The Stories We Share: When is it Appropriate and when is it Appropriation?

Welcome to 1812

I’m a huge nerd. I really like wearing costumes and pretending I’m someone else.  On Thanksgiving weekend, I participate in the traditional pilgrimage of Canadians who go to the United States instead of having a family meal at home. Except instead of cross-border shopping, I go to a reenactment event centered around the War of 1812. In addition to the British Military Camp (which includes several Canadians like me and our American friends who prefer to lend their talents to the Empire) and the American Military Camp, there is an ‘Indian Village.’ The name makes me shudder a bit, and it contains a fair bit of non-Indigenous people who take it as an opportunity to paint themselves and dress in a manner that makes me a little uncomfortable. That aside, there is the opportunity to learn something on local Indigenous history. There are some recreated traditional dwellings that have been set up that I am unfamiliar with (being Manitoban I have a bit of familiarity with Cree and Ojibway stuff, anything beyond that is literally and figuratively foreign) and my favourite feature is a Pottawatomie storyteller. I’ve talked with him a few times and I love getting his perspective. I also really enjoy a lot of his non-mythical stories. In my head, I enjoy comparing what I hear him say about his experience with reservations and what I’ve heard people from Manitoba and Saskatchewan say about how they’ve experienced reserve life. As I am taking this course in Comparative Indigenous Politics, I particularly paid attention to what we said about clan structure, responsibilities, and community duties and rights. This year, when I returned to Our Home and Native Land, I decided to do some Googling and see if my favourite storyteller had any websites or any resources that I could follow. I found his work and popularity mentioned in many Indigenous discussion forums. He’s been representing Native Americans for over a decade. He is also completely ethnically European, changes between being Cherokee, Seneca, or Pottawatomie depending on the event he is at, and across all the forums I had discovered is widely lauded as a fraud.

Back to the Future

There’s something unnerving about assuming you are getting an authentic experience and hearing the perspectives from someone from a different community than your own and then discovering that it’s at best, insincere, and at worst, completely fabricated, inappropriate and offensive. I am fortunate since, as a non-Indigenous person, the worst that happened to me is I experience a slight violation of trust. I didn’t have to feel misrepresented, mocked, or anything else that I can only assume comes with running into someone masquerading as someone with your background, wielding symbols and stories in a way that could be totally incorrect yet presented as an expert insider. This made me reflect on a role I may play in this and re-examining how I discuss the histories and practices of a group to which I do not belong. I have been a historic interpreter at Festival du Voyageur. It won’t surprise anyone that as a local winter festival that focuses heavily on the fur trade and Franco-Manitobain culture, the Métis people are featured prominently in many of the stories we tell throughout the festival. Is what I am doing respectful? Do I contribute in a meaningful way to the discussion of our provincial heritage? Am I just a jerk?

Authenticity and not Speaking for Others

The last thing I want people to feel after I have shared some of my knowledge at Festival or other similar interpretive events is that they’ve been duped or offended. One of the interpretive activities I have often explained is the process of making pemmican. I have been fortunate enough to be able to participate in all aspects of its processing, included tearing apart a bison for its meat (which I did badly, but have some great pictures. Pics or it didn’t happen, right?). I have often wondered how appropriate it was for me to be presenting this as a non-Métis individual. I found this great blog that does an excellent job of giving one the tools to think about whether on is participating in cultural appropriation or merely celebrating diversity. It boils down to symbols and using that which you have not earned in an inappropriate way. It seems that since pemmican making is and has been largely utilitarian, I can make it and talk about it as a celebration of our provincial heritage, especially if I’m not trying to make myself sound more authoritative by claiming to have a background that I don’t (which, as I mentioned earlier seems to undermine your knowledge when you’re found out as well as being poor taste). Also wearing my moccasins that I purchased from a local, Aboriginal owned business can be seen as support and celebration rather than theft. Not like those people who use items that have now taken on a symbolism that goes beyond that like a ceinture fléchée or a ‘Métis sash.’ Wait, what? The sashes that I wear every February and is sold en masse in the festival souvenir stand? Oh, crap.

When is a Symbol not a Symbol?

