Slash/Back

 

Slash/Back is an alien invasion film written by Nyla Innuksuk (Inuk) and Ryan Cavan, and directed by Nyla Innuksuk (2022). It begins with Maika as a small girl in a small boat. Her father is teaching her to shoot. Six years later, Maika is at home with her father and he goes to ask her for help, but she declines to help and rushes out of the house to see her friends. The friends, a group of Inuit teenaged girls, are hanging around town and they see Maika’s dad standing outside of a store selling meat. Maika is embarrassed by her dad. The girls decide to take his boat for a joyride.

They dock in an isolated area. One of the girls tells a story:

Uki: You know the Kattuk boy that went missing last spring?

Leena: Yeah.

Uki: Well, Brenda was talking to Billy Mike, and Billy Mike was talking to a fisherman from Iqaluit, and he said that he saw the boy playing by the water. And then, like, a fog rolls in. And out comes a grey head, with long black hair. And you know what happens next?

Leena: What?

Uki: He snatches the boy and drags him into the water.

Leena: Qalupalik.

Maika: Get out of here with that silly Inuk shit

While on the land, they encounter a strange bear which they shoot. They return to the village. As all of the adults in the village prepare to go to a dance, the girls secretly plan to go to a house party. While at the house party, Maika expresses disdain for Inuit visual culture. Meanwhile, one of the girls returns to the area where they shot the bear and learns that the strange bear was not really a bear, it was an alien in disguise and there are other aliens which kill animals and then wear their skins in order to disguise their alien nature. She rushes back to the village to tell the other girls but they think she is making up silly stories, as she is known for telling Inuit stories. But then an alien attacks the party. The girls outfit themselves with modern and traditional hunting weapons. “Nobody fucks with the girls from Pang,” they state, as they bring out a felt marker pen to adorn themselves with traditional face markings. The girls have a series of skirmishes with the aliens in various locations. They follow one of the aliens to Maika’s house where her dad is attacked by an alien in the kitchen. Maika has a quick flashback moment from six years ago where her father showed her a blade, and told her that it was her great grandfather’s blade. Her great grandfather was the greatest hunter in Pang, and someday the blade would be hers. As the father is pinned down by the alien, Maika uses her great grandfather’s blade to attack the alien and saves her father. The girls successfully fight aliens to the point that aliens leave earth. One month later Maika and her father are running a traditional food stand together and are very happy.

I enjoyed every minute of this movie. The aspect of it that I appreciate the most is its representation of Indigenous girlhood. According to the Truth and Reconciliation Final Report, residential schools imposed colonial gender roles onto Indigenous people, and these gender roles negatively impacted the role that women traditionally played in Indigenous families and communities (Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 2015, 147). My grandmother did not go to residential school. Her childhood was on the land. She got married young. She was a full contributor to her family through hunting and fishing. She was not overly constricted by Christian gender roles. When I saw this movie which features female hunters who were capable and determined, I felt proud of the role of women in my family and our history. The idea that women are capable and fierce is one of the gifts that my ancestors have given me.

I was particularly struck by the moment when Maika’s dad was trapped, unable to help himself, and Maika took her grandfather’s hunting weapon and used it to save her dad. He taught her how to hunt, and she used that knowledge to save him. It was a transformative moment of connection. Earlier in the movie she had expressed shame and embarrassment about her culture. She wished to distance herself from it. Nonetheless, it was there when she needed it. She exercised it as a way to save herself, her family, and her community. She contributed to the world and demonstrated leadership through culture. And this transformed her, bringing her closer to her father. Early in the movie, when her father was selling meat in front of the store, she was embarrassed by him. But later in the movie, when they have a food stand together in front of the store, she is proud and happy.

Sometimes trying to hide from one’s identity can seem like a logical choice. Here’s the mental shortcut that her character may have taken. “My family is struggling financially. Perhaps the cause of our struggles is our Indigenous identity. Perhaps if I distance myself from being Indigenous, my life will get easier.” But then, she is put into a position where her identity, and specifically the cultural knowledge her dad has taught her, is a resource. This moves her from a place of shame to pride. This arc is not unique to Slash/Back. Literary scholar Mandy Suhr Sytsma says Indigenous young adult texts:

do tend to be strongly focalized through individual young Native protagonists who mature as they move from rebellion against, to reconciliation with their Indigenous communities, these protagonists experience an increase rather than a decrease of personal agency as a result of that reconciliation. Furthermore, their rebellion against colonial ideologies do not diminish but instead intensifies as the narratives draw to a close. (2019, p.xxvii)

Within Slash/Back, the alien invasion is the catalyst for this maturing. It provides an opportunity for the girls to exercise leadership and responsibility, and in doing so, facilitates a sense of accomplishment. And it also provides the group with an experience where they are able to contribute to the well-being of their community through their hunting knowledge, and as such, transforms their sense of belonging within the community. Maika’s transformation from shame to pride is a reminder to be kind, because  you never know what kind of trials someone has gone through in order to arrive at a place where they claim their Indigenous identity with pride.  

Take us to your chief and other stories

 

In 2016, Drew Hayden Taylor published a book of his own science fiction short stories, Take us to your chief and other stories. It is a playful book. Taylor says, “I wanted to take traditional science fiction characteristics and filter them through an Aboriginal consciousness,” (p.viii). A prolific author in a number of genres, he says “I’m an old hand at hybridizing,” (p.viii). Regarding the goals of his work, he says “Part of my journey in this life both as a First Nations individual and as a writer is to expand the boundaries of what is considered Native literature. There is more to Indigenous existence than negative social issues and victim narratives,” (p.ix). With respect to why he chose science fiction, he says “some critics might argue our literary perspective is a little too predictable – of a certain limited perspective. For example, a lot of Indigenous novels and plays tend to walk a narrow path specifically restricted to stories of bygone days. Or angry/dysfunctional aspects of contemporary First Nations life. Or the hangover problems resulting from centuries of colonization. All worthwhile and necessary reflections of Aboriginal life for sure. But I wonder why it can’t be more?” (p.ix). 

