Tag Archives: Indigenous

AI and relationships: Indigenous Protocol and AI paper

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about generative AI and relationships. Not just in terms of how people might use platforms to create AI companions for themselves, though that is part of it. I’ve been thinking more broadly about how development and use of generative AI connects with our relationships with other people, with other living things and the environment, and with ourselves. I’ve also been thinking about our relationships as individuals with generative AI tools themselves; for example, how my interactions with them may change me and how what I do may change the tools, directly or indirectly.

For example, the following kinds of questions have been on my mind:

  • Relationships with other people: How do interactions with AI directly or indirectly benefit or harm others? What impacts do various uses of AI have on both individuals and communities?
  • Relationships with oneself: How do interactions with AI change me? How do my uses of it fit with my values?
  • Relationships with the environment: How do development and use of AI affect the natural world and the relationships that individuals and communities have with living and non-living entities?
  • Relationships with AI systems themselves: How might individuals or communities change AI systems and how are they changed by them?
  • Relationships with AI developers: What kinds of relationships might one have/is one having with the organizations that create AI platforms?

More broadly: What is actually happening in the space between human and AI? What is this conjunction/collaboration? What are we creating through this interaction?

These are pretty large questions, and I’m going to focus in this some other blog posts on some texts I’ve read recently that have guided my interest in thinking further about AI and relationships. Then later I will hopefully have a few clearer ideas to share.

Indigenous Protocol and AI position paper

My interest in this topic was at first sparked by reading a position paper on Indigenous Protocol and Artificial Intelligence (2020), produced by participants the Indigenous Protocols and Artificial Intelligence Working Group that participated in two workshops in 2019. This work is a collection of papers, many of which were written by workshop participants. I found this work incredibly thought-provoking and important, and I am only going to barely touch on small portions of it. For the purposes of this post, I want to discuss a few points about AI and relationships from the position paper.

In the Introduction to this work, the authors explain that “a central proposition of the Indigenous Protocol and AI workshops is that we should critically examine our relationship with AI. In particular, we posted the question of whether AI systems should be given a place in our existing circle of relationships, and, if so, how we might go about bringing it into the circle” (7). For example, the Introduction notes that one of the themes discussed in the workshops in response to this broad question was what it might be like to have a situation in which “AI and humans are in reciprocal relations of care and support” (10).

The authors also emphasize that Indigenous protocols of kinship can help conceptualize the idea of how we may relate to AI systems. For example, “Such protocols would reinforce the notion that, while the developers might assume they are building a product or a tool, they are actually building a relationship to which they should attend” (8).

These protocols differ amongst Indigenous communities, as emphasized in some of the Guidelines for Indigenous-Centred AI Design that is included in the position paper. These guidelines include a discussion of relationality and reciprocity that emphasizes focus on particular community protocols:

  • AI systems should be designed to understand how humans and non-humans are related to and interdependent on each other. Understanding, supporting and encoding these relationships is a primary design goal.
  • AI systems are also part of the circle of relationships. Their place and status in that circle will depend on specific communities and their protocols for understanding, acknowledging and incorporating new entities into that circle. (21)

The guidelines also cover other topics, including:

  • Locality: “AI systems should be designed in partnership with specific Indigenous communities to ensure the systems are capable of responding to and helping care for that community (e.g., grounded in the local) as well as connecting to global contexts (e.g. connected to the universal).”
  • Responsibility and accountability: “AI systems developed by, with, or for Indigenous communities should be responsible to those communities, provide relevant support, and be accountable to those communities first and foremost.”
  • Indigenous data sovereignty: “Indigenous communities must control how their data is solicited, collected, analysed and operationalized.”

