Each time my mother had a child, all of us by C-section (which at one point was pretty much the most common way to give birth), the doctor offered to give her a hysterectomy. The doctor made this offer while her children was being born, when she was under the influence of local anaesthesia and perhaps thinking that never having to have another child might be a good idea.
I can only imagine how I would feel in that moment.
When she had my youngest sibling, she agreed. She had a hysterectomy, a completely unnecessary operation that was nonetheless urged upon her as a good choice.
Aboriginal women and poor working class women were routinely bullied into these kinds of decisions at that time (late 70s to mid 80s). There are many cases where the decision was not made by the woman, but the sterilisation occurred anyway. I know a number of women my mother’s age who discovered this. Who do not remember giving consent. Who do not even remember being asked. Most of them shrug their shoulders because that’s just how it was done back then.
My mother has suffered many health problems as a result of her hysterectomy. I was terrified of going into a hospital because of her experiences. I was terrified of being bullied into have a C-section, into being offered such a drastic operation in a moment of supreme weakness. This happened to my mother, and my aunties, not to women many generations ago. My fear was based on attitudes and procedures that were in place when I was in the process of being born.
The full realisation of what was done to my mother and to so many women like her, has probably never truly hit my mother’s generation. It was so prevalent that they normalised it. For me, it is a thing of nightmares.
So when I had both of my daughters without drugs, without a C-section, and without having a doctor suggest that perhaps I should consent to sterilisation, I feel like I survived something I wasn’t sure beforehand that I could.
They sterilised my mother.
They will never, ever sterlise me or my children.
![mashkwi:
Holmes teamed up with the Assembly of First Nations in 2010 to create a pilot project on the Whitefish Lake First Nation west of Sudbury, Ont., to build energy-efficient, environmentally friendly homes and other infrastructure. The ongoing project also aims to develop trade skills for people living on reserves.
While recent attention has focused on the grim living conditions on the Attawapiskat reserve in northern Ontario, the First Nations housing crisis extends far beyond just the James Bay community and has gone on for years.
For Holmes and others who want to move past the politicking and fingerpointing consuming much of the public debate around the issue, solutions lie in the willingness to embrace ideas others may want to dismiss out of hand.
Maybe we can make better choices about building materials that may initially be more expensive but last longer and won’t burn or be susceptible to mould.
Maybe we can consider buildings not based on a wood frame, such as steel shipping containers converted into comfortable homes.
And so on.
‘This is not hard’
“Let’s look at the building technology,” says Holmes, whose ideal First Nations home would be about 1,100 square feet and built with wood and other materials that won’t burn or be susceptible to mould.
“I don’t care if you want a box. I don’t care if you want it off the ground. I don’t care if you want a foundation. It’s using all the products that make sense, nothing but mould-free, nothing but zero VOCs [volatile organic compounds]. This is not hard.”
Sure, mould-free drywall might cost 50 cents or $1 more per sheet than standard drywall, Holmes concedes, but will pay off in the long term, especially considering the number of homes on First Nations reserves that need renovation only a few years after being built. More than 40 per cent of the existing homes on reserves need major repairs, compared with seven per cent off reserve, according to a government-commissioned assessment of First Nations housing.
“Look at the cost of taking it down and doing it again,” Holmes said. “There’s no comparison.”
For Holmes, helping First Nations improve their housing stock extends far beyond choosing the right wood and drywall or hammering nails.
“The smartest thing we can do is to teach the First Nations how to do it,” says Holmes. “When they do it themselves, they have pride, and they care, and that’s what I think is the missing link, not to mention just using the wrong products and building foolishly.”
No quick fixes
Ralph Fireman, an 85-year-old in the Cree community of Attawapiskat, lives with his wife and granddaughter in a shack without running water. (Allison Dempster/CBC)
No one — least of all Holmes — suggests that the First Nations housing crisis can quickly or easily be resolved.
“It’s going to take time to spread out and make this right,” Holmes said. “As long as they continue to just fix, lipstick or mascara, or build the wrong way, this is never going to end.”
South of Attawapiskat, one First Nation is involved in an alliance that could offer hope for its housing problems at the same time as creating jobs and boosting work skills for its members.
