Getting over the Status Hangover: #LetJosiahPlay

I have been watching with excitement over the past few days the story of Josiah Wilson – a Heiltsuk man who has been refused entry into northern British Columbia’s All Native Basketball Tournament because he does not meet a minimum blood quantum requirement.  Josiah is black, born in Haiti, and adopted into the Heiltsuk nation by his father, Don Wilson.

The media attention given to Josiah’s story is a good thing.  It is raising important questions about how Indigeneity in Canada is defined, by whom, and about whether adoption is valid grounds for Indigenous peoples to claim individuals as citizens of their nations.

However, while Josiah’s story seems to be challenging many of us to wrap our heads around inherent Heiltsuk law, it also presents us with another ‘teachable moment’: in each story I’ve read so far, the role of Indian status seems to emerge as the “real” proof that Josiah belongs as Heiltsuk.  This is ironic and potentially damaging.

Adoption stories provide us with an opportunity to think about inherent Indigenous citizenship orders on their own terms in two important ways.  First, they show us that such orders are not heterosexist in nature.  Blood quantum, after all, is a heterosexist concept: it demands that Indianness be reproduced exclusively through heterosexual parenting.  Adoption stories, therefore, show us that Indigenous citizenship orders include queer families in renewing Indigenous nations.

Second, adoption stories show us that families are the decision makers within inherent Indigenous citizenship orders.  Unlike under the Indian Act, where belonging is determined by the Indian band in a centralized manner, adoption stories show us that families decide who belongs in a decentralized sense.  This is important because it helps us to see that the authority to discern citizenship flows from Indigenous peoples’ own constitutional orders, not the Indian Act.  All of this is reflected in how Josiah’s family and community claim him in the media: he is a Heiltsuk citizen regardless of bloodline because he was adopted by a Heiltsuk family.  His father made this perfectly clear: “[Our children are] ours. We as the Heiltsuk Nation accept my son as one of us.”

Yet, in each story I’ve read over the past few days, Josiah’s “status card” slips into the discussion seemingly as a sort of authenticator.  While his status as an Indian under the Indian Act is an important fact, I worry that it is being used as the ultimate proof of Josiah’s belonging.  Its as if Heiltsuk citizenship law is not enough.

On one hand, including Josiah’s Indian status in this story is understandable.  Collectively, we are suffering from “status hangover” given that, for generations, Canada made membership in an Indian band based solely on Indian status.  Put simply, many now see Indian status as a pre-requisite to being Indigenous.

However, the over-emphasis of Josiah’s Indian status in the discussions about him being and belonging with Heiltsuk runs the risk of hiding the most important element of this story, namely, that Indigenous citizenship laws are alive and well.  Such laws do not need the recognition of Canada to be valid.

Ultimately, it is up to Indigneous nations themselves to determine who belongs with them.  As Josiah’s story clearly attests, Heiltsuk citizenship law has survived the assertion of Canadian sovereignty.  This needs to be emphasized not only because its clearly the source of law that claimed Josiah as Heiltsuk, but ultimately because it demonstrates that Indigenous peoples throughout Canada do not need to rely on Canadian laws to determine who belongs.

With this in mind, the pathway forward can be one of demanding Canada base resource allocations in accordance with Indigenous citizenship orders rather than the terminal concept of Indian status.

Reconciliatory Education: Mandatory Unsettlement

Today, the discussion about reconciliation reached a crescendo in Ottawa. There, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission released its final report detailing its findings from over six years of working with thousands of survivors of Canada’s Indian residential schools system.  But now the challenge for Canada and Canadians will be to avoid interpreting reconciliation in ways that don’t re-colonize Indigenous peoples. It may therefore be worth paying attention to how reconciliation is being defined, and how some are already planning to use it in the education system.