One of the short stories, “Lost in Space”, begins with the protagonist, Mitchell, using oxygen deprivation to put himself in an altered state (2016, p.47). 

Mitchell had been hovering effortlessly, drifting both in the gravity vacuum of space and, more interestingly, in and out of consciousness. Small tethers from the right shoulder and left pant cuff of his jumpsuit anchored him to opposed bulkheads. This was to make sure he didn’t bump into the walls of the ship and ruin his fun. His mind had no such restrictions and had meandered back and forth between alpha, beta, delta, and all remaining brain-wave frequencies. The small room was dark and the temperature was neutral. A sort of purgatory. Additionally, the oxygen in this hyperbaric chamber had been reduced to the minimum, allowing for a more recreational time alone. In other words, he was mellowing out in the twenty-first century version of an improvised isolation tank. (Taylor, 2016, p.46-47)

He is on a spacecraft mining the asteroid belt, and his only company is the ship’s artificial intelligence, Mac (p.48). Mac informs him that his grandfather has died (p.48). His grandfather was his only Indigenous grandparent and inspired his love of space (p.49). He reflects on a conversation with his grandfather, where his grandfather reflected on the connection between Indigenous identity and the land, and how his grandfather told him, “I can’t help wondering if it’s possible to be a good, proper Native astronaut.” (p.51). Mitchell reflects on the barriers to expressing his Indigenous identity in space, including not being able to burn sage because of fire suppression technology; no dawn to greet; no Four Directions to honour; the complexity of honouring Mother Earth and Father Sky while being “closer to the backside of Mother Mars,” (p.52); and no drumming due to the calibration of technology on the ship (p.53). Mac locates a video of his grandfather drumming, and as Mitchell watches it, he reflects on how his grandfather encouraged him to “represent,” (p.55). “Song after song made him realize that even though he was only one quarter Anishinabe, he could be fairly confident he was the only Anishinabe out here in the asteroid belt, possibly the only one outside of Earth and the three space stations. This was the only drum music for millions and millions of kilometers. This was a responsibility. As his grandfather used to say, he’d better step up and represent, because he was a hell of a long way from home.” (p.55). 

Drew Hayden Taylor’s story is fun. The question that his grandfather poses is an interesting one. Note that his grandfather doesn’t ask if it’s possible to be a Native astronaut, rather, he questions whether it is possible to be a good, proper Native astronaut. The main character reflects on cultural practices that he cannot do in space, the implication here being that being “good” and “proper” are expressed through cultural activities such as smudging and drumming. Ultimately, he decides that he is being a good and proper native by virtue of his commitment to “represent”, and he expresses his identity by celebrating his ancestor.  What this story highlights is the fact that sometimes we are put in positions where there is no one around to affirm our Indigenous identity, and when we are put in those positions, we have to affirm ourselves. 

After reading this story, I did have some questions. What exactly does it mean to represent? What are the unique responsibilities tied to being in a professional context where you are the only Indigenous person? How do you conduct yourself when you have no family present to help you navigate identity? These questions are especially relevant in the university environment, where Indigenous people are under-represented. 

Other stories in the book include the first Native superhero, alien encounters, and a story where petroglyphs are a time travel portal to the past. There was one story about youth suicide that I didn't really like. But other than that one story, I really enjoyed this book.

Permenant Astonishment by Tomson Highway

 For the first time in years, I am reading a book for the mere joy of reading a book. The book that I chose for this special occassion is Permenant Astonishment by Tomson Highway. 

Here is the description from the publisher's website:

Tomson Highway was born in a snowbank on an island in the sub-Arctic, the eleventh of twelve children in a nomadic, caribou-hunting Cree family. Growing up in a land of ten thousand lakes and islands, Tomson relished being pulled by dogsled beneath a night sky alive with stars, sucking the juices from roasted muskrat tails, and singing country music songs with his impossibly beautiful older sister and her teenaged friends. Surrounded by the love of his family and the vast, mesmerizing landscape they called home, his was in many ways an idyllic far-north childhood. But five of Tomson's siblings died in childhood, and Balazee and Joe Highway, who loved their surviving children profoundly, wanted their two youngest sons, Tomson and Rene, to enjoy opportunities as big as the world. And so when Tomson was six, he was flown south by float plane to attend a residential school. A year later Rene joined him to begin the rest of their education. In 1990 Rene Highway, a world-renowned dancer, died of an AIDS-related illness.

Permanent Astonishment is Tomson's extravagant embrace of his younger brother's final words: "Don't mourn me, be joyful." His memoir offers insights, both hilarious and profound, into the Cree experience of culture, conquest, and survival. 

I'm currently two hours into the twelve hour audiobook and I am really enjoying it. I almost didn't read it because it is a memoir. I went through a phase where I was memoired out, as in, I read too many memoirs and then I became emotionally tired. I think I had mild vicarious trauma from some of the memoirs. So I have been on a memoir reading hiatus for a few years. When I read the book's description, though, I anticipated that this memoir would nourishing. Also, who wouldn'twant to know more about the origin story of Tomson Highway?!? Being two hours into it, I can say that so far it is nourishing. Also, as a longtime Tomson Highway reader, I find his familiar voice comforting. 

I plan to listen to the next ten hours of his book while randomly walking around  at a leisurely pace, doing random chores, and staying cool with my new favourite treat - high protein jello (made with kefir instead of water). Stay cool friends.