Canadian nationalism has its roots in opposition to American influence as well as racist and colonial British ideas about what it means to be a “civilized” nation. We see the first part of this in Canadian cultural protectionism and the creation of institutions and programs such as the Canadian Radio-television and Communications Commission and the Canada Council for the Arts, which mandate for Canadian programming and give grants to Canadian artists for Canadian content. One of the debates that we still grapple with as a society is whether Canadian content is worth protecting and producing, and if so, how do we decide what is worthy of such protection? Canadian nationalism and cultural pride and protection is just as prevalent today as when these institutions were first introduced. Looking back at our history of Canadian nationalism, it is clear that many of the institutions and policies put in place to further Canadian culture and interests were inherently racist and based on British ideas of civility and superiority.

This is best illustrated by some of the immigration acts introduced in Canada in the early to mid-1900s. Starting chronologically, the Royal Commission on Chinese Immigration of 1885 limited Chinese immigration based on the belief that they did not have the ability to assimilate to Canadian culture, which at the time closely adhered to British cultural standards. This fear is similarly voiced in 2016 as Canadians “want minorities to do more to ‘fit in‘” to Canadian culture, a sure shift away from the multiculturalism celebrated in decades previous. The belief that Chinese immigrants could or would not assimilate, as well as other racist attitudes at the time, led to the recommendation that a head tax be imposed. The $10 tax was later raised to $50 and then lowered since Chinese immigrants were still needed to perform labour.

The Immigration Act of 1910 gave the government greater authority to admit or deport immigrants in Canada, dependent on an immigrant’s suitability “to the climate or requirements of Canada.” It is not specified what constitutes a suitable immigrant, allowing “indiscriminate” judgment as to who could land in Canada. It’s easy to draw a comparison to this document Kelly Leitch’s call that we screen immigrants for “Canadian values“, but what those values actually are is something that no one can agree on.

The Naturalization Act of 1914 approved naturalization for immigrants who “exhibit good moral character.” Again, what that actually means is incredibly vague, which allowed decisions to be made subjectively.

Finally, the Immigration Act Amendment of 1919 “authorized the governor-in-council to prohibit immigrants of any nationality, race, occupation and class if they were deemed unsuitable to the ‘climatic, industrial, social and educational, labour or other conditions or requirements of Canada,’ because of their ‘peculiar customs, habits, modes of life and methods of holding property and because of their probable inability to become readily assimilated.'”

Well, that’s a little more clear.

This demonstrates Daniel Coleman’s argument about white civility, based on white/British ideas of what civility should be. It’s a civility that views immigrants/minorities and anyone else that doesn’t fit in with white ideals as uncivilized and inferior (Coleman, p.13).

It’s critical that we recognize the racist history of Canadian nationalism, especially since we are starting to experience a backlash against multiculturalism and immigration, and that we work to ensure that our nationalism and culture includes all Canadians.

Works Cited

Coleman, Daniel. White Civility: The Literary Project of English Canada. Toronto: U of Toronto, 2006. Print.

Gagnon, Erica, Jan Raska, Lindasy Van Dyk, and Steve Schwinghamer. “Immigration Act, 1910 | Pier 21.” Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2016

Gagnon, Erica, Jan Raska, Lindasy Van Dyk, and Steve Schwinghamer. “Immigration Act Amendment, 1919.” Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2016

Gagnon, Erica, Jan Raska, Lindasy Van Dyk, and Steve Schwinghamer. “Naturalization Act, 1914 | Pier 21.” Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2016.

Gagnon, Erica, Jan Raska, Lindasy Van Dyk, and Steve Schwinghamer. “Royal Commission on Chinese Integration, 1885 | Pier 21.” Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2016.

Proctor, Jason. “CBC-Angus Reid Institute Poll: Canadians Want Minorities to Do More to ‘fit In’ – British Columbia – CBC News.” CBCnews. CBC/Radio Canada, 2016. Web. 10 Oct. 2016.

Siekierski, BJ. “Author Cited by Leitch Torpedoes Her Pitch for Immigrant ‘values’ Screening.” IPolitics. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2016.

5] “To raise the question of ‘authenticity’ is to challenge not only the narrative but also the ‘truth’ behind Salish ways of knowing “(Carlson 59). Explain why this is so according to Carlson, and explain why it is important to recognize this point.