For its part, the TRC defines reconciliation in terms of action. It is the active rejection of “paternalistic and racist foundations” as the basis for an ongoing relationship between Indigenous nations and Canada. It has called for reconciliation to be a “new vision” based on a commitment to mutual respect. This new vision could be reached, notes the TRC, by mandating “education for reconciliation” in Canadian schools where students learn more about Indigenous peoples.

For others, reconciliation is the continuation of struggle. In a brilliant piece in The Globe and Mail, Hayden King and Erica Violet Lee note that reconciliation might best be understood as an on-going “conflict” where Indigenous peoples will demand the return of men, women, children, knowledge and land, and Canada will keep refusing. This approach inherently challenges a mode of reconciliation predicated on ‘turning the page of history’ – reclaiming is not about forgetting.

Elsewhere, Billy-Ray Belcourt writes that reconciliation is a “contradictory object.” Apropos: “[reconciliation] only wants to collect the good public emotions it needs to keep going, to push itself outside of History, to narrate a present bereft of legislated pain.”

To me, this framing is reminiscent of how s.35 of the Canadian Constitution has been “interpreted” to the benefit of the state. Likewise, there is a real risk that reconciliation could be used to solidify Canada’s control over Indigenous peoples; all that is needed is for the term to be interpreted in ways that do not challenge Canada’s settler colonial foundation. As Belcourt rightly observes, therefore, “a world reconciled is not necessarily a world decolonized.”

Tracing the definition of reconciliation over the coming months will be an on-going project, and one that will require Indigenous peoples’ voices pushing back against those who would like to define it in ways that reaffirm Canadian paternalism. Tracing this debate might become increasingly confusing. But one place where the tension over the definition of what reconciliation could mean is already evident is in how some universities are approaching mandatory Indigenous education.

Much has been said about making Indigenous studies courses mandatory at Canadian universities in recent months. In February of this year, Lakehead University announced that starting September 2016, all undergraduate students at that university will be required to take a course with Indigenous content. In November, the University of Winnipeg announced that it would be following suit.

But content and politics matter.

In an article published in The Globe and Mail on December 20th, 2015, Annette Trimbee and Wab Kinew write that the University of Winnipeg will provide undergraduates with a list of approved courses from which they can choose their mandatory Indigenous course. Students will select a course that “aligns with their degree program or one that piques their intellectual curiosity.” This is in keeping with the approach that Lakehead University is taking as well; for Trimbee and Kinew, this means that, for example, “business students will learn how to engage with indigenous communities,” thereby giving University of Winnipeg students a “competitive advantage.”

Thus, based on what I’ve read so far, both Lakehead University and the University of Winnipeg’s definition of reconciliation could be summed up  as “learning more about Indians.” Despite my open criticisms to this approach, I’ve not seen a statement by either university noting that said mandatory courses will actually challenge students’ complicity with settler colonialism and white supremacy.

As you might guess, I see this orientation as problematic. It is worth noting that the “learning about the other” approach has historically been used as a tool of colonialism around the world, in which Indigenous nations’ claims to their own lands have been “interpreted” in ways that justify the occupation of a dominating, foreign power. Given this, one could ask: Whose interests are centered when mandatory Indigenous education is defined as learning about “the other” rather than learning about how Canada remains a colonizer in the present?

I therefore wonder how useful it will be to Indigenous nations when students come knocking on their doors having taken a half-credit course about Indigenous culture(s) without also equipping these same students with an understanding about how their approaches might perpetuate a relationship where Canada justifies its regulation of Indigenous peoples, and their political and legal systems. Is this reconciliation? If it is, we have a problem. To paraphrase Billy-Ray Belcourt: a university reconciled will not necessarily be a university decolonized.

For mandatory Indigenous education to be actually reconciliatory in this historical moment, therefore, it must flip the lens and unsettle students’ complicities with settler colonialism, and it must do this in addition to teaching about Indigenous issues.

Only then can Canadians start finding concrete ways to give land back to Indigenous nations, which, to me, is the minimum starting point for what reconciliation should really be about.

