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  • Why Indigenous-led Genomics Matters: Part II (ep 349)

    Why Indigenous-led Genomics Matters: Part II (ep 349)

    TRANSCRIPT

    Harp: Hello, I’m Rick Harp: from Winnipeg, this is MEDIA INDIGENA, episode 349.

    On this week’s roundtable: the second half of our special, live-on-location look at Indigenous-led genomics. Recorded at the Global Indigenous Leadership in Genomics symposium at UBC back in May, part one brought us the basics of genomics, how it differs from genetics, and how Indigenous genomics compare to those of the mainstream. This time around, some examples from Indigenous leaders in Australia and Aotearoa.

    But, just before we do, a quick moment of thanks to those who power this program, our patrons on Patreon, and that includes newer patrons like Tom, now pledging $1 to our work each and every month. And at $1.50 each, it’s Eduardo and Vincente. At $5, it’s Christina, and at $7.50, it’s Alyssa.

    100% Indigenous owned and operated, 100% audience supported, our program is 100% free to all. Help keep it that way. Learn more at mediaindigena.com/support.

    And just before things get underway, a quick reminder that we did have some issues with some people’s audio. We did our best to make it as audible as possible: we apologize for any inconvenience listeners may experience.

    Harp: Alright, welcome back to MEDIA INDIGENA, our special extended conversation happening at the Global Indigenous Leadership in Genomics symposium, here in unceded ancestral Musqueam territory on the campus of the University of British Columbia. I’m here with Kim Tallbear. We’re also pleased to be joined by a special guest, one of the attendees here from SING Australia, Amanda Richards-Satour. Is that correct?

    Richards-Satour: Correct.

    Harp: Okay, so welcome, Amanda. Glad to have you here. You know, as I asked Warren earlier, and Kim, what was the inciting incident, or what was the come-to-Jesus moment, so to speak, of genomics for you?

    Richards-Satour: So, I have only worked in the Indigenous genomics space for about 18 months.

    Harp: Wow. Literally. Okay.

    Richards-Satour: Very new. But I have a background in health research.

    Harp: Okay. Public health research? Or what type of health research…

    Richards-Satour: Indigenous health research, across sort of different jurisdictions, different areas, public health, health promotion, infectious disease. And genomics really was an area that I had heard about, but I didn’t know much about, and so I thought I’d really like to learn.

    Harp: Okay. Were you sympathetic to me saying, ‘What is genomics?’ Was that where you started as well?

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, I did. I did. And I’m still probably at that a little bit. I’m working in it every day now, but I think that the questions that I have, and the I guess weighing of the risks and benefit, a lot of my community are at that place, too.

    Harp: Okay.

    Richards-Satour: So I feel like I have a place to be.

    Harp: Okay. And what community is that?

    Richards-Satour: So I’m Adnyamathanha and Barngarla, which are two groups in what’s now called South Australia.

    Harp: Okay. And so, you are primarily concerned with genomics from a health perspective, like, intertwine your two areas of interest.

    Richards-Satour: Yes, from a health perspective. So the team that I work in is an Indigenous genomics research team based in Adelaide. It’s called the Black Ochre Data Labs. And we’re looking at health and genomics, a lot of our work’s around diabetes in Aboriginal people in South Australia. And that work’s been going for a few years now.

    Harp: Diabetes is a very fraught topic, isn’t it?

    Richards-Satour: I think it’s still very new, the science, and understanding it; in our team, anyway, it’s very new. The research is led by Professor Alex Brown, who is an amazing Indigenous researcher in Australia.

    And I think how the question sort of came about was our community just asking ‘Why do we have so much diabetes?’ And not only diabetes, but the health outcomes associated with that: very high rates of kidney disease, amputations, cardiovascular disease. Is there something that we’re missing in the picture? Because we all hear the message around the food that we’re eating, but is there something else going on that we haven’t been able to really shine our light on?

    Harp: Alright, and what is your role in there? What kinds of things do you get to do?

    Richards-Satour: So, I’m more sort of the scientific researcher, I am a community engagement coordinator. I am really the bridge between the community and the researchers. So, our team, primarily biomathematicians, statisticians, so lots of people with very specific learning in their areas, and I’m really there to make sure that they understand our communities and also what our communities are asking of the researchers. And also, I think, genomics as a whole, like asking those questions like, What’s it going to be used for? or, Will this benefit our community? Those sort of questions that we don’t need to have any sort of university degree to understand, but our communities need to know.

    Harp: Is there a moment you can think of where you realize you’re super well situated to help the out-of-community, the external researchers better understand your community…

    Richards-Satour: I think, working in research for a while with non-Indigenous researchers, but also, so my health background is, I’m a medical school dropout, so I had three years of that sort of experience, so understanding a little bit of the biomedical side, but then also understanding my community and my ancestors and my responsibilities.

    Harp: So when did SING Australia come into being? You said it was SING USA first, Kim? And then SING Canada…?

    Kim TallBear: No, it was SING US first in 2011. I think it’s SING Aotearoa in 2016, Canada 2018, Australia 2019. And then we’ve got a couple other newer ones.

    Harp: Okay. Do you have questions about Amanda’s work?

    TallBear: I mean, it sounds very consistent with the kind of ethos that we have, it’s the professionalization of our ethos of working with communities. Yeah, that’s fantastic. And so, it’s an Indigenous-controlled research project. And, forgive me if you already said this, is it an Indigenous-controlled institution?

    Richards-Satour: The institution is not, but the research is Indigenous controlled. We’ve got an Indigenous Governance Council overseeing the research and the data that’s coming out of it. But it is also part of a larger piece in Australia, a part of what they call the Australian Alliance for Indigenous Genomics, or ALIGN, which has Indigenous governance across Australia about any sort of research benefit for Indigenous people in Australia.

    Harp: Is the intent to share the results, maybe create a larger picture of diabetes among Indigenous peoples in Australia?

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, I think that’s the intent, to share and to really have those sort of questions, answers from all over the continent, from all the different communities. We are very different from each other. There’s been a recent article in Nature about the differences between Aboriginal communities in Australia. Genetically, we’re very different from each other, but there are a lot of similarities. And Indigenous people have been in Australia for at least 65,000 years, a very ancient population, as in, we’ve been deep time in Australia, so we’ve got a very specific story to tell about our genes in our place.

    We’ve been in our countries for thousands of years. Even within my community, we have stories of animals that have been extinct for 40,000 years. So we’ve been there at least that long. So, our genes in our place is something that’s really specific to our communities. There are learnings for all communities, but it really needs to be led by all the different communities.

    Harp: I’m reminded of the incredible linguistic diversity. Do those kind of map over each other, in a sense, the genetic and linguistic distinctiveness?

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, they do. I think the recent paper really showed that there are that sort of flow of languages around Australia, links in with the genetic information that they have.

    Harp: Ballpark, how many are there, not to put you on the spot, languages?

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, 300.

    Harp: Okay.

    Richards-Satour: There were probably about 400 at the time of invasion. But a little bit less now, but still very distinct groups.

    Harp: Canada, depending on how you count, you know what I mean, how specific you go, it’s around 60, sixty-plus.

    TallBear: I did have a question. I’m also just so in awe of, you know, the ancient stories that you have, right. And I remember a certain National Geographic Explorer said at one point, ‘Oh, it’s 6,000 miles of open ocean: how did they get there? It’s just such a mystery.’ I’m like, dude, you need to read something about Indigenous navigation. And, you know, they can’t believe it, right? Because they had to be the first people to do things. So it’s just, you know, the disbelief and the inability of settler scientists to wrap their mind around the people in Australia.

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, I think the understanding of deep time in Australia is very difficult for non-Aboriginal people. We understand it, we know it, and we know what our ancestors told us. And it’s really interesting to know that our stories—they tried to say that, you know, these were ‘myths’ made up, but as they’ve come around again, like it’s saying, you know, they were true stories. ‘The animals that your stories told you about, they did exist in this area and they were like your ancestors told you.’ So we always knew. So, the western science is not that important to our communities because we always knew that. But having that validate to protect our country and our people, that’s important.

    Harp: So besides being part of this podcast, what’s been your favorite aspect of being here at the global symposium?

    [laughter]

    Richards-Satour: I think just meeting everyone, being in this beautiful country; like, it’s very different from where I’m from. I’ve only ever seen snow in other places, I’ve never really seen it at all in South Australia. And just meeting everyone, hearing the different stories that people have to share about their communities, that’s been really empowering.

    Harp: What did you hope to bring, and what will you most take away from, here at the Global Indigenous Leadership in Genomics symposium?

    Richards-Satour: I guess to bring, I think, that all Indigenous people who are interested in this, have a space at these sort of forums, and that we don’t necessarily have to be ashamed of not having any sort of degree or having that sort of validation from the colonial institutions. But what I like to sort of take away is having an understanding of what’s happening for Indigenous people across the world, and how we are asserting our rights and our sovereignty across these colonial spaces.

    Harp: You know, the word Indigenous can be very useful as a contrast with Western science or the mainstream, but can also be quite flattening; ’cause you just made the point, right, Indigeneity within what is currently called Australia, there’s a great deal of diversity. Even though we’re all very different, Aotearoa, Australia, and Canada all share something in common, right—colonization from a certain part of the world. So it’s difficult, but at the same time, it gives us these touch points, too, of commonality, which is my favorite word of yours, is that’s the colonial predicament.

    TallBear: Yeah, no, and we had a visioning session a couple days ago, and we saw that we have, even though our cultures are really different in our landscapes and languages, we do have, I think, a lot of similarities that probably are the result of having these place-based peoplehoods, or ethical similarities, right. Again, very different languages and relationships with place and all of that. And those are the good things we have in common.

    The other things we have in common are the experience with the colonizer: so we can relate to each other’s residential school stories, stories of having children scooped, stories of having unethical medical research. I mean, we’ve all experienced those things. And so, those commonalities also drive our engagement with this field, as well as our commonalities in terms of our place-based values and commitments. So it’s been very positive conversations, even when we have the difficult conversations and share the stories of colonialism.

    Richards-Satour: Yeah, I agree. The difficult conversations that are similar are easier to have with Indigenous people from other places, rather than white researchers in Australia. Trying to have those conversations can be really difficult and really traumatising. I know for my own family, my great-grandfather, there’s a card with all his data held in the museum, and it’s got all his measurements. They measured the length of his ears, the breadth of his nose, all these measurements. And so, that was data taken from him, and that is still in a colonial institution. And being able to share those sort of understandings with Indigenous people in Canada, across the world, is much easier than trying to talk about it to non-Indigenous people in Australia.

    Harp: And I assume part of your work right now, data sovereignty is baked into the relationship with the researchers.

    Richards-Satour: Yes. And bringing them on that journey of understanding of, this is not a new space for us to be in— having our data collected—but how can we do it in a new way that is controlled by our people?

    Harp: Amanda Richards-Satour, thank you so much for making time for us today.

    TallBear: Thank you.

    Harp: Let’s give her a hand here.

    [applause]

    Harp: Alright, Phil Wilcox, come onnn downnnn! You’re the next…. no. [laughs] Which one was that? That was The Price is Right?

    TallBear: Yeah, that was The Price is Right.

    Harp: Okay. Alright. Well, Kim, I asked you to recruit different folks to come and appear on the show.

    TallBear: Phil has been a part of our Global SING consortium organizing team for this meeting, and from, probably, SING Aotearoa since the beginning.

    Harp: Okay.

    TallBear: Yeah. He’s a well known figure in our consortium.

    Harp: Alright. Well, Philip, welcome to MEDIA INDIGENA, thanks for making time. So when did genomics cross your path in the way that has now led you here? Like, when did you pivot into genomics?

    Phillip Wilcox: Going back to the 1980s now, late 1980s, I was working in a forestry research institution, doing work essentially evaluating the impacts of a breeding program for one of our plantation tree species. I got interested in how breeding actually worked in a modern context, and the paper came out in a journal called Science. Basically, it was using genomic technologies to dissect the variation, that continuous variation, that you observe in populations into the specific components in the genome. I was interested in how those technologies could actually be used in an applied [inaudible] context.

    From there, I went off to Carolina State University, did a PhD. I worked on an Indigenous species to the United States—or what is now the United States—a disease called fusiform rust, which, at that stage, was considered the most commercially important pathogen or disease of implantation.

    Harp: So I hesitate to use the word ‘fire’ when talking about forestation, but what lit the fire under you in terms of the utility of genomics? The world it opened up for you in terms of your involvement?

    Wilcox: This new technology had offered new paths, and new ways of doing things that was not possible previous to that. So, in that particular context, we could predict, based off on my work, my PhD work, we could predict at a seedling stage, what level of resistance to this pathogen that particular seedling would have. And that could be used, if it had the high levels of resistance, it could be used in the breeding program, or out in the forest.

    Harp: Okay.

    Wilcox: I finished in 1995. Around that time, there were all these new gene technologies that were coming on board. Alongside of that was the genetic modification technologies beginning to roll out in the laboratory. And there were new challenges, though. There were ethical challenges, and spiritual, and, I guess, social challenges associated.

    Harp: Such as?

    Wilcox: So, from a Māori perspective, um—this is not a swear word—we have this term ‘whakapapa.’ And that refers to our genealogy, that refers to the stories that come from our ancestors. It’s a metaphor for creation, and it talks about the connections among people, in between people, and other animate life forms, as well as between animate and non-animate.

    And so when we talk, you know, at the time I was doing a PhD, I was doing a course at Cold Spring Harbor, which is kind of the home of genetics, considered the home of Western genetics. And there were some early results coming out from a sequencing program saying, hey, there’s this high level of conservation between very, very distant species. We talked about in a previous interview, with 40% of all DNA in humans is what we find in dandelions, right? And so this was kind of, like, the scientists were going ‘Wow!’, but from our perspective, it was entirely expected. This was nothing new.

    Harp: Okay.

    Wilcox: We share a common whakapapa. And that understanding is a core tenet of who and what we are in terms of being able to define yourself as Māori: one of the core elements of that is having a Māori ancestor. So we have a Māori whakapapa. So that’s part of our identity. And so that’s embedded in our DNA, literally embedded in our DNA.

    TallBear: Your whakapapa is embedded in your DNA, yeah.

    Wilcox: And so, because it’s a core concept for us, it’s a taonga: it’s something of value, it’s something that needs to be, it’s, if you will, [inaudible], that’s restricted. It is something that needs to be treated appropriately, through an appropriate ethical framework. And our ethical framework, we call tikanga.

    Harp: Have you been able to bring Pākehā scientists over to this worldview?

    Wilcox: Yes. I lead work on a couple of projects. My co-leaders are not Indigenous, but they made it quite clear that tikanga is the framework that we will conduct the projects within. And that was non-negotiable. And they accepted that; there’s no problem from their perspective.

    But what we do, but I go to some genetic spaces, other spaces of genetics research and application, there are places and spaces where Pākehā don’t wish to engage with tikanga, or have tikanga inform their practice. So, some do, in being a good ally, and also delivering the outcomes, many of them actually want to deliver health outcomes for our community. So now in health studies, they’re happy to have Māori tell them, ‘This is the way that we want it delivered.’ And they’re like, ‘Okay, fine, we’re good with that.’

    But on the other hand, there’s probably a larger proportion—particularly in the environmental sciences, I found, where I come from—who don’t wish to engage with tikanga. Because it threatens their professional, the norms of their praxis. And so that means putting information about Indigenous species into the public domain, working with other non-Indigenous scientists around the world. And operating in a manner that’s about delivering outcomes for them personally, for their professions, and about getting in publications, and about doing things in a manner that we typically see amongst Western scientists, publishing in [inaudible] journals and things like that, without actually acknowledging that [inaudible] if it’s an Indigenous species, we typically have had a relationship with that species.

    And even if we haven’t had a relationship with that species, like a bacteria or virus, we’re still a dynamic people. We still wish to have, and believe we have a right to have, a relationship with that species going forward. And that’s part and parcel of who we are. And so, as mana whenua, tangata whenua, the first people of that land, we have a treaty with the government. And the government says, well, all taonga should be in the hands of Māori. So, our taonga are our DNA sequences, and our DNA sequences, not just of our tangata Māori people, but also our Indigenous biota as well.

    And the Indigenous biota one is really quite contentious. We have new technologies now: eDNA. Grab a sample of air or food or every known piece of life form that we have…

    Harp: That’s environmental DNA, eDNA. Okay.

    Wilcox: … and sequence the hell out of everything that’s in there. And then, those that are not yet known as well: there’s a whole bunch of new species being discovered in Antarctic trenches. My colleagues went down, took about a six-week trip down, to Antarctic and trawled deepwater species. So they found a whole bunch of new species. So that DNA information’s generated somehow and will be utilized in some manner, shape, or form, even if it’s just depositing in a database somewhere.

    Harp: So, did I hear you correctly in referencing rights to access, control, sovereignty, fall under the treaty relationship, the Treaty of Waitangi relationship, as far as Māori are concerned, I don’t know about the other side, but…

    Wilcox: That’s my interpretation. I haven’t had any specialists in treaty jurisprudence come up and say I’m wrong.

    Harp: We had a fascinating discussion on the podcast about Māori rights to 5G. They felt that that was a treasure, right.

    Wilcox: Totally.

    Harp: And so why not this, too? It seems to logically extend.

    Wilcox: We signed a treaty. So that means that things that are not yet discovered, there’s a partnership relationship. It’s just like a marriage. If either myself or my partner inherit some money, or get some resources, something that we all [inaudible] or resource. It’s something that we share. And that contractual relationship, if you like, that’s the marriage, talks about that sharing.

    Harp: Ok, we talk a lot about non-monogamy.

    TallBear: Take marriage seriously!

    Wilcox: [inaudible] party agreements.