“For me, obviously, the way housing is done in Canada for First Nations doesn’t work,” said Bobby Cheechoo, a member of the Moose Cree First Nation. “I think one of the options that should be considered is turning housing into a business.”
‘True and proper solutions’
But what particularly sets the Moose Cree project apart is the form the housing takes: dwellings inside converted steel shipping containers.
“Building more wood-based houses that are going to burn down or be filled with mould again isn’t a good option for anybody,” says Steve Marshall, vice-president and general manager of the Sudbury-based Morris Group of Companies.
“These are true and proper solutions to the crisis. It creates employment. It’s their own community building their own homes. They profit by it, and the homes are far better quality.”
Marshall says the only drawback to the idea of using converted shipping containers for housing is the stigma associated with it.
“A lot of it is just the mentality of people saying, ‘How could you live inside a ship container?’” said Marshall. “Well, you’re not. You would never know.”
Marshall says the shipping container really only replaces the shell of a home that is traditionally built with wood. The steel frame is highly resistant to fire and won’t allow mould to develop, and inside, the home is comfortable.
Expert, efficient workers
“They’re safe units,” Marshall said. “They’re thermally efficient. These homes have longevity. They don’t break down. They don’t come apart in the same way.”
“If our vision is realized, for example, we would have our own people building these different methods, [and be] expert and efficient at it,” he says.
But it doesn’t necessarily come easily.
“I’m not afraid to say we’ve encountered challenges with our First Nation in trying to change the mindset that exists there … to think outside the box,” Cheechoo said.
But he sees hope for changing that mindset, particularly among younger generations.
“For our generation and the one before, it’s tough to think beyond the wood,” Cheechoo said.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5uagclUM01r3mtxqo1_500.jpg)
Holmes teamed up with the Assembly of First Nations in 2010 to create a pilot project on the Whitefish Lake First Nation west of Sudbury, Ont., to build energy-efficient, environmentally friendly homes and other infrastructure. The ongoing project also aims to develop trade skills for people living on reserves.
While recent attention has focused on the grim living conditions on the Attawapiskat reserve in northern Ontario, the First Nations housing crisis extends far beyond just the James Bay community and has gone on for years.
For Holmes and others who want to move past the politicking and fingerpointing consuming much of the public debate around the issue, solutions lie in the willingness to embrace ideas others may want to dismiss out of hand.
Maybe we can make better choices about building materials that may initially be more expensive but last longer and won’t burn or be susceptible to mould.
Maybe we can consider buildings not based on a wood frame, such as steel shipping containers converted into comfortable homes.
And so on.
‘This is not hard’
“Let’s look at the building technology,” says Holmes, whose ideal First Nations home would be about 1,100 square feet and built with wood and other materials that won’t burn or be susceptible to mould.
“I don’t care if you want a box. I don’t care if you want it off the ground. I don’t care if you want a foundation. It’s using all the products that make sense, nothing but mould-free, nothing but zero VOCs [volatile organic compounds]. This is not hard.”
Sure, mould-free drywall might cost 50 cents or $1 more per sheet than standard drywall, Holmes concedes, but will pay off in the long term, especially considering the number of homes on First Nations reserves that need renovation only a few years after being built. More than 40 per cent of the existing homes on reserves need major repairs, compared with seven per cent off reserve, according to a government-commissioned assessment of First Nations housing.
“Look at the cost of taking it down and doing it again,” Holmes said. “There’s no comparison.”
For Holmes, helping First Nations improve their housing stock extends far beyond choosing the right wood and drywall or hammering nails.
“The smartest thing we can do is to teach the First Nations how to do it,” says Holmes. “When they do it themselves, they have pride, and they care, and that’s what I think is the missing link, not to mention just using the wrong products and building foolishly.”
No quick fixes
Ralph Fireman, an 85-year-old in the Cree community of Attawapiskat, lives with his wife and granddaughter in a shack without running water. (Allison Dempster/CBC)
No one — least of all Holmes — suggests that the First Nations housing crisis can quickly or easily be resolved.
“It’s going to take time to spread out and make this right,” Holmes said. “As long as they continue to just fix, lipstick or mascara, or build the wrong way, this is never going to end.”
South of Attawapiskat, one First Nation is involved in an alliance that could offer hope for its housing problems at the same time as creating jobs and boosting work skills for its members.“For me, obviously, the way housing is done in Canada for First Nations doesn’t work,” said Bobby Cheechoo, a member of the Moose Cree First Nation. “I think one of the options that should be considered is turning housing into a business.”