Speaking Notes: Disrupting Safe Spaces 4 Racism in Thunder Bay

Waverley Library
Thunder Bay, ON
October 8, 2015
Twitter: @damienlee

Download the accompanying PowerPoint slides, here.

As many of you will recall, the James Street Swing Bridge burned the night of October 29, 2013.  This fire sparked off a very public dialogue about racism: news reports were generated,[1] public speaking events were held,[2] and high school classrooms took the opportunity to define what racism looks like in real and immediate terms.[3]  While racism no doubt existed in Thunder Bay before that night, the burning of the bridge was a watershed moment in our collective anti-racism discussions, not least of which because it forced the issue of racism out from under the bed and into the limelight.  Anti-Indigenous racism in Thunder Bay could not be ignored, no matter how people wanted to write it off.  While the politicians looked for the culprit or culprits responsible for the arson, social media was on fire with racist slurs meant to do one thing: to remind Anishinaabeg that they are not safe in Anishinaabe Aki, or the Ojibwe Homeland.

It is the element of safety in anti-racism discourse that I want to focus on today.  What made October 29th “watershed,” is not just the fact that the racism expressed was so extreme, nor just the fact that Thunder Bay and Fort William First Nation still have not fully recovered from it.  Rather, it was also that the burning of the bridge forced white people to see the type of violence Indigenous peoples in Thunder Bay face each day.  Even if invisible to others, it showed that Thunder Bay is not safe for Indigenous peoples precisely because they are told, in varying ways, that their presence here is at best, tolerated, and at worst targeted for removal.  In short, “safety” was revealed to be a tenuous concept, as it was so swiftly taken away by those who wanted to punish Fort William First Nation for just being an Indigenous community.

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Dolezal vs. Smith: Apples to Oranges?

As I sit down to write this, my social media feeds are rumbling with commentary on the links between Rachel Dolezal’s claims to being black, and Andrea Smith’s past claims to being Cherokee.  I’ve read over the past days several postings on this issue, including blogs written by Lynn Gehl, Dina Gilio-Whitaker, Erica Violet Lee, and one on the tequilasovereign blog.  I suppose the comparison between Smith and Dolezal was inevitable in the Indigenous studies community, where identity construction is a huge issue, and where fraudulent claims to being Indigenous is an even a bigger issue.  And rightfully so; as Erica pointed out this morning, there are too many white settler folks taking space and air-time away from Indigenous peoples and Indigenous women in particular.

It is because of this latter point that I have not added my two cents into the discussion about how Dolezal’s claims reverberate through Indigenous communities.  I have zero per cent Indian blood.  I’m phenotypically white.  Cis male.  And straight.  I mean, its nearly impossible for anyone to have less authority in this matter, at least in an ethical and decolonizing sense.

That said, I share this post now as someone who, despite my whiteness, my maleness, my heteroness, is also a citizen of the Anishinaabe nation through customary adoption.  I was adopted into Fort William First Nation as a toddler, two years before my white biological mother “married in” to the community.  Despite all of the above, I identify as Anishinaabe, and I am claimed as such by my community.  But as Tuck and Yang point out, my adoption should not be seen as a move to innocence: I am not so clueless as to think my adoption in and of itself destroys white supremacy, my whiteness (including how my thinking has been produced), or colonialism, nor does it absolve me from undermining whiteness and patriarchy in every single way that I can.  I share so much of my positionality because its important for you to know where I’m coming from – so that you can decide for yourself if what I’m about to say holds any water…

What I’ve found most interesting in the discussions about what implications Dolezal’s claims might have for Indigenous communities, is that Andrea Smith’s past claims to being Cherokee have come up at all.  In some ways it makes common sense to juxtapose Dolezal to Smith: both had made identity claims that were challenged and, to different degrees, retracted.  In this common sense approach, Smith’s story has become the lightning rod upon which we in the Indigenous studies community attempt to understand Dolezal’s story.

