Nelson & Shotton, 2022, p.188). During the pandemic, she was talking with her therapist about whether or not she should stop the tenure clock, and a motivating factor for not stopping the tenure clock was that once she achieved tenure, she would feel less pressure to do the unpaid labour of educating colleagues about Indigenous issues (Minthorn, Nelson & Shotton, 2022, p.189).

I think the most painful anecdote to read was in the chapter, "A journey of Indigenous motherhood through the love, loss, and the P&T process" by Robin Zape-Tah-Hol-Ah Minthorn. She talked about how she had genetic testing done while she was pregnant, and the testing flagged a potential chromosomal abnormality (Trisonomy 18) while she was midpoint in the tenure and promotion process. In spite of the pregnancy and then the subsequent loss of Emery Rose ten minutes after she was born, Robin kept moving in order to meet the requirements of tenure and promotion (p.153).

The book contains many personal narratives of how being a mother-scholar is shaped by institutions, policies, and various pressures of the roles. However, I found the chapter which was most useful in understanding the lack of support that mothers working in American universities experience was Tria Blu Wakpa's chapter, "A glint of decolonial love: An academic mother's meditation on navigating and leveraging the university." She gives examples from her own experiences. For example, when she was nursing, the lactation room did not have a fridge. So she would have to walk to the lactation room, and then walk to a different area to put the milk in the fridge, and then walk another distance to where she was teaching, and sometimes she had to do this three times a day (p.116). She cites this as an example of how mothers are not supported in the academy and pushed out of the academy. She notes that for both of her births, she started working again a week after giving birth, in part due to the fact that she worried that if she took time off, it might negatively impact tenure and promotion (p.117). She says, "because mothers and other caregivers may have additional familiar responsibilities that can inhibit us from taking on extra work for the university, we may be (mis)perceived as less dedicated to our work than our colleagues" and this pressure is a form of de facto discrimination (p.117). She also notes that if she had stopped the tenure clock, she would have had to wait longer to achieve the merit pay associated with tenure, so even though the option for taking a leave exists, in the U.S. there are financial repercussions to taking maternity leave (p.118). Taking time out for motherhood would have meant lost income opportunities, meanwhile early motherhood is a time of life which comes with significant increased costs such as childcare. 

Transformation 

Overall, I found this book an interesting read. Oftentimes, when we look at successful people, we only see their achievements. I think it was really brave of these authors to share the hurdles they have had to overcome as Indigenous Mother-Scholars. I hope their narratives inspire early career Indigenous Mother-Scholars to say "yes, this is hard, but I can do it." And I hope that the book generates conversations around what institutions can do in order to be more supportive of Indigenous Mother-Scholars. 

Unsettling Settler-Colonial Education: The Transformative Indigenous Praxis Model by Cornel Pewewardy, Anna Lees, and Robin Zape-Tah-Hol-Ah Minthorn

I've been listening to Nicola Campbell's audiobook version of  Spíləx̣m: A Weaving of Recovery, Resilience, and Resurgence. I read the hard copy as soon as it was released and I thought it was a beautiful book. I particularly loved how it was a celebration of Indigenous place in south-western British Columbia. I thought that she was really brave in sharing personal experiences, some of which were part of the ongoing legacy of colonialism. And I really respected the way that she illustrated how Indigenous identity, language, and culture is a source of strength. It is truly a strengths based approach to intergenerational Indigenous trauma. When I first read the hardcopy of the book, I was at a different place in my life with respect to grief. Between reading the book the first time and the second time, I lost my aunt and uncle who I was very close to. Before I lost them, I understood the idea of death, but I had no understanding of the visceral experience of grief. So when I read the book the first time, I understood the idea of grief, but I had never experienced it in a life-altering way.   This time around, while listenng to the book, I understand the sections on grief differently. I might post more about the book later so I won't say too much here, except I recommend listening to her book. 

I have also been reading this random book on ecology. It falls into the category of "books I picked up because I thought they would be relevant to my dissertation but then I started reading them and realized they were not relevant to my topic so I abandoned them, and am picking them up again now." This one's central thesis is that we as humans are interconnected to the world in a corporeal way (erotic) and if we acknowledge that then we will learn to love the world as part of ourselves, and as a result we will be more motivated to stave off self-destruction through environmental collapse. Refences to Indigenous in the book are in the style of or directly through Hyde... and I find Hyde's approach to Indigenous content somewhat colonial-adventurer... there are weird tensions between some schools of environmental writing/theorizing and Indigenous thought/Indigenous people. That being said, the book is aesthetically well written. If you like John Muir, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and other types of artistic expression of natural science, then you will like this book. There was one weird line which put decolonization under the umbrella of the romantic movement. I do not think that decolonization falls under the umbrella of the romantic movement. The romantics challenge the idea that science and rationalism are the cure to all the problems of the world. Decolonization challenges the idea that imperial forces have the right to dominate Indigenous people (individually and collectively) on their own territories while also extracting value out of said territories in order to enrich the position of the imperial power. These are quite different things. They have some common goals (challenge the status quo, question taken for granted truths about the goals of society and life, asserting the validity of diverse intellectual traditions) so in some ways there is overlap in aspirations and methods, but one does not fall under the umbrella of the other. Anyhow, in spite of this detail, I do think that this is a nice book to read while sitting in the woods. 