In the above mentioned post, I had a moment of panic. One of my favourite pieces of Festival du Voyageur swag was outed as being something misused by outsiders. Ouch. Once utilitarian, the above mentioned author considers the ceinture fléchée to be cultural and thus subject to appropriation. I can’t say this is incorrect (as we’ve mentioned, I do not belong to a community that can make that call) but it hasn’t been called out as inappropriate in the Winnipeg/Festival context (which might not mean anything. There have been sports teams called the ‘Redskins’ all over North America for way too long with too little backlash). Let’s be generous and assume it’s because the  ceinture fléchée has become a symbol of Manitoba generally rather than exclusively of the Métis. Why might this be? We are literally a Métis province. The Métis nation is the who, what, when, where, why, and how at the heart of our provincial creation. In using this symbol, are we celebrating our provincial heritage, or are we appropriating a symbol that is not ours to take?

Dialogue, Definition, and Making it Right

I finished my quest for authenticity and respect with a question. Questions like this often don’t get answered because people are afraid to discuss, afraid to be wrong, and afraid someone else will be heard and not them. In our last blog post, we’d mentioned that there is a widening rift in Winnipeg between our Aboriginal and non-Indigenous citizens. I hope we get used to having safe dialogue so that these questions can be answered and that everyone in our city can make a commitment to being authentic, respectful, and making things right. It’s something I’ve been striving for personally, and I will listen to see if there are answers for my questions on cultural sensitivity. Even if it means I have to reconsider my small collection of festival sashes.











Aboriginal Hunting and Fishing Rights, Who Has Them Anyway?

As students of an Indigenous Politics course at the University of Manitoba, we were challenged by our professor to explore indigenous issues in a public forum. A recent Winnipeg Free Press article by Aldo Santin described a widening gulf between Aboriginal and non-aboriginal residents. As a group of four non-aboriginals, we are posting a series of blogs that explore topics that contribute to that Aboriginal/non-aboriginal divide our city.

Let us know what you think by adding comments, so we can keep the discussion going. In the next few weeks we will adding a number of posts, so stay tuned.

I will start off with a blog post exploring hunting and fishing rights. This topic has no shortage of misconceptions and controversy. It’s probably fair to say that most hunters and anglers hold strong opinions on what their rights are. They also hold strong opinion on what they think the rights of those on the other side of the divide should be.


What non-aboriginals are thinking
A widely held sentiment among non-aboriginals is that Aboriginals have the right to hunt or fish whatever they want, whenever they want, and they are beyond the reach of the long arm of the law. There is a lot of resentment going around about all the rules that non-aboriginals have to follow, and they often feel it’s unfair. “Aren’t we all supposed to be equal?”, they would say. And by “they”, I actually mean “we”, since I count myself as part of the non-aboriginal group.

I also love the outdoors and think that wild game and fish are the best foods out there. I consider myself fairly open-minded and think aboriginal subsistence hunting and fishing is great. In fact, I think most non-aboriginals would agree to that. But here in Manitoba, there is still an underlying tone of resentment and mistrust, one that is not that hard to flush to surface with a little prodding.

That is quite apparent if you read comments in the Winnipeg Free Press. As an example of this underlying mistrust let me provide two hypothetical conversations. In the first instance I might say something like, “The fishing is terrible this year, it sure was better last year.”

And my hypothetical buddy might respond, “It was great last year, but that was before the natives netted all the fish out.”

My response, “when did that happen?”

My buddy, “I heard it was last year, just after they stocked the lake. You know, they are legally allowed to block of two-thirds of the river at the mouth, so no wonder all the fish are gone”

Does that conversation sound familiar? I will make up a second hypothetical conversation about big game hunting. I might say something like, “too bad we can’t go moose hunting this year, they completely closed the season in Duck Mountain and every other good moose place is too far to drive.”

The other hunter might respond, “Yeah, Conservation said the moose population was way down, too bad the natives will go in with their freezer trucks and finish the rest of them off.”