Some of the individual papers within this larger collection help flesh out further some possible human relationships with AI, each other, communities, and the environment. In “The IP AI Workshops as Future Imaginary,” Jason Lewis talks about how participants in the workshops focused on their own community protocols in considering what relationships with AI could be like. E.g.,

Anishinaabe participants talked about how oskabewis, helpers whose generous and engaged and not:invisible support for those participating in ceremony, could model how we might want AI systems to support us—and the obligations that we, in turn, would owe them. (41)

In addition, Hawaiian participants talked about how protocols of crafting a fishing net “including the layer upon layer of permission and appreciation and reciprocity” could potentially be reflected in how AI systems are built (41).

In “Gifts of Dentalium and Fire: Entwining Trust and Care with AI,” Ashley Cordes talks about engaging with AI with trust and care from the perspective of the Coquille Nation of the coast of Oregon, USA. Cordes discusses several ways in which AI and other technologies could be used to support Indigenous communities, and also notes that “trust and care is a two-way street; they must also be expressed towards AI” (66). For example, AI systems need “clean and nourishing food (a data diet), security, comfort in temperature, and capacity for fulfillment” (66), where a good data diet means ensuring the data they have is adequate to the task and that will reduce biased outputs, not including extraneous data that are not needed, and sourcing the data ethically. Security means in part, protecting systems from security breaches. In developing AI systems, it’s important to care for the needs of those systems as well as ensuring they are being used to care for people, communities, other living beings, and the environment.

Another paper in the collection also talks about different aspects of our relationships with AI and with each other: “How to Build Anything Ethically,” by Suzanne Kite in discussion with Corey Stover, Melita Stover Janis, and Scott Benesiinaabandan. This paper is focused on teachings about stones from a Lakota perspective, which they use to invite the reader to “consider at which point one affords respect to materials or objects or nonhumans outside of oneself” (75). The authors also provides a side-by-side discussion of how to build a sweat lodge in a good way, and how to build an AI system in a good way, according to Lakota teachings. As just one small part of this, one needs to identify and consider the many living and non-living entities involved:

  • the communities of the location where raw materials originate

  • the raw materials themselves

  • the environment around them

  • the communities affected by transportation and devices built for transportation

  • the communities with the knowledge to build these objects

  • the communities who build the objects

  • the communities who will use and be affected by their use

  • the creators of the objects (p. 77)

Then in terms of extracting and refining raw materials, consideration needs to be given to reciprocity: reciprocity to the individuals and communities for their labour, for the effects on their lands, to other living creatures and the Earth for effects on the environment by restoring it back to health. And care must be taken at the end of a computing device’s lifecycle as well: “A physical computing device, created in a Good Way, must be designed for the Right to Repair, as well as to recycle, transform, and reuse. The creators of any object are responsible for the effects of its creation, use, and its afterlife, caring for this physical computing device in life and in death” (81).

Here too there is an emphasis on relationships with each other and the natural world in terms of working with technology, including AI, and also on relationships with technological entities themselves and how we take care of their generation and their end.

Reflection

The emphasis on relationships that is found in various ways in this collection is one I haven’t seen a lot on other writings about AI, specifically, the relationships people form with AI as well as those we form with each other and other entities (living or otherwise) around AI development and use. A number of folks (including me) talk about related topics, such as ethical considerations and how AI use can perpetuate harm or, on the other hand, provide benefits to some folks that can support equity considerations–these do involve our relationships with AI and with each other, but I haven’t really heard it this discussed so clearly in terms of relationships. I particularly haven’t heard a lot of folks talking about our relationships with AI entities themselves and our responsibilities towards them, which I find very interesting and thought-provoking.

There are multiple ways that relationships involving AI, each other, and the world around us are reflected in this collection. The following are but a few:

  • Relationships with Indigenous communities: As noted in the Guidelines quoted above, AI developed with or for Indigenous communities should be responsible and accountable to those communities, such systems should support care for communities, and respect Indigenous knowledges and data sovereignty.
  • Relationships with other humans in developing and using AI, including those who are involved in extracting raw materials, building hardware and software, those who use the tools, those who are impacted by the tools, and more
  • Relationships with the natural world, including environmental impacts of developing and using AI systems
  • Relationships with AI systems, including how they may support our needs and what responsibilities we may have towards them

 

This collection is much more complex and richer than I can do justice to in a relatively short blog post. It includes stories, poetry, visual art, and descriptions of AI prototypes, among other contributions. The above just barely scratches the surface; careful reading brings out so much more. Here my purpose has been to focus on a few points about AI and relationships that stood out to me on a first and second read, partly to have notes to remind myself, and partly to encourage others to engage with this work!