    Harp: Oh, there you go. Okay. It’s consent based.

    Wilcox: Yes, it’s consent-based. And so that’s the basis of our expectation.

    Harp: And it’s just interesting how the expansive, living view of the treaty—nobody necessarily articulated it at the time—but it was a genomics treaty, among many things, at the time. That’s a living idea of what a treaty is.

    Wilcox: Totally. You know, genomics, really, is whakapapa, and it doesn’t really matter—we have practices like mōteatea waiata, you know, these markings, that is, practices of how we transfer the knowledge of whakapapa from one generation to the next. So it’s just another form, it’s just another codification form—really, not fundamentally different to the markings that we put on ourselves, and on our carvings.

    Harp: So why don’t we conclude with a similar question I posed to Amanda. You’ve been involved with SING for a long time: what keeps you coming back?

    Wilcox: Oh, this is my passion space. I believe that gene technologies have emancipatory potential for our peoples, and our peoples have been heavily, heavily, very negatively impacted by colonisation: the loss of land, language, legal systems, education systems, lives. How do we reverse that? Gene technologies offer a path for reversing those negative outcomes. And can the tools of the Pākehā be actually used—as they have been in the past—by our people, for the benefit of our people?

    When I say having used in the past, going back to Māori in 1850s, had adapted European crops, a lot of European tools,  and farm animals, to increase agricultural productivity. And before we lost that land, our tribes became richer because of that, not just economically, but also spiritually, as well as other forms of wealth. Our ancestors were exporting goods to Australia. It was Māori who established New Zealand, what we now know as New Zealand, as an agricultural nation, it wasn’t Pākehā. So, these new tools provide us with an opportunity to reclaim that space, and try and do whatever we can to contribute to that reversal of those negative outcomes. Whether or not that happens, we’ve yet to see that. But that’s my passion space.

    And also, I think of our SING network around the world. There’s not just shared experience, but there’s also shared ancestries. So [SING] Micronesia starting up, Micronesians and Māori have shared ancestry. There’s shared ancestry back into this country. Now, oral histories, some of our ancestors were Native Americans. So, we interacted. How? Well, probably through Polynesians journeying over the ocean—as they did, because that’s how they got to New Zealand—all the way across the United States, or what’s now the United States, to countries in south and Central America as well. I’ve heard stories that the Haida people interacted with Polynesian navigators, but I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I see some similarities in their architectures.

    So there is the shared experience, but there’s also shared ancestry. So the SING, we’re family: the SING network is family. So, being able to interact both within our country, amongst ourselves, with other [inaudible] Māori as well as [inaudible] Māori and all of our Indigenous brothers and sisters around the world is an awesome, awesome experience.

    When we come into this space, we don’t have to change who we are. We don’t have to compromise who we are. We don’t have to leave our Indigeneity at the door: we don’t have to leave our science at the door, either. So that we can actually come and have the conversations as who we are, as whole individuals.

    Harp: Phil Wilcox, thank you so much.

    TallBear: Thanks, Phil.

    [applause]

    Harp: All right, Candis, pull up a chair. Candis, I was hoping you could kind of… what did you call it? Not a respondent role, or what’s the…?

    Candis Callison: Respondent. Discussant.

    Harp: Discussant. You kind of lurk in the background, and then you just sum it all up. I mean, I’d like to hear your closing thoughts, too, Kim, about what it’s been like to be part of this.

    TallBear: Well, I mean, it’s been great, you know, and this is only the second SING Global meeting. They had the first one in Aotearoa in 2020, January, right before the pandemic hit.

    Harp: Wow.

    TallBear: Yeah. And I didn’t, wasn’t able to go to that one, but that was the first one. And they sort of set the model for doing this. And we decided, since we sort of firmed up our funding and our faculty in SING Canada in the last couple years, that we had the capacity to host. And it’s still been a huge undertaking. But it’s been great to see everybody come up here. And of course, the weather in Vancouver has been incredible this week. Thank god.

    I was really struck—I hadn’t quite heard Phil put it that way. I mean, I’m familiar with a lot of Māori terms, having been down there and working with Māori people, you know, in this kind of consortium. But I hadn’t quite understood that whakapapa is not only about human genealogy, but it’s about an origin story, and it’s about the genealogy among non-human ancestors as well, both non-human organisms and what we would call in English, spirits or celestial bodies, right.

    So that’s been really fascinating to me, and it really is a very expansive notion that maps onto, I think, a lot of Indigenous peoples’ sense of we are related to everything. And I was really struck by the beauty of his description, and then thinking about how wrong European culture has got it since they started dividing the world into species and hierarchies, and how much science is inherited from religion in terms of this hierarchy of life. Of course, we’re not surprised that we’re related to daffodils.

    [laughter]

    But anyway, his description of whakapapa was beautiful, and I really appreciated his kind of accounts of the way that genomics intersects with their traditional way of looking at the world.

    Harp: Is this global symposium going to happen every year or every two years, or is it you kind of do it as you can?

    TallBear: It’s too big to do every year. And each country has its own workshop, its own summer workshop. So we each do a one-week workshop in our own country, bringing in community members and young Indigenous people. And so the global meeting, yeah, it happened in 2020, and then the pandemic happened. I mean, I think even doing it every two years would be a stretch, but it depends on the kinds of funding.

    We’re going to have a meeting on Friday, a debrief from this symposium, and think about further avenues for global cooperation, and some of that being funding. So I think if we could get the funding in place, and the human resource capacity in place, and we had the staff people, we could think about maybe doing it every couple of years. But, yeah, right now, it’s a big undertaking for one host country.

    Harp: Candis, your thoughts, hearing all you’ve heard today?

    Callison: Yeah, I mean, out here on the west coast, coming from Hul’q’umi’num’ speaking people, like, hands up to you guys for establishing this. It’s been really remarkable.

    I guess the question I had even just coming into this recording is, what does sovereignty look like in this space? Look like in communities, enact sovereignty, how does SING support that? And I think this podcast really answers that in powerful ways, right. When Warren talked about how Indigenous communities are being sidelined and impacted, right. That, to me, says it all right there about why Indigenous people need to be in this space and need to be thinking both with what is coming out of science and doing science, right. I think that’s really a big, powerful part of the intervention that SING is, and that it supports.

    I also was really struck by, I think, just what Kim was saying, like, Phil was talking about whakapapa and the ways in which genomics is really about the broader health and broader connections. And then Amanda brings in deep time. And I was like, ‘Okay, wow—that feeling you get when you’re on your traditional territory, of being connected to your ancestors, we can point to places that are named for our ancestors, right. And you have this strong sense of connection, and to me, this is what we’ve been talking around and about, right, in all of these conversations.

    Harp: Hence the power of restoring those names. It just seems like an administrative find-and-replace, but it’s actually pretty profound.

    Callison: Yeah, really profound, right. It says so much about our deep connections to place, but also to, you know, thinking of our—what did Warren say? He said all our extended relatives, right. Like, genomics sort of captures that, and yet that’s not at all reflected in the sort of public media discourse about genomics, right. You don’t hear this kind of conversation.

    Harp: Something I wanted to bring up with Phil, the ethos, the ethics, around how Indigenous genomicists approach invasive species. (And I’m not talking about settlers.) Because, here are new species that have come in and taken root, quite literally, right? And so, does a Māori genomics only concern itself with Indigenous flora, or, does it have the right to say, ‘We’re gonna deal with this tree’… however they might deal with it?

    TallBear: Yeah, I mean, I would suspect, given what he said about ongoing dynamism, right, and we have the right to engage with—like, he was talking about viruses, right—and of course they were there, but, we have the right to engage. I would suspect they would say, ‘Well, they’re here, and we’re going to engage with them.’ And, you know, some ‘invasive species’ have been better relatives than others…

    Harp: Yeah. There you go.

    TallBear: You know, so we don’t want to class them all as ‘non-Indigenous, therefore…’ you know.

    Harp: Yes.

    TallBear: And that applies to humans too.

    [laughter]

    Callison: I’m also really struck by just how, you know, the conversation in the nineties was about a new form of colonial appropriation of our wealth. And really, also, you clearly said, this is about wanting our wealth back. And you hear it in Phil’s conversation as well, right? That it’s about the emancipatory potential of gene technology. It’s really thinking about the ways in which Indigenous people are not only connected to our environments, but connected to these economies.

    Harp: And, well, just to build on that, is it common wealth or is it proprietary wealth?

    Callison: Yeah, to me, what I hear in all of these conversations is that it has to be communal wealth. We have to begin to think anew about what role communities play, and I think they must play.

    TallBear: I’m sure, I mean, we have, you know, Indigenous capitalists who would talk about the role of private wealth in building up the community too; I’m sure we could get them on to have that conversation.

    [laughter]

    Harp: Final thoughts, Kim.

    TallBear: Oh, no, just this is great. It’s been a good week. This is, I think, a bigger meeting than we’ve had before. The first two days were SING alumni. So, participants from our summer programs from around the world, many of them university students, post-docs, you know, younger scientists, they gave these five-minute, modeled on TED talks. We saw a couple dozen of them over two days, and they were so… I had to stop myself crying a couple times, you know, just to see them be so excited about their research, and having similar kinds of conversations as we were having about the role of science, both in colonialism and in resisting colonialism.

    And so it’s been very affirming, and I know that they bond, they bond at these meetings. Some of the cohorts from the different years are getting together again, hanging out. This is the point of SING: you can only do so much science in a week. They are building lifelong personal and professional networks among Indigenous thinkers, scientists, people who want to do bioethics, science policy, people doing that community institution brokering, like Amanda was doing. It’s so great for them.

    Harp: So a 13-year-old budding scientist, genomicist, hears this: where do they go?

    TallBear: 18 years old. So you have to be at least 18, at least in our program, to join SING Canada.

    You do not have to be in university. We have a lot of university students, undergrads, grad students, but we have people from community as well. So, say somebody has done a summer internship for their tribe or their nation, doing conservation or something, you know, just some internship. Maybe it was paid or not, and they’ve never been to university, but they’re interested in the science. They could apply. Or somebody who’s a sci-fi kid, you know, and who’s really interested, they could apply.

    We, just, our age is eighteen, and we do in Canada, I can’t speak for all the other countries, but in Canada, we do want to know your Indigenous affiliation. You don’t have to have Indian Status, you don’t have to have band membership, but if you don’t have those things, we’ll ask, right. We want to know who you’re related to and affiliated with.

    Harp: All right, I want to thank Kim, and to everyone at SING Canada, and to the symposium, the consortium, for squeezing us in. This got pulled together, this podcast, at the very last second.

    Candis, thanks to you, the School of Public Policy and Global Affairs, Global Journalism Innovation Lab. I want to thank Isea and Jasper at CITR, they really came through for the technical side of things.

    Kim TallBear, Candis Callison, Phil, Amanda, Warren. Thanks to everyone. This has been amazing.

    TallBear: Thank you.

    [applause]

    Harp: And that’s it for MEDIA INDIGENA, episode 349, recorded live on location May 9 at the University of British Columbia, situated on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Musqueam Nation.

    Thanks again to everyone who joined me this episode, including: Kim TallBear, professor in the faculty of Native Studies at the University of Alberta and the Canada Research Chair in Indigenous Peoples, Technoscience and Society; Candis Callison, associate professor in the Institute for Critical Indigenous Studies and the School for Public Policy and Global affairs at the University of British Columbia; Amanda Richards-Satour, community engagement coordinator with the Australian Alliance for Indigenous Genomics; and Philip Wilcox, associate professor of mathematics and statistics at the University of Otago.

    And of course, renewed gratitude to UBC’s School for Public Policy and Global Affairs, the Global Journalism Innovation Lab, as well as SING Canada for making this live event possible.

    And just before I sign off, a quick note to say our next episode begins our Summer Series for 2024, a collection of compilations drawn from our deep archive. Spanning some 8 hours in all, it’s a chance to experience fresh ears on classic content.

    Alright, listener, time to truly start my summer. Note that I will be popping into our supporter-only Discord from time to time, so come say hello. Meantime, be well and stay cool. Ekosi.

    Our theme is nesting by Birocratic.

  • Why Indigenous-led Genomics Matters: Part I (ep 348)

    Why Indigenous-led Genomics Matters: Part I (ep 348)

    TRANSCRIPT

    Hey there, MEDIA INDIGENA listener, a quick, upfront technical note about this episode. There’s an issue with the original on-site recording: one of the speakers is, well, not quite like the others, in that they sound somewhat further off the mic. Happens to the best of us, it is what it is. But we regret the glitch, and hope it doesn’t diminish your appreciation of what’s to come.

    Rick Harp: Hello, I’m Rick Harp, live from the main campus of the University of British Columbia, in the heart of ancestral unceded Musqueam territory, this is MEDIA INDIGENA!

    [applause]

    And we’re here as part of the Global Indigenous Leadership in Genomics symposium, featuring participants from the Americas, Aotearoa, and Australia, and beyond.

    And just what is genomics, you ask? In what ways might Indigenous genomics differ from its mainstream counterpart? And, why is it important they be Indigenous-led? Answers to those questions and more on this special live edition of MEDIA INDIGENA!

    [applause]

    Alright. Sharing the stage with me here off the top are two panelists: the first, a voice familiar not just to regular listeners of the podcast, but no doubt to many of the ‘SINGers’ here in the audience. Is that what we call them, SINGers?

    Kim TallBear: That’s okay: ‘SINGers,’ yeah.

    Harp: Yeah, okay. Genomic karaoke’s a thing?

    TallBear: Let’s hope not.

    Harp: Please give a big Global Symposium round of applause to University of Alberta Native Studies professor, and SING Canada co-founder, Kim TallBear!

    [applause]

    And allow me to introduce the other co-panelist for the first half of today’s discussion, UBC assistant professor of forest and conservation sciences, and SING faculty member, Warren Cardinal-McTeague!

    [applause]

    Now, over the course of our extended conversation, we’ll meet other people here at this week’s event, to learn more about the diversity of applications and implications of Indigenous-led genomics across the globe. But first, Kim and Warren, for those people like me—and I’m sure lots of people listening right now, who are not all that well-versed in genomics—can you first firm up what it is?

    I’ve heard of genetics: how does genomics differ and relate? Warren, I think you were volunteered to do this.

    Warren Cardinal-McTeague: So I would describe the study of genetics and genomics as concerning the study of DNA, where you could think of genetics as individual genes, and how they change with mutations and so forth, whereas genomics is on the much broader scale concerning almost all the DNA in the cell.

    Harp: Wow. Okay.

    TallBear: So I have a question for Warren, then, kind of on the behalf of the audience. So, would you say that genomics is more multidisciplinary, and requires scientists and scholars trained in more areas than a genetic study.

    Cardinal-McTeague: You know, off the top of my head, I would say no. I would say both could be addressed in this way. I would say, for me, the difference is a matter of scale, where genetics might be on an individual gene or multiple genes, sort of on the scale of one to five, for example, whereas genomics could be on the scale of like millions and billions of base pairs of DNA. So it’s quite larger scale.

    Harp: So could we say, as a forest is to a tree, genomics are to a gene?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Yeah, I think that would work.

    Harp: Wanted to keep it in your wheelhouse. And could it also be the case that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts? Like, you’re looking at genomics at a systemic level, systemic considerations, broader considerations?

    Cardinal-McTeague: I would say genomics, well, and this is where I probably, so I’m trained from a Western background, and so this is probably where my sort of science training is probably kicking in, into, like, far too many close details. But I say you could probably do more, say, if you have genomic data, you can do much more, let’s say one sample on a genomic scale. So there are broader implications. Whereas if you’re looking at a gene, you might be focused on, you know, a very narrow set of impacts within the body or within the cell. Genomics is much more data, has far greater implications, you know, how it’s used or potentially misused.

    Harp: Okay. All right. Now, do you ever find that people—again, this is for the layperson, right? I’m the proxy here—do you ever find people confuse genomics with either epigenetics or, god forbid, eugenics?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Oh, goodness.

    [laughter]

    Um, actually, most people kind of look back and say, ‘What is genomics?’ They just, they don’t even have the misconception. So we do try to drive back to, you know, being concerned about DNA, and then from there we can expand into these other realms.

    Harp: How about you, Kim? Do you find that people are just sort of, ‘Huh?,’ and confuse all these different terms?

    TallBear: No, I would say, you know, especially in Indigenous communities, people have heard the word epigenetics often. Because they seem to have a basic understanding that it’s about the interactions of genetics and the environment. And we’re really interested in that, because we know, even if we’re not highly formally educated, we tend to know in community that a lot of the health concerns that really impact our communities are really a result of colonization, not just our ‘deviant bodies,’ like scientists like to represent it.

    And then eugenics, I do feel like people tend to know that’s racist science. But I agree with Warren, genomics maybe not any idea at all.

    Harp: Okay.

    TallBear: Yeah.

    Harp: Alright. So, whose genes are we talking about exactly here? Like, which relatives?

    TallBear: At this meeting?

    Harp: Genomics, when we talk about genomics: I’m still in that container.

    TallBear: Oh, it could be any organism in the world, right?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Yeah, there, DNA is in most living—well, all living organisms, not ‘most.’

    [laughter]

    Harp: Depends who we’re talking about.

    Cardinal-McTeague: It’s talking about, say, all of our extended relatives. So it’s in plants, it’s in animals, it’s in people, it’s in bacteria, it’s in fungi, it’s in most things. It also exists, not necessarily DNA, but the study of viruses also includes this type of data that we’re thinking about. So it really includes most things that we would consider alive or near alive.

    Harp: If there was like a Venn diagram of all the shared DNA, like, I wonder what that would look like with all those different actors you just…

    TallBear: Well, there is an infamous biological anthropologist who’s very funny named Jonathan Marks. And John has a book called What It Means To Be 98% Chimpanzee. And he says we’re also 40% daffodil, if we look at shared DNA.

