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. 

***

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.