Pulling Together Leaders & Administrators, Part 3

This is the third and final post in the series I’m writing about the Pulling Together Guide for Leaders and Administrators, and the series of workshops held in the Fall of 2020 related to it, facilitated by Marlene Erickson and Jewell Gillies. See the first post and the second post in the series. This post focuses on the section of the guide called “Sammon” (Salmon), which is about bringing home what you have gathered on the Indigenization journey into your own institution, and also the last section, focused on the future.

In the workshop focused on the Sammon section of the Guide we were encouraged to reflect on what we can bring back to our own work from what we have learned and discussed in these sessions. Here the theme of courage came up again (as it did in the first session): having the courage to take risks, make mistakes, ask questions, build relationships, move forward with the work. One thing that stood out to me from this workshop was a suggestion that when we are working on various projects and initiatives, we continually ask ourselves and others involved: does this meet the needs of all learners, including Indigenous learners? Does it support the relationships we have or wish to have with Indigenous communities? If the answer is no, have the courage to dig deeper and work on it until the answer is yes.

A related theme was patience: having patience with ourselves, as we take risks and make mistakes. Recognize the mistakes and learn from them, and move on and keep going. Having patience with ourselves as we learn, and how long that may take. Also having patience with others as we are all on different points of the journey, and working to support each other in these various points as best we can.

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Pulling Together Leaders & Administrators, Part 1

In October and November 2020 I participated in a BCcampus-supported series of workshops called the Fall Indigenous Series, a six-week set of sessions focusing on Pulling Together: A Guide for Leaders and Administrators. The series was facilitated by Marlene Erickson and Jewell Gilles. Here are excerpts from their bios, from a BCcampus post previewing the series:

Marlene Erickson grew up in Nak’azdli (also known as Fort St. James). She is the Executive Director of Aboriginal Education at the College of New Caledonia, where she has worked for over 25 years in various roles. he has served as director for the Yinka Dene Language Institute, and as a director, advisor, and chairperson for the First Peoples’ Cultural Council. She is an executive board member of the First Nations Education Steering Committee (FNESC), a policy and advocacy organization that represents and works on behalf of First Nations communities in British Columbia.

Jewell Gillies is Musgamagw Dzawada’enuxw of the Kwakwaka’wakw Nation (northern Vancouver Island). After completing 2 years of study toward a Criminal Justice Diploma at the University of the Fraser Valley, Jewell spent time as a police officer in Vancouver. However, after six years in law enforcement, Jewell had to accept that the uniform was a barrier to the goals they wanted to achieve, as it represented a disturbing history for those Jewell was trying to connect to and help. … Now, in their work in the Aboriginal Services Department of Okanagan College, Jewell is recognizing that they are in a better position to effect real change.

For a short overview of the series, see a recap post about this series on the BCcampus website, which includes the amazing graphic recording works from each session by Michelle Buchholz, of Wet’suwet’en heritage.

I’m going to do a few (belated) posts reflecting on my experience reading Pulling Together: A Guide for Leaders and Administrators, and participating in this series, as a way to help ensure that I better remember and carry forward what I have learned from this incredibly impactful series. It was made so impactful both by the facilitators, but also by the participation of many people in post-secondary institutions in BC who shared their thoughts, their emotional reactions, their fears, their hopes, their successes and mistakes, and more. Thank you to you all!

This first post will be about the first two meetings of the series, and the front matter and section 1 of the Guide. Please see also the second post and the third post about this series.