Stories in the media
I think the narratives I just described are not too far off from what is said in pick-up trucks all across Manitoba. Just look at the stories and comments that have surfaced on the web in recent years. In 2012 there was a social media firestorm when a video went viral about aboriginal hunters taking 12 elk in eastern Manitoba. Non-aboriginal hunters were in an uproar about how subsistence living could justify such a large kill. The hunters maintain that they were harvesting just one animal per family, and if 12 licensed hunters had taken the picture there would be a celebration.

Just this summer an aboriginal hunter was sentenced to 13 months in prison for accidentally shooting his hunting partner at night, after mistaking his LED lamp for the eyes of a moose, which reflect back light when hunting with a spot light. Non-aboriginal hunters feel resentful. They feel it’s like the wild west out there, and what little enforcement there is, is directed only at them.

Rich resources of Manitoba
Manitoba is blessed with a bounty of unspoiled wilderness, and most urban Manitobans, especially those in Winnipeg, are completely unaware of the resources just beyond the city. It’s not just the fish and big game, there are game birds, wild rice, berries and mushrooms. And besides the food, there is timber for firewood and building cabins, herbs, medicines and fur-bearing animals.

It may look like a desolate landscape, especially when it is under a thick blanket of snow, but the wilderness is alive with life-giving sustenance. The land is more like an extension of a home, it is part of the living room and kitchen. Harvesting of fish and game is like getting some food from the fridge. The question is, who’s kitchen is it? Did we, the non-aboriginals just find it and declare it ours to keep, or was there always an owner in place? Hmmm, a thought provoking question.

Who manages what?
As it stands right now, Hunting and Fishing in the province of Manitoba is managed by the government branch, Conservation and Water Stewardship. Fishing and Hunting is restricted to seasons, and licenses are required. Strict limits are set for how many fish or how much game is allowed to be kept. Nets are not allowed, and there are limits to what types of firearms are approved and the magazine size for firearms. Commercial harvesting is limited to fish and fur only, and those are controlled by their own regulatory bodies.

Conservation and Water Stewardship publishes a handbook for fishing and hunting every year, which outlines specific rules and limits for specific lakes and hunting areas. Wildlife surveys are conducted and regulations are updated on yearly basis in response to fluctuating populations. All the other provinces have similar management systems.

Aboriginal People are not regulated by those same rules. Aboriginals in Manitoba are actually two distinct groups, First Nations and Metis. First Nations are a collection of distinct ethnic groups, each having their own language and customs, some similar to each other, and some very distinct. But for legal purposes, First Nations members all fall into one category.

The definition of Metis is bit more complicated. Metis are sometimes referred to as a mix between First Nations and non-aboriginals, and that they have a distinct ancestry, culture and language. An excellent explanation can be found at the âpihtawikosisân blog. The government requires that Canadians hold to only one ancestry, they are either non-aboriginal, First Nation, Metis or Inuit. In reality, things can get a bit messier, as some Canadians are a mixture of those groups but can only hold membership in one, and some identify strongly with a group and don’t hold membership in any.

In Manitoba, the government set hunting and fishing rules for First Nations members, which are regulated by the Natural Resources Transfer Agreement (1930). I won’t list all the specifics, but most of the restrictions for First Nations are common sense rules, like not being allowed to hunt along a road, the safe handling of firearms, not wasting any meat, not selling any meat, and not hunting in areas closed to hunting.

Metis hunting and fishing is managed by the Manitoba Metis Federation (MMF), and it publishes its regulations in a handbook. The rules are also based on common-sense principles. But since they are self-managed, they also include more specifics, like game hunting areas, limits on game, fish, fur-bearers and defined harvesting seasons. Furthermore, the MMF conducts harvesting surveys to manage population levels and closes areas that are threatened. Both First Nations and Metis rights are based on the principle of using food harvested from the land for sustenance, and not commercial purposes.

On the other hand, the provincial non-aboriginal regulations are not based on sustenance, but on recreation. Hunters are still required to take all the meat for consumption, but they don’t have the right to live off the land. They are also not expected to manage the animal populations or self-enforce. That is done by the provincial department. But they also contribute the most to the hunting and fishing pressures, which is why there is so much management and enforcement.

Misconceptions about Aboriginals
A common misconception about Aboriginal People is that they hunt and fish whatever they want, whenever they want. If that was true, then the fridge in the wilderness kitchen would have been emptied a long time ago. In reality, the opposite is true. The fridge was kept fully stocked for thousands of years. Sure, there are some theories that Aboriginal hunters may have cause the extinction of woolly mammoths, but lets not forget that there also was an end of an ice age that coincided with that. And even if Aboriginal hunters did hunt the woolly mammoths to extinction, it would have taken about 6000 years.

Now compare that to the near-extinction of over 60 million bison in only a few generations, caused by hunting pressure and habitat decline. Interestingly enough, that happened to coincide with settlers expanding exponentially across North America. The settler have a natural design to exploit everything they can, to seek out every commercial opportunity possible. All those provincially regulated hunting and fishing rules are an effort to slow that down before the animals disappear. Kinda makes sense that they only to non-aboriginals.

Three’s company
So how is everything managed in this three-party system? That is where things get confusing. As already mentioned, there are three quasi-separate management systems. Even though First Nations and Metis have distinct rights, they still fall under federal and provincial law, except for the exceptions. All three sets of hunters that can rightly hunt on the same land for the same game, and all three sets of anglers that can fish on the same lake for the same fish. Each group is managed and enforced separately, all have to obey the same criminal code. This triple system has let to frustration, resentment, and mistrust. This article offers a good summary of the frustrations around declining moose populations.

Two divided worlds on common land
I’m not going to offer any legalistic remedies to this 3-party system. A good vision needs to be based on communication and mutual understanding. A recently came across a great example of this found in an article by Nick Martin in the Winnipeg Free Press. The article describes the lasting effects that a forest fire from 2008 has on the Misipawistik Cree Nation living in Grand Rapids. The fire was accidentally set during a wilderness field trip run by a Brandon School. The intention was to learn, explore, and preserve nature, but the outcome couldn’t have been further from it’s goal.

The school group was exploring the biodiversity of the region, which is known for bat and garter snakes caves that are formed in the limestone cracks and outcroppings. The fire was caused by the burning of toilet paper, which ironically, was intended to destroy the evidence of human activity. And now, 6 years later, the Cree Nation describes the burned out area around Norris Lake as “a desert, it’s like a planet that has no life.” The community feels that part of it has been destroyed.

What the urban school failed to realize is that the wilderness they were exploring was not an unoccupied, but it is someone else’s home. It is land that is fished, hunted, and trapped. It is where medicines and timber are collected. After the fire, the Cree members wanted to open a dialogue with the school, and to offer reconciliation. They want to educate the on fire safety and “how to treat the land”. It is quite amazing for the Cree Nation to reach out with grace to those that destroyed their home, their livelihood, their kitchen, their pharmacy, their place of being. Sadly, the school did not reach back to them and all the students have since gone their own way. What a missed opportunity of cooperation.

The need for a new vision for living on common land
I think that is a lesson that all hunters and anglers should internalize. To treat the wilderness not as “wild”, but as an extension of somebodies home. We, the non-aboriginals, should ask ourselves, who’s home is it? What does it mean to them? Can we have a share in the resources?

We need to open lines of dialogue and begin to understand what it means to the owners of the home, and how we too can harvest with respect. I know we can’t ignore the realities of bureaucracy. There definitely is a need to manage the dwindling fish and game resources. This is a high-tech world of GPS, ATVs and powerful semi-automatic rifles. There will always be those, regardless of race, that will exploit the loopholes. They think they can do anything just because they can get away with it. Yes, there needs to be a better three-way partnership for management and enforcement, and one that allows everyone a share of the common resources.

It does come down to a matter of respect. Can we think past the bureaucracy and think about a vision? Can we accept the fact that Aboriginals need the freedom to manage their resources and enforce their members? And can non-aboriginals understand that they are hunting and fishing out of privilege? It’s not really a matter of equality or inequality, it a matter of respecting the Aboriginal land-owners. The land owners have allowed us our limit of Pickerel and Moose, so maybe we should reach out and thank them. If you think about it, it’s the non-aboriginals that have been granted the hunting and fishing rights. And the Aboriginals? They had it all along.