‘True and proper solutions’But what particularly sets the Moose Cree project apart is the form the housing takes: dwellings inside converted steel shipping containers.
“Building more wood-based houses that are going to burn down or be filled with mould again isn’t a good option for anybody,” says Steve Marshall, vice-president and general manager of the Sudbury-based Morris Group of Companies.
“These are true and proper solutions to the crisis. It creates employment. It’s their own community building their own homes. They profit by it, and the homes are far better quality.”
Marshall says the only drawback to the idea of using converted shipping containers for housing is the stigma associated with it.
“A lot of it is just the mentality of people saying, ‘How could you live inside a ship container?’” said Marshall. “Well, you’re not. You would never know.”
Marshall says the shipping container really only replaces the shell of a home that is traditionally built with wood. The steel frame is highly resistant to fire and won’t allow mould to develop, and inside, the home is comfortable.
Expert, efficient workers
“They’re safe units,” Marshall said. “They’re thermally efficient. These homes have longevity. They don’t break down. They don’t come apart in the same way.”
“If our vision is realized, for example, we would have our own people building these different methods, [and be] expert and efficient at it,” he says.But it doesn’t necessarily come easily.
“I’m not afraid to say we’ve encountered challenges with our First Nation in trying to change the mindset that exists there … to think outside the box,” Cheechoo said.
But he sees hope for changing that mindset, particularly among younger generations.
“For our generation and the one before, it’s tough to think beyond the wood,” Cheechoo said.
National Aboriginal Day: friend or foe?
Today, June 21st, is Canada’s National Aboriginal Day. This morning, like most other days, I woke up, made my coffee, and sat down to read the news. The consensus seems to be that today is a day to celebrate Aboriginal cultures and to remember our vibrant history within Canada. In the newspapers, stories of celebration and cultural performance encourage all Canadians to learn about us, to let us share our cultures with them, and to celebrate Aboriginals as part of Canada’s strong foundation of diversity. And, like most other days, I also read stories about the ongoing struggles for Indigenous land rights, protection of Indigenous grave sites, and recognition of high rates of violence. Yet these realities – the celebration and the struggles – seem to be kept very separate, as though they cannot exist together or are irreconcilable in the minds of Canadians and the federal government.
The Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development websitedeclares National Aboiginal Day as kickstarting 11 days of their “Celebrate Canada” festivities. This spirit of celebration and focus on cultural performance is at the heart of this day’s definition and vision, which seems to encourage a singular message: that Aboriginal people are welcomed into Canada as dancers, singers and cultural artifacts. This vision disempowers Aboriginal people’s struggles to gain sovereignty, to settle land and resource disputes, and to define ourselves not as subjects of Canada but as citizens of our own nations, on our own terms. Defining our cultural traditions as part of Canada’s history takes away their political significance as our systems of law, governance and identity. This is no coincidence, as the federal government would obviously not encourage a day to support the recognition of Indigenous nations as sovereign entities.
So what does it mean for us, as Indigenous people, to celebrate this day? Are there ways we can resignify our cultural performances on our own terms, and to remind Canadians that our songs and dances are much more than just lunchtime entertainment? What does it mean for us to be put on display, without recognition of the struggle it has taken for our survival? Where I live, here on Coast Salish territories, we might remind people that the potlatch and other local practices were banned in the Indian Act for over 80 years and only survived because of the resilience and determination of our ancestors to keep our worldviews and systems of governance alive. The dances and songs are inherently politically charged, and are part of our identity as survivors of genocidal policies. These histories cannot be separated from our cultural practices, regardless of the government’s attempts to refame them as celebrations of Canada’s multicultural history.
Many Aboriginal organizations and communities use this day as an opportunity to showcase the strength and resilience of Indigenous youth and elders, focusing on their success, agency and vibrancy. In this way, I suppose we might look at redefining National Aboriginal Day in terms that benefit us and our communities. Yet I worry that this continues to feed the government message about this day, and the role we have in Canada’s story about itself as a country without a history of colonial violence.