But by finding resonance for Dolezal’s story in this way, I wonder if we’re missing a nuanced point.  And that is: are we not conflating racialized identity with Indigenous citizenships?

My worry is that defaulting to comparing Smith to Dolezal demonstrates how much Indigenous identities have been racialized, and, more importantly, how we might be upholding such racialization.  The fact that Smith’s claims to Indigeneity have to somehow automatically be compared to Dolezal’s claims to blackness seems to betray something that many people are thinking but not saying, namely: that Indigeneity is always-only a race thing.  While there is no doubt that the Indigenous peoples are racialized as “Indians,” I don’t think Smith claimed to be a different race; she claimed to be Cherokee, which under many (though not all) Indigneous citizenship systems would be totally ok so long as the community/nation one is claiming to belong with claims her/him back.

I don’t know Andrea Smith personally.  So I cannot answer any of the questions currently swirling through the blogosphere about her original claims to being Cherokee (see blog links above), nor would I want to police her identity in any way.   But many brilliant scholars have pointed out that to belong with an Indigenous nation is not only a matter of biological descent.  Family-making practices renew a nation’s citizens in several ways, including through birth, but also through marriage and adoption (Don Auger-ba provides a good example of adoption and belonging, here).

In trying to understand Andrea Smith’s story, I can only draw on my own experience of being Anishinaabe through customary adoption.  And one of the key things I’ve learned is that the public at large often refuses to consider the possibility that one can belong with an Indigenous nation without some high quantum of Indian blood.  In other words, Indigeneity is racialized in the common sense.  Lost in this way of thinking are the Indigenous citizenship laws that operate on their own frequencies, often doing so with different ideas about what constitutes essentialized identity, which in turn often operate in ways beyond a narrow focus on blood line.  What often matters more, is whether a person is claimed by an Indigneous community/nation, whether they identify with that nation, and how they carry out their responsibilities to family, nation and land.

I believe that, as scholars, it is incumbent upon us to extricate our own blind spots in discussions meant to be decolonizing.  In the current discussions about Dolezal, it is important to be aware of how that story is one of whiteness appropriating racialized identity for its own goals, and how this differs from the issue and function of Indigenous citizenships.

On this note, I would argue that Erica has posed the most important question yet in the current Andrea Smith discussion.  She asks, “Will Andrea Smith be claimed by an Indigenous community (in whatever form that takes) in the days or years to come? Would it even make a difference now?” [Emphasis mine]  Indeed, would the Indigenous studies community be willing to see belonging beyond race if the Cherokee nation reached out to Andrea and claimed her as Cherokee?  Or would such claiming of a person, and the Indigenous citizenship order it would rest on, be obfuscated by the same racializing principles that cause us to automatically compare Smith to Dolezal?

Cindy Gladue: Aren’t We All Women?

Guest post by Jana-Rae Yerxa

How come we never have to think of ways to humanize whiteness?

I arrived at this question after not being able to sleep last night. Cindy Gladue is on my mind. She is in my thoughts. She is in my prayers. She is now in my heart.

I am filled with so many emotions. I am enraged by the fact that there is no justice for her. Enraged that Bradley Barton claims he did not murder Cindy and that she consented to rough sex with her alcohol level four times past the legal limit. Enraged because his peers believed him and declared he was not responsible for Cindy’s death. He is free while Cindy is dead. I am enraged, disgusted and saddened not only because the Canadian legal system failed tremendously in obtaining justice for Cindy, which I am not surprised by, but also in the way the system violated Cindy again by treating her body in such an undignified manner- preserving her pelvis as evidence to debate whether the 11cm wound to her vagina was consensual.

The lack of regard by the Canadian legal system’s handling of Cindy’s body signifies that even in death the grips of settler colonialism and the stigma and discrimination against women who work in the sex trade would not let go demanding further dehumanization of Cindy during the trial. Dehumanization of this Indigenous woman, of Cindy, placing her intimate body parts on display for debate as if she and her body were on on trial. I am saddened for her and her family. I am also saddened and scared for the rest of us as a society if we do not stand up against this injustice and dehumanization.