    Harp: Wow.

    TallBear: Yeah, we’re not that interesting, right?

    Harp: Wowee. Okay. So, Warren, I recently learned on no less reputable a source than Instagram that we humans and trees, as you just pointed out, share a percentage of genes. And apparently it’s a quarter.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Oh, that’s pretty good.

    Harp: Yeah. This is from a site called, or an account called @thesacredscience, and it’s quoting The Overstory by Richard Powers. Richard wrote:

    “You and the tree in your backyard came from a common ancestor a billion and a half years ago. The two of you parted ways, but, even now, after an immense journey in separate directions, that tree and you still share a quarter of your genes.” (So imagine flute music under there, like, really profound and stuff like that.)

    But Kim and Warren, to what extent are Indigenous peoples involved in genomics because they want to be, and to what extent are they involved because they feel they have to be? Let’s start with Kim.

    TallBear: I wonder if you would get really different answers to that question based on how old people are?

    So I feel like in my generation and older, and I’m in my mid-fifties, as I always say, I was around back in the early to mid-nineties when Indigenous communities and activists around the world were actively resisting the Human Genome Diversity Project. And then I did my dissertation because I was resistant to what they were doing. I quickly understood through Debra Harry’s work in the Indigenous Peoples Council on Biocolonialism that this was a new form of colonial appropriation of our wealth, right, and that we were going to get screwed. We were not going to benefit from the kinds of studies they wanted to do.

    So I certainly got into this because, not because I wanted to, but because I was worried about defending tribal sovereignty on this front. But now, you know, all these years later, 30 years later, and this meeting shows, that we have a lot of younger people, aspiring scientists, working in science, and it’s a good question for them. They’re really excited about the science. I meet a lot of Indigenous scientists who are really excited. They do tend to, all these years later, still understand that they’re trying to negotiate between their love and their passion for science and their genuine curiosity, and wondering, ‘What does this mean for my communities?’ They may not have quite the history of, I’m doing this because I’m resisting, I’m not sure. I’d really love to hear their answer to that question.

    Harp: Okay, Warren, your take on this?

    Cardinal-McTeague: I would say a bit of both. Just from my perspective, coming from an academic background, I see researchers wanting to work on the DNA of either Indigenous peoples, or from the DNA from their lands; so whether it’s plants or animals or crops or medicines. And they’re doing this often without their permission or involvement.

    And so what we’re seeing now is them having to intervene and sort of protect their knowledge, or the data that’s derived from their knowledge. And so I do see them being thrust into this, often without some of the background in order to really understand the broader implications of this. But they do realize, like, it is important, and they’re worried about not necessarily access to benefit sharing, but being exploited on and on and again. And so in that regard, they are sort of thrust into this.

    But through our training program, it often has come back to this idea of, like, it’s not like this far off system that we had no concept of. We knew that the health of the environment had impacts on our DNA, and the DNA of things around us. It’s not like it came out of thin air: like, we had an understanding of these concepts.

    Harp: Okay. So you talked about research without Indigenous involvement or consent, but how much of it is going on without even Indigenous awareness, to your knowledge?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Quite a lot, actually. And that’s been a big problem.

    If there’s, say, something concerning genetic disease, say, of an animal, they will first engage with settlers or white people, and leave the Indigenous aside. So this was one of the themes of our SING Canada workshops in 2019 on chronic wasting disease. And that was a big intervention in ensuring that Indigenous people were aware of the research that was going on, because they’re often left to the sidelines for it, and it impacts them. It impacts the food that they eat, it impacts the materials that they use related to [inaudible], and so they are often forgotten.

    Harp: And, Kim, do you find this, too, that there’s this frontier mentality that has extended itself into this realm?

    TallBear: Oh, yeah, for sure. And I see this in multiple scientific fields, not only genomics. The literal language of new frontiers. ‘Exploration,’ right. National Geographic has a explorer in residence position, who, I’m gonna give a shout out to him, that we have a former SINGer, Keolu Fox, who’s Kanaka Maoli, who I believe has been a National Geographic explorer. Yeah, we’ll have to get Keolu on the show sometime. So they use this language, right? I have a New Frontiers grant as well. Like, this is the language of science. So, yeah, totally.

    Harp: ‘Genomics: the final frontier.’ Yeah.

    TallBear: Oh, I think you should make that the tagline for this whole…

    Harp: But let me ask you, like, Warren. So you have these non-Indigenous, settler scientists, going into this ‘frontier’: are they doing it kind of willy-nilly, just right across the board, scooping up everything they can, almost vacuuming as much data, or are they still kind of surgical? ‘Cause I just have this picture of them just warehousing all this DNA for later use and probably, let’s face it, monetization.

    Cardinal-McTeague: I’d say it depends on the field. So there are different parties interested in genetics and genomics,  and sort of biobanking.

    And just sort of, in my experience, coming from sort of museums, collections, they want to have a bit of everything, just in case, you know, the world ends. So there’s that component of, like, collect everything. It also kind of acts like a time machine. So if you collect it now—because, as I should have mentioned, DNA evolves, so it’s all just constantly changing. So if you collect something today and freeze it, if you collect it, you know, in ten years, it could be a very different genomic or genetic composition.

    And so, collecting things today could be really insightful to observing change through time. And so because of that, there is a broad interest in general collecting. But, in another sense—very briefly, before I came here, I worked at Agriculture Canada, and that was when I got exposed to people from the agricultural stream. And they’re very interested in what are called landraces or crop wild relatives.

    Harp: Sorry: called what, sorry?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Landraces.

    Harp: “Land races”? Like, running on the land? Sorry.

    Cardinal-McTeague: They’re not running on the land. These are, and, actually, I don’t even know the history of the term because it’s not my background, but it’s like a different strain or variety of a crop, and they’re often derived from Indigenous peoples.

    Harp: Right.

    Cardinal-McTeague: And so they’re very, very interested in recolonizing Indigenous crops and claiming it as their own.

    Harp: By tweaking it just a wee little bit and saying, “Look what I did: I ‘improved’ it! Give me all the money.”

    Cardinal-McTeague: Well, yeah, exactly. But now they’re doing it sort of in a secretive way, because now they enter into Nagoya negotiations…

    Harp: The what?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Nagoya.

    Harp: Is that a city in Japan? And something happened there, intellectual property stuff or…?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Yeah, this is, um…

    Harp: So many rabbit holes we can go down with this, eh?

    TallBear: Mm-hm.

    Cardinal-McTeague: It’s about access and benefit sharing around genetic resources, and ensuring that people aren’t exploited, so this is an international agreement, but it’s very hard to enact.

    And so, in some cases, if you find something, a huge, huge, big discovery, you want to ensure you have that paperwork in place, because, oftentimes, it exists for a reason, because they’ve already exploited people so much. And so now they’ll create this agreement, but still take over the Indigenous knowledge as their own. Just as you mentioned.

    Harp: You mentioned DNA can change. Maybe I’m reading too many Marvel comic books—I mean, thinking of mutants here—but how fast can it change? Without, again, I’m going down all these rabbit holes, but for the purposes of this conversation, what’s important to know about how DNA changes, the rate of change, the precipitant of change, catalyst…

    Cardinal-McTeague: Catalyst of change. I’ll start on a high level. Rates of change vary depending on organism. For instance, I studied plants, and in some cases, the change is very fast.

    Harp: And there’s human intervention, obviously, in some cases.

    Cardinal-McTeague: In some cases. And other parts of the cell are very slow. So there’s a lot of nuance across every domain of life. But I would say a big form of change is through sexual reproduction. And it can be where new mutations are introduced, but also you just shake up the DNA amongst, say, a mother and a father. And so there’s just lots of ways for things to change, including sun damage, say, for skin cancer and things like that.

    Harp: Well, you talk about co-creation…

    TallBear: Co-constitution?

    Harp: ‘Co-constitution,’ right. And I guess this would obviously fall under that as well.

    TallBear: I’m trying to think how…

    Harp: Indigenous people changing the DNA of things, let’s say, by cross bleeding—cross-breeding of plants.

    TallBear: Oh, I was still in sexual reproduction. I was still in sexual reproduction. But, yeah, Indigenous breeding of…

    Cardinal-McTeague: So, like, Indigenous peoples have always been scientists. You know, the reason we have maize and other Indigenous crops around the world is because they were actively selecting and breeding plants to produce all these different varieties. And they’re very well adapted to their local climates, local environments. And that is why they might look for certain traits.

    So, one of the examples I think of is nitrogen-fixing corn that was just found, and this was a corn that they had developed—Indigenous peoples in Mexico, I believe they’re the Mixe people, or Mixe Sierra—and it was well adapted to live in  nitrogen-poor areas. And so now it can fix its own nitrogen…

    Harp: This is a contemporary strain of corn that was ‘discovered.’ By whom, I wonder? [laughter]

    Okay, so this next question, I struggled to formulate it here in my laptop, so you’re going to have to help me, you know, bring it out of me. So I apologize in advance.

    Uh, given that we share genes, some quantity of genes, with practically every creature or plant on the planet, and beyond—which is why I self-identify as part daffodil. Right?

    TallBear: You could, you could!

    Harp: I could claim I’m part of the Daffodil First Nation!

    TallBear: And you’d have more…

    Harp: Where is my Status, huh?!

    TallBear: You’d have more legitimate ancestry than what some people claim.

    [laughter]

    Harp: And so, with that in mind, right, we have this kind of almost, like, ‘DNA commons’? I don’t know if that’s taking a concept and intruding it in another realm, but, when and where does the study of genomics start to, if you will, ‘Indigenize’?

    Like, when does it become meaningfully specific to particular Indigenous peoples, their territories, their flora, their fauna? Right? Because if we share… you know what I mean? Because if the DNA belongs to everyone and everywhere in some form or fashion, when can we say it’s Indigenous? How does it ‘Indigenize’?

    TallBear: I mean, I wrote a book saying that the term ‘Native American DNA’ is nonsensical.

    Harp: That’s right.

    TallBear: Right.

    I mean, it’s an idea constructed by scientists, that’s useful for them, right? It helps them figure out which markers they’re looking for, to trace human history and relationships between populations. But that’s the extent of its realness. So, I mean, I don’t know, Warren, if you want to take on the Indigenous….

    Harp: So why do we… I’ll put it another way: why do we put Indigenous and genomics, or Indigenous and gene, in the same sentence? When is it appropriate to do that?

    TallBear: I don’t know. Yeah, Warren, what do you think?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Yeah, I would say something like, ‘Oh, this is an Indigenous genomics type thing,’ when it starts to pertain to a community: whether it’s individuals, or something that relates to their lands or knowledge systems, that they’re sort of claiming some sort of relation with. That’s sort of a time where I would think that would be appropriate.

    Harp: So, again, the Indigeneity doesn’t inhere in the DNA. We’re getting into the realm of where it fits within this constellation of…

    TallBear: Well, I hope you ask the other two panelists this question as well. I’d be really interested to hear their comment. I mean, I really don’t like attaching an ethnic or racial or Indigenous moniker to DNA, as if we can determine our belonging to our nation through a DNA marker.

    Harp: You’re destroying 23andme‘s business model here, you realize!

    TallBear: Yeah, well, yeah, I mean, again, and I’ve talked about this in many places, certainly, we do testing of close biological relatives, in order to invoke our existing nation’s enrolment and citizenship criteria. ‘Oh, yeah, okay, that is your biological parent.’ We can therefore plug that fact into a set of pre-existing regulations. That’s different, right?

    Harp: From saying there’s ‘Irish DNA’ or ‘Spanish DNA’ or ‘Australian DNA.’

    TallBear: But I’d love to hear their answer later on.

    Harp: Exactly. So, looking over all the realms of genomic-related research out there, I was struck by how diverse and comprehensive it is: from the criminal (forensics), to environmental, botanical, to medical (diagnostics), from inside our bodies, to the food we eat, to the soil that it grows in, right down to the sea floor. The ‘new frontier.’ I feel like this is a commercial, but anyway…

    And yet, maybe this is just me, because I feel like I’m on the outside looking in here, it feels to me like it wasn’t all that long ago that genomics wasn’t a thing. So how is it that it became so prominent so seemingly quickly—again, in the kind of, the bigger picture?

    Cardinal-McTeague: For me, I feel like it became more prominent with the advancement of sequencing technology. So sequencing is sort of the act of understanding what the component of DNA is. This is going to get very technical, but DNA is composed of nucleotides, and there’s four of them: A, G, C and T.

    Harp: Well, duh. Yeah. I mean, who doesn’t know that?

    [laughter]

    I have no idea what you’re talking about.

    Cardinal-McTeague: But, you know, it’s like a book. And the order of them, and the number of A’s and G’s and C’s and T’s, you know, that codes—sometimes it codes something, sometimes it codes nonsense—but that creates proteins, and proteins sort of build up the rest of your body, of life. And so, it wasn’t until we could actually understand what that was on the molecular level, because DNA is really small.

    Harp: How small?

    TallBear: When I first saw the DNA double helix diagram—I was forced to take genetics in grad school ’cause I wrote that book, and my advisor said, you better take some genetics—and I first saw that diagram, I couldn’t even comprehend. It’s like infinity, but going the other way. That’s how it felt to me, that just the deep dive down, down, down to a smaller resolution. And it feels like, you know those mirrors, when a mirror’s in a mirror, and it’s infinity, that’s how it felt to me. And I literally could not wrap my mind around the resolution of it.

    Harp: Huh.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Very small. And it took a lot of effort, a lot of time, and a lot of money, to even get the smallest fragment of DNA. Well, they’ve since advanced, and that’s why we moved from genetics to genomics. We’re no longer looking—it doesn’t take weeks or months or years to get a small fragment. It can take an hour to get a whole genome, depending on how big it is. But you can get a lot of DNA on the scale of millions in a couple of hours. So because of that, it made DNA and genomics more accessible, and that’s why it’s sort of becoming more prominent. And often a lot of it’s tied to, like, the promise of health or improvement of health. And so, that’s always a big motivator in research.

    Harp: And did it come to prominence in one part of the world only, or in multiple parts? ‘Cause as soon as you said that, I just thought, I’m sure there’s lots of healthcare providers and pharmaceutical companies and the like, who were just, like, ‘Alright, better set up a new bank’: not a biobank, but a bank for other stuff. I’m just wondering if the profit motive was always there driving it, or if that came later.

    Cardinal-McTeague: I feel like that came later. But, y’know, it was always on their mind.

    Harp: Right. I’m sure it’s like the usual pattern—public/state funding develops this innovative thing because the private sector is so risk averse, and then they’re like, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you for doing all this work.’ Kind of like the Internet all over again.

    So: Kim and Warren, when did genomics first capture your attention, and why? Your first a-ha moment or your first damn moment? You know what I mean? And where has that led you in terms of your interest?

    TallBear: I worked for an Indigenous research organization in Denver, Colorado, back in 2000.

    And, we got a grant from the—usually, we did a lot of nuclear waste policy work on behalf of tribes, that’s what I had been doing throughout the nineties, and so, I was doing a lot of grants and contract work for US Department of Energy.

    But then they suddenly started moving some of their scientific funding resources; this is the era of the mapping of the human genome. And we got a grant to do a series of meetings around the U.S., talking to tribal representatives from tribes around the U.S., about their perceptions of genomics. You know, non-Native people are always interested in ‘What do Indigenous people think about genomics?’

    And we were sitting at this meeting, and I remember a tribal rep asked a question. They were worried about the mapping of the human genome because they thought that maybe different tribal people, or Native people in general, were biologically distinct enough to make biological weapons against us. And I was sitting there, and I thought, ‘Hmm, I don’t know a lot about genetics, but I kind of doubt we’re that distinct genetically, that they could target a biological weapon at us.’ And I thought, whoa.

    And then all of the other kinds of things that were being said were very kind of biologically essentialist. And I thought, I have so many questions about how this is going to affect us. But I was trained as a community and environmental planner, I had no background to investigate the questions I had. That’s when I decided to go back and go to graduate school, only to write the dissertation that became that book.

    That’s why I got interested. It was as a tribal planner who was worried about the circulation of genetically essentialist and racial ideas among tribal people in the United States.

    Harp: So that’s your origin story. Where’s that taken you?

    TallBear: To here: to the Global Indigenous Leadership and Genomics Symposium. Because I spent ten years studying science I couldn’t stand, and that I wanted to fail, and as a good feminist who’s supposed to be invested in the technology you critique—this is a core value of feminist science studies—I’m not only an Indigenous science studies person, I’m a feminist science studies person, I wanted to begin working around science and technology in ways where I could support it. And as a planner, I knew that we need every tool and method available to us to build our economies, and our communities, and our knowledge, and our governance structures.

    And so I thought, I want to start working with genome scientists that I can get behind, and that was Indigenous scientists. And then I brought my sort of planning background, and Indigenous studies background, to help them think critically about what they’re trying to do. Because Indigenous scientists are trained like other scientists. They may come from Indigenous communities and have a gut feeling about wanting to contribute to community, but they don’t have the language, because they haven’t been trained in this kind of language.

    And so we bring those kinds of ideas together here—you know, Indigenous STEM people, Indigenous people in Indigenous studies, etcetera—we bring those ideas together, and then we figure out how to do this work together in a more critical way. So that’s how I got here.

    Harp: There’s a term from another context called code switching. Does that kind of apply here for you, too?

    TallBear: We talked about that, didn’t we, in a session the other day. So I think about, you know, I do think some of the Indigenous scientists, the younger ones, are, like, ‘God, I’m trying to make it in science. I need to get a grant, I need to build a lab, I need to establish myself.’ And then here we are saying, ‘You need to be critical. You need to be anti-colonial.’  You got to kind of go between both, I think I said, ‘I hate to tell you this, but you’re just going to have to do twice as much work.’

