Open Letter to BC Parks

The open letter below emerged from the confronting colonialism in conservation research project. It complements the report “Complexities of Confronting Colonialism in Conservation” and calls on BC Parks to prioritize the aspirations of local Indigenous Nations in future planning for Golden Ears and all parks currently managed by the province of British Columbia.

Open letter to BC Parks about the future of Golden Ears Park, and all park lands

Dear BC Parks,

I recently learned about the consultation sessions and survey you are conducting regarding the future of what is currently known as Golden Ears Park. I understand you are seeking input from “stakeholders, residents, and the community” to produce a Recreation Facility Plan. The lands that today make up Golden Ears were claimed by the province as park lands almost 100 years ago, but they have been cared for by Indigenous Peoples since time immemorial. I am aware that consultations are ongoing with the nations that have relationships to these lands, including Katzie First Nation, Kwantlen First Nation, Matsqui First Nation, Tsawwassen First Nation, Stó:lō Nation, In-SHUCKch Nation, Sts’Ailes First Nation, and the St’at’imc/Lillooet Tribal Council.

While I do not speak for these nations, as a Stó:lō woman I have strong familial and ancestral ties to this territory and a spiritual connection to the emerald green waters of the creek that flows into what we know today as Alouette Lake. Thus I feel a responsibility to respond to your invitation for feedback. The recreation of settlers has long been prioritized over the rights of Indigenous Peoples to access and govern our own territories, and the well-being of non-human beings. In line with BC Parks’ own Reconciliation Action Plan 2021-2024, as well as the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act, the BC Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act, Section 35 of the Canadian Constitution, and the Calls to Justice of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, I urge you to you respect the sovereignty and self-determination of these nations in your efforts to plan for the future of Golden Ears Park, and for all other lands that are currently managed by BC Parks.

As sovereign governments, Indigenous Nations have the right to make their own demands concerning parks that lie within their territories. However, I would like to make a general call for BC Parks to demonstrate a more substantial commitment to accept their responsibilities toward local nations. It is not enough to consult these nations tokenistically, or to simply add a land acknowledgement to park materials and websites. Instead, BC Parks should prioritize the aspirations of these nations in any future planning and decision-making processes, and commit to honestly confronting the lasting impacts of colonialism on its operations and management.

In the spirit of supporting BC Parks to fulfill these responsibilities, I suggest that, at a minimum, the following commitments should be made:

  • Ensuring Indigenous access and cultural safety: Expand local nations’ access to BC Parks, including by: ensuring access for traditional uses such as hunting, gathering, fishing, and ceremony; working with nations to designate certain dates and times when only they can access the parks; and waiving any entrance, parking, and camping fees or pass requirements;
  • Moving toward shared stewardship: Develop, adapt, and implement emerging models for genuine shared stewardship, co-governance, and co-management of park lands between BC Parks and the appropriate local Indigenous Nations (as committed to in the BC Parks Reconciliation Action Plan);
  • Supporting Indigenous leadership: Support Indigenous Nations in their pursuit of Indigenous-led conservation and land management and governance, including through Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas (IPCAs) and Indigenous Guardian programs;
  • Renaming parks: Proactively invite and support Indigenous Nations to guide the reclaiming of Indigenous place names, including the renaming of existing parks, reserves, rivers, etc. (rather than putting the burden on nations to initiate this process);
  • Amplifying Indigenous presence: Identify and fund additional Indigenous-led opportunities to make Indigenous Nations’ presence, knowledge, and language more visible (including e.g. collaborating with nations to create signs, guided trails, and educational materials about their nations in ways that centre their histories, knowledges, governance, and languages – as already committed to in the BC Parks Reconciliation Action Plan);
  • Centering Indigenous knowledges: Respect the integrity of the whole ecosystem of the park, including all non-human beings that have the park as their territory, prioritize the physical and spiritual health and wellbeing of the ecosystem over perceived entitlements to human recreation; adopt a rights of nature approach to park governance;
  • Engaging ethically with Indigenous peoples and knowledges: Value Indigenous peoples’ knowledges about their own territories, appropriately compensate and/or permanently hire Indigenous knowledge holders to share this knowledge, while respecting Indigenous intellectual sovereignty by only accessing and sharing knowledge when deemed appropriate by the nations; and,
  • Confronting the colonial legacy of BC Parks: Engage in ongoing self-study to examine BC Parks’ role in the historical and ongoing colonization of Indigenous Peoples and lands, identify opportunities to enact repair for this harm, support ongoing education for BC Parks staff about the colonial dynamics of conservation (including preparing staff to engage ethically with Indigenous collaborators), and make the learning from this process public.

According to BC Parks, there are currently 1,036 provincial parks, recreation areas, conservancies, ecological reserves and protected areas covering over 14% of the BC provincial land base. All of these lands are Indigenous lands, and as Indigenous Peoples we hold the most knowledge about how to care for and steward these lands. These lands are not just where our ancestors lived, they remain our relations and responsibilities. A growing movement is emerging that emphasizes Indigenous sovereignty and self-determination in land conservation. I believe there are many important opportunities for Indigenous Nations to work alongside settler organizations to steward our lands. However, it is crucial that these collaborations are built on a long-term commitment on the part of settlers to interrupt ongoing colonial dynamics and develop genuine relationships with our Nations. Without such commitments, the promises of reconciliation made by public agencies like BC Parks will continue to serve as superficial gestures, while underlying colonial dynamics persist. It is essential for settlers to take meaningful action toward building relationships with Indigenous Nations, and with the land itself, that are grounded in trust, respect, reciprocity, consent, and accountability.

