This week, as our fearless and wonderful leader Kanina Holmes takes on Paris to congregate with fellow journalism professors from around the world and share ideas, the Stories North crew is working with Corinna Cook, an award-winning Creative Non-Fiction author from Alaska and a life-long lover of the essay form of writing.
The following piece was written as an exercise of the list essay. Drawing inspiration from Sonya Huber's "Shadow Syllabus" (an excellent piece reflecting on the student-teacher relationship and educational boundaries), each of us crafted a piece in similar fashion examining our relationship to the communities we will be reporting on.
In my essay, I focused a lot of my energies on Old Crow. This is one of the most northernly communities in the Yukon, just above the Arctic Circle. The First Nation here is comprised of Gwich'in peoples. On July 16, the crew will be embarking to Old Crow for a 10-day visit, where we will learn about the community, its struggles, and its triumphs.
The piece is tentatively titled, "Translating Do-Goodery." This speaks to the conflicted feelings I have over my place in the communities and telling these stories.
Consider this my premature love letter to Old Crow.
Translating Do-Goodery
1. I read about you in history class.
2. Because of this, I feel qualified to sympathize with you about whatever hardships you might be feeling, whether it’s colonialism, climate change, or otherwise.
3. I don’t know the first thing about you.
4. Colonization is the pits.
5. Do you hate me? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Us whities have literally done nothing but heap shit on you since we ruined your 10,000-year streak of not being colonized.
6. I would actually really respect you if you hated me, or at the very least, strongly disliked me. Props to you for sticking to the man (AKA me).
7. Translation: I really want you to like me.
8. Maybe that’s selfish. No, it’s DEFINITELY selfish.
9. Translation: I’m pretty self-involved and that might pose a problem when I try to put your perspectives ahead of mine. That’s why I’m talking about myself in this essay and not you.
10. My lineage descends from those who came to this country we call Canada, took your land, slaughtered your people, stole your children, cut out your mother tongue, smothered your culture, left you with demons, medicated you with drugs and alcohol, denied your vote, refused you status, poisoned your earth, and actively tried to break your spirit. For all intents and purposes, I am walking, talking violence.
11. Despite this, I am far more scared of you than you will ever be of me.
12. I have been led to believe that your community is an actual community. Not just some abstract construction of one based on geographical convenience. You’ve forged an identity together. You have shared experiences. You work, play, eat, and live together.
13. I’ll feel a bit invasive for storming into your community with recorder in hand. I will hold a slight guilt the whole time.
14. Don’t be fooled; this will not stop me from peppering you with half-baked questions while donning a cap of intrepidity and good intentions.
15. When I want to show that I’m really listening and absorbing what you’re saying, I have this tendency to nod my head over-enthusiastically and wiggle my eyes around and make all sorts of listening noises.
16. Since I’m trying so hard to show I’m listening, I usually forget to listen.
17. Feel free to call me on that bullshit.
18. That’s the problem in the first place. We have all said we will listen, and then we never actually do. You can amount all this Reconciliation crap to, “Yada-yada-yada, we hear you, here’s some money and we’re sorry.”
19. They still don’t hear you.
20. I still don’t hear you. I guess my inability to pay attention is a microcosm for the whole of Canada.
21. In short, I suck. I know that. There’s so much I still have to learn. But I can’t think of a better teacher than you.
22. You awe me. You hold a power and pride that I have never seen before. You are the essence of resilience. You are brave, and tough, and all sorts of beautiful.
23. I can’t wait to meet you.