And so, today, I will not be celebrating Canada’s National Aboriginal Day. I will do what I do every day, putting my energy into cultivating the strength, resilience and beauty of our Indigenous communities, but for ourselves and on our own terms. I will try to cultivate understanding and education among non-Indignous and Indigenous people, in efforts to build networks of support and solidarity for the struggles facing our communities in order to create a brighter future for the next generations. And I will give thanks to my ancestors for keeping our cultural practices alive despite the government’s attempts to squash them, both through the Indian Act, and now through taking away their political significance. National Aboriginal Day is no friend of mine. Only when every day becomes a day for the recognition of Indigenous self-determination, and the simultaneous recognition of the harms of colonialism, will I be able to truly celebrate.
What’s in a name? Apparently a lot of taxpayer money that should have been spent elsewhere
NOTE: Reblogged from a friend (and one of my intellectual heroes): Urbane Adventurer aka Zoe Todd
———
“What’s in a name? Apparently a lot of taxpayer money that should have been spent elsewhere.”
Naming. It’s a powerful tool. It reaffirms or erases stories, directs our thoughts to tragedies, joys….or New York?
Elise Stolte just posted about the shortlist of proposed names for the Airport development. Frankly, once I read the list I was seething. I have just spent the last three days in Dettah, in traditional Yellowknives Dene territory, learning about the power of stories and naming, and the ways in which colonialism has altered life for Dene people in the Northwest Territories. Last night I watched “Finding our Way”, a film by Giovanni Attili and Leonie Sandercock, which explores the erasure and violence done to the Burns Lake Band and Cheslatta Carrier Nation in the name of a) municipal development (Burns Lake) and resource exploitation (Cheslatta Lake). You can imagine how deeply affected I was to hear stories of erasure, and the violence done in the name of ‘development’.
Then, the city posted a tweet about rezoning in Rossdale. That had me thinking about how Rossdale isn’t
Rossdale. It’s Pehonan. Why would we honour the “third white man to build a house in Edmonton” (Herzog 2004) over, say, thousands of years of Indigenous gathering? Or even decades of fur trade at Fort Edmonton? While some say these placenames are inconsequential, today, after listening to so many powerful stories up here north of 60, I argue that these names are a form of violence. My city is so unaware of its origins and the people who made it what it is that it chooses to name its spaces after hotel owners and land-speculators instead of the people who worked tirelessly to establish the roots that fed the 20th century growth of the city. Why on earth do we have a neighbourhood named The Hamptons, when it’s built on farmland, which in turn was land that once belonged to Cree, Blackfoot, Saulteaux, Metis and Nakota Sioux peoples?So, in the context of what I have been doing in the last few days, when I saw the list of names proposed for the Airport redevelopment, it just hit me that much harder. Obviously this is just a preliminary list dreamed up by some PR firm, but geez, what a list! It couldn’t have coincided more perfectly with the things I have been listening to and thinking about this week.
Being the feisty sort that I am, I moseyed on over to the survey website and let them know what I think.
After trying in vain to enter “none of the above” for my answer, I just randomly selected names and then entered my thoughts in the appropriate space:
“You didn’t give me an option to choose ‘none of the above’. I don’t think any of these names are appropriate, and you have completely ignored the complex and nuanced history of the space and the territory upon which this community will be built. Did they pay you for this consultation? You’ve done a bang up job of illustrating exactly why the city shouldn’t waste taxpayer’s dollars on this type of work. I hope that you realize that your suggestions are offensive to me as an Aboriginal person and 3rd generation Edmontonian. I expect the name of this new neighbourhood to honour the history of the space — both the Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal stories that have made Edmonton what it is today. Edmonton has ignored or obliterated its history for far too long, and in this day and age there is no excuse for naming a large development after a park in New York or some sort of bland and uninspired list of names that you drew up on a smart board after an afternoon of lattes and vegan cookies. Am I being a bit too harsh? Yes. But this list is so patently offensive to the people who have lived through centuries on this land, and ignores the rich aviation history of the airport itself. I guarantee I will be contacting my municipal representatives regarding this matter, as I am disappointed that the city has once again focused more on the gloss and less on the content in a decision that shapes how we, as Edmontonians, come to understand ourselves and our story. This space should be either named Blatchford Field and/or should carry a name of import to Indigenous Edmontonians. Period.”