Thank you for your consideration of this letter.

Sincerely,

Dani Pigeau, Sisamia
dani.pigeau.stolo@gmail.com

Relevant resources

Arngna’naaq, K. et al. (2020). Realizing Indigenous law in co-management. The Gordon Foundation and Jane Glassco Northern Fellowship. 

Artelle, K. A. et al. (2022). Decolonial model of environmental management and conservation: Insights from Indigenous-led grizzly bear stewardship in the Great Bear Rainforest. Ethics, Policy & Environment, 24(3), 283-323.

Buschman, V. Q. (2022). Framing co‐productive conservation in partnership with Arctic Indigenous peoples. Conservation Biology, e13972.

Indigenous Circle of Experts. (2018). We rise together. Achieving Pathway to Canada Target 1 through the creation of Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas in the spirit and practice of reconciliation. 

McGregor, D., Whitaker, S., & Sritharan, M. (2020). Indigenous environmental justice and sustainability. Current Opinion in Environmental Sustainability, 43, 35-40.

Murdock, E. G. (2022). Conserving dispossession? A genealogical account of the colonial roots of Western conservation. Ethics, Policy & Environment.

Parks Canada. (2019). Mapping change: Fostering a culture of reconciliation within Parks Canada. 

Reo, N. J. et al (2017). Factors that support Indigenous involvement in multi-actor environmental stewardship. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 13(2), 58-68

Stein, S., Ahenakew, C., & Oliveira da Silva Huni Kui, S (2023). Complexities of confronting colonialism in conservation.

Todd, Z. (2022). Indigenous conservation funding must reflect Canada’s true debt to First Nations, Inuit, and Métis. The Conversation. 

Truer, D. (2021). Return the national parks to the tribes. The Atlantic.

Decolonial Salad

by Zena Cumpston

The following recipe for “Decolonial salad” is grounded in my own battles and experiences working as an Aboriginal woman in colonial institutions.

Although this recipe is written in a raw and slightly facetious tone that may be hard for some to swallow, it is important to have spaces where we don’t need to filter our critiques to protect non-Indigenous people’s feelings. The reality is, if we don’t name the violences of settler colonialism and Western/white supremacy, then it will not be possible for us to interrupt them. In order to write this poem, I gave myself permission to fully embody my frustrations and speak without filters, while recognizing this is just one part of me speaking.

This recipe emerged after listening to the audiobook of Hospicing Modernity: Facing Humanities Wrongs and the Implications for Social Activism by Vanessa Machado de Oliveira. The book has helped me to understand that I am not a “bad apple,” and that the institutional narratives that pathologize and deficit-theorize Indigenous peoples want us to believe that the harm we experience is our fault, rather than the result of a colonial system. These narratives are crafted to uphold settler innocence, and secure settler futurities. But these narratives are not easy to interrupt and unlearn. As Hospicing Modernity reminds us, there are no shortcuts. We will need to go through all the shi*t that has been accumulated over the past several hundred years of colonial violence in order to metabolise it, compost it, and use that compost to prepare the ground for something different to grow.

I am fire-hardened, just as our women’s powerful, regenerative digging sticks are put through fire to stop them from breaking. I have what I need to grow all that is necessary to be healthy and to continue to thrive. The fire was difficult to go through, but without the fire, I would not have this extra strength that will carry me through the rest of my life.

Having been through the fire myself, I offer this poem as a reminder to other Indigenous people that colonial institutions do not define us. In fact, these institutions were created to discipline and disappear us. But the poem also contains a reminder that we are not immune from getting sucked into the colonial mindset, and even weaponizing it against each other. This is exactly what the colonial system wants – it incentivizes us to serve its destructive agenda, including by destroying each other, while settlers can claim their hands are clean. I include some questions at the end that can support Indigenous people to digest the poem.

I also offer this poem as an invitation for white settlers to stop trying to transcend colonialism without giving anything up, and without composting their own shi*t. As the GTDF Collective says, “No shi*t, no starter.” Although Indigenous peoples are diverse and we have multiple different perspectives on reconciliation, this poem can give you a glimpse into some of the deep frustrations that can arise when we perpetually encounter the window-dressing commitments that sustain colonial business as usual. The poem offers you a chance to assess your own capacity to take in critical feedback – and thus, to see what your compost pile really looks like. As you read the poem, I invite you to consider that, until you are ready to do your own composting work, your lofty promises about commitments to reconciliation and decolonization will likely ring hollow, perpetually recreating the same “decolonial salad” that is making us all sick – including you. I offer some debriefing questions at the end that can support settlers to digest the poem as well.

Decolonial salad

Ingredients

claims to innocence (fresh)

superior knowledge (stale)

reams of data (bulk buy)

extractivism (pure)

capitalism (unadulterated)

expert knowledge (single source – blind bake until nothing can penetrate)

white fragility (bulk buy, always combine with expert knowledge)

compliant browns and blacks (steeped in mediocrity)

reparations (frozen, do not thaw)

Method

  • Stick to the western canon – ignore any questioning of outdated modes of knowledge production. Deride and negate non-European/non-western ways of seeing, doing, knowing, being, and relating. For example, insist that (western) science is not, in any way, influenced by the baggage (i.e., white supremacy) of the culture within which it was rigidly designed and developed. Insist (western) science is innocent, a magically curated collection of pristine, unadulterated hard facts. Most especially, discard knowledge that has been handed down over thousands of generations, emanating from peoples who have continuously interacted with their Country (Mother) in a non-extractive relationship generating reciprocal abundance.
  • Do not record, respect or acknowledge the careful observation and scientific practice of the other, at every opportunity assert it is not science. If you do record it, re-name it and claim it as your own, suck your informant(s) dry, erase them and kick them to the curb.
  • 200-years-plus after your people invade lands, continue to myopically view Indigenous peoples and communities as a mining opportunity. Take their resources, take everything you can, it’s much better in your hands than theirs. Remember – you’re saving their knowledge and putting it to good use, you’re helping them, they’re useless. If they don’t want to be a part of your incredible collaborative project (that you thought of all on your own using your brilliant superior knowledge) it’s because they’re dysfunctional and disorganised, and you tried. Never consider that your idea offers zero benefits to their collective aspirations. Never truly consider reciprocity. Above all else, be the great white explorer, go boldly into the wilderness, that mythical and intoxicating landscape untouched by humans. Declare yourself the discoverer.
  • Lament the dysfunction of the indigenes, explain to potential research partners and especially to potentially respectful (woke) types how hopeless, and how difficult they are to deal with. Add a pinch of sour assertions questioning their authenticity as indigenes. Avoid the inconvenient mess of doing anything respectfully and culturally grounded with communities. Find one Indigenous person to sign off on everything, an oracle of sorts, perhaps with their own consulting company on the side, a triple dipper. They’ll deal with anyone in the cheap seats who speaks up, who isn’t happy with the scraps being thrown. No one knows better how to eradicate their own than a native policeman (especially one with a penchant for Mercedes Benz).
  • Sprinkle tiny novelty bits of easily digestible Indigenous knowledge onto your superior knowledge as a lovely little garnish that adds a pop of colour, a fun hint of spice, but will never distract from the main course.
  • Find something buried deep from within the ‘archive’, the glorious product of maniacal collective hoarding – the treasure trove of disastrously poorly provenanced shit, stripped of its cultural knowledge and belonging, classified into obscurity, sterilised through solitary confinement, blocked from the communities who can breathe life and meaning back into it. Take a lovely pic of you handing the useless archive something to brown and black people. Encourage them to look interested and grateful, even though you’ve handed them the equivalent of a shit sandwich, and most often directed them to eat it too.

Recipe notes

Control the narrative. Make a Reconciliation Action Plan, elevate it, and wave it about threateningly if the natives become restless. Flip it on a 45 record (or a streaming audio site for the younger folks) so you can dance to it and forget how you benefit from genocide.

Ensure that self-determination stays well out of reach. Maintain the status quo to honour the legacy of your recent ancestors, those people you came from who did all these bad things that have nothing to do with you or the daily violence and disenfranchisement happening right now. Do not acknowledge or dissect your own systemic advantages or ask who has paid the price so that you can enjoy them, carefree. Never consider you are part of the problem. Never consider you are part of the solution.

Above all else never, ever hand over any real power, or land.

Bio: Zena Cumpston is a Barkandji woman with family and ancestral connection to Wilcannia, Broken Hill and Menindee in western New South Wales. She currently lives in Melbourne on the unceded lands of the Wurundjeri people with her partner and two young boys. Zena is passionate about truth-telling and undertaking projects that directly benefit Aboriginal community. Zena is a writer and also works as a curator, consultant, researcher and artist. In 2020 Zena produced a popular free e-booklet exploring Indigenous plant use that has been used widely by schools and community groups. In 2021 she curated the exhibition Emu Sky for the Ian Potter Museum of Art, exploring Aboriginal knowledge and bringing together over 30 Aboriginal community members, sharing their stories, research, knowledge and art works. She also spent 2021 writing for the Australian State of the Environment Report across several chapters. In 2022 her co-authored book Plants; past, present future was published by Thames and Hudson as part of the First Knowledges series. Zena recently began exploring translating her research work into visual art and her linocut/collage prints and weaving are featured in the exhibition ngaratya (together), beginning in Melbourne in May 2023 and touring nationally. Her artwork and writing will also feature as part of the Soils exhibition at the TarraWarra Museum of Art in 2023.

Debriefing questions

Questions for Indigenous people

  1. To what extent do the issues named in the poem resonate with your own experiences?
  2. What responses emerged for you when reading the poem? (e.g., did you feel relief that these things were being named, did you relive your own frustration at experiencing these things, did you feel angry that these things are still happening, etc)
  3. To what extent and in what ways can you speak about the issues named in the poem (and related issues) in your own context without fear of reprisal?
  4. What would you say to your colleagues if you were not worried about the repercussions? Is there a difference between what you need to say and what they need to hear, or are they the same thing?
  5. How would the settlers in your context likely respond to this poem? How do you know? How do you think that reading this poem would affect their commitment to (non-tokenistic) decolonizing work over the long haul?

Questions for settlers

  1. A common response to this poem amongst settlers is defensiveness. Did you witness defensiveness emerge within yourself as you were reading the letter?
  2. If you felt defensive, were you able to hold space for it or did you sense an immediate desire to appease it (e.g., position yourself outside of the problem, or prove you are “one of the good ones”)? What are the potential harms of this desire? How might you interrupt this desire, while still taking seriously what you are learning from your own defensiveness, and from the concerns that are named in the poem?
  3. What other responses emerged for you (shame, guilt, fear, anxiety, impatience, etc)? Consider the same questions as above in relation to each of these responses.
  4. How prepared are you to receive critical feedback, especially from Indigenous friends, colleagues, or collaborators, without feeling overwhelmed? Did it help that the introduction to the poem foregrounded that it might be difficult to read?
  5. To what extent and in what ways can Indigenous people in your own context voice their concerns without fear of reprisal? How do you know? If not, what might be the first steps toward creating the institutional and relational conditions where this is possible?
  6. What affective capacities or practical strategies do you currently have that can enable you to compost what emerged for you in response to the poem? What capacities or strategies might you still need to develop? How can you begin to develop these?
  7. What do you feel the poem is asking of you? How do you know? Do you feel obliged to respond to these requests (or demands)? If so, in what way?

Complexities of Confronting Colonialism in Conservation

Stein, S., Ahenakew, C., & Oliveira da Silva Huni Kui, S (2023). Complexities of confronting colonialism in conservation.

In response to the mainstreaming of reconciliation as well as growing demands for decolonization and #LandBack, settler conservation organizations in what is currently known as Canada have begun to confront their historical and ongoing complicity in colonialism, including the displacement and dispossession of Indigenous Peoples. By “setter conservation organizations” we mean public and private conservation organizations, land trusts, protected areas, parks, public agencies, and other entities focused on land and environmental protections that are not only led by settlers but are also dominated by settler staff and boards, and predominantly organized according to the norms and values of western conservation.

As Iñupiaq (Inuit) conservation biologist Victoria Qutuuq Buschman (2022) observes, “Many researchers and organizations are calling for the end of colonial approaches [to conservation] in favor of those that support Indigenous communities” (p. 2). However, in practice, the work of interrupting and reorienting inherited colonial approaches to conservation is extremely challenging and complex. It is often only through the process of actually attempting change that settler conservation organizations begin to realize the full extent and complexity of the difficulties and opportunities that are involved in this work, and the stamina that is required to sustain it through the inevitable ups and downs. This report examines some of these dynamics.

No single text or resource about confronting colonialism in conservation will be universally relevant for all audiences. While this report may be useful to others, it was written primarily for an audience of settler conservation organizations. This report intends to support people (especially settlers) in these organizations to grapple with some of the complexities and challenges involved in efforts to rethink mainstream conservation practices in ways that are more accountable to Indigenous Peoples and lands. Drawing on relevant critical literatures, reports, case studies, and interviews with conservation leaders, the report can serve as a resource for organizations either beginning this work or seeking to deepen their efforts in this area. Although the report focuses on the Canadian context, it will likely have relevance in settler colonial countries as well.

The report does not offer definitive answers, prescriptive best practices, or universally-relevant formulas for change. Instead, it: reviews the colonial foundations of western conservation; maps current conversations within the field of conservation, especially the complexities and challenges that arise in efforts to confront colonialism; reflects on lessons learned from the existing efforts of settler conservation organizations to enact change, including learning from both successes and failures; offers some provisional orienting frameworks for those engaging in this work; and gestures toward possible pathways forward in the short-, medium-, and long-term.

Although we do not prescribe a specific destination for this work, we suggest that if settler organizations seek to confront colonialism in conservation, they will need to start by accepting responsibility for their complicity in historical and ongoing colonial harm and committing to enacting material and relational repair with Indigenous Peoples. This is not a one-time activity but rather entails a long-haul journey of learning and unlearning that requires honesty, humility, and (individual and organizational) maturity.

Ontological Awareness in Food System Education

Dring, C. C., Cajkova, T., Mendes, W., Stein, S., Valley, W., & Clegg, D. J. (2022). Ontological Awareness in Food System Education. Frontiers in Sustainable Food Systems.

Abstract: We observe efforts in Sustainable Food Systems Education and Critical Food Systems Education literature to employ education in ways that seek social and environmental transformation of food systems. Here, we argue that forms of food systems education that are disconnected from awareness of their ontological roots are destined to reproduce the same food systems with the same consequences for life on Earth. This theoretical paper invites discussions that unpack “habits of being” underpinning modern/colonial conceptualizations of food system issues, transformation efforts, and pedagogies. We note the risk of reinscribing, within food systems education, specific onto-epistemological norms and values that are the root of multiple crises facing food systems (separability, global capital, nation-states, humanism). Using the metaphor of the “house that modernity built,” we invite scholars, teachers, learners, and other practitioners to bring explicit attention to how the ontology of Western modernity arises in discourses on food systems and is reproduced through food systems education. We begin by describing this ontological position and its dominance, situating how contemporary transformations in food systems education neglect ontological foundations, and enumerating a set of harms arising from this disavowal. As a beginning, we suggest that fields related to food systems are a compelling place to interrupt a habit of being that denies and disavows even the presence of ontological positions. Food systems educators within postsecondary institutions are entreated to develop their analyses and pedagogical approaches toward a more just and sustainable future that denaturalizes harmful and falsely universalized ontological foundations.

Confronting the colonial foundations of US higher education

Stein, S. (forthcoming, Fall 2022). Unsettling the university: Confronting the colonial foundations of US higher education. Johns Hopkins University Press.

Over the past several decades, US higher education has been increasingly shaped by processes of marketization and privatization. Many efforts to critique these developments rely on a contrast between a bleak present and a romanticized past. This book offers a different entry point for addressing today’s conjuncture, informed by decolonial theories and practices. It invites readers to: confront universities’ historical and ongoing complicity in colonial violence; reckon with how the past has shaped contemporary challenges at these institutions; and accept responsibility for redressing harm and remaking relationships in order to foster different higher education futures.

The book offers a decolonial reading of mainstream narratives in order to trace the invisibilized colonial violences that subsidized three of the most celebrated moments of US higher education history: the founding of the original colonial colleges; the creation of land grant colleges and universities; and the post-World War II “golden age.”  Rather than proposing a predetermined alternative future, the book invites readers to consider the challenges of imagining higher education otherwise, asking:

  • How have US universities benefitted from genocides, ecocides, and epistemicides? How are those of us who work and study in universities also complicit in this historical and ongoing harm?
  • How can we challenge current efforts to privatize higher education without romanticizing inherited colonial imaginaries of the public good?
  • What will it take for us to do the difficult and uncomfortable work of decolonizing higher education, without expecting it to be easy or feel good?

Read the introduction and Chapter 1 for free here.

See related articles:

Examining international students’ implication in settler colonialism

A letter to my fellow international students: Examining our implication in settler colonialism

The following anonymous letter was written by an international student who recently graduated from a university in what is currently known as Canada. It was inspired both by reflections on their own learning, and by the “Letter to prospective immigrants to what is known as Canada” thought experiment. Because the student’s legal status in Canada is not permanent, and because the issues that they raise can be understood as being critical of the Canadian nation-state and Canadian universities, they have asked us to publish this letter anonymously.

I write this letter to my fellow international students as a recent graduate of a Canadian university. I want to invite all of my fellow international students who are studying in or have graduated from a Canadian higher education institution to pause and take a moment to reflect on the Indigenous-settler relationship and the colonial violence we might be implicated in.

From my experience as an international student in Canada, I have observed that there is little crosstalk between international students and Indigenous peoples. Many international students who study in Canada lack a deep understanding of settler colonialism and some of them are unaware and even indifferent towards the colonial violence that they are implicated in. Many also have limited knowledge of Indigenous peoples and their colonial history in the Canadian context. Many entrenched biases towards Indigenous peoples have been reinforced due to the misleading narratives about Indigenous peoples and issues that are disseminated by the mass media and the Canadian government itself. Therefore, this letter is an effort to invite international students to not only consider their personal experiences of systemic racism but also to reflect on their positionality in relation to Indigenous peoples and lands. Even though international students are not responsible for Canada’s painful colonial legacies and many are systemically vulnerable themselves, we are often invested in the continuity of the system that perpetuates ongoing colonial violence that harms both ourselves and Indigenous people.

This invitation might seem unintelligible if the whole idea of ongoing settler colonialism is still new to you, or its implications are unclear. This is not entirely your fault, because our universities are inclined to downplay their implications in colonial violence to protect their reputation in order to attract students and intellectuals from across the world. You might feel perplexed and disoriented because this question goes against your intuition and preconception that universities are noble institutions that cannot possibly do harmful things.

As a racialized international student, I have found it important to develop the ability and endurance to hold space for sitting with and working through all the complexities, paradoxes, tensions, and contradictions that emerge in relation to my positionality. In reflecting on my positionality, I certainly find myself in a weird position. On the one hand, I would like to advocate for the decolonization and Indigenization of higher education for various reasons; on the other hand, I am reluctant to do so if this advocacy is at the expense of the value of my educational credential or social mobility. However, I think it is imperative for us to be honest and compassionate towards ourselves and other marginalized groups. In this letter, I speak in the first person to share my stories, reflections, and numerous internal struggles as a racialized international student. To acknowledge that international students are complex human beings with conflicting desires who might be both subject to and complicit in others’ marginalization.

Considering Our Role in Colonization

The issue of Indigenous peoples and their position in what is currently known as Canada might not entirely be an alien thing for you. For example, your professors might be doing a land acknowledgment to kick off their weekly lectures. But they rarely explain why they are doing this, and you might never bother to ask or study the meaning behind this acknowledgement because this question will be unlikely to show up on the exam.

In this letter, I refer to the question of “what land acknowledgments mean to you, specifically as a racialized international student studying at a Canadian university.” Because without deep reflection on this question and understanding why we are doing this acknowledgement in an earnest, discerning, and accountable way, this land acknowledgement may quickly become a vacuous symbolic gesture that cannot translate into any meaningful actions. And part of me is cynical about many of our faculty members’ superficial adoption of land acknowledgments to make them look good and feel good, while no further effort has been paid to expand this critical conversation. Therefore, I am calling for us to create spaces to have these critical discussion amongst ourselves as international students, so we can work toward confronting our complicity in harm, and building ethical solidarities with Indigenous peoples.

My reflections might help some international students to make more informed decisions before deciding to come to Canada to study.  However, it is equally important for international students who are currently here or who have already graduated to reflect on their experiences and to ask critical questions, such as: How do you feel about being both at the receiving end of racism as a form of oppression and also part of the system that perpetuates the dispossession of Indigenous peoples? Has your experience as an international student matched what was sold as “the Canadian experience”? When we invest in the prestige of Canadian universities (as something that adds value to our CVs), what forms of harm are we reproducing?

You might still believe that colonialism is all in the past, but in fact, the expansion of the university campus, the international branding, and the uncritical pursuit of “research excellence” are in many ways achieved at the expense of specific marginalized groups including Indigenous people and international students. This might come as a surprise to you, or maybe not. Because as a racialized international student, your authentic experiences can speak for themselves. Your experiences might tell you that Canadian universities are not a wonderland in which all students are being equally desired, valued, welcomed, and included. In fact, there are inequalities, marginalization, isolation, and discrimination inside of our institutions. In other words, our university is tantamount to a “microcosm of the larger society”.

Just take a closer look, and you will find the legacies of colonialism are everywhere on campus. The creation of universities in Canada was itself an act of white supremacy (Stanley 2009); the land you are situated on is the stolen land of Indigenous peoples; the university you attend is named after colonizers; the university buildings were named after donors with no recognition of whose land the buildings were built on; the reconciliation totem pole that was installed on campus is a symbol of Indigenous people’s resilience in the face of colonial violence; and the textbook you studied is likely epistemic Eurocentric and written in English.

However, these historical and contemporary facts are often told differently. For many Indigenous people, the past is a painful chronicle of broken treaties, stolen lands, Indian residential schools, cultural genocide, and intergenerational trauma. For many non-Indigenous people, the past is a celebratory story of discovering new lands, nation-building, and helping “uncivilized Indians” adjust to (i.e. assimilate into) mainstream Canadian society.

Canada’s colonial legacies not only have far-reaching implications for Indigenous peoples, but they also impact every aspect of my life on campus as a racialized international student. Some of you might feel disappointed, frustrated, or irritated after you heard about my story because my experiences of studying at a Canadian university somehow resonate with you. In retrospect, despite the thousands of dollars I have spent on my education, I realized my four-year education at a prestigious Canadian university can neither prepare me to resolve many unprecedented challenging and imperative global issues nor guarantee my competitiveness in the global job market. I feel I have been cheated, ripped off, scapegoated, abused, exploited by the institution that I used to admire, respect, and long to be part of. However, this disillusionment with the shiny promises offered by my institution enabled me to be more candid, authentic, compassionate, and empathetic with myself and others around me. It is from this space that I invite you to reflect on your own educational experiences as well as to consider the question of what it means to be situated on Indigenous land as an international student.

Disillusionment with the Promises of Western Education

I wholeheartedly wish that each of my fellow international students will have a bright future. But I also have to admit that I am here not to celebrate our education but to puncture the enchanted bubble that has besieged us. I am here to invite people to be psychologically prepared to enter the complex, volatile, unequal, and uncertain world that is replete with legacies of past, present, and enduring colonial violence. I am not here to give a pep talk; my goal here is to break the silence, unravel myths, identify misconceptions, and visibilize hidden truths. I know that when I do this some of you and even some of my own professors might be looking to me to offer “answers” for how we can “solve” these problems. But I am here not to offer simplistic or pragmatic solutions, but rather to stimulate critical awareness, dialogues, discussions, and reflections that might enable us to rethink the promises we have been sold, and perhaps even to move toward disinvesting from the educational system that is trying to infantilize us.

I know that the decolonization of higher education may be an awkward and uncomfortable topic to discuss for some European-descendent international students. It is comfortable for me to denounce white supremacy and Eurocentrism, because I am not a white person. Instead, I am a victim of systemic racism. So, it is plausible to infer that I should not be accountable or feel guilty for what white people have done. It is even desirable for me as a racialized person to explicitly castigate systemic injustice, racism, and chronic impacts of colonial legacies and calls for actions. However, being the victim of systemic harm does not immunize me from being implicated in the perpetuation of ongoing settler colonialism and the subjugation of other people and other-than-human beings. The fact is, like many international students, I am a beneficiary of this colonialism. This paradox also drove me to ask why I am interested in pursuing higher education in a Canadian university, although I might encounter systemic racism and unfair treatment. What does it mean to me to have a degree from a prestigious western university?

For a long time, the single narrative of progress, development and human evolution that has been defined from a western perspective has been perceived as a default and universal prototype; the western way of knowing and being is framed in dominant narratives as universal and unlimited; the fluency of English language speaking is still perceived as crucial to becoming successful. Due to these prevalent narratives, having western educational experiences, especially credentials, from top-ranking universities have been perceived as the primary pathway to greater opportunities for social mobility, economic advancement, and the capacity to combat social injustice and give back to society. Like many parents in Asian countries, my parents would sell their properties, take on extra shifts, and even go into debt to financially support me to get into a top university in the world so that I can have a “brighter” future and support them in their old age.

We are socialized in a highly constructed environment, and the dominant settler colonial narratives condition us to ignore and diminish other ways of knowing and being. The dominant global imaginary has sought to erase the diversity of human knowledge and experience. The western way of being and knowing has become the paradigm of excellence and exceptionalism. Under the influence of the dominant global imaginary, “all non–colonial-derived methodologies or beliefs are stigmatized as irrational and in need of change” (Hanson & Jaffe, 2020). All non-living things and even non-white human beings were and in many ways continue to be treated as non-emotional entities, tools and objects to be used then discarded. Historically, science has been used to legitimate systemic racism, and to defend slavery and colonialism. Subjects like psychology were used to support eugenic and white supremacist beliefs, practices, and policies. Breakthrough technologies were used to consolidate geopolitical dominance and to maintain deeply uneven power dynamics. The promise of universities that universities are leading the fight for social inequality and challenging the status quo has become lip service, and no strategic plan can mobilize us to transform ourselves and the harmful systems we inhabit and embody.

After 5 years of study, I realized western education is a placebo, and the credential I obtained is not an unassailable shield that protects me from being a victim of systemic racism. The narrative we have been sold only made us feel good about ourselves, to further foster the illusion that we are indispensable, irreplaceable, and superior, but ignoring the fact that our advancement in society is premised on the ongoing marginalization of racialized and Indigenous people. However, I have to pause here again, in order to question my own presumed benevolence in offering this critique. Some people might assume that, because I am not a white person, and because I am critiquing colonialism, I am immune from reproducing the problematic patterns of colonialism. In fact, despite my racially marginalized position and despite my critique, parts of me might still be affectively invested in the continuity of the system that perpetuates the harm. I might, in some contexts, feel compelled to selectively tell good stories about my experience at a Canadian university. I have to come up with a justification to mitigate my cognitive dissonance. And I am reluctant to advocate for the decolonization/Indigenization of higher education if this advocacy is at the expense of my social and economic power, privileges, and entitlements. I might even actively reject decolonization if I perceive it has the potential risk of devaluing the credentials that I and my family put so much time and money into achieving. An analogy here is that people who wait in line for an hour or more to get into an exclusive restaurant are often unwilling to criticize the restaurant afterward, even if they have been served a mediocre meal.

I am disappointed with conditional inclusion and disillusioned by tokenistic gestures of institutional transformation. As an international student, it is hurtful to see universities perceive and frame international students as cash cows, competition, and charity (Stein & Andreotti, 2016). Is hurtful to have your white teammate reject you from engaging in the group project and ask you to not feel guilty about being a freeloader. It is hurtful that English-speaking skills become the objective benchmark of intellectual capacity. It is hurtful that your professor suspected you were engaged in academic plagiarism without any solid evidence because his intuition told him the quality of the paper seems to exceed your academic writing capacity. It is hurtful that your professor made an inappropriate racist joke that is full of arrogance, but you lack tactics to confront it. It is hurtful that you were trying to seek support from the university on how to confront racism on campus, but you never heard back from the university.

Their promises are incompatible with their actions. I feel angry, even outraged, but I have come to realize that there is also something important to learn from these traumatic experiences. The conflicting and ambivalent remarks I received, microaggressions I experienced, condescending responses I encountered made me question the narrative I have been told for a long time about the virtuousness of Canadian universities. The paradoxical question that arose for me is: Can we expect justice from an institution that is rooted in so many injustices?

Reframing Our Relationship to Canada and Our Responsibilities to Indigenous Peoples

I resonate with Khawaja and Stallman’s (2011) observations that international students face “a range of stressors, such as cultural shock, discrimination, adjustment to unfamiliar cultural norms, values and customs, communication or language difficulties, education system differences, financial hardships, lack of appropriate accommodation, isolation and loneliness, homesickness, and loss of established support and social networks.” I struggled with how to adapt to the Canadian educational system throughout my entire undergraduate studies, but I grappled with them alone because no one seems to care too much about it. Or even if someone does care, they often don’t know how to help or even how to change their own colonial habits.

My parents often remind me that supporting me to pursue higher education in Canada is the biggest investment that they have ever made. The expectations from this extravagant but promising investment is something that I cannot treat as negligible. There is another stressor that Khawaja and Stallman seem to omit but that is equally disturbing, which is the external pressure from “investors” due to the promised expectations and internal pressure of students to return the favour to their “investors.” The expectations could include receiving exceptional grades, being competitive and outstanding in the global job market so that their parents can gain face, and the capacity to find a high-paying job right after graduation. These expectations seem reasonable because it is congruent with the narratives they were sold. We need to change the narrative, debunk false promises that universities have made to international students and their parents, and more importantly to educate our parents about settler colonial relationships and ongoing colonial violence in Canada. And we need to consider how we can honour the sacrifices that they have made for us while also recognizing that we can make different choices.

We often assume there is deep-seated solidarity between Indigenous people and racialized international students on campus because we all suffered from systemic oppression. However, I find there is a little communication between these two groups of people. On the one hand, the predominant narratives about Indigenous peoples often impede international students from developing a nuanced understanding of ongoing settler colonial violence, let alone feeling accountable for harms we did not directly cause. On the other hand, some Indigenous people might feel resentment or hostility towards international students if they perceive us as threat because of the xenophobic stereotypes that circulate about us. Colonial narratives about Indigenous people represent them as freeloaders, criminals, drug abusers, irrational protestors that resist economic development and so. All these entrenched stereotypes are the consequence of ongoing colonial violence. Although calls for truth and reconciliation are louder today than perhaps ever before in Canadian history, especially in light of the tragic news about Indigenous children’s remains at Indian Residential school sites, many Canadians are still seeking ways to justify historical and ongoing colonial actions. Although K-12 schools are obligated to include the perspectives of Indigenous people, colonial actions are often still justified in curricula in implicit and explicit ways that disavow Canadians’ responsibilities for those actions.

My invitation for my fellow international students is to encourage us to be courageous, curious, critical, and honest not only towards ourselves but also others. To denaturalize and challenge the dominant global imaginary, to question authority figures, to reject patronizing help, to ask provocative questions, and to incessantly seek to confront (rather than run away from) colonial realities while unlearning numerous entrenched doctrines, dogmas, and dictates that conditioned our minds and imaginaries, and that circulate on our campuses and the larger society. And, to prepare ourselves to confront the complexity of the world and our complicity in harm, instead of trying to protect ourselves from critique by either weaponizing our own marginalization or mobilizing our relative privilege . Indeed, we are living in a world that is fraught with complexity, uncertainty, inequality, and instability. However, denying the systemic harm that we have helped produce, discrediting honest accounts of colonial history, and resting on our righteousness are all precarious practices that disengage us from accepting responsibility to interrupt the systemic violence that continues to harm Indigenous communities and lands.

I want to invite all of us to envision what higher education will look like in 50 years. Perhaps in 50 years, scholars will be equally shocked by the harm we are implicated in today as many of us are by the harm perpetuated by Indian residential schools. I sincerely hope that graduation from a Canadian university is not the end of your learning career, rather than the beginning journey of unlearning and relearning. To retrain our brains to respond to painful truths in a healthier, more accountable manner. To turn our hearts and minds to building a future where all knowledge systems are equally valued for their contextual relevance. To acknowledge that even though we are part of global problems but can also be part of global solutions. I sincerely hope that you consider the credential you hang up on the wall not just a representation of your intelligence but also a reminder that your achievements have also come at the expense of others.

What Now?

In offering this letter, I invite you to disarm your defensiveness for long enough to consider the limitations and harms of a system that is trying to infantilize us; and to consider our debt to Indigenous peoples. As an international student, here are some ways you can try to honour that debt, interrupt harmful patterns, and practice different relations of solidarity:

  • Do your homework: 
    • Learn about your institution’s historical and contemporary institutional complicity in settler colonialism, and ask what it is doing to interrupt and redress the harms that have been done and that are in many ways ongoing
    • Learn about the past and present of colonialism within Canada – and try to keep up with the latest developments not only in mainstream news outlets but also as reported by Indigenous journalists and outlets like APTN
    • Learn about contemporary decolonization movements, such as the #LandBack movement – remembering that Indigenous peoples are heterogenous and hold varied perspectives about how to address colonial violence
  • Invite fellow international students to consider the questions raised in this letter, or other questions that have arisen for you in this self-reflexive process
  • If you are considering applying for permanent residency in Canada after graduation, consider what it means to become a resident and perhaps a future citizen of a settler colonial nation (see: “Letter to prospective immigrants to what is known as Canada”)
  • Sit with difficult questions about your own complicity in settler colonial harm, in consideration of your positionality and its many layers; if you feel tempted to absolve yourself because you may also be marginalized in some way(s), ask where that response is coming from and at whose expense you are deflecting responsibility – and practicing hold space for both your complicity and marginalization at the same time
  • When you are advocating for better resources for yourself as a marginalized student, consider if you can do that in ways that enact support for and solidarity with Indigenous students in relation to the specific marginalizations they experience (which might be resonant with but are not the same as your own)
  • From your own context and positionality, ask how you might take small steps to cultivate relationships with Indigenous peoples grounded in trust, respect, reciprocity, consent, and accountability (as Indigenous philosopher Kyle Whyte suggests)

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