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Pulling Together Leaders & Administrators, Part 2

This is the second in a series of posts in which I reflect on my experience in a series of workshops focused on the Pulling Together Leaders and Administrators Guide, and facilitated by Jewell Gillies and Marlene Erickson. See more about this workshop series in my first post about it, and see the third post in this series as well.

This post is about the second and third sessions in the workshop series, and the sections on Kahkah (Raven) and Leloo (Wolf). As noted in the previous post, in the Pulling Together Guide for Leaders and Administrators the path of Indigenization is discussed as a journey. The section on Raven is focused on the importance of storytelling and ceremony as we paddle together, and the one on Wolf is about gathering–what we’re gathering from our journey.

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Lisa Jackson: Savage (IndieEdu200x)

I am taking a MOOC from UBC called Reconciliation Through Indigenous Education, and during week 2 one of the resources for the course was a short film by Anishinaabe filmmaker Lisa Jackson, called Savage (2009).

SAVAGE from Lisa Jackson on Vimeo.

This is such a powerful and thought-provoking film packed into only six minutes, I wanted to do some reflection on it as part of my belated responses to the 9x9x25 blogging challenge. Given that my last post was quite long, I’m counting it as two (numbers 4 and 5), so this is number 6 out of 9!

Description

The film begins with gorgeous shots of a young girl riding in a car watching the scenery go by. It seems a peaceful and beautiful atmosphere. It looks like early morning when the video starts, and the girl is being driven as the sun is coming up. A man is driving the car but we don’t see his face and it’s not clear who he is or where they’re going. The car is an old one, looking like it’s from the 1950s or 60s.

Soon we see a woman in a kitchen singing a lullaby (the description of the video on Vimeo says it’s in Cree). One gets the sense that this woman is the young girl’s mother. Her dress and the kitchen décor also suggest an era around perhaps the 1950s.

The scene, to me, feels very lonely and sad, even though the song is beautiful. The woman is sitting by herself at a table drinking tea, or sweeping the floor, or washing up…always by herself, looking off into the distance. She is looking off to her right as the young girl looks off to her right out the window of the car (these scenes are interspersed together). The lullaby is about a baby’s canoe being the moon flying among the clouds… “fly, baby, fly … but you must come back to me.” This ties into the profound loneliness of the scene.

The mother’s song ends as the car comes to a stop and the girl is led by the hand into a building where her hair is washed and cut, and she is helped into new clothes to emerge standing in a school. The music changes from peaceful to stressful as the woman cries, over and over, “you must come back to me!” Suddenly the scene changes to one of horror and anguish: the girl standing in a school in a new uniform and haircut seems like a sinister and horrifying scene. What have they done to her? We are about to find out.

This is where things get very interesting and surprising, at least to me. We see a classroom of students all with heads down, writing in notebooks. When the teacher leaves the class one looks up and it’s clear: they have become zombies. They all begin a synchronized dance that, in one respect, emphasizes their uniformity and how they all follow the same tune, blindly, dead-like. And yet, later on, two boys in turn take solos and do quite impressive moves on their own.

Finally, the teacher returns and the children scramble to their desks to work quietly on their schoolwork once more.

Reflection

This film expresses the Indian Residential School experience from the parent and child’s perspectives, including the sadness, anger, anguish and horror. But towards the end I think it also expresses resistance and resilience. At least, that’s how I read it.

As I went back and watched it again after seeing in the first time and knowing what will happen, the first part became imbued with even more of a sense of poignant beauty and loss. The girl looking out of an open window going past the land she will not see again for a long time, feeling the wind on her face with a sense of open air freedom that will also be lost as she becomes shut into the school (the last shot of the front of the school with doors closed is a nice juxtaposition).

Who is driving the car? One possibility is that it’s her father or grandfather. Indigenous children in  Canada were required to go to residential schools as of 1920, so it’s possible a family member even drove them to the schools, though I think in some cases they were more forcibly taken away from their families.

When the film turns to show the children as zombies, on the one hand this is very fitting–the point of the residential schools was to take them away from their families so they will lose connections to their languages and cultures and take on the settler ones. In a sense, then, who the children were before is dead, and they become uniform like their uniforms, thoughtless and moving the same as the group, in the way they were taught.

And yet, I see possible hints of resistance as well…they take the opportunity when the teacher leaves the room to get out of their desks and move, get away from their school work. She sees only obedient, docile, and disciplined children; she doesn’t see that there is much more going on that they do with each other. They look up, they wake up, they dance. They hide all this again when she walks in the room, but there are things you have to hide to survive, things that you share in a community; the dance is not for her.

The turn to modern music and moves is important: while the beginning of the film takes place in the 1950s, with a song that could be much older than that, the second portion with the kids in the classroom could be happening at any time. And this combined with the modern music suggests to me a reminder that the effects of the residential school experience continue to resonate, not just through the children themselves but intergenerationally.

Regarding the solo moves by the two boys towards the end: while they are somewhat robotic, they also feel improvised and creative. The kids are standing out from the crowd, doing their own thing, expressing themselves while the others continue synchronous moves. We only see two doing this, but I get the sense that any of them could do so in turn, if there had been time before the teacher came back in.

It’s not a great sense of resistance or a great hope, and the lingering shot is of them quiet in a classroom in an imposing building that is shut up, but it’s something. I am left with a strong sense that these kids are going to make it despite the horrendous things that have happened to them.

Of course, this is just my reading, and it’s quite possible I’m missing a lot. The film doesn’t delve deeply into the horrors and abuses that happened in the system, and maybe I’m putting too positive a spin on the ending by feeling like the film expresses a sense of resistance and power in those who were subject to those abuses. I’m curious what others think.

Not perfect strangers (IndEdu200x)

a large group of people pulling on ropes to life an Indigenous pole

Raising the Reconciliation Pole at UBC Vancouver photo by Colin and Sarah Northway on Flickr, licensed CC BY 2.0

This is number four in the series of 9 posts in 9 weeks: the 9x9x25 challenge.

I am working on a UBC MOOC on Edx called Reconciliation Through Indigenous Education. We are still on week 1 and I am making my way through multiple videos and other resources.

I want to use this post to talk about two videos that struck me this week as things I wanted to reflect further on.

Susan D. Dion

We watched a video by Dr. Susan D. Dion, a Potawatami-Lenapé educational scholar, on introducing and disrupting the “perfect stranger.” I was not familiar with Dion’s work before this, but a quick web search shows that she is an Associate Professor in Education at York University who is the author of a book with UBC Press, Braiding Histories: Learning From Aboriginal Peoples’ Experiences and Perspectives (2009).

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Openness and/as closure

black and white photo of several old and rusty padlocks, one open and the rest closed

Padlocks, by Skitterphoto on pixabay.com, CC0

In my previous post I considered one way to think about how those of us who value and practice open education may also value and practice respect for privacy, that openness and privacy need not be considered opposites (despite the fact that one could think of openness as related to reducing barriers and privacy as putting them up or maintaining them).

This reminded me of a blog post I read recently, “Towards a Pedagogy of Closure”, by David Gaertner who is in First Nations and Indigenous Studies at UBC.1 In the post Gaertner talks about closure being a form of, or leading too, openness. He explains that, as a non-Indigenous scholar working with Indigenous communities, “listening to my collaborators and recognizing boundaries is a necessary part of what I do. There are places that I am not welcome and conversations that I should not be a part of.”

I don’t think this is about privacy in the same way that Meinke and Wagstaff were talking about, in my previous blog post. It’s more about respecting the appropriate boundaries of spaces, conversations, and knowledges given the context of what those are; sometimes this is about privacy (e.g., personal health information being restricted only to some), but not always. It is also about resisting colonialism.

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