Oh, I bet they’re glad I participated. The most delicious irony would be to win the $500 gift certificate they’re bribing us with offering us. Now, on a side note, what is up with the marketing of this survey? Who are those people on the front page and why are they standing in the middle of traffic in formal wear? Is that supposed to represent the thriving entertainment district on Whyte Ave? Or aspirations that the city holds to border every major street with wine bars and town cars?
I don’t know whose Edmonton this list of names and this slick marketing campaign is supposed to target, but it surely doesn’t represent MY voice. And whether they city likes it or not, I’m going to raise that voice as loudly as I can. Because enough is enough.
———
it’s summer and it’s all lovely and everything. and i do love it. but this city is really exhausting a lot of the time.
if you don’t already read Urbane Adventurer, start now. always so much smart goodness.
an excerpt from “The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative,” by Thomas King
I collect postcards. Old ones, new ones. Postcards that depict Indians or Indian subjects. I have one from the 1920s that shows an Indian lacrosse team in Oklaholma. Another is a hand-coloured rendering of the Sherman Indian School in California. A third is a cartoon of an Indian man fishing in the background while, in the foreground, a tourist takes a picture of the man’s wife and their seven kids with the rather puerile caption “And what does the chief do when he’s not fishing?”
One of my favourites is a photograph of a group of Indians, in full headdresses, golfing at the Banff Springs Hotel golf course in 1903. The photograph was taken by Byron Harmon and shows Jim Brewster and Norman Luxton, two Banff locals, caddying for what looks to be five Indians who are identified only as “two Stoney Indian Chiefs.” I like this particular postcard because there is an element of play in the image of Indians in beaded outfits and full headdresses leaning on their golf clubs while their horses graze in the background, and because I can’t tell if the person on the tee with bobbed hair, wearing what looks to be a dress and swinging the club, is an Indian or a White, a man or a woman.
But the vast majority of my postcards offer no such mysteries. They are simply pictures and paintings of Indians in feathers and leathers, sitting in or around tipis or chasing buffalo on pinto ponies.
Some of these postcards are old, but many of them are brand new, right off the rack. Two are contemporary pieces from the Postcard Factory in Markham, Ontario. The first shows and older Indian man in a full beaded and fringed leather outfit with an eagle feather war bonnet and a lance, sitting on a horse, set against a backdrop of trees and mountains. The second is a group of five Indians, one older man in a full headdress sitting on a horse, and four younger men on foot: two with bone breastplates, one with a leather vest, and one bare chested.
The interesting thing about these two postcards is that the solitary man on his horse is identified only as a “Cree Indian,” while the group of five is designated as “Native Indians,” much like the golfers, as if none of them had names or identities other than the cliché. Though to give them identities, to reveal them to be actual people, would be, I suppose, a violation of the physical laws governing matter and antimatter, that the Indian* and Indians cannot exist in the same imagination.
Which must be why the White caddies on the Banff postcard have names.
And the Indians do not.
-From the chapter entitled “You’re Not the Indian I Had in Mind”
*The Indian that King is talking about here refers specifically to the romanticist conception of the Noble, Dying Indian as a subject of the American colonial gaze. Elsewhere in this work, King presents examples of this “Indian” in the photography of Edward Curtis and in the literature of James Fennimore Cooper and Karl May, among others.What makes this such a pertinent critique the interpellation of Indigenous Americans (Indians) into this romanticized subject is that it’s a subject that still persists. That’s remarkable in its relative longevity considering the shelf life of ideas in mass culture, and it is my belief that this subjecthood plays a significant role in the denial of indigenous humanity.
How can indigenous peoples be seen as people in the oh-so-noble humanist tradition if the only conception of us is a persistent and threadbare fiction?
Acknowledging Traditional Territory
Cultural Protocol
On May 1, 2012 the Council on Aboriginal Initiatives endorsed a statement that Acknowledges Traditional Territory that the University of Alberta resides and reads as such:
“Welcome to the University of Alberta. I would like to begin by acknowledging the Traditional Territory on which we are gathered today, a welcoming place for peoples from around the world. I would like to acknowledge and thank the diverse Indigenous peoples whose footsteps have marked this territory for centuries such as: Cree, Saulteaux, Blackfoot, Métis, Nakota Sioux”.
Source: Aboriginal Student Services Centre #UAlberta