When we question the authenticity of Salish stories and knowledge by comparing them to European ones, we devalue Salish ways of knowing just as we devalue oral culture through comparison to the supposedly more civilized western literacy. Why is ‘accuracy’ the criteria on which we base the worth of an entire culture’s wealth of knowledge? And why is western culture and story considered more accurate than Salish ways of knowing? Western accuracy involves evidence-based reasoning, documentation, etc- but to say Salish ways of knowing are invalid because they do not involve these elements is to ignore the different ways in which we measure accuracy, none more valid than the other.

Salish “historical accuracy is largely assessed in relation to people’s memories of previous renditions or versions of a narrative and in relation to the teller’s status and reputation as an authority” (Carlson, 57). Just as First Nations storytelling is largely dependent on context- the who, what, where, when and why of the story- so too is historical accuracy. Note that historical accuracy is important to Salish narratives. Carlson notes that Salish storytellers who fail to establish credibility through the use of “oral footnotes” will experience diminished reputations as poor storytellers within their communities (57). This community self-policing is one way to ensure accuracy within storytelling, and the consequences of poor storytelling are understood by Salish communities just as they are within European ones (Carlson, 58).

The problem with this challenge of ‘authenticity’ within Salish and other First Nations narratives is that it values western literacy over orality and assumes that literacy brings legitimacy while orality is regressive and primitive. The belief that a culture evolves from orality to literacy places oral stories at the bottom of a hierarchy. There is a “historical purity” (Carlson, 56) associated with literacy and impurities are thus assigned to First Nations histories/stories that do not conform. Stories that are “informed by post-contact European events” are assumed to be based on post-contact European information. This ethnocentric view results in a fundamental misunderstanding of the workings of Salish/First Nations culture and ways of knowing and devalues the truth of their stories.

To challenge the truth of Salish stories in this way is to assign a higher value and meaning to western/European stories. In “Living by Stories,” Wendy Wickwire talks about how academics choose which First Nations stories to pay attention to. Academics ignore recent stories in favour of stereotypical, mythic stories, despite the fact that many of the modern stories held important insights about land and origin. When we choose which stories to assign value to, we miss the important ones and “close the door on another way of knowing” (Carlson, 56). But, as Carlson notes, “there is no story that is more or less authentic, only ‘better remembered/conveyed” (57).

How do we decide which stories are ‘accurate’? How do we decide which stories are worthy of meaning and value? I think we need to move forward from the western model of accuracy, or at least be able to acknowledge the different ways in which we can assign and police accuracy within stories. If we don’t, so many important truths, stories, and ways of knowing will be left behind.

Works Cited

Carlson, Keith Thor. “Orality and Literacy: The ‘Black and White’ of Salish History.” Orality & Literacy: Reflectins Across Disciplines. Ed. Carlson, Kristina Fagna, & Natalia Khamemko-Frieson. Toronto: Uof Toronto P, 2011. 43-72.

Courtney MacNeil, “Orality”. The Chicago School of Media Theory. Uchicagoedublogs. 2007. We. 19 Feb. 2013.

Robinson, Harry, and Wendy C. Wickwire. Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory. Vancouver: Talon, 2005. Print.

1. In this lesson I say that our capacity for understanding or making meaningfulness from the first stories is seriously limited for numerous reasons and I briefly offer two reasons why this is so: 1) the social process of the telling is disconnected from the story and this creates obvious problems for ascribing meaningfulness, and 2) the extended time of criminal prohibitions against Indigenous peoples telling stories combined with the act of taking all the children between 5 – 15 away from their families and communities. In Wickwire’s introduction to Living Stories, find a third reason why, according to Robinson, our abilities to make meaning from first stories and encounters is so seriously limited. To be complete, your answer should begin with a brief discussion on the two reasons I present and then proceed to introduce and explain your third reason from Wickwire’s introduction.

Our ability to ascribe meaning to stories by First Nations communities is limited for three reasons. First, we are disconnected from the social process and context in which these stories were first told. As we learned in lesson 2:2, stories were the means by which First Nations communities asserted their right to the land. These stories were often told at a potlatch or other gatherings of nations, and land ownership could change as stories changed. This social context was important because it gave meaning to First Nations’ rights and ownership over the land. The link between land and story here is incredibly important, as evidenced by the Supreme Court ruling of 1995 which gave equal weight to First Nations oral history as historical evidence in land claim disputes. These processes were interrupted during the cultural genocide. Potlatches were banned and the important social link between stories and land was disrupted. This is the second reason that inhibits our ability to understand first stories. The attempted destruction of First Nations culture and the banning of cultural practices crucial to the practice of storytelling and land claims has had a serious impact that is still felt today.