I am reminded of Patricia Monture’s truth telling words and how relevant they are for all of us at this time: “If rape occurs, if battering occurs, if any form of violence is present, all women are harmed and live with the knowledge that each of us is a potential victim.”

It is at this point where I again become angry and realize yet again that society at large did not see Cindy as human. Her indigeneity and her involvement in the sex trade do  not erase Cindy’s humanity despite attempts to do so by the structures of settler colonialism and its good friends- whiteness and heteropatriarchy.

It is also at this point where I feel compelled to list off all the reasons why Cindy is human. Her life mattered. She deserves justice. She was a woman. She was a mother. She was a daughter. She was a sister. She had a family that loved her and that she loved back. She had hopes. She had dreams. She was Indigenous. She was a sex worker.

Why do we always have to think about how to humanize non white humans? And how come we never have to think of ways to humanize whiteness when it behaves so inhumanely?

Rest in peace Cindy Gladue.

Jana-Rae Yerxa is Anishinaaabe Kwe from Couchiching First Nation located in Treaty 3 Territory. She is a graduate of the Indigenous Governance program at the University of Victoria. She can be found on Twitter: @janaraey

If I were Chief 

On Saturday, February 28, 2015, I was nominated for chief of my community, Fort William First Nation. 

If I were chief, this is what I would do:

1. I’d donate my seat to the Elders Council.  Meaning: I would develop a strategic two year plan with the Elders, then operationalize it from the chief’s seat. My words would be based on their vision. 

2. I’d donate 100% of my monthly honorarium to the Elders Council so they would have money to meet and make the decisions that give me direction (see point 1 above)

3. I would engage a critical education campaign that focuses on empowering our citizens with the tools they need to challenge the racism and colonialism that keeps them/us in poverty. 

4. Finally, I’d move all band council meetings out of the council chambers and into a less violent space, such as the community centre or youth center (with permission of those who use those spaces already, of course). 

Thats it.

Indian in a Jar?

Yesterday, Lakehead University announced that starting in 2016, all LU undergraduate students will be required to learn (something) about Indigenous peoples.  As reported by CBC Thunder Bay, this initiative is meant to ensure LU graduates have exposure to “significant indigenous [sic] knowledge,” and to develop basic understandings of treaties, and racism, among other issues.  The program is also meant to be flexible: exposure to Indigenous issues will be tailored to particular areas of study.  LU prides itself on being a school of and for the north, and so this programming could prepare non-Indigenous graduates for working in a northern Ontario reality, where Indigenous politics are enmeshed in everything.

In hearing this news, I was reminded immediately about something that happened in the Fort William First Nation sugar bush a few months ago.  I want to tell you about what happened there because it provides a backdrop against which I can assess yesterday’s announcement.

Settler Colonialism in the Sugar Bush

In the fall, my colleague – Gail Bannon – and I met with several Lakehead University students and their instructor in the sugar bush.  Several of us at FWFN have been working hard to revitalize our connection to inaantigag; after nearly three decades of not visiting, the bush is in need of some management to make it safer (identifying dead or near-dead trees that should be removed) and to optimize sap production for future generations.  We don’t necessarily have this knowledge “in-house,” so we did like any good Anishinaabeg would and reached out to those who had it – in this case, students from a department at Lakehead University.

But something happened that day that I think none of us have forgotten. Boundaries were broken, trust was put into question, and the colonialist sense of entitlement to Indigenous lands reared its head.

After not finding the students and instructor at the location we agreed to meet at, Gail and I decided to look for them in the sugar bush.  This is how our initial face-to-face meeting unfolded:

Me: Hi everyone.

Instructor: Hi there! How are you?

Me: Surprised. I’m surprised that you didn’t wait for us at the location we agreed to.

Instructor: Oh. I’m sorry, we must have get the meeting time wrong. So we just came up to look around and get started.

Me: The reason I’m surprised is that this place is important and sacred to us. Its not a place in which we want people poking around without a proper introduction, both to its history and connection to our community, but also to the trees themselves. You coming up here as you did today is representative of how colonialism works in the academy: you see yourselves as having a right to access Indigenous lands without representatives of Indigenous communities present.

Awkward silence.

Instructor: Is that something you work with? Colonialism?

Me: Colonialism is what my PhD studies are focused on ending, in one way or another. And one of the ways to end it is to establish good relationships with each other. Its about protocol. We invited you here because we want to establish a relationship with you and Lakehead University, because you have something we need. But we can’t do that without having a protocol in place.

Instructor: Oh, my apologies (he was sincere). I think developing a protocol is something we should do in phase two of this relationship.

Me: No. Establishing protocol and good relations comes before anything else. Nothing can happen here without it.

More was said, but we eventually got to the work that we had wanted to do that day.  And I am happy to report that our relationship with the students from the department at Lakehead University turned out well, with a very useful report being produced and given to us, and the relationship continues to unfold in positive ways.  But my point in telling this story is that regardless of our visitor’s intensions, what happened that day suggested to me that they had not been made aware by LU about how settler colonialism could work through them.  I think part of their surprise was a realization, however partial, that they could be (and were being) unwitting tools in upholding and expanding settler colonialism’s knowing of the Other.

Flipping the Lens

Earlier today, when I heard about Lakehead’s announcement, I wondered: If LU had instituted a mandatory Indigenous exposure policy, say, a decade ago, would it have changed what happened in the sugar bush that day last fall?  Maybe.  It might have, for example, made the students and instructor aware that the sugar bush is a sacred site, and that protocol is important. Maybe they would have waited for us at the agreed location.

But then I am also careful about projects that aim to learn more about the Other without substantive self-reflection being a core part of the process (and here I am talking about the Lakehead’s announcement). I believe that simply learning about Indigenous peoples isn’t enough to end colonial violence. This is because Canada and Thunder Bay are structured by settler colonialism and white supremacy. In this context, learning about Indigenous peoples is easy because it doesn’t question positions of power.

It is from this position, therefore – one of turning the lens back onto settlers in a settler colonial context – that I want to assess Lakehead’s news.

Indian in a Jar

My favourite piece of writing of 2014 was produced by my friend and fellow Anishinaabe scholar, Jana-Rae Yerxa.  Her powerful article, entitled Refuse to Live Quietly!, calls out so-called anti-colonial initiatives that can actually reproduce or protect colonialism in spaces of higher learning.  She writes:

I am tired of the ‘safe’ strategy that focuses on educating settler folks about an ‘Aboriginal experience,’ about ‘Aboriginal people’ and ‘Aboriginal history,’ instead of settler colonialism, white supremacy, and settler colonial violence.  I am tired of this safe strategy because it is not safe for me as an Anishinaabe Kwe. It is safe for settlers.  This is wrong because this type of educational approach is not only ineffective, it is also harmful.  It presents a guise of meaningful work, when the work needed – dismantling settler colonialism and ending settler colonial violence – is not actually being done.

This is an important critique to consider when assessing an initiative meant to expose all Lakehead University undergrads to Indigenous issues and knowledges on a mandatory basis.  Jana’s work here forces us to ask: Who’s comfort is being centered in such an initiative?

I have to admit at this point that I have not seen the project outline for what I am calling the Indigenous issues exposure initiative. All I have to work with here is the CBC Thunder Bay news article posted yesterday. But based on that, I question who’s comfort is being taken care of. For example, the article states that the teaching on Indigenous peoples/issues will be “tailored to each student.” My colleague representing the Office of Aboriginal Initiatives – Yolanda Wanakamik – explains that this tailoring might take the shape of foresters learning about treaties, or engineers destined for work in the north learning about “the culture of First Nations.”

However, as Jana’s work would suggest, this approach is safe for settlers. It allows settler undergraduate students to chose aspects of Indigenous peoples, issues, cultures, etc., that do not challenge their comfort zones. For example, learning about Indigenous “culture” in Canada is safe because it is often done through a framework of multiculturalism, where non-European worldviews, practices, art, laws and governance systems are decontextualized as “culture” that can be “tolerated.”  Looking at the Other in this way is different from learning about the “cannibal culture” of settler colonialism because settlers’ emotional, political, psychic and physical safety are given priority. Settler undergrads might therefore learn about treaties and culture, but this does not demand they undermine their own complicity in a settler colonial system that privileges straightness, whiteness, maleness, able-ness.

Tailoring Indigenous issues rather than turning the lens towards one’s complicity with settler colonialism presents a fractured picture.  In this critique, fracturing Indigenous realities into safe pieces of information commodifies lived Indigenous experiences of violence.  It renders these experiences, and Indigenous peoples’ resistances to them, into innocuous substances easily preserved like condiments that settlers can chose from as they walk down grocery store aisles thinking about what they want to digest on a given day. Lakehead University should avoid this “Indian in a jar” approach if it is serious about ending the foundational causes of colonial violence felt by Indigenous peoples.

Mandatory Indigenist Education

By contrast, what if exposure to Indigenous issues at LU took the shape of mandatory Indigenist education? Like Lakehead’s approach above, Indigenist theory centres Indigenous peoples’ worldviews, and the knowledges held by Indigenous women, children and the land. But it goes further: it is also consciously anti-colonial, and challenges the academy’s monopoly on what counts as knowledge. Importantly, because it is decidedly anti-colonial, it opens space for settler students to critically engage with their complicity with settler colonialism.

Key to achieving this would be a mandatory course (or more) focusing on the resurgences of Indigenous peoples worldviews and political orders. In these spaces, projects could depend on each student’s positionality: Indigenous students could focus on the resurgences of Indigenous laws, whereas settler students could complete projects concerned with ways in which settler colonialism has created the need for the resurgence of those same Indigenous laws.

Central to developing a mandatory anti-colonial course for all Lakehead undergrads – and one that does not commodify Indigenous struggles – would be ensuring students understand that just because racism and colonialism are being talked about does not mean the space is safe for everyone.  No doubt, this would be a process of unsettlement; much like what happened in my story about the sugar bush above, these unsettlements would create “teachable moments” where light is shone on the real problem of (un)knowingly upholding settler colonialism.  White students, for example, will be expected to embrace feelings of discomfort for having their colonial complicities discussed; such discomfort is integral to anti-racist/anti-colonial learning environments because it “promote[s] an honest dialogue about the need for the state and settlers to make amends to Indigenous peoples today,” as noted by Corntassel.

The great thing is, there are already university courses being offered that do just this. Lakehead’s own Department of Indigenous Learning offers INDI 2805 – Native Canadian World Views.  The University of Victoria’s Indigenous Governance program offers IGOV 520 – Indigenous Governance, among other relevant courses. If LU is serious about sending graduates into the world capable of ending colonial violence, then why not make courses like INDI 2805 and IGOV 520 mandatory for all students?

Full Circle

In reflecting on the above, I return to what happened in the sugar bush.  Had LU instituted an Indigenous learning initiative that required settler students to examine their own complicity with settler colonialism, I feel more confident in saying the students we met that day would have been aware of the power they had as young, white, male scholars; maybe they would have been more willing to undermine that power, and to allow us to introduce them properly to that piece of land. I think they would have been more ready to engage proper protocol.  And so, if Lakehead University wants to make things better for Indigenous peoples, it can play a key role by informing the majority of its students how to not reproduce the settler colonial power they have been given by a system no one tells them about.

Amendment: A previous version of this post included the name of the LU department mentioned in the section discussing the sugar bush above. The name was removed after a representative of said department contacted me with a request to protect its faculty.