The book that I want to talk about in depth today is Unsettling Settler-Colonial Education: The Transformational Indigenous Praxis Model which is edited by Cornel Pewewardy, Anna Lees, and Robin Zabe-Tah-Hol-Ah Minthorn, with a forward by Tiffany S. Lee and afterword by Michael Yellow Bird. I picked this up because it was part of the same series as Native Presence and Sovereignty in College, which I enjoyed. There are quite a few interesting titles in the series. 

Something that I have noticed that Indigenous scholars do well is demystifying the process of creating community in scholarship. For example, in this book, they talk about the process that led to the creation of this theoretical model. One of the authors created the Transformative Indigenous Praxis Model (TIPM) many years ago, and shared it with others in order to further develop it. In 2018 the editors published an article which explained the model. Then, they spent over a decade of workshopping and refining it at various events, in conversation with various colleagues over time. Finally, they asked colleagues who they had been in conversation with to write chapters explaining how they use this model in their program design and pedagogy. In the final chapter, the editors explain that they had a closing event after the authors had submitted their chapters, and then there is a QR code that goes to a closing song. This book is a great example of creating community inside of academia. Also, Ryan Red Corn, from the comedy troop the 1491s, is included in the acknowledgements. 

This social approach to creating the book has resulted in a book which is written by various contributors, but cohesive in its tone and approach. The book models diverse application of the model while staying in the bounds of critical theory, with a particular emphasis on critical consciousness. If one were looking for an example of critical consciousness in education, this could make a nice jigsaw. 

I did look up the 2018 article, The Transformational Indigenous Praxis Model: Stages for Developing Critical Consciousness in Indigenous Education. The introduction to this book is a truncated version of the article, and the vast majority of the contributors cite this article in their chapters. Here is a rough outline of the article:

• Whitestream education hurts Indigenous students 
• TIPM promotes radical consciousness among educators in order to help them transform their practice so that they can better serve Indigenous children 
• Why and how we introduce ourselves, author introductions 
• Walking in one world with multiple lenses 
• Decolonize and indigenize, as per Deloria and Wildcat 
• US sought to destroy Indigenous knowledge and epistemology as part of a larger program to exert power and control over Indigenous lives 
• White teachers need to spend more time in Indigenous communities 
• Introducing concept of settler replacement and settler futurity 
• Multiculturalism: does not address colonialism, does not address structural inequality and derails self-determination, takes add and stir approach to Indigenous knowledge
• Indigenous resistance to colonialism is ongoing 
• Tribal sovereignty includes educational sovereignty 
• Reject ideologies which promote Indigenous inferiority, embrace Indigenous ideologies grounded in decolonization 
• Indigenous consciousness disrupts colonial narratives 
• This critical thinking framework arises from decolonial theory, post colonial theory, tribal critical race theory, and insurgent theory 
•  Decolonization as defined by Linda Tuhiwai Smith 
• Postcolonial, as defined by Marie Battiste 
• Tribal Critical Race Theory as defined by Brayboy 
• Insurgent as defined by Adam Gaudry 
• "tell our tribal stories of who we are on our own terms as cultural beings" 
• educational pedagogy is congruent with worldviews 
• Not just critique colonization, move to strengths based approach 
• White stream rejects Indigenous education in many ways including deficit based approach 
• This model involves critical thinking, as defined by Michal Yellow Bird 
• Divest from colonialism, and insert tribal culture into the curriculum 
• Heal and rebuild Indigenous education, holistic remedy and antinode to colonialism 
• Consciousness to action, personal change first 
• Moving to higher levels of decolonial thought in order to achieve postcolonial future 
• TIPM is not linear, static, absolute - it involves stages 
• Antidotes to resistance - Waziyatawin Angela Wilson and Michael Yellow Bird's critically conscious study groups 
• Antidote to resistance -  publicly center the strength of Indigenous culture and community 

One thing that I stumbled on a lot as a reader was the use of terms like post-colonial and decolonization. I wished that the authors had created their own working definition at the outset of the article (and book) because those words can mean a lot of different things to different people, and as I was reading, I was searching through my own internal database of "different ways that different people use these words" in order to try to locate this scholarship within the larger fields of Indigenous education and Indigenous studies. I wanted to know how the authors themselves defined these words. Perhaps in their TIPM, the definitions themselves being not tied down is part of the approach. Perhaps it is overly linear of me to want these words to be tidy. I think that the model itself could be accessible to a general audience, but I think that the a lot of prior foundational knowledge is required to engage in the theoretical explanation of the model. Perhaps that is why the introduction to the book kept the model, but cut out a lot of the explanation of the theoretical foundations of the model. I actually don't know if I agree with this decision. Perhaps they made this decision because the book is aimed at practitioners, and so they assumed that they should focus on practice/the model. Yet, it seems to me that a book would be the perfect place to expand on the theoretical framework and go deeper into the premises behind the model. If there is a second edition of this book, I would love it if there were more elaboration on the underlying theories.

