Perhaps this is cliché to say, but we’ve been here for no more than a week, and it already feels like I’ve lived here a whole lifetime.
I don’t know if it’s the surrounding mountains, or the crisp air, or the obscenely bright blue waters, but whatever it is, I love it. A renewed sense of curiosity and optimism fills my soul with each new day as I am honoured enough to witness the resilience and gracious spirit of the Yukon’s First Nations peoples.
As always, I have a good deal of questions surrounding this trip for both myself and those around me. The four questions that follow point both inward and outward, and are questions for myself, my mentors, and those whose stories we aim to share.
I apologize in advance; if brevity is the soul of wit, then consider this one unwitty piece of writing. Also consider that I’m only partly able to keep my eyes open from exhaustion while I sit here typing this, so I cannot be held personally responsible for the things that I say.
As a settler in this country, how can I challenge colonial narratives directly through my reporting?
This is the million-dollar question, and the main purpose for our travels here. We are all here because we recognize the issues of colonialism in this country we call Canada. Moreover, we are all here because we recognize the deep colonialism and blind spots in our education as journalists.
In class, I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been told to keep a distance from our sources and exclude them from the story-telling process. You can be friendly with your sources, but you can’t forge a real relationship or connection. You just ask the questions and get out. While it might not be explicit, we are taught guerilla, hit-and-run journalism in J-school.
This type of discussion and creation does nothing to help challenge the colonial narratives through which we’ve come to understand the world. It does nothing to understand, and I mean truly understand, the persistent issues of the devaluing of Indigenous peoples, communities, and ways of being. It does nothing to actually challenge us and push us outside of our comfort zone. In turn, fostering comfort zones is a useless endeavour in towing the same lines we always have as a colonial society.
Over the next four weeks (and I feel we have already steadily begun this journey), I am aiming to understand colonial stereotypes, systemic problems, and myths, how they can be a detriment to communities, and the ways in which communities are resisting and resurging by asserting their autonomy. The only way to do this is to ask questions and listen.
How does climate change affect the traditional ways of life and teachings of the Yukon’s First Nations peoples?
This question appears obvious, as it’s a large sum of what we’ve talked about in the last three weeks and it’s most likely to be a focal point in each final story.
Maybe this is an obvious question in a way, in that we know climate change (or at least, I hope we do) is the biggest world issue on the rise. We know that the Arctic is melting, we know the Earth is choking, and we know that the resulting environmental chaos that ensues has, is, and will cause hardship for any and all of us.
What I don’t know is exactly how the greed of corporatism and the disrespect of Mother Earth can potentially disrupt the traditions and practices of First Nations in the Yukon. As a people who are deeply connected to the earth on physical and spiritual levels, the warming globe is in fact a threat against their very belief and faith system and ability to continue as a people.
How might certain traditions be threatened by this ecological nightmare? How might this affect the transfer of knowledge? How might this affect the ability of communities as a whole to properly function as communities and collective entities? Most importantly, how are communities resisting this next round of colonialism, and how are they remaining powerful, strong and connected under the weight of such a heavy world issue?
How does the power of community and difference function in revitalizing and expanding cultural practices in Indigenous communities?
As I’m oft to do, I caught myself daydreaming today only to have started in on a true trail of curious thinking.
Throughout the Adäka Festival, an annual cultural festival in Whitehorse that showcases and celebrates Yukon First Nations, there has been a clear focus on tradition, and rightfully so. As a people who have been deprived and refused their traditions for so long, it’s inspiring to see many of them – singing, dancing, beadwork, storytelling – coming to life under the Yukon sun.
The transfer of knowledge within Indigenous families and communities is grand enough tradition as it is, but I wonder: do traditional teachings and ways of life for Indigenous peoples change across time as younger and newer generations take up the torch of wisdom? How can new ideas, innovations, or trends shape the way in which knowledge is both transferred from older generations and received by the younger?
A careful distinction here is that this is not a call for the “evolution” of teachings, as I understand this type of thinking could be perpetuating of dismissive “Indian savage” narrative. Yet there must be some way in which practices can expand over time, or re-assert themselves in the imaginations of younger peoples. I am curious to see how this manifests.
How can I, again as a settler, move past my white guilt to be a useful and vocal ally without overstepping the boundaries of my privilege?
Last fall, I read a chapter in a book by Taiaiake Alfred, an Indigenous scholar from Kahnawake, Quebec, for a Human Rights class about racism. The book was called Racism, Colonialism, and Indigeneity in Canada (2011), and the chapter titled, “Colonial Stains on Our Existence.”
This was clearly not written for settlers and non-Indigenous readers, of which I am both. Alfred’s cadence suggested he was speaking directly with Indigenous peoples in encouraging immediate and radical action. He asserts that the Indigenous struggle shouldn’t be centred around Reconciliation, a notably white settler construct, but rather seeking sovereignty and autonomy seeking restitution for colonial wrongs on their own terms (p. 7-8).
Yet it was Alfred’s peripheral declarations to white settlers that have stuck with me throughout the rest of my education, as it addressed my role in a systemic problem. Somewhat vehemently, Alfred speaks about “white guilt,” and Indigenous resistance not having any space or time for the self-immolations of settlers that immobilizes their ability to be engaged allies.
This sentiment struck home with me in the most bittersweet of ways. Bitter because I am most certainly prone to bouts of white guilt, so much so that I quite often question my right to take on the shroud of an “activist,” and sweet because this was the first real piece in the puzzle of how to navigate my ally-hood.
Perhaps what I am most concretely looking towards discovering my position within the fight for justice, as well as my positioning and influence as a storyteller and settler in making change. I am always intensely aware of my privilege and colonial presence, and I’ve found on more than one occasion that this has made it difficult for me to be comfortable and confident in telling important stories.
But my paralysis is useless to myself, my career, and most importantly, Indigenous peoples. I hope to navigate the pitfalls of both over stepping and skirting around journalistic boundaries, so I can better understand what the hell I need to do that is always respectful, radical, and ultimately, confident.