There is a third reason, brought up by Harry Robinson in his book with Wendy Wickwire, “Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory.” In his view, the stories of how First Nations people came to own the land have been ignored (Wickwire, p.9), a significant mistake because these stories held the answer about why First Nations have been assigned the land as opposed to whites (Wickwire, p.9). He tells a story about two twins, one black and one white. The white twin was banished, and this is why First Nations were here before whites (Wickwire, p.9). Although this story is told with some variations, the explanation remains intact- First Nations were here first, and rightfully so.

Wickwire speaks of “a living Coyote linked to Harry by generations of storytellers” (Wickwire, p.8). This sort of connection cannot be replicated by modern (white) retellings of first stories, as evidenced by how writers’ terms for Coyote were fundamentally different than how a First Nations storyteller would describe him (Wickwire, p.8). Words like “trickster” were used in the written versions of Coyote’s story, but never by the storytellers. Modern written stories simply lacked the “detail, dialogue and colour” (Wickwire, p.8) of the oral stories. Wickwire also makes mention of how we erase things that give context and meaning to these stories, such as removing the names of the original storytellers, locations, and the communities where these stories were told in written editions (Wickwire, p.8). These omissions disturb the narrative of the story (Wickwire, p.8).

Wickwire also talks about how the Boasian tradition ignored recent stories from First Nations, instead focusing on past, mythic stories “set in prehistorical times” (Wickwire, p.22). She quotes Harkin, who says their “goal was to document ‘some overarching, static, ideal type of culture, detached from its pragmatic and socially positioned mooring among real people'” and “‘systematically suppressed…all evidence of history and change'” (Wickwire, p.22). Just as we have suppressed First Nations culture during the period of cultural genocide, so too have academics who seem to have had a preconceived notion about what stories were important to understanding First Nations people, history, and culture. It’s another way in which we undermine our ability to make meaning of First Nations stories by refusing to examine equally important modern stories that First Nations have used to make sense of their position in the world in the 1920s and beyond.

Finally, Harry Robinson speaks on the importance of “living by stories” (Wickwire, p.29). These stories needed to be passed down through generations because they give meaning and help First Nations understand the importance of the land, their culture, and their history (Wickwire, p.29). This is something that has been diminished, deprived, and nearly destroyed during the age of residential schools, the 60’s scoop, etc. I would like to leave you with several links I found while reading about residential schools.

Here is a report from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that talks about how the oral tradition can be used for reconciliation through the stories of ancestors that have worked toward it in the past. It also talks about our history of cultural genocide and how we can work toward reconciliation.

Here is a project that attempts to document the oral history of residential schools.

Here is a CBC documentary that features several residential school survivors.

And another short documentary about the deaths at residential schools. The former Indian Affairs minister literally used the phrase “final solution” when talking about the “Indian Problem.”

And finally, here is a powerful Canadian heritage minute about residential schools.

I would like to point out that these links and videos may be upsetting to you as they deal with child abuse and death. But that’s the reality of our history.

What do you think about the importance of living by stories?

What did you learn in school about residential schools/cultural genocide?

Works Cited

CBCTheNational. “Death at Residential Schools.” Youtube, 2015. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdR9HcmiXLA.

CBCTheNational. “Stolen Children | Residential School Survivors Speak out.” Youtube, 2015. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdR9HcmiXLA.

“Healing the Legacy of the Residential Schools.” Where Are The Children. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. http://wherearethechildren.ca/en.

Jerchlaw. “The Changing Statue of Oral History as Evidence.” Jerchlaw.com. P. Michael Jerch Law Office, 23 Apr. 2009. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. http://www.jerchlaw.com/Oral%20history_T’silhqot’in.pdf.

Robinson, Harry, and Wendy C. Wickwire. Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory. Vancouver: Talon, 2005. Print.

Russel, Andrew. “What was the ’60s Scoop’? Aboriginal Children Taken from Homes a Dark Chapter in Canada’s History.” Global News. N.p., 2016. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. http://globalnews.ca/news/2898190/what-was-the-60s-scoop-aboriginal-children-taken-from-homes-a-dark-chapter-in-canadas-history/.

TheHDInstitute. “Heritage Minutes: Chanie Wenjack.” YouTube. YouTube, 2016. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_tcCpKtoU0.

Truth and Reconciliation Canada. Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future: Summary of the Final Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. Winnipeg: Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015. Web. 07 Oct. 2016. http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/File/2015/Findings/Exec_Summary_2015_05_31_web_o.pdf.

It was quite interesting to me that although many ENGL 470 bloggers announced they found it difficult to describe home and what it means to them, there are many similarities in our descriptions of home and the value it holