I am going to attempt to navigate and answer question number 3 that Professor Paterson put forth in this post. This inquiry calls into question the validity of Lutz’ assumption regarding the heritage of his readers – that they either belong to the “European tradition, or he is assuming that it is more difficult for a European to understand Indigenous performances”. Both pieces written by Lutz, First Contact as a Spiritual Performance: Aboriginal — Non-Aboriginal Encounters on the North American West Coast, and Contact Over and Over Again relate the first encounters, first meetings, whether purposeful or by chance, between “native and stranger” (30).

Contact Over and Over Again immediately establishes the narrative of “us and them”, a theme that we have discussed in the context of J. Edward Chamberlain’s If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? When analyzing Lutz’ writing of the first encounter of Indigenous people and the Spanish and British in the Eighteenth Century, the tale is set up in such a way to be told from the perspective of the all mighty, superior “us”, or those belonging to the European tradition. Please take this with a grain of salt, as I do mean it quite sarcastically. The excerpt below speaks directly to the “us and them” dichotomy, coming from the perspective of the Spanish pilot, Martinez:

“I asked them a thousand questions [by signs], all having to do with whether we could cast anchor, but they did not understand me, and their replies were to say that they had plenty to eat and drink if we would come ashore.” (30-31).

This excerpt establishes wonderful groundwork for what this blog is examining: is Lutz’ assumption that “One of the most obvious difficulties is comprehending the performances of the Indigenous participants” (32). Is this a fair assumption? My simple answer is no, but please allow me to explain.

This assumption, as put forth by Lutz, entails a few difficulties that I struggle to agree with. First, as stated above, the assumption itself comes from the stance that those from the European tradition were immediately superior to those of the Indigenous tradition – they cannot understand us, but we, of course, can understand them. Wherein this situation is the story from the Indigenous people’s perspective? Perhaps their performances were exemplifying particularly what they intended, and were perceived incorrectly by the strangers. Professor Paterson is being fair when pointing to this assumption, as it appears clearly in Lutz’ work, but it is Lutz’ assumption itself that stumps me.

It challenges me that Lutz discusses the “necessity [to] enter into a world that is distant in time and alien in culture” in order to perceive Indigenous performances. Why? Because from both perspectives, that of the Indigenous peoples and the Europeans, the traditions and culture that they come into contact with are alien cultures. “Both peoples sought to minimize and danger and maximize opportunities. Without a common language, both did so by performing for the other” (30). Lacking means of verbal communication that could be mutually understood, both parties relied on the use of physical performances, yet for no reason should the Europeans performances be categorized as being easier to interpret. The Indigenous peoples would be entering just as much of a strange, unknown culture with the intention to communicate as the Europeans, no? Here is a funny video about the mishaps of communication that is misunderstood, and the performance that ensues.

The idea of superiority of one race over the other brings me to another point of focus, of which Professor Paterson discussed in her weekly blog post: Residential Schools. In the 19th Century the Canadian government “believed it was responsible for educating and caring for aboriginal people in Canada” (CBC). The thought was to force adoption of the english language, as well as Christian and Canadian customs in order to provide the best chance of success. These values would then ideally be passed onto that generations children, and begin the “success” (HUGE quotation marks) of completely abolishing a few generations. “In all, about 150,000 First Nation, Inuit and Métis children were removed from their communities and forced to attend the schools” (CBC). This air of superiority, or the need to “better” the lives of others who hold different cultures, traditions, language, and customs, plays again into the “us and them” dichotomy, in that we have to better the lives of them because they are the ones that are different.

In conclusion, I feel Professor Paterson is spot on to dissect Lutz’ assumption from his work in Contact Over and Over Again. But, I struggle to maintain the same assumption as Lutz. In this, the works perspective appears very one sided, but perhaps that’s the only way to tell such a story of first contact. All first contact stories would vary extremely from one parties perspective versus the other’s, and I would be intrigued to hear of the same meeting from a different side.

Works Cited 

CBC News. “A history of residential schools in Canada.” CBC News. 2008. <http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/a-history-of-residential-schools-in-canada-1.702280>.

Lutz, John. “Contact Over and Over Again.” Myth and Memory: Rethinking Stories of Indignenous- European Contact. Ed. Lutz. Vancouver: U of British Columbia P, 2007. 1-15. Print.

The idea and conception of home that I hold is very near and dear to my heart, and I therefore have so thoroughly enjoyed reading through our classes blog’s regarding this topic. The threads have provided interesting insight and sneak peeks into each other’s home, families, traditions, and ideas.

A quote from Jessica Bernoe’s blog really jumped out at me: “Home to me is the physical place and the mental space of comfort”. Both parts of that sentence ring true for me, and also seem to ring true for classmates. Home is not necessarily where you spend the most time, it is not always the place your family is, or your friends, or your childhood pet. Home is the physical space in which you are at comfort.

For others, home is where your family is.

Where there is love.

Where there are memories of the past, and plans for the future.

Where there is comfort in familiarity – be it objects, people, places, views, stores, or food (as Chris Cheung beautifully wrote about in his blog).

Emotional attachement.

Safety.

Comfort.

Ease.

And for others, home is not something that is “pinpoint-able”. It appears that most of my classmates are lucky enough to have a concrete sense of home, in a sense that when asked where or what home is, we can construct an answer with at least a semi-definitive meaning. But home does not have to be a single place, a single building, or a single memory. Home can be where one feels they belong. Take the children at the International school in Singapore featured in Greta Anne Craig’s blog – within the walls of that classroom, the children felt a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort in the surroundings, despite perhaps not having a place to easily call home.

Our backyard, looking out over a Georgian Bay sunset

Home. That word automatically transports me East to Ontario, to a small rural community three hours North, North-West of Toronto. Home takes me to the physical house that I was lucky enough to be born and raised in (well, not actually born in, but you know what I mean). Home is waking up in my bedroom, sleepily finding my way across the hallway to my sisters room, and waking her up only to talk about all of the delicious food we are going to eat that day.

Home has always been the calm in the centre of my hectic yet amusing life. Starting in grade 7, I was often away for up to a month at a time to travel to ski competitions around North America. At the end of the trips was always the enjoyment of returning home, thrilled to not live out of suitcase and actually have ample clean clothing (thanks to my Mother’s amazing laundry skills). As I mentioned in me previous blog posts, I have lived a bit of a gypsy traveling life since graduating high school. The only constant throughout that time was the idea of home. I knew my parents would always be there, and I could always get a piece of home by dialling the familiar phone number engrained in my head – no matter where in the world I found myself.

Perhaps if I had moved around as a child the idea of home would not be so concrete in my head. I have lived in Vancouver for three years now, yet I still do not consider it home. At Christmas, I always say I am going “home”. And after the holidays, it is always “back to school”. As time passes, yes I get more and more comfortable with this city, and enjoy the opportunities that school presents, but I continuously see an end point to my time here. In my mind, there is always the time that I will return home. Unless, of course, I somehow find a wonderful, high paying job after (hopefully) graduating with an Arts degree and can somehow continue to afford living in this beautiful, yet painfully expensive city.

The always photogenic Vancouver, my home away from home

The best Vancouver family a girl could ask for

I have such a tie to the association of my physical house being my home, that I think it will always be home in some sense. Inevitably, my parents will one day downsize to a smaller house, as having room more six is no longer very applicable. When this happens, I I feel that home will change in the sense that home will become my house of the past, and home will become wherever my parents are. I guess that’s more the point – home is where my parents are. Home is where I am lucky enough to know I will always be welcomed with open arms, a bed to sleep in, and food on the table. Hence the name of this blog – there is ALWAYS a full fridge at home, stuffed full of the most delectable food and wine. Compared to my student fridge of hot sauce and pickles, a full fridge is a divine luxury upon returning home.

In addition, home always brings the sense of reuniting with family. As my brothers and sister and I are spread between Vancouver, New York, Halifax, and Dublin, that small town in rural Southern Ontario has transformed from the everyday norm, to a place where we get to see one another after months apart. Last summer the four kids overlapped time at home for a total of 36 hours – just long enough to ring in our Mom’s 60th birthday before jetting off to different parts of the world again. I believe all of us have this sense of home now, that it is a place to touch down, collect ourselves, visit, share, and laugh before parting ways again.

The “touchdown” visit for our Mom’s birthday celebrations – from the left, my siblings Andrew, Kyle, and Reba

Everyone has a different perspective of what home means to them. I realize that I am very lucky to have a concrete idea of home, as many individuals never get the opportunity to know exactly what home is. Undoubtedly, my idea of home will shift and alter as I grow. If I have a family of my own one day, that will become home, and I hope that I can allow my children to establish the sense of comfort, safety, and excitement that I still get with the idea of going home.

My wonderful parents, who have always made our house a home

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to learning of everyone’s different stories of what home means to you.