    Harp: So what’s harder: for an anti-colonialist to become a genomicist, or a genomicist to become a de-colonizer?

    TallBear: Good question!

    Harp: Thank you. Thank you very much.

    TallBear: It’s probably equally as difficult, huh?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Actually, I think it would be easier to be an anti-colonialist and become a genomicist: ’cause that’s what I had to do, I had to switch from being Western-trained to thinking about things in a different way. Actually, it was easier for me, but to have a non-Indigenous scientist do that is very, very hard. They don’t have that…

    Harp: Have you come all the way to the other side, or do you compartmentalize? Like, how do you navigate?

    Cardinal-McTeague: I do have to compartmentalize to some degree, ’cause I still need to succeed by western academic metrics, to get [inaudible] there and do all that stuff…

    Harp: To get resources to do what you do.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Part of the reason that I’m hired is because I can still publish Western scientific papers ,while I still get to do the good work of supporting Indigenous communities. Whereas others who are doing strictly the Indigenous work, they don’t get the foot in the door because they won’t succeed, and they’re not going to make space for them.

    Harp: Wow.

    TallBear: And not everybody needs to be in the academy. I mean, there are many other places to be. You know, I think of this as a collective. I’m not one of those people who’s like, ‘Oh, the academy is the place to be, or it’s super extra colonial.’ Everything’s colonial, everywhere. You can work at a bar, a store, the feds, a corporation, it’s all colonial.

    But I do think it’s good to have people in all of these different institutions, and our people are everywhere, right? Working in the place that best fits their personal set of characteristics. Where are you most comfortable and productive? And, you know, we do partial anti-colonial work in the positions we’re in, but, together, we’re everywhere, taking different tactics.

    Harp: So there’s no compromise-free, pure space…

    TallBear: No. Absolutely not.

    Harp: …from which to do genomics.

    TallBear: Or to do anything! To do Indigenous work, to do Indigenous work on behalf of Indigenous people.

    Harp: Maybe a podcast.

    [laughter]

    TallBear: Oh, see, now I’m gonna think of how this is a politically compromised space, too.

    [laughter]

    Harp: Okay, so, Warren, your origin story, and where has that brought you—your journey.

    Cardinal-McTeague: So I was trained, as I mentioned, from Western perspectives in botany.

    And you’ll often see when I talk about genomics is I do anything but genomics. So I love plants, I love art, I love history. And so I was very lucky to do the things that interest me. And I ended up in a botany lab that studied the evolution of plants. And to do that, you know, in the past, you would just look at morphology, just the way things look and are shaped in their anatomy. But there was a lot of convergence on that. So you could use DNA as a sort of less biased way of figuring out how plants are related to one another.

    Harp: Why do you say less biased?

    Cardinal-McTeague: Because a lot of times DNA evolves sort of in a neutral sense. Not always, but they kind of call it like a molecular clock. Every few generations you’re getting a mutation, and then, the more distantly related you are from someone, the more time you’ve had to change. That’s why we’re only, you know, how much per cent daffodil?

    TallBear: Forty per cent, I think.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Because there’s been more time between us and daffodils, and us and chimpanzees.

    Harp: Oh, wow. But still, I’m still not, like, by ‘less bias,’ you just mean we’re less distracted by the outward appearance of a plant, and the DNA doesn’t lie, or…?

    Cardinal-McTeague: It’s because when you look at morphology, there’s a lot of convergence. So…

    Harp: Sorry, when you’re using morphology, I’m used to it in the linguistic sense. What do you mean by that here?

    Cardinal-McTeague: I mean, I’m going to talk about flowers for a minute.

    Harp: Alright! That’s the daffodil part of you coming out. Okay: honouring your people. Your ancestors!

    [laughter]

    Cardinal-McTeague: Uh, if you’ve ever looked at a flower, they come in different shapes. Sometimes they’re symmetrical where, you know, you could draw one line down and they fold up like a butterfly. Other times, they’re radially symmetrical, sort of like a dandelion, you know, you can cut it multiple ways. And that shape is recurring because of pollination biology. And so, even though they are both symmetrical, or not, or radially symmetrical, it could be because of other factors and how they’re related. Not all things that look the same are closely related, is what I’m trying to get at.

    Harp: As with daffodils…

    TallBear: People, too, right? Like, when I used to live in Indonesia, and people would often mistake me—they didn’t think I was an American, because all Americans had blonde hair and blue eyes, apparently—but they would often mistake me for being a Dutch/Javanese mix, because I’m tall and I’m the color of people from Java. But I don’t know how closely related, you know, they did look kind of similar, but it doesn’t mean we’re related, right.

    Cardinal-McTeague: And so, to get around that, you could look at the composition of the DNA of these different plants, and, you know, it totally shifted our understanding of how plants are related to one another. So that’s sort of what I mean.

    Harp: So this blew your mind.

    Cardinal-McTeague: And it blew the world’s mind.

    [laughter]

    Harp: But we’re talking about your journey.

    TallBear: Oh, yeah, back to your journey, Warren!

    Harp: You blow the the world’s mind, Warren. No. [laughter]

    Cardinal-McTeague: No, it didn’t blow my mind at all. I’m a reluctant geneticist. I just love flowers.

    Harp: Ooh, that should be your memoir: ‘The Reluctant Geneticist.’ Sorry.

    Cardinal-McTeague: [laughs] So, this is going to get long, but I, you know, I grew up in the north, where it’s very cold, Fort McMurray, if anybody knows it. And so I had the opportunity to study tropical plants. And so I was young, and I just said, I want to go and see the world. And so that was my avenue there, was to work in this lab and learn about tropical plants. But during that process, I got to travel to Madagascar, Costa Rica, Brazil, and collect plants and study their DNA.

    But I was reenacting a lot of colonial harms because I worked through a museum, and that’s what their job is, to go in, extract, and leave. And I just became very uncomfortable with that, I tried to address that with my peers, and the response was, ‘How is a museum colonial?’

    [laughter]

    Harp: And you’re like, ‘Okay, I’m done.’

    Cardinal-McTeague: I said, I don’t think I can invest my life into this, and push it uphill. I needed to do something else. And so, that’s when I met SING Canada in 2019, I was really looking for that—it’s a good origin story, but also a villain, because I’m a villain to them now, because I’m very critical of the work that they do.

    Harp: Oh, really? You’re banned from the museum for life?

    Cardinal-McTeague: No, they still like me and I still like them.

    Harp: You know, we don’t have time to get into it, but, just, it’s interesting how a Fort Mac kid ends up interested in tropical plants.

    TallBear: I can imagine how.

    [laughter]

    Harp: Okay, so the event is, of course, entitled Global Indigenous Leadership in Genomics Symposium: I’d love to give listeners a better idea, or at least a sense—we’ll get into it more deeply in the next episode—of what Indigenous control /leadership of genomics looks like, what makes Indigenous genomics different, and how those differences make a difference to Indigenous peoples’ wellbeing.

    And so, I imagine one key to that difference might be how it works inside and outside of the lab, as it were—because, I mean, again, my impoverished imagination—I just think of you all in lab coats, looking with those really super-powered microscopes, looking at those super-tiny pieces of DNA. So how do Indigenous genomicists approach that differently from their mainstream counterparts? Could it be, for example, the inclusion of community priorities and perspectives?

    TallBear: Go ahead, Warren: you’re ‘the reluctant geneticist.’

    [laughter]

    Harp: Yeah, that’s right!

    Let’s start a conversation about how Indigenous control of genomics… what’s a vivid illustration of how that’s different from mainstream genomics? Is it where the genomic work is done, how it’s done, with whom, for whom?

    Cardinal-McTeague: I think I would start out by saying that there’s multiple forms of this happening. So I think I’m most comfortable talking about the way we approach this work at SING Canada, which is where we want to co-produce work with Indigenous communities as partners.

    We also want to embed our own values into the work that we do. So I just gave a talk about that partnership we’re doing. And, you know, it’s about research, but it’s also about governance, and supporting the governance of our partners, as well as providing training and capacity enhancement to the community. And I think that is fundamentally different than how Western scientists approach their work. You know, they don’t have to think about community. They have their own goals and interests in mind. Whereas we have, you know, it’s just natural for us to just think about the broader impacts of the work that we do. And in addition to that, is a huge component of being place-based in our work. So we want to take the lab out of the university, to do it in community, and we can do that now with advancements in technology, that mobile genetic sequencing technology,

    Harp: The technology is allowing that to happen.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Yeah.

    TallBear: Yeah, I mean, I think the common pattern—and this is across academic disciplines, it’s not only in genomics—the common pattern, I think, is to be the knower. The researcher is the one that knows and produces knowledge and asks the questions and interrogates. And so, they would go out into the world and ask their questions of the world, or the people or the plants that they’re studying, or whatever. For us, it is that, it’s not, we’re not the only knowers. So that word co-constitution can come in: we co-create or co-constitute knowledge together with, we’re all knowers.

    I mean, and even I think in Indigenous epistemologies, of course, the plant knows something. The way I have heard it growing up, is that—and I’ve heard this from people, other tribal people who work with plants—you don’t decide what the name of a plant is yourself. Like this, don’t they, I mean, aren’t white people always naming mountains, they’re always naming things after people, and some guy who discovered something. But the plant can give its name to you: you know, it comes to you in a vision, or it can come to you in a dream, or it comes to you in this moment of, ‘Oh my gosh, I just… ‘ You know? So they know things, you know, the beings in the world, whether they’re humans or non-humans, know things. We’re not the only knowing inquirers.

    And so, I think that’s at the, when we do these community partnerships, and we try to do this in SING Canada, it’s not, it’s not always easy, but we try to be as non hierarchical as we can. And we have a couple of lab techs right now, University of Alberta undergraduates, or recent grads, who are in the lab getting mentored by one of our faculty members, and working with the technology, giving presentations—and, I mean, other people do that with their students, but we really do try to have the voices of our participants and community people that we work with. We’re all together creating knowledge, trying to figure out the answers to questions, right. And often asking questions that the community wants asked. And, as Indigenous people, we understand where those questions are coming from, that they’re scientifically interesting, but they’re also conditioned by the world that we are forced to live in by settlers. I think that might be one of the differences.

    And also having a lab in our own space: we don’t want the science faculty owning everything, because they don’t have our same ethic, they don’t have our same sets of relationships. So, physically, we are very determined to build labs, in our own spaces, that are under our administrative and financial control, right. So it’s not only a conceptual challenge, it’s not only that we have to think differently, we actually have to own this, control this; you know, this is within our control materially. And that’s really important. And that is exactly decolonization: we want wealth back.

    Harp: So, OCAP definitely applies here: Ownership, Control, Access and Possession.

    TallBear: Oh, yeah.

    Harp: Huh. So I get the sense then that—and I don’t want to belabor the obvious—but Indigenous genomicists, they start with their location, relative to…

    TallBear: If they can get into this space. I mean, Warren talked about, you know, we do have scientists coming in, Indigenous scientists, curious, because they have been trained in typical western labs. And a lot of the indigenous people that come to this workshop, they’re at that moment where Warren was, right: where they’re, like, ‘I don’t want to have to keep doing things the way I’ve been trained. I want to do science, but I’m uncomfortable with the way it’s being done. How can I do it and not feel that.’ You know?

    Harp: But I could see some Western-trained scientists saying, ‘Hey, man, I want the freedom to research what I want. I wasn’t trained as a community consultant!’

    TallBear: Mm-hm.

    Harp: You know? And so, that, again, the location of yourself relative to your people…

    TallBear: I’ve said to people, I’m like, ‘That’s fine, but we don’t want to work with you.’ You want to work with Indigenous communities, you’re coming under our governance. That’s the way it’s, you know, but, you know, you don’t want to do that, then go do something else.

    Harp: And too, like, I infer there that there’s an ethos of collaboration, not only with communities, but also the organisms you’re studying. As you said, like, the plant, you’re in a relationship. There’s relationality with the plant, for example.

    Cardinal-McTeague: And in some cases, that’s a very delicate relationship. You know, some trees are seen as literal relatives that need to be treated a certain way. And so it’s, you know, you have to approach sampling and, you know, analysis of that data very carefully.

    Harp: And have the SINGs developed protocols, I guess, in that regard?

    Cardinal-McTeague: We did with our partners, we made sure that we did sort of lay down tobacco and things like that. So we started off in a good way, and we were very careful with how much we sampled, not taking too much, ensuring that we are not wasting any of it, and that there’s a process of returning what’s safe to return back to the land.

    Harp: Such as bones or other. Yeah.

    Cardinal-McTeague: Whether it’s bones or soils or plants or things like that. And so you have to keep, like, a very strong reverence for this. And I think that’s where Western scientists fail, is when they start to think that they’re above these things, and that they can treat them without respect, because then they start to proceed without thinking about things carefully or ethically. And then that leads to a lot of the problems we have.

    Harp: Alright.

    Well, let’s press pause here on this first chunk of discussion. Warren, the DNA of this panel is going to change rapidly: we’re going to have two other voices come in the second part, one from Aotearoa and one from Australia. So we look forward to hearing from them, and Kim, you’re going to stick around and…

    TallBear: Oh, I am?

    Harp: We’re going to be co-interlocutors.

    TallBear: Oh, okay.

    Harp: So, please, a warm round of applause for our first episode’s featured guest, Warren Cardinal-McTeague!

    [applause]

    TallBear: Thanks, Warren.

    Harp: And that’s it for MEDIA INDIGENA, episode 348, recorded live on location May 9 at the University of British Columbia, situated on the traditional, ancestral and unceded territory of the Musqueam Nation.

    Thanks again to UBC’s School for Public Policy and Global Affairs, the Global Journalism Innovation Lab, as well as SING Canada, for making the event possible.

    And if you found your way to us for the very first time via the ‘Browse’ section of Apple Podcasts, which just named us one of their 2024 Voices for Change, welcome! We’re happy you’re here, and invite you to dive into our deep archive dating back to 2016.

    Apple Podcasts celebrates the passion, work, and dedication of creators who inspire thought, conversation, and reflection. And for us to be included on this list as an agent of change, it’s very humbling. So much gratitude to Apple Podcasts, where we encourage you to follow the show, to stay on top of every new episode.

    Thanks for listening: we’ll talk with you again soon. Ekosi.

    Our theme is ‘nesting‘ by Birocratic.

  • The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt IV): The Contemporary Discourse of Aboriginality

    The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt IV): The Contemporary Discourse of Aboriginality

    The previous chapter provided an outline of two major organizing themes of the historical Canadian discourse on Aboriginal peoples, vis., the Noble Savage and the Vanishing Indian Race. In this chapter, a few contemporary examples of that discourse will be examined in order to determine the degree to which the themes outlined above persist. Again, these examples simply serve to illustrate this paper’s thesis, and do not in any strict sense provide the sole basis for its claims.

    To put it mildly, 1990 was an eventful year for Native/non-Native relations. Over the course of that year’s “Indian summer,” two major incidents occurred: the failure of the Meech Lake Accord and the so-called ‘Oka Crisis.’ To recap briefly, the ‘Oka Crisis’ involved the setting up of a roadblock on the Kanehsatà:ke reserve by a group of Mohawks known as the ‘Warriors,’ who were protesting the planned appropriation of historically disputed lands by the nearby non-Native community of Oka. According to the perception of the federal and Quebec governments, the situation at Kanehsatà:ke did not represent any such historically motivated act on the part of the Mohawk people. Rather, the governments chose, in the words of then Canadian Justice minister Kim Campbell, to regard the “situation we see at Oka today [as] a law enforcement situation.” Campbell continues, indirectly addressing the notion that Mohawks, as a self-determining people prior to the invasion of proto-Canadian forces, do not fall under Canadian authority:

    The governments of Canada and Quebec cannot and will not accept that the Warriors are not governed by the laws of this country, including the Criminal Code.

    They receive the full protection of our laws, including the Charter. Neither they nor anyone else in Canada can pick and choose the laws they obey.

    The Criminal Code applies to everyone in Canada. There are no exceptions. Only those with legal authority and who are under the control of democratically elected governments may use firearms and force to uphold the law. Our government will not tolerate such use of force by others [emphasis added].

    This passage is an extremely telling one for the analysis of dominant Canadian discourse about Native peoples. Firstly, left entirely unstated by Campbell’s view and yet fundamental to its logic, is the mythical notion of European conquest, a fundamental aspect of the Vanishing Indian Race theme. ‘We won,’ so the logic goes, and thus any and all ‘misguided’ notions on the part of the Indians that the lands they have traditionally occupied are still theirs is about as worthy of consideration as the notion that they are still ‘real’ Indians. In other words, Native peoples, their histories, their experiences, and most of all, their lands belong to Canadians now.

    Secondly, by drawing upon the discourse of law and order, Campbell effectively displaces mainstream attention away from the historically based grievances of the Mohawk nation, framing their actions in a criminal context instead. Moreover, by situating the confrontation in Oka, Campbell localises events in geographical and historical terms, and thus restricts their significance, when in fact much larger issues are at stake. As Debbie Wise Harris points out,

    The term ‘Oka Crisis’ itself constrains the meaning of the set of events. The word ‘crisis’ denotes a temporary, escalated, critical moment, a notion which negates the reality of the permanent crisis in which Native peoples all over Canada (and the world) are living and have lived since colonization. Also, the modifier “Oka” situates the events in an isolated geographical place (Oka), although demonstrations were also happening in [Kahnawá:ke] (Chateauguay) and all over the country; it also defines the location in legitimized terms of the state… preferring the meaning of the ‘crisis’ as a crisis for Quebeckers (and not for Native people).

    Finally, Campbell, by referring to the polarized notions of “we” and “others,” calls up explicitly the dichotomy underlying imperial discourse as identified by Said. The discourse Campbell employs continues to rest upon a White/non-White, European/non-European, us-and-them ontological and epistemological division. Thus, “we” are lawful, they, being “others”, are not. “We” have had a long tradition of self-government; “they” have not. All of this goes a long way towards legitimizing and entrenching the continued imposition of foreign authority on historically Native lands. The repeated failure to mention this fact is simply to erase the real domination of its effects.

    Another major recent Canadian event impacting on Native/non-Native relations was the 1992 referendum on the Constitution. Within the constitutional package agreed to by the federal government, all the provincial and territorial leaders, and certain representatives of Native peoples, was a significant set of proposals regarding ‘Aboriginal self-government.’ In the weeks leading up to the actual vote, a great deal of debate took place on the possible risks Canadians might be taking in ‘giving’ ‘self-governing’ powers to Native peoples. Of all the opinions expressed which were critical of the self-government component of the package, the comments of William Johnson of the Montreal Gazette are perhaps most representative. In a May 5, 1992 column entitled, “Not all are leaping on the self-government bandwagon,” Johnson begins his comments by positioning himself as the neglected voice of reason languishing on the fringes on mainstream thought:

    The conventional wisdom accepts recognizing Indian self-government as an inherent right. The Beaudoin-Dobbie report favored it, as does Joe Clark. It seems that self-government is a done deal.

    Not to be outdone, Johnson cites the credentials of Patrick Lewtas, a Toronto lawyer who not only worked for the Windigo Tribal Council (and thus, so the logic goes, must ‘know’ what Indians are all about) but went to Harvard and the University of Toronto Law School as well. According to Said, the ushering in of such ‘authoritative’ sources is a common discursive tactic employed by those pleading the imperialist case. As we shall see, Johnson sees no irony in his position as one who is able to make his claims in the absence of any effective counter-response. His sovereign viewpoint as self-appointed representative of the dominant Canadian consciousness does not acknowledge that his capacity to speak authoritatively on these matters is a relatively privileged position, one ultimately based on a recourse to force. Such a position of authority, including the ability to have one’s self widely heard, is simply not possible for Native peoples given their comparatively weaker status in the Canadian context.

    According to Johnson’s source, the real problem facing Native peoples is to be regarded as follows:

    The real issues that are facing us are not political issues. The real issues are social and economic. By making them political you not only miss the real problems, you put in place institutions and create vested interests that make it very difficult to address the real issues…

    Later on in the article, Johnson’s ‘expert-in-the-field’ gets to his main point:

    ‘Self-government’ will not usher talented Indians into important positions in the larger world… It will instead mould them into a governmental elite with a vested interest in its people’s inequality… With self-government, Canada would acquire a collage of legal systems under which different groups would exercise different powers and different people would enjoy different rights. Race would be the standard by which rights are allocated.

    Finally, Lewtas concludes that

    It seems that Indians must live in the modern world and must adopt modern culture to do so. Aboriginal cultures depend too much on obsolete lifestyles to be salvageable. And the attempt to save them through self-government will produce modern totalitarianism rather than traditional culture.

    In other words, the Noble Savage is alive and not so well. Johnson ends his article by citing a common refrain of opponents of Aboriginal self-government, namely, that “the current system of funding native organizations has produced an Indian middle class that is almost totally dependent on the [Canadian] public purse.”

    What Johnson’s article reveals in a rather rich and complex fashion is a direct reliance on the themes of the dominant Canadian discourse on Native peoples. To apply the analysis of Said, Johnson is first and foremost a Westerner consciously speaking on behalf of other Westerners, his railings against “conventional wisdom” notwithstanding. Eurocentrism clearly colours his perspective. Indeed, at one point in the above article, he compares the aspirations of Aboriginal peoples to those of the Middle Ages in Europe. The implication being that Native concerns can only be understood in terms of what they represent within a European conceptual framework.

    That the Noble Savage paradigm is clearly in use is demonstrated by the dichotomy Johnson and his source impose between the “modern world” and presumably less advanced Aboriginal cultures. As if to offset such a bald-faced claim, Johnson includes references to the discourses of race and equality as well, claiming that by instituting Aboriginal self-government Canada will become a ‘racist’ state with “different powers” for “different groups.” Such a discussion fundamentally distracts from the fact that Aboriginal self-determination is predicated on the recognition of Native peoples as members of “Nations,” not as a race. And once again, the end result of this discourse on the unrelated matters of race, not to mention “equality,” has been the effective masking of the on-going domination perpetrated by the Canadian nation-state against those who have held historic claims to their lands for thousands of years.

    . . . . . . . . . .

    Where there are no Indians,
    there is no wealth.

    Franciscan (Spanish) proverb,
    circa 16th century

    The irony of the above statement is a painful one for the many Indigenous peoples of this world. For the non-Native recognition of the wealth of Aboriginal lands has seen Native peoples systematically dispossessed of those lands and their lives indelibly scarred. And yet, Native peoples and their cultures have persevered. Regrettably, so have imperialism and colonialism. And while it is undoubtedly disturbing to recall these events, even more disturbing has been the manner in which the dominant discourse of the West has so callously, liberally and high-handedly discussed these matters.

    In this paper, I have argued that one of the major mechanisms of imperialist and colonial power which continues to organize Native/non-Native relations in Canada has been the discourse of Aboriginality. Two principal themes of this discourse, namely, the Noble Savage and the Vanishing Indian Race, have been identified, along with an indication of how they work to maintain relations of domination. I have demonstrated the dominating effects of this discourse by examining some contemporary examples of these themes at work, which have been located within the context of their long and continuous history. It is worth repeating that this paper has not argued for individuals’ personal motivations as the prime determinant of political relations. Rather, it has sought to address the certain degree of relative autonomy intrinsic to discourse, and how that discourse ultimately draws upon certain recurring and thus recognizable themes.

    Of course, there have been a number of areas which certain limitations of space and time have not permitted me to explore. These include the internalization of the discourse of Aboriginality by Native people themselves, a phenomenon perhaps best seen within the 1992 constitutional rhetoric of Native leaders. In light of Foucault’s understanding of power, one must question these leaders use of such terms as ‘inherent right’ and ‘sovereignty’ as possibly unconscious usages of the discourse of ‘equality’ and ‘right.’ Then again, the employment of these terms may simply indicate the exigencies of entering into any form of discussion with the dominant society. After all, one must articulate one’s desires in terms others can understand.

    Engaging with the discourse of Aboriginality for the possibilities of resistance raises other potential research questions for the future. According to Foucault, given that resistance is simultaneously present wherever power can be seen to circulate, it would no doubt prove fruitful to examine such attempts to negotiate the discourse of Aboriginality. In my opinion, some of the most exciting discursive negotiations being carried out are by Native artists such as Gerald McMaster, Robert Houle, Jane Ash Poitras and Joane Cardinal-Schubert, to name but a few. All four artists recently took part in the ground-breaking exhibits, Indigena and Land, Spirit, Power, at the Museum of Civilization and The National Gallery respectively, in Ottawa.

    Other key moments in the Canadian Native discourse in need of further research are its sheer possessiveness vis-à-vis Native peoples, a discourse which speaks of “our” native peoples, “Canada’s” Indians, Native “Canadians,” and the Native peoples “of” Canada. How this appropriation of Native experiences has served the Canadian ‘nationalist project’ is an issue I was unable to deal with here. Indeed, if I had to predict the future shape of Native/non-Native relations in this country, I would have to say that in addition to the deeply felt issues of land occupying the main focus of those relations, culture will be the greatest source of contestation. In the process, perhaps the popular social science notions of ‘identity,’ ‘race,’ ‘culture’ and even ‘the nation’ will finally come under the scrutiny they deserve.


    SOURCES CONSULTED

    BOOKS

    Adams, Howard. Prisons of Grass: Canada from a Native Point of View. Saskatoon: Fifth House Publishers, 1989.

    Asch, Michael. Home and Native Land: Aboriginal Rights and the Canadian Constitution.  Toronto: Methuen Publications, 1984.

    Berkhofer Jr., Robert F. The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the Present. New York: Vintage Books, a division of Random House Inc., 1978.

    Cassidy, Frank (ed). Aboriginal Title in British Columbia: Delgamuukw v. The Queen. Lantzville, BC and Montreal: Oolichan Books and The Institute for Research on Public Policy, 1992.

    Fisher, Robin and Kenneth Coates (eds). Out of the Background: Readings on Canadian Native History. Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman Ltd., a Longman Company, 1988.

    Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith. London: Routledge, 1989.

    _________. The History of Sexuality: Volume One, trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., 1990.

    _________. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972-1977, ed. Colin Gordon, trans. Colin Gordon et. al. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.

    Green, L.C. and Olive P. Dickason. The Law of Nations and the New World. Edmonton: The University of Alberta Press, 1989.

    Haycock, Ronald Graham. The Image of The Indian: The Canadian Indian as a Subject and a Concept in a Sampling of the Popular National Magazines Read in Canada 1900-1970. Waterloo: Waterloo Lutheran University Monograph Series, 1971.

    Jaenen, Cornelius J. Friend and Foe: Aspects of French-Amerindian Cultural Contact in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart Limited, 1976.

    Jaimes, M. Anette (ed). The State of Native America: Genocide, Colonization, and Resistance. Boston: South End Press, 1992.

    Mandell, Louise. “Native Culture on Trial,” in Sargent, N. et. al. (eds). Introduction to Legal Studies. Ottawa: Captus Press Carleton Legal Studies Series, 1990.

    Miller, J. R. Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens: A History of Indian-White Relations in Canada (Revised ed.). Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991.

    Monet, Dan and Skanu’u (Ardythe Wilson). Colonialism on Trial: Indigenous Land Rights and the Gitskan and Wet’suwet’en Sovereignty Case. Philadelphia: New Society Publishers, 1992.

    Monkman, Leslie. A Native Heritage: Images of the Indian in English-Canadian Literature. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981.

    Newman, Peter C. Company of Adventurers: Volume One. Markham: Penguin Books Canada Ltd., 1985.

    Ponting, J. Rick (ed). Arduous Journey: Canadian Indians and Decolonization. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart Limited, 1986.

    Ross, Malcolm. Poets of The Confederation. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart Limited, 1960.

    Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books, a division of Random House Inc., 1979.

    Scott, Duncan Campbell. The Administration of Indian Affairs in Canada. The Canadian Institute of International Affairs, 1931.

    Waldran, James B. As Long as the Rivers Run: Hydroelectric Development and Native Communities in Western Canada. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1988.

    Walker, James W. St.G. “The Indian in Canadian Historical Writing, 1972-1982”, in, As Long as the Sun Shines and Water Flows: A Reader in Canadian Native Studies, Ian Getty and Antoine Lussier, ed., (Vancouver: U.B.C. Press) 1986.

    Weaver, Sally M. Making Canadian Indian Policy: The Hidden Agenda 1968-1970. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981.

    PERIODICALS AND NEWSPAPERS

    “Aboriginal research clogs governments.” Vancouver Sun, 26 April 1991: A13.

    Amiel, Barbara. “The gun barrel created this land.” Maclean’s (10 September 1990): 11.

    Bemrose, John. “A History of Wealth.” Maclean’s, Vol. 98 No. 43 28 October 1985: 67-68.

    “Blockades bringing big losses.” The Financial Post 18/20 August 1990: 1.

    Boswell, Randy. “A clash of perspectives.” Content (March/April 1991): 18.

    _________. “Oka: crisis in journalism.” Content, (January/ February 1991): 16-17.

    Bryden, Joan. “A leap of faith: how to define ‘inherent right to self-government’?” Montreal Gazette, 22 February 1992: B4.

    Byfield, Ted. “Native self-government goes beyond what Canadians think.” The Financial Post, 21/23 March 1992: S3.

    Byfield, Link. “Do Aboriginals need self-government? No.” Toronto Star, 19 July 1991: A23.

    _________. “The central flaw of Indian self-government is welfare.” Alberta Report Vol. 7 No. 4 (24 February 1992): 2.

    _________. “The Indians will have to be told that self-government has a price.” Alberta Report, Vol. 7 No.2 (10 February 1992): 2.

    Brown, Jennifer S. H. “Newman’s Company of Adventurers in Two Solitudes: A Look at Reviews and Responses.”  Canadian Historical Review, Vol. 67 No. 4 (1986): 562-571.

    ________. “The Company is Full of Life.” Winnipeg Free Press, 2 November 1985.

    Camp, Dalton. “Did Harry Swain really misspeak?”  Toronto Star, 5 August 1990: B3.

    Campbell, Kim. “The benefits and limits of Aboriginal self-government.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day, (January 1992): 18-22+66.

    _________. “The Warriors and the criminal law.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day, (October 1990): 68-69.

    “Canadians like idea of self-government.” Montreal Gazette, 15 February 1992: A8.

    “Cannot tolerate anarchy, Justice Minister declares.” Globe and Mail, 24 August 1990: A6.

    Chrétien, Jean. “Indian policy — where does it stand?” Speech given at the Empire Club. Toronto: 16 October 1969.

    _________. “Statement by Minister of Government Policy.” House of Commons Debates (Hansard). Ottawa: Queen’s Printer for Canada, 25 June 1969.

    _________. “The Government Policy on Indians: What is the debate about?” Speech given to the Saskatchewan Women’s Liberal Federation. Regina: 2 October 1969.

    Clark, Joe. “Most substantial reforms ever to meet Aboriginal concerns.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day, (January 1992): 23-28.

    Clark, Joe. “Only self-government can free Aboriginal peoples.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day, Vol. 6 No. 2 (April 1992): 19-27.

    Cleverley, Fred. “Native self-government won’t cut the tax bills at all.” Winnipeg Free Press, 27 January 1992: A7.

    “Confrontation is still the bottom line for Canada’s natives.” Globe and Mail, 15 June 1991: D4.

    “Dealing with Native demands.” Globe and Mail, 30 April 1992: A24.

    Dick, Lyle. “Renegade in Archives: Peter C. Newman and the Writing of Canadian Popular History.” Archivaria, No. 22 (Summer 1986): 168-181.

    “Enshrining Native ‘distinct society’ backed by 59%, poll finds.” Winnipeg Free Press, 27 March 1992: C37.

    “Federal official calls warriors criminals.” Globe and Mail, 24 July 1990: A1-A2.

    “Few ask right questions about Native self-rule.” Toronto Star, 30 July 1992: A21.

    “‘Forged’ letter heats up chiefs’ struggle.” Winnipeg Free Press, 7 August 1991: A8.

    French, William. “Of Profits, Beavers and a Lasting Legacy.” Globe and Mail, 17 October 1985.

    Gibson, Gordon. “Indians must face reality in seeking new concessions.” The Financial Post, 1/3 September 1990: 7.

    _________. “Let’s not use racism to tackle Native needs.” Globe and Mail, 1 June 1992: A15.

    Goar, Carol. “Siddon redeems image with a sensitive speech to irate native chiefs.” Toronto Star, 15 September 1990: D4.

    Hall, Tony. “Treating Native activists like common criminals.” Globe and Mail, 26 March 1991: A21.

    Harris, Wise Debbie. “Colonizing Mohawk Women: Representation of Women in the Mainstream Media,” Resources for Feminist Research, Vol. 20, No. 1/2, 15-20.

    “‘Impact of colonization’ felt for generations.”  Globe and Mail, 5 June 1992: A7.

    “Indians want official out for criminal comments.”  Vancouver Sun, 24 July 1990: A1,A4.

    “Inherent but unclear.” Winnipeg Free Press (Editorial), 27 March 1992: A6.

    “Iraq, Quebec and Native questions.” Globe and Mail, 30 October 1990: A8.

    Johnson, William. “Native self-government is negotiable, but not sovereignty.” Montreal Gazette, 2 August 1990: B3.

    _________. “Not all are leaping on Native self-government bandwagon.” Montreal Gazette, 5 May 1992: B3.

    _________. “Self-government: How can we accept a system we don’t understand?” Montreal Gazette, 21 July 1992: B3.

    _________. “Self-rule not the answer for Indians.” Vancouver Sun, 15 October 1990: A10.

    _________. “Time to Rethink Myth of Native self-government.” Toronto Star, 7 July 1992: A9.

    _________. “White guilt won’t help the Indians: natives must undertake to adapt to times.” Montreal Gazette, 12 October 1990: B3.

    Koch, George. “Vague, and getting murkier: Joe Clark promises Indians constitutional self-government.” Alberta Report, Vol. 6, No. 29 (23 September 1991): 9-10.

    Lautens, Trevor. “This is affirmative apartheid.” Vancouver Sun, 15 February 1992: B5.

    Lavelle, Patrick J. “Native self-government needs economic base.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day, (April 1992): 23-27.

    “Leader has lived Indians’ anger.” Calgary Herald, 4 February 1992: A5.

    LeBlanc, Alfred. “Answer to Native self-government: give Canada’s First Nations their own province.” Financial Post Daily, 16 June 1992: 16.

    “Legacies of mistrust: Suspicion fuels Indian fears.” Maclean’s (10 September 1990): 26-27.

    Malling, Eric. “Time for a new attitude.” Content, (March/April 1991): 16-17.

    “Mercredi: how he made them listen.” Vancouver Sun, 11 February 1992: A13.

    Morrisseau, Miles. “Will self-government set Natives against  each other?” Montreal Gazette, 18 August 1992: B3.

    “Mulroney warns Indians deal won’t get any better.” Vancouver Sun, 19 October 1992: A4.

    “Native demand confusing.” Calgary Herald, 21 March 1992: A5.

    “Native self-government: racist by definition?” Alberta Report Vol. 7 No. 20 (15 June 1992): 8.

    “Native self-rule on the agenda.” Globe and Mail, 4 September 1990: A4.

    “Natives’ definition of self-government can vary greatly.” Montreal Gazette, 28 September 1990: A5.

    “Natives search for self-government.” Calgary Herald, 15 February 1992: A10.

    “‘Natives will suffer death of Meech Accord’.” Calgary Herald, 1 February 1991: B6.

    Newman, Peter C. “Bourassa is just as distinct as Mercredi.” Maclean’s, Vol. 104 No. 36 (9 September 1991): 30.

    _________. “Response by Peter C. Newman to Jennifer Brown.” Canadian Historical Review, Vol. 67 No. 4 (1986): 572-578.

    “Niceness not enough to build a nation.” Globe and Mail, 19 July 1991: A10.

    “Off-the-record rules misunderstood.” Calgary Herald, 29 July 1990: C6.

    “Oka gave voice to aboriginals.” Globe and Mail, 10 July 1991: A7.

    Olive, David. “Peter Newman: It’s hard not to think of the Bay.” Quill and Quire, (21 November 1985).

    “Ottawa had big questions about self-government.” Montreal Gazette, 5 November 1992: B1.

    “Ottawa short on answers.” Winnipeg Free Press, 5 November 1992: B16.

    “Ottawa urged to cripple Warrior society: members must be disarmed.” Montreal Gazette, 25 July 1990: A1-A2.

    “Ottawa vague on self-rule.” Calgary Herald, 10 September 1991: A9.

    “PM says he wishes he could right Métis wrongs.” Vancouver Sun, 5 October 1991: A10.

    “Poll shows support for self-rule.” Vancouver Sun, 17 February 1992: A4.

    “Price of native rule high, Siddon says.” Globe and Mail, 11 April 1992: A6.

    “Quebec must end standoffs, Indian Affairs Minister says.” Globe and Mail, 27 July 1990: A4.

    Richardson, Boyce. “Ovide Mercredi: Speaking Softly, Hitting Hard.”  Canadian Forum, Vol. 70 No 803 (October 1991): 6-12.

    Schreiner, John. “A stinging critique of Native self-government.” Financial Post Daily. 9 October 1992: 11.

    “Self-rule issue splits Natives, unity panel.” Toronto Star, 9 January 1992: A9.

    Sheppard, Robert. “Maybe it’s racist, but it’s a good thing.” Globe and Mail, 2 June 1992: A17.

    “Siddon backs deputy on Oka.” Calgary Herald, 25 July 1990: A2.

    “Siddon backs his deputy minister: uproar follows.” Globe and Mail, 25 July 1990: A4.

    Siddon, Thomas. “Indian plan benefits all Canadians.” Calgary Herald (Letters), 13 August 1992: A6.

    _________. “Natives, Ottawa are building a new relationship.” Toronto Star (Letters), 13 July 1991: D3.

    _________. “The fateful turning point at Kanesatake standoff.” Canadian Speeches: Issues of the day (October 1990): 63-67.

    _________. “Positive native vision” Globe and Mail (Letters), 7 May 1991: A16.

    Simpson, Jeffrey. “From the cheap seats: a way to handle the native issues.” Globe and Mail, 21 November 1991: A20.

    _________. “The demands for full sovereignty can’t be met.” Globe and Mail, 17 August 1990: A14.

    _________. “The telling nature of the new royal commission on aboriginal affairs.” Globe and Mail, 30 August 1991: A14.

    “Sovereignty demand scuttled possible deal.” Globe and Mail, 29 August 1990: A6.

    “The dangerous next step: Canadians call for real change.” Maclean’s (10 September 1990): 28-29.

    “The fury of Oka: The crisis at the barricades lends urgency to the search for solutions.” Maclean’s (10 September 1990): 16-19.

    “The pith of myth.” Vancouver Sun, 28 November 1992: A17.

    “TV viewers told of Canadian ‘genocide’.” Winnipeg Free Press, 24 January 1992: C35.

    Wagamese, Richard. “Do Aboriginals need self-government? Yes.” Toronto Star, 19 July 1991: A23.

    “Why Native leaders don’t want Charter.” Montreal Gazette, 10 October 1992: 11.

  • The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt III): The Historical Discourse of Aboriginality

    The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt III): The Historical Discourse of Aboriginality

    The purpose of this chapter is to apply the model of analysis suggested by the insights and methodologies of Said and Foucault to Native/non-Native relations in Canada. To reiterate the major points of this analytical model, the primary focus of examination is placed not at the level of individual subjective intent but at the more concrete level of the discursive effects of power. The idea that power is best understood to operate as a function of expressed intent is bracketed in favour of an approach to power which recognizes that ideal objectives and the reality of lived experience bear no necessary correlation. Moreover, as the strategies and mechanisms of power are best seen as constantly evolving, an analysis of its effects must be historically located if the continuity of these effects is to be determined. According to Foucault, from such an historical perspective, politics in Western democracies emerge as simply war continued by other means.

    Accordingly, this paper situates its analysis of Native/non-Native relations in Canada within an understanding of the effects of that relationship’s approximate 500 year history as a whole. The immediate implications of adopting such an approach are obvious: the analysis of the relations between the Indigenous peoples of these lands and what are properly seen as European immigrants to them, must take as its starting point the various material conditions and circumstances of Aboriginal cultures prior to contact with Europeans. Thus, a fundamental operating assumption of this paper is that, pre-contact, these cultures had total and undisputed control over their lives and the ways in which they related to the lands they traditionally occupied; now, clearly, they do not. A second assumption is that, unless these peoples are the only known group in the history of the planet to freely, willingly and unilaterally give up this ability en masse to determine their own lives, on their original lands, one is forced to conclude that such lands have been taken, and continue to be held, by force.

    This chapter sets down two major themes of the dominant Canadian discourse on Aboriginal peoples: namely, The Noble Savage and The Vanishing Indian Race. As shall be argued throughout the remainder of this paper, both of these themes rely upon the fundamental Western assumption of European superiority. This assumption clearly recalls the analysis of Said, and thus provides an opportunity to reiterate and apply the major operating assumptions of imperialist discourse discussed in the previous chapter. Again, Said presents three major organizing categories of imperialist discourse: its Eurocentric perspective, its positioning of the Orient as a problem, and the dehumanizing consequences of its cosmic view of the Orient. While the two broadly conceived themes under discussion do not cover the entire scope of the discourse of Aboriginality, together they capture much of its essential content. However, before proceeding to an examination of these two themes and their political implications, some comments concerning the methodological aspects of this paper’s approach are in order.

    Firstly, the examples to be cited in this chapter are not to be regarded as the sole source of evidence upon which this paper’s thesis is based. Rather, the examples to follow simply serve as illustrations of the theoretical analysis put forth by this paper concerning the discourse of Aboriginality. Thus, the true test of this paper’s thesis will consist not in the specific examples it produces here, but in the general applicability and plausibility of its theory. This approach owes a direct debt to that of Said in Orientalism:

    It should be noted at once that even with the generous number of books and authors that I examine, there is a much larger number that I simply had to leave out. My argument, however, depends neither upon an exhaustive catalogue of texts dealing with the Orient nor upon a clearly delimited set of texts, authors, and ideas that together make up the Orientalist canon. I have depended instead upon a different methodological alternative—whose backbone in a sense is [a] set of historical generalizations…

    In the case of this paper, such historical generalizations are of a thematic and ideological nature, namely, the hypotheses of the Noble Savage and the Vanishing Indian Race.

    The other methodological consideration to note here is that the examples included in this chapter reflect neither a random nor whimsical process of selection; indeed, it is this paper’s contention that similarly effective examples exist close at hand at virtually any given point within the discourse. In other words, the examples to follow are neither exotic nor obscure. Instead, as Said points out, they merely indicate the fact that discourse operates precisely by making itself and its putative object widely and readily available. Discourse is not a subterranean phenomenon lurking within the depths of society but rather one which functions everywhere at the level of appearances. Again, given that the main argument of this paper rests on its general application, no amount of specific examples will clinch it.

    The Noble Savage

    While the conventional theme of the Noble Savage recurs consistently throughout Canadian discourse on Native peoples, it does so in a variety of forms. Nonetheless, at the core of all these various manifestations have been a number of key, albeit contradictory, assumptions. These assumptions can generally be seen as falling into one of two groups. The first group of assumptions posits the existence of a global hierarchy of man, wherein the perceived superiority of European culture places it above all others. This notion of cultural hierarchy derives from the intellectual ties of the Noble Savage to Christian cosmogony, which sought to explain the origin and history of all humankind. The presence of Aboriginal peoples in the ‘New World’ thus created certain theoretical problems for Orthodox Christian thinkers, who subscribed to the notion that God created all peoples at one time and in one spot. In order to preserve this monogenetic account of the world, Christian thought developed two responses: the first, the idea of a land bridge connecting the New World to the Old, solved the dilemma of the Indian’s physical presence in the New World; the second, the notion of cultural degeneracy, accounted for the cultural and social differences between Native and European peoples. From this logic emerges the conclusion that Native peoples exist as a degenerate and derivative form of human beings who occupy the lowest rank of human socio-cultural evolution. Thus, it is not long after contact that one can see what Said refers to as the Eurocentric perspective in operation. According to Robert Berkhofer Jr., the positioning of the world’s peoples on an evolutionary scale persists through and beyond the period of the Enlightenment, and to the extent that Western thought presumes

    the fundamental unity of all humans in psyche and intelligence, then the Christian belief in the brotherhood of all God’s souls left its impression on the subsequent social sciences. In these basic outlooks the Christian parenthood of the social scientific image of the Indian becomes apparent.

    The other major group of assumptions underlying the notion of the Noble Savage in a sense celebrates the so-called ‘primitive’ aspects of Native societies as a romantic alternative to European life. European Primitivism, a tradition of thought existent around the time of the Renaissance, sought to criticize Western society for what were perceived to be the ills and inequality of its social order. As a notion with roots in the Judeo-Christian and Greco-Roman mythical traditions of Paradise and the Golden Age, primitivism inherited a vision of an ideal landscape in harmony with nature and reason. This quest for paradise on earth influenced many Renaissance explorers, and consequently shaped the vocabulary with which they described and portrayed the indigenous populations of the New World. Their accounts, in turn, appeared to corroborate in fact the theoretical propositions of primitivist thought.

    Eventually, Native peoples come to be understood by the West as a contemporary representative of mankind in its original ‘state of nature,’ or a condition of existence where social organization has yet to achieve the ‘advanced’ form then known to Europeans. In the eyes of Europeans, then, pre-contact Indians live in a ‘pure’ and ‘untainted’ manner free of the attendant evils of ‘civilized’ Western society. The nobility of the ‘savage’ Indian, therefore, resides within his simplicity.  It is this same quality, however, that permits the European to regard the Indian as ‘primitive’ and ‘unpolished.’ In the process of romanticizing Aboriginal peoples, European writers are quick to remind themselves and their readers of their inherent superiority as Europeans. That this notion persists within the later Canadian context as well is a proposition to which this essay now turns.

    Providing an early example of the Noble Savage theme within the context of New France, the precursor to French Canada, is the Jesuit Relations. The Relations is a chronicle produced annually by the Jesuit missionaries in the 17th century intended to convince their financial supporters back home of the worthiness of their religious pursuits of conversion and civilization of the ‘savages’ of the Americas.  In order for such ‘savages’ to be capable of conversion, however, they had to be acknowledged in some sense as human beings. The theme of the Noble Savage thus serves two functions: on the one hand, it allows the Jesuits to designate Native peoples as human, indeed rather nobly so; yet, on the other hand, it makes such nobility conditional, as a degraded and simplistic form of human social organization. Sieur de Cobes, who visited the missions of New France in 1605, concluded that Native peoples are amenable to evangelization, and his comments serve as an accurate reflection of the prevailing European attitude towards Indians at that time:

    Now to describe the nature of those that inhabit it, you should know that they are very handsome men, white as snow, who let their hair grow down to their waists (both men and women), with high foreheads, eyes burning like candles, strong in body and well proportioned. The women too are very beautiful and graceful, well formed and dainty, so much so that given the fashion of their clothes which is somewhat strange one would say they were Nymphs or some goddesses, very charming and tractable, but apart from that prepared to be massacred rather than consent to their dishonour, or have knowledge of any other man besides their husbands. Apart from that, in their manner of living they are very brutish…

    The above quotation provides an indication of the excessive attention of imperialist discourse to detail, a literary device Said regards as the prerogative of the Eurocentric perspective. Rather than choose to focus on the more human aspects of Aboriginal social and cultural life, the European observer reduces such aspects to constituting mere functions of their physical environment. Drawing upon the suggestive analysis of Said once again, these notions of biological determinism create a rather schematic view of the Indian, wherein Native peoples cannot be understood except as the embodiment of certain patterns within their physical surroundings.

    Ultimately, what the connection made by European discourse between the Noble Savage and a ‘primitive’ and ‘wild’ state of existence permits is the intrusion of Western forces on Indigenous lands. Returning to the ideas of Cobes, his comments reveal the imperialist motivations accompanying the ostensibly religious project of the Jesuits:

    …but they are beginning to become civilized and to take on our manners and our ways. They are easily instructed in the Christian religion and are not too opinionated in their Paganism, to the extent that if Preachers went down to them I believe that in a short time the whole country would give in to the Christian faith without being otherwise constrained, and that by this means the way would be opened in the whole of the remainder of America for the conquest of souls, which is greater than all the lands one could ever conquer.

    The dovetailing aspects of the imperialist and civilizing projects thus revealed, the political implications of the notion of the Noble Savage become glaringly obvious. The West’s portrayal of the Indian as an individual in dire need of the finer attributes of civilised, Christian society obfuscates the inherently violent nature of its colonial presence in the ‘New World.’ Although the initial attempts at French colonization met with only partial success at best, the stage for its eventual justification had been set.

    Over the course of the 16th to the 19th centuries, lands traditionally occupied by Aboriginal peoples come to be increasingly encroached upon by predominantly French and English settlers whose numbers grew steadily with each passing decade. Facilitating the dispossession of Native lands throughout this period is the key tenet of the policy of civilization, namely, the permanent re-settlement of Native peoples on reserves. The reserve system, where Native peoples are forcibly segregated on land often less arable and desirable than that allotted to European immigrants, was a policy made directly possible by the notion of the Noble Savage. For a common conception (or misconception—the difference is slight) introduced by the Noble Savage theme is that Native peoples were largely nomadic, and thus wandered ‘aimlessly’ across the countryside. The reality is quite different; while it is true many Native peoples did relocate from time to time, this relocation was designed to prevent the physical over-use of any one particular area. Nonetheless, the Noble Savage paradigm, by positioning Native peoples as nomads who move without purpose or reason, served to justify European occupation of lands they perceived as either ‘unused’ or insufficiently so for the ends of ‘progress.’

    The persistence of this notion of Native nomadicism is so strong that one Canadian author, writing in the early 20th century, echoes it almost verbatim, couched in terms of protecting the Indians “as a people of limited intelligence.” As a result of such perceived beneficence on the part of Canadians, the author claims the “Indian became practically independent and self-supporting.” The author concludes that

    All over the Dominion [the Indians] are prosperous and content; nomads as they are bred up wholly to war and the chase, they have nevertheless acquiesced peacefully on the new conditions of life which the onward march of the white man has imposed on them, because they have been treated with justice and with what even more to the purpose, with a sympathetic tact.

    Implicit within the above 1907 comments is the notion of the White Man’s Burden. Individuals who subscribe to this notion see their self-designated mission and responsibility as Westerners to take up the perceived ‘challenge’ of bringing civility, reason and progress to the uncivilised parts of the globe. While usually attributed to the English poet Rudyard Kipling, Canada had its own inimitable version of the great White Man in the person of Duncan Campbell Scott, whose own assimilationist policies as the Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs in Canada were justified in terms that could easily pass for those of Nazi Germany: “final results may be attained, maybe in four centuries… by the merging of the Indian race with the whites [emphasis added].”

    A critical feature of the Noble Savage theme most evident within Scott’s “Indian policy” is the inability of the Savage to take care of himself in light of the superior and advanced ways of the Europeans. In Scott’s view, the Indians were “indeed a problem.” In his 1931 tract, The Administration of Indian Affairs in Canada, Scott begins by laying out the entire history of Native/non-Native relations prior to and post-Confederation:

    Whenever new countries are opened up, disease and degradation will be found among the outriders of the march of civilization.  These our [sic] Indians encountered… Thus in their first contact with the white man and his ways the Indians tended to sicken and deteriorate. As colonization proceeded they began to leave their healthy teepees and became shack and cabin dwellers. Of sanitation they knew nothing. They fell a prey to tuberculosis and other maladies hitherto unknown to them. For a time it seemed that they were doomed. But the Government [of Canada] determined that the race should be saved.

    One witnesses not only Scott’s commanding view of history but a heralding of his department’s openly paternalistic attitude toward Native peoples as well.  Indeed, throughout The Administration of Indian Affairs, Scott presents many prime examples of the organizing categories of imperial discourse as identified by Said.  At one point, he refers to the tested and true “procedure[s] and methods of dealing with Indians [emphasis added]” of Sir William Johnson, who, after the so-called “conquest” of Native peoples, “extended to the territory now known as Canada the principle of administration which had made his treatment of the Indians a success [emphasis added].” Clearly, ‘The Indian,’ that universal yet individual whole, presents not a human face but an administrative problem for Scott and his department. As one might by now expect, “success” is a standard to be measured by Westerners, not Indigenous peoples who after all are but “minors in the eye of the law.”

    Yet not only is Scott considered an able administrator, he is also thought of by the past and present literary establishment as one of the great poets of Confederation. In adopting what Said might term a third-person omniscient perspective in much of his poetry, Scott conveys a totalizing picture of Indian life. Indeed, in his sonnet “The Onondaga Madonna,” Scott summarily consigns the Indian race to a quick and inevitable end in the face of European encroachment:

    She stands full-throated and with careless pose,
    This woman of a weird and waning race,
    The tragic savage lurking in her face,
    Where all her pagan passion burns and glows;
    Her blood is mingled with her ancient foes,
    And thrills with war and wildness in her veins;
    Her rebel lips are dabbled with the stains
    Of feuds and forays and her father’s woes.

    And closer in the shawl about her breast,
    The latest promise of her nation’s doom,
    Paler than she her baby clings and lies,
    The primal warrior gleaming from his eyes;
    He sulks, and burdened with his infant gloom,
    He draws his heavy brows and will not rest.

    Not only are the form, a sonnet, and the main archetype, the madonna, employed by Scott clearly Eurocentric, so is his supervisory and judgemental capacity as narrator. Scott’s ultimate control over the narrative denies all agency to highly romanticized Native protagonists, who can only await their “tragic” fate.

    As demonstrated above, the political implications of the Noble Savage theme are clear: if the Indians “of Canada” are to be weaned from their primitive state, they must “progress into civilization and finally disappear as a separate and distinct people not by race extinction but by gradual assimilation with their fellow-citizens.” The difference seems hardly worth noting.  Ultimately, however, the policy of assimilation was widely regarded as a failure, for Native peoples did not integrate with their “fellow-citizenry.” According to most interpretations of that policy, the major reason for its alleged ‘failure’ lay in the white mainstream’s consistent rejection of Native people. Yet in the apparent rush to deem assimilationist policy as a ‘failed’ attempt at cultural genocide, as so many claim, a crucial question remains unasked: what has that ‘failure’ in fact accomplished? It is here that we are compelled to recall the approach of Foucault to power. For whereas the stated goals of colonial policy have long been to assimilate the Indian, the effect of such policy has ultimately been to isolate Native peoples on reserves. In other words, the very actions of the federal government reveal the more global aims and objectives underlying and motivating colonial power: to displace and dispossess the Indigenous populations of their lands.  Again, this larger strategy of colonialism neither resides nor derives from the intent of one or more individual subjects. Rather, colonialism operates through those individuals, including by means of their thought, writing and speech. Thus, those writers who echo the claims of policy makers as to the utter ‘failure’ of assimilationist policies in fact fail themselves to note what such policies have achieved beyond such reputed goals.

    It was a scant 38 years after the administrative regime of Duncan Campbell Scott that Jean Chrétien, then minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development in the Trudeau government, would voice a similar lamentation of the White Man’s Burden:

    Some of you may ask what is wrong with the present system of land management? Well, let me tell you how it works. First, the band Council decide that they want to do something constructive and reasonable with a piece of their land as many of them want to do. They pass a Council resolution which they hand over to the Department’s Agency office. It is sent from there to the Regional office. The Regional people, anticipating that their superiors in Ottawa will ask questions, attempt to outguess the Head Office and ask questions themselves. Back it goes to the Agency and back to the Band… Eventually all the questions are answered and it comes to me. I look at the date and find it is over a year old.

    I complain, but I find that all the questions were reasonable if you consider that I am the trustee and could be held to blame if they had not been asked. The fact is, the position of a trustee is never satisfactory to the beneficiary or to the trustee himself. [emphasis added]

    The length of this quotation is merited by the degree to which it points out the irony of Chrétien’s 1969 statement. For 1969 was the year Chrétien and Trudeau devised the infamous White Paper on Indian policy. The essential premise upon which the Paper was based was the elimination of the so-called ‘discriminatory’ aspects of the Indian Act so as to allow Native peoples to finally become “equal partners” with the rest of Canadian society. What is ironic in the above statement (and in fact the entire policy-making exercise of the White Paper) is the complete lack of recognition on Chrétien’s part of the circumstances which have allowed him to be in the position of colonial administrator. Although Chrétien may consult with Native peoples, only he can initiate those discussions, as it is only he, and not Native people, who sets the final terms of debate. Ultimately, it is Chrétien and the government who decide as to the place Native peoples are to be given within Canadian society. And yet, under the guise of ‘equality before the law,’ the Liberal government attempted to effectively eliminate what little guarantees Native peoples had of the unique treatment afforded them by virtue of their special status as the original inhabitants of this land. The federal government’s appeal to the notions of ‘equality’ and ‘right’ thus masks its efforts to erode Native people’s historical claim to the land. The government, in its attempt to ‘force Native peoples to be free’, employs a discourse which articulates Native peoples’ own best interests for them: as such it is extremely condescending and not at all inconsistent with the historical theme of the Noble Savage. To paraphrase Said, the Canadian state’s grand vision of equality overrode the historical narrative of Native/non-Native relations by posing the situation as an ahistorical, single-issue problem of right. While the Paper was eventually dropped, some Native peoples claim the federal policy of transferring responsibility for Native peoples to the provinces remains an unspoken goal of that policy.

    The Vanishing Indian Race

    The actual appearance of the Vanishing Indian Race theme in Canada did not occur in earnest until the 19th century; in other words, when the threat of Indian retaliation was safely past. The myth of the vanishing Indian race is inextricably linked to the notion of cultural purity.  As an “inferior” race (a European concept), Indian people cannot hope to continue in their primitive, albeit “noble,” ways for very long in the face of continued encroachment by the so-called advanced Europeans. This perception locks Native people into an inert view of Aboriginal culture that must remain the same if it is to continue to be regarded as ‘authentic’ by Europeans, who saw their own cultures as naturally ‘progressive.’

    In short, to be Native was to be static. By lamenting the tragic ‘loss’ of Native ways of life, writers deny Aboriginal peoples’ ability and right to change like any other dynamic culture. Europeans thus perceive there to be an irresistible and inevitable force working against Native peoples.  Usually, this inevitable force takes the form of Western progress, as we see in this excerpt from the 1873 travel writings of George Grant:

    Poor creatures! not much use have they ever made of the land; but yet, in admitting the settler, they sign their own death warrants. Who, but they, have a right to the country; and if ‘a man may do what he likes with his own,’ would they not be justified in refusing to admit one of us to their lakes and woods, fighting us to the death on that issue?  But it is too late to argue the question; the red man, with his virtues and his vices—lauded by some as so dignified, abused by others as so dirty—is being civilised off the ground.

    Grant was not alone amongst his contemporaries in the assumption that “these vast regions were surely meant to maintain more than a few thousand Ojibways.”

    The anachronistic view of Native culture held by Euro-Canadians ensures that Native people lose in two ways, in a kind of cultural ‘Catch-22’: by even taking on some of the more superficial aspects or elements of Western culture, Indians are seen to lose their “Indian-ness”; and by not doing so, Indians are seen to be dying out as a race and as a culture. Such a narrowly defined view of culture and race assumes that Native culture is one monolithic culture when in fact it contains a number of cultures. Just as the cultures of the mainly French and English colonists were originally composed of many different ethnic groups before coming to take on their more familiar nation-state form.

    A major political implication of the Vanishing Indian Race theme is the belief that the best and brightest years of Aboriginal culture have long since passed. Aboriginal peoples are conquered and vanquished, and their eventual disappearance, to recall the sentiments of Scott, is only a matter of time. While such a fate can be seen by Canadians to be either a negative or positive development for Native peoples, it is ultimately the needs of the former which must prevail. In 1910, Ernest McGaffey, a Canadian journalist and poet, had this to say regarding the appropriation of Native lands in British Columbia:

    the Indian, except in occasional instances, will not labour, and he should give up the land to those who will work.  The tools to the man who not only can but will use them.

    According to McGaffey, these weaknesses would seal the doomed fate of Native peoples, who must yield in the face of White Anglo-Saxon superiority:

    For it is so that the wilderness falls before the axe, that the old order passes as the new regime comes in;  that you cannot stay the current development by a dogged refusal to go with the tide; and that the iron pen of history has written time and time again, the survival of the fittest is the law of the nations.

    As if to ensure that Native peoples are indeed eliminated from public view, Canadian historians have contributed a rather distorted picture of that country’s development as a nation by consistently failing to include the contribution of those peoples. In his 1983 review of historical writing about the Indian in Canada over the period of 1972-1982, James W. St.G. Walker provides a synopsis of the role Native peoples have played over the past three centuries according to recent Canadian historiography:

    The Indian’s allotted place in Canadian history was in keeping with his personal qualities, or lack of them. Indicative of the Indian’s historical position was the ways in which he was first introduced into Canada’s story. The typical history began with geography, then the Vikings, then John Cabot, and then Cartier, when the first reference would be made. They would appear suddenly to greet Cartier, or they would be introduced to explain some of the hardships faced by the early settlers. Indians were treated as part of the setting, the environment in which the history of the European newcomers would unfold. Once the Whites arrived, the Indian was given a role of subservience…

    In fact, Walker continues, the only two events in Canadian history where most historians acknowledge the involvement of Native peoples were the War of 1812 and the Riel Resistance of 1885, which Walker terms the Indian’s “final curtain call.” A recent historical account published in 1992 by Olive Dickason entitled Canada’s [sic] First Peoples appears to stray little from the pattern outlined above by Walker.

    The final aspect of the myth of the Vanishing Indian Race theme involves the ‘inter-mixing’ of Native and non-Native peoples. It is here that one hears of a threat posed by such intermarrying to Native peoples’ “original integrity,” an idea that in part refers to the prevailing association among Europeans of Native people with the wilderness. These “children of nature” recall the “pure” state of man and serve as a contrast to the so-called developed men of European society. The effect of such notions is to undermine Native peoples’ ability to experience cultural dynamism. Canadian authors, by not allowing Native peoples to determine for the outside world what are to be regarded as Native cultures, contributed to an entrenchment of European cultural assumptions about Indians that, as demonstrated in the next chapter, linger to this day.


    CONTINUE READING:

    PART IV > The Contemporary Discourse of Aboriginality

  • The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt II): Imperialism and Edward Said’s “Orientalism”

    The Discourse of Aboriginality (Pt II): Imperialism and Edward Said’s “Orientalism”

    In outlining Michel Foucault’s account of power, the previous chapter spoke of the role juridical theory played in fixing the legitimacy of the King’s rule in Medieval Europe. Foucault claims that jurists effectively masked the dominating effects of royal power by locating the central focus of their discourse on power in the sole personage of the King. In this sense, the theory of sovereignty appears to be a reflection not so much on power as of power. Thus, power’s greatest advantage over its opponents is its privileged ability to ‘tell its own story’ as it were and, in turn, have that story stand as the authoritative version of events.

    In the first part of this chapter, the reader will be introduced to the methodology and insights of Edward Said’s Orientalism. Said applies the Foucaultian notion of discourse to the intellectual and imaginary posture of the West towards its one-time Oriental colonies. As a former colony of the West, the Orient was and in many ways remains a region profoundly affected by the ideas and behaviours imposed upon it by European imperialism. Said reveals how, here too, imperial power gets to tell its own ‘self’-centered (hi)story as Europe gains and consolidates its foothold in the Orient:

    Taking the eighteenth century as a very roughly defined starting point Orientalism can be discussed and analyzed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient—dealing with it by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating, restructuring and having authority over the Orient.

    Enabling these authoritative dealings with the Orient, of course, is the historical fact of Europe’s physical and political domination of that region. Indeed, as Said makes explicit in Orientalism, any attempt to seriously understand how certain ideas, cultures, and histories come to predominate over all others must first grasp their relation to power:

    To believe that the Orient was created—or, as I call it, “Orientalized”—and to believe that such things happen simply as a necessity of the imagination, is to be disingenuous… The Orient was Orientalized not only because it was discovered to be “Oriental” in all those ways considered commonplace by an average nineteenth-century European, but also because it could be—that is, submitted to being—made Oriental.

    In this regard, Said’s analysis immediately presents itself as a suggestive model for the purposes of this paper. For in both the colonial Orient and the area that has now become Canada, indigenous peoples were initially dominated by the imperial forces of Europe; in the case of the latter colony, however, that imperial presence remains. In both cases, moreover, the principal imperial actors were the countries of Britain and France, with the former eventually coming to supersede the latter as the dominant player in both regions. Given this similarity in their respective circumstances, it would be useful to consider within the context of the burgeoning Canadian nation-state Said’s analysis concerning the Orient.

    Again, the main contention of this paper is that the active campaign by the dominant society to explain away through its discourse the violent and persistent efforts of the Canadian nation-state to forcibly remove Aboriginal peoples from their lands must be seen as complicit in those efforts. These efforts must be identified as the genocidal and ethnocidal practices they in effect are in their continued assault upon Native peoples and their unique ways of life. In that respect, Said’s analysis bears a great deal of relevance to what is a fundamentally similar set of historical circumstances—European imperialism and colonization.

    As Orientalism employs many of the same analytical tools as Foucault, the instructiveness of its approach for this paper stems not so much from its theoretical component as the method of its application to the material aspects of discourse, namely, texts of a literary and scholarly nature. According to Said, power displays itself within the form of its discursive elements; that is, that despite power’s best (or worst, depending on one’s perspective) intentions, one is able to discern a high degree of consistency in the operations of a given discourse that gives the presence of power away. In short, discourse is not only an instrument of power but a sign of its effects as well. What this paper draws from the analysis of Said in particular are a number of broad themes that serve to characterise the manner by which Orientalism operates. These themes include Orientalism’s intrinsic Eurocentrism, its problematising nature and the ultimately de-humanising effects of its schematic and cosmic vision of the Orient. Undergirding all of these themes is the fundamental ontological and epistemological division between the Orient and the Occident.

    In exploring these Orientalist themes, this chapter will identify and describe the kinds of discursive claims to which the West has found it necessary to appeal in order to warrant its occupation of the Orient. Taken as a whole, these themes can be seen to constitute a broad model of analysis that, once established, will permit this paper to interrogate the discourse surrounding Native peoples in Canada. Forming the background concerns of this chapter are the following questions: first, by what process of exposition can we claim that an operational link between power and knowledge is present? Secondly, what kind of evidence can we marshall to support this line of argument? Obviously, what is at stake in the posing of these questions is both theoretical and political in nature: in the first case, the utility of the ideas of Foucault and Said to establishing this paper’s thesis, namely, the existence of a systematic and recognizable discourse on Native peoples in Canada; in the second case, the relevance of that discourse to the form and operation of Native/non-Native relations in Canada.

    Eurocentrism

    While it may appear largely self-explanatory to discuss the notion of Eurocentrism, what it refers to is by no means self-evident. At base, a Eurocentric perspective is an intellectual and creative attitude toward the world that is almost entirely centered on the ideas, concepts and theories of the West. Yet, the significance of this perspective for the depiction and representation of the East cannot be determined by restricting one’s analysis to a search for a

    correspondence between the language used to depict the Orient and the Orient itself, not so much because the language is inaccurate but because it is not even trying to be accurate. What it is trying to do… is at one and the same time to characterize the Orient as alien and to incorporate it schematically on a theatrical stage whose audience, manager, and actors are for Europe, and only for Europe.

    This narrow point of view, which in fact may be as easily held by non-Europeans as by Europeans, does not present itself as the partial and biased view that it actually is. Instead, it has come to lay a virtually culture-wide claim to objectivity, the implication being that views of a non-Western origin are thus subjective and biased, if not superstitious. This partiality of the East thus established, it is only fitting to the West that it assume the burden of apprehending and comprehending the world. Naturally, this sovereign viewpoint of the West extends to the East, a move facilitated by its physical presence in that region:

    [T]he imaginative examination of things Oriental was based more or less exclusively upon a sovereign Western consciousness out of whose unchallenged centrality an Oriental world emerged, first according to general ideas about who or what was an Oriental, then according to a detailed logic governed not simply by empirical reality but by a battery of desires, repressions, investments, and projections.

    What makes Eurocentrism as an assumed mode of understanding so difficult to recognise is the subtle and gradual manner, by which it has come to be insinuated within everyday Western life, often under the guise of ‘modernity.’ The Eurocentric perspective is in a sense, so pervasive, so entrenched, so ubiquitous within the very fabric of the various institutions and traditions of Western society that it is about as noticeable and conscious an act as breathing. In other words, Eurocentrism is what this society takes for granted in its large or small interactions with the rest of the world: European superiority. Again, paving the way for the predominance of European intellectual and imaginary paradigms in the Orient is the overwhelming physical presence of European forces entrenched there. Such presence took many forms, including the institutions of colonial governments, consular corps, and commercial establishments, not to mention the missions and, most certainly, military outposts.

    The chief way in which Eurocentrism manifests itself within the Orientalist discourse is in a constant, if implicit, self-reflexiveness on the part of Western subjects vis-à-vis their putative colonial object in the Orient. Where the ostensible focus of European literature or scholarship is on the customs or people of the Orient, one recognises an ultimate concern with the needs and motivations of the West. For example, the French authors Nerval and Flaubert brought with them to the Orient a long cultivated taste for the ‘exotic,’ particularly in the area of sexuality; their dogged pursuit of such ‘fare’ only served to confirm their pre-conceived impressions and expectations of the region and its peoples. Underlying and emboldening this self-concern is an awareness that, as a Westerner, one is a member of an empire which has asserted itself into a position of dominance within the geography and affairs of another part of the world. By identifying with this position of dominance, one is able to put forth with supreme confidence a view of the Orient that requires little if any empirical substantiation, including from the Orient itself. Said notes how Flaubert’s highly sexualized image of the quintessential Oriental woman, based on a single encounter with a Egyptian courtesan, came to be widely circulated throughout Europe: her consent, of course, was a non-issue. Similarly, the British author, Alexander William Kinglake, could boldly assert in 1844 that the Arabian Knights is too lively and inventive a work to have been created by a “mere Oriental, who for creative purposes, is a thing dead and dry—a mental mummy.” Such sweeping generalizations can be made by the Orientalist even though, in the case of Kinglake, he has no working knowledge of any Oriental languages.

    Present throughout the Eurocentric viewpoint is the assumption of a high degree of authority over surrounding events and phenomena. This authoritative position confers upon one the ability to ‘uncover’ the perceived ‘mysteries’ of the Orient and Oriental life as if they were mere codes to be cracked or puzzles to be solved. Said characterizes this drive to discover as an essential belief in one’s ability to ‘exteriorize’ the Orient, to make the Orient plain for ‘all’ to see, an attitude typified by the noted Orientalist, Silvestre de Sacy:

    In Sacy’s pages on Orientalism—as elsewhere in his writing—he speaks of his own work as having uncovered, brought to light, rescued a vast amount of obscure matter. Why? In order to place it before the student. For like all his learned contemporaries Sacy considered a learned work a positive addition to an edifice that all scholars erected together. Knowledge was essentially the making visible of material… The result was the production of material about the Orient, methods for studying it, and exempla that even Orientals did not have.

    This passage also serves to illustrate the inherent self-reflexivity of the Eurocentric perspective. Implicit in such an attitude is the assumption that once people’s behaviour can be made known, it can be predicted; and what can be predicted, can be controlled. Such knowledge is nothing if not practical, for it implicitly prescribes the adoption of certain technical solutions that, ultimately, will come to act upon human beings.

    The authority of the Orientalist effectively allows him or her to interpret virtually any act on the part of the non-Western world as merely responding to what are seen as the originating and active energies of the West. According to some Orientalists, for example, in the case of Mohammed (the European version of his name), the Islamic prophet is nothing more than a pale imitation of the European Christ figure. Gradually, Western authors and artists come to regard this ability to interpret the rest of the world, for it obviously cannot do so itself, as a kind of birthright. This includes not only the right to depict whatever an artist or writer may come across, but the right to know everything and anything as well. In fact, artistic licence is often regarded as a kind of sacred trust in the West, an obligation to express ‘the truth’ for ‘all mankind’ at any cost. To suggest that this scholarly and artistic prerogative is based on the physical domination of the target/object of that interpretive gaze is to risk accusations of censorship or “political correctness.” Ultimately, what the Eurocentric tendencies of Orientalist discourse create is a situation whereby the West (and thus the Orient) forms the beginning and end point of its analysis, observation and understanding. What is relevant to the European gaze is only what the Orient means in terms of the needs of the West; in other words, in and of itself, the Orient is not worth much to the Orientalist, except as the first cause of what he or she says. Whether such a self-directed vision of the East by the West is especially reflective of the reality of the dominated Orient appears to matter little to the West when it aids and abets the ends of colonization so well.

    The Problematic Orient

    A second major theme of Orientalist discourse is the positioning of the Orient and the Oriental as a problem:

    so far as the West was concerned during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, an assumption had been made that the Orient and everything in it was, if not patently inferior to, then in need of corrective study by the West. The Orient was viewed as if framed by the classroom, the criminal court, the prison, the illustrated manual. Orientalism, then, is knowledge of the Orient that places things Oriental in class, court, prison, or manual for scrutiny, study, judgement, discipline, or governing.

    Whenever a problem arises, it is not too long after that a solution appears seeking to take care of it. In being designated as a problem, either indirectly as a result of one’s behaviour or directly because of who one is, one immediately becomes vulnerable to any and all forms of manipulation and coercion deemed necessary to ‘correct’ the problem.

    Lost or overlooked in the problem-solution debate is the source of the diagnoses and treatment of what allegedly ails the Orient. Drawing upon what it regards as impartial and unbiased criteria, the Imperialist countries justify and support their presence in the East by establishing the existence of a certain ‘lack’ in the Orient, which becomes part of the Orientalist discourse. This discourse frames the situation of the East in terms of a ‘crisis’ of endemic proportions, a situation in desperate need of the kind of attention that the West uniquely offers. The perceived ‘lack’ in the Orient is interpreted as inviting the kind of rehabiliative practices and methods of the West, of which it has a fortuitous abundance of expertise. And accordingly, the West must of necessity be directly involved for these recommendations to be established and implemented in a satisfactory and appropriate manner. Hence its physical presence in the Orient. Of course, here again, what is to be seen as a ‘satisfactory’ and ‘appropriate’ result is, in the last instance, for the West to decide, not Orientals themselves.

    It is useful here to consider the 1910 comments of Arthur James Balfour, who lectured the British House of Commons on the “problems with which we have to deal in Egypt.” According to Balfour, those members questioning the validity of England’s presence in that country must

    look in the face the facts with which a British statesman has to deal when he is put into a position of supremacy over great races like the inhabitants of Egypt and countries in the East… Is it a good thing for these great nations—I admit their greatness—that this absolute government should be exercised by us? I think it is a good thing. I think that experience shows that they have got under it far better government than in the whole history of the world they ever had before, and which not only is a benefit to them, but is undoubtedly a benefit to the whole of the civilised West… We are in Egypt not merely for the sake of the Egyptians, though we are there for their sake; we are there also for the sake of Europe at large.

    Thus the West comes to establish the legitimacy of its colonial presence in the Orient. As for the Egyptian who resists this imposed authority, he is more likely to be “the agitator [who] wishes to raise difficulties.”

    The West’s concern for the Orient thus reveals itself as concealing other, less altruistic motives for physically implicating itself in Oriental affairs. According to Said, what has in fact motivated such Western ‘concern’ for the area has been simply either the recognition of potential economic or political interests or the perception of a threat to such interests already established. In other words, as comforting as the thought of Western goodwill toward the Orient might be, it has never been a major reason for the West’s being there. And as Said notes,

    consistently facilitating that imperial presence was a constantly refined knowledge of the Orient, so that as traditional societies hastened forward and became modern commercial societies, there would be no loss of paternal British control, and no loss of revenue either. However, when [senior colonial administrator] Curzon referred somewhat inelegantly to Oriental studies as the ‘necessary furniture of empire,’ he was putting into a static image the transactions by which Englishmen and natives conducted their business and kept their places. From the day of Sir William Jones the Orient had been both what Britain ruled and what Britain knew about it: the coincidence between geography, knowledge and power, with Britain always in the master’s place, was complete.

    One rationale for the West’s imperial solution to ‘The Oriental problem’ was provided by what Said refers to as the Romantic Orientalist project. This project emerged out of a 18th century desire in the West to restore to a largely secularized Europe a sense of its lost holy mission. Regarded as a particularly useful means to that imaginary end was the discursive positioning of the Orient as an ancient and exotic land, fertile ground suitable for the cultural regeneration of Europe. Unearthing the Orient’s obscure and hidden core of riches would be the Orientalist, whose reconstructive activities in the areas of language and mores, even mentalities, now become front and center in the imperial plan.

    Prominently featured within this Romantic Orientalist project is a notion stemming from the West’s self-perception as a champion of the ideals and principles of freedom and democracy, an idea

    that will acquire an almost unbearable, next to mindless authority in European writing: the theme of Europe teaching the Orient the meaning of liberty, which is an idea that Chateaubriand and everyone after him believed that Orientals, and especially Muslims, knew nothing about… [A]rguing that Orientals require conquest, and finding it no paradox that a Western conquest of the Orient was not conquest after all, but liberty.

    One gets the distinct impression that, in its own mind at least, the West feels it is actually doing a service to the Orient by carrying out a project ostensibly designed to restore the region to its once “glorious past.” Ignored entirely by such sentiments is the fact that such recognition comes from the perspective of Europeans and not Orientals. An excellent example of how the Romantic restorative project is realised in practice is the construction of the Suez Canal. A huge and enormously expensive undertaking, the completion of the Canal finally overcame the great physical distance physically separating the Orient from the Occident. Thomas Cook, anticipating its opening, ennobles and romanticizes this vast and physically destructive project, relying, in the process, on a series of Orientalist values attached to a distant European past:

    Truly the occasion will be an exceptional one. The formation of a line of water communication between Europe and the East, has been the thought of centuries, occupying in turn the minds of Greeks, Roman, Saxon and Gaul, but it was not until within the last few years that modern civilization began seriously to set about emulating the labours of the ancient pharaohs, who, many centuries since, constructed a canal between the two seas, traces of which remain today.

    This heralding of a classical Oriental past is a particularly useful discursive notion for the colonial powers. For it both chastises and historicizes the Orient. It is chastised because it has fallen so far from its original glorious state, and it is historicized because it can never hope to live up to that fixed classical view of Oriental culture. Thus, what little worth the Orient does have, according to the West, is to be found in its past; a past which in its glory deprives the Orient of its agency in the present. The Orient, by constantly failing to live up to the European-imposed standards of the Eastern Golden Age, is thus deemed open to improvement by the West.

    In seeking to act upon the problem presented by the Orient—”its sensuality, its tendency to despotism, its aberrant mentality, its habits of inaccuracy, its backwardness”—one Orientalists have so expertly discovered and identified, the imperialist powers implement a wide array of bureaucratic and administrative techniques and procedures. Of all the various aspects of Orientalist discourse this area is perhaps the easiest to recognise. Recommendation of the above measures are often articulated in the form of direct or indirect questions which serve to establish both the existence of a problem and the implicit mandate to propose solutions. Typical examples of such queries include, “How are we to address the Oriental problem?”, or, “How do we help the Orient to help itself?” Given that with the posing of every problem there comes the suggestion of an implicit solution, the discourse can therefore be better seen as not merely descriptive but prescriptive as well. Once again, at no point in this scenario does it seem relevant for the West to wonder whether the Orient is actually desirous for any of these decisions made on its behalf.

    Finally, at some point in the discourse, one eventually finds numerous exclamations on the part of sincerely frustrated individual Westerners—”who only want to do what’s right for these people”—ruing the uncooperative attitude among Orientals. This frustration may seem odd, given the fact that if a real ‘solution’ was to be found, the ‘problem’ and thus the rationale for the West’s presence in the Orient would disappear. Rather than constituting any kind of contradiction, however, the fact of such genuine passion being directed at ‘helping’ the Oriental only serves to reinforce the fact that good intentions and the effects of colonial discourse by no means correspond. Indeed, in the eyes of Orientalists, imperialism is not a unilateral act of foreign invasion but one invited by what is perceived to be the deteriorating condition of the Orient. After all, so the logic goes, would the countries of the West go out all that way and remain there if the situation did not cry out in some way for their special brand of assistance? One can see how the act of imperialism itself provides its own theoretical justification.

    The Scheme of Things Oriental

    The last major theme of Orientalist discourse to be drawn upon here is its schematic and cosmic vision of the Orient. Such a view adopts a kind of universal perspective on the Orient, assigning to everyone perceived to fall within its purview a specific set of functions to fulfil as part of their specifically prescribed roles. In describing the implications of such a ‘visionary cosmology’ for an understanding of the Orient, Said cites Isaiah Berlin, who asserts that to

    know the ‘cosmic’ place of a thing or a person is to say what it is and what it does, and at the same time why it should be and do as it is and does. Hence to be and to have value, to exist and to have a function (and to fulfil it more or less successfully) are one and the same. The pattern, and it alone, brings into being and causes to pass away and confers purpose, that is to say, value and meaning, on all there is. To understand is to perceive patterns… The more inevitable an event or action or a character can be exhibited as being, the better it can be understood, the profounder the researcher’s insight, the nearer we are to the one ultimate truth.

    Again, the underlying domination permitting the doling out of such assignments by Westerners is neither recognised nor consciously acknowledged as being in any way responsible for the privileged position they occupy. Instead, this prerogative of interpretation is seen to be the result of a unique vision, considered at once grand and universal in its scope and intent.

    For Said, the ‘visionary’ aspect of the Orientalist discourse is central to appreciating the utterly dehumanizing effects of its practice. By taking a unitary view of the Orient and the millions of people who dwell within it, Orientalism eliminates all traces of human diversity and individuality, collapsing the behaviours and thoughts of millions of people into an immutable whole. If one fails to live up to the roles expected of him or her as an Oriental, one is immediately accused of undermining social stability, and dealt with accordingly. According to Said, Lord Cromer, England’s representative in Egypt, understood this hierarchy well:

    There are Westerners, and there are Orientals. The former dominate; the latter must be dominated, which usually means having their land occupied, their internal affairs rigidly controlled, their blood and treasure put at the disposal of one or another Western power… For, if according to Cromer, logic is something ‘the existence of which the Oriental is disposed altogether to ignore,’ the proper method of ruling is not to impose ultrascientific measures upon him or to force him bodily to accept logic. It is rather to understand his limitations and ‘endeavour to find, in the contentment of the subject race, a more worthy, and it may be hoped, a stronger bond of union between the rulers and the ruled.’

    Yet roles do not exist only for those who fall within the category of ‘normal’ Oriental practice. Indeed, there exists a kind of standardized view of deviance as well within Orientalist discourse. If, for example, an Oriental rejects Western mores and institutions, it is not understood to be for reasons having anything to do with a rejection of Western imperialism. Rather, the correct, Orientalist interpretation would perceive such rejection as a mere attempt, and a quite poor one at that, to replicate the nationalist ideals and behaviours of the West. The alternatives as presented by the West are clear: either submit to the ‘harmony’ and ‘civility’ promised by the institution of a Western idealized social hierarchy, or, lapse once more into sheer, chaotic, irrational ‘anarchy.’ As if to ensure that ‘anarchy’ is indeed what such independent action on the part of Orientals would bring, the West forcibly intervenes and severely punishes those responsible for such actions. Nevertheless, irrespective of how Orientals may react to the selflessness and good graces of the West in its effort to redeem the Orient, the nations of Europe were determined to bear the heavy moral burden of saving the Orient from itself.

    The assumption of an Orientalist vantage point is perhaps best understood as an attitude overwhelmingly grounded in texts, as a sufficient means by which to come to understand and know the Orient. Thus, a textual attitude is one which holds to the notion that a first-order reality like the Orient can be largely and sufficiently understood, comprehended and ultimately addressed on the basis of an inherently second-order knowledge of that reality. Encouraging and underlining that textual attitude is imperial power, with Orientalist discourse a major and necessary means of its exercise. By remaining chiefly at the level of texts, Orientalism thus limits the actual degree of human engagement by its practitioners, preferring instead the coherent and internally consistent world-view encouraged by texts. Said describes this predominance of texts over reality as “the defeat of narrative by vision.” By narrative, Said is essentially referring to the complex and multifaceted ways by which a given group of people change over time as the result of a number of inter-connecting and overlapping historical, political, economic and socio-cultural forces. The Orientalist ‘vision,’ by contrast, essentialises such change, attributing the uneven events of history to what it regards as the immutable, generic, even genetic, traits of the original Oriental character. However, this holistic triumph of vision is a conditional one and is under constant pressure from

    narrative, in that if any Oriental detail can be shown to move, or develop, diachrony is introduced into the system. What seemed stable—and the Orient is synonymous with stability and unchanging eternality—now appears unstable. Instability suggests that history, with its disruptive detail, its currents of change, its tendency towards growth, decline, or dramatic movement, is possible in the Orient and for the Orient. History and the narrative by which history is represented argue that vision is insufficient, that ‘the Orient’ as an unconditional ontological category does an injustice to the potential of reality for change.

    Above all, what the dominant imperial representation of Oriental life as unchanging, dependent, and utterly ineffective reveals itself to be according to Said is nothing more than “a will to power, a will to truth and interpretation, and not an objective condition of history.”

    Perhaps more than any other aspect of Orientalism, it is the unitary vision of the Orientalist which belies the presence and functioning of imperial power within the Orientalist discourse. As mentioned earlier, the ultimate achievement for the Orientalist, as the professed expert on the East for the West, is to render the Orient plain for all to see through the accumulation of knowledge on and about the region and its people. Thus, the Orientalist, by displaying his or her knowledge of the Orient and Orientals made them available, and thus amenable and open to, certain administrative and bureaucratic practices of the West. In this way, knowledge of the Orient informs and thus facilitates imperialist practice. Over time, this ‘Oriental’ knowledge develops a kind of institutional and material presence, lending officiality and permanence to the conclusions and tenets of its discourse. Thus, any text emerging out of and relying upon this official infrastructure is

    not easily dismissed. Expertise is attributed to it. The authority of academics, institutions, and governments can accrue to it, surrounding it with still greater prestige than its practical successes warrant. Most important, such texts can create not only knowledge but also the very reality they appear to describe. In time such knowledge and reality produce a tradition, or what Michel Foucault calls a discourse, whose material presence or weight, not the originality of a given author, is really responsible for the texts produced out of it.

    According to Said, the main impetus underlying Orientalist scholarship has always been a quest for power and land. As the hinge on which Orientalism depends, the individual Orientalist has produced theories about the Orient, and the Oriental, which have, inter alia, served to elevate his specific role in the imperial equation. The net effect has been the identification of the Orient with individual European (and thus Eurocentric) perspectives, a factor which goes some way toward explaining the coherent nature of such views of the Orient. It is their struggles to contain the Orient, to get a handle on it, to make it manageable, that have led some, including Hannah Arendt, to conclude that “the counterpart of bureaucracy is the imperial agent.”

    . . . . . . .

    In the first chapter, I began to advance the link between knowledge and power above and beyond the mere juxtaposition of image and effect, to the point where one can see the outlines of a unitary, systematic functionalist vision at work as an active, permissive, prescriptive and productive force. This vision does not nullify so much as sanctify the de-humanization of Indigenous peoples through knowledge practices. Moreover, an inhuman conceptual framework only serves to institute and maintain inhumane political practices. In the next chapter, I will advance two of the historical themes by which Aboriginal peoples in Canada have been positioned as objects of knowledge within similarly dehumanizing theoretical frameworks.


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    PART III > The Historical Discourse of Aboriginality