Anyhow, having discussed the article, let us return to the book. In the introduction, the authors introduce the model. TIMP has four waves/dimensions, which go from one to four. One is a small wave/dimension, four is the biggest wave/dimension. Educators move along the waves/dimensions, from one to four. But there is resistance trying to pull them back to the previous wave/dimension. In one, educators do not yet have critical consciousness but do integrate pieces of multicultural education (Pewewardy, Lees, Minthorn, 2022, p.4). In two, teachers begin to develop critical awareness. In three, teachers move toward social transformation and have deep awareness. They mentor, collaborate, and “begin to imagine a post-colonial future” (Pewewardy, Lees, Minthorn, 2022, p.6). And finally, stage four is the pinnacle. In this stage:

“At the most advanced dimension, educators demonstrate a deep embodiment of critical consciousness and consistently take active efforts in social justice. Educators enact transformational praxis in both theoretical and concrete ways to make change in the educational experiences of Black and Indigenous communities and other Communities of Color. They engage so consistently that Indigenous and decolonizing pedagogies are embedded in their daily work. They transcend the waves at a steady pace, moving through the resistance fluidly with focused time and energy. Educators in the cultural and social justice action dimension find themselves in leadership roles where they mentor others and are recognized as knowledge holders. These educators advance efforts of radical resurgence (Simpson, 2017) within their Tribal Nation communities and across educational settings. They clearly see a postcolonial future, while still working to uncover the path through decolonization. Centering Indigenous knowledges in their teaching, they resist neoliberal and settler-colonial narratives in school policy and curriculum. It can be difficult to remain in this dimension and event the most critically conscious educators may retreat from leadership roles and move between dimensions to find sustainability in the work." (Pewewardy, Lees, Minthorn, 2022, p.7).

The article contains an illustration of the model. It uses a pyramid to illustrate the model, and stage one is at the bottom of the pyramid and stage four is at the top. The article is posted without a paywall here, and the illustration is on page 17. Personally, I found looking at the model was helpful in understanding the model. The introduction to the book does not include the pyramid illustration, but it does include a diagram of the model illustrated as waves, with stage one being small and on the left, and the waves are progressing to the right, and stage four is the largest wave and on the right. Thus, moving through the stages represents forward progression. Below the surface, however, is resistance to Indigenous education, and so moving through the waves requires overcoming resistance on an ongoing basis. 

As antidotes to resistance, the authors recommend critical conscious study groups:

“These spaces allow for mentorship, comradery, and restoration with others who share the same goals and help beginning educators build their awareness around the need for decolonization. Educators cannot sustain aspirations for change alone and must find spaces of interdependence to nurture each others’ efforts across institutional settings in what we name critical conscious study groups. Having like-minded colleagues within and outside of one’s own institution is invaluable to make sense of experiences that are both successful and challenging. Holding regular critical conscious study groups with educators across contexts and with varying levels of experience creates space to foster continued critical thinking toward transformation. Th examples of pathway -making in this text portray work across the TIPM and depict how the work took form in spite of institutional and societal resistance.” (Pewewardy, Lees, Minthorn, 2022, p.7).

The book itself contains seventeen chapters from various contributors who discuss how they integrate the model into their work, or how their work illustrates concepts within the model. There are four thematic sections: birth to grade 12 education, teacher education, higher education, and educational leadership. 

I found the teacher education section interesting. There was some discussion on how the students in teacher education are predominantly white, and so the pedagogy has to adapt to that scenario. There was a really interesting chapter on how a professor had a student in her class who kept wearing a racist mascot hat to class. She talked to him in class and he kept wearing it. Then she talked to him outside of class, and he kept wearing it. And eventually she got administration involved. She offered an educational/restorative path, and he opted not to take it. Her class was a class that was part of the path leading to teacher education, and she had no idea about whether or not he was accepted into the teacher education program. I thought it was interesting from the perspective of Indigenous workers' rights in education. I know a lot of people who experience micro-aggressions and outright racism in the course of their work in education, and it can be a push factor in people leaving education to work in other fields. The chapter's focus was awareness raising, as in, "here is something that I experienced, here is how I tried to handle it, and here is how it impacted me." I think that more discussion needs to happen at the systemic level in terms of "what should we do when situations like this arise?" For example, how should the dean have responded? What support should be offered to the professor? Does the professor have a right to know whether or not this incident impacted the individual's competitiveness as an applicant to the teacher education program? This chapter provided some critical consciousness raising, and then left the task of imagining structural redress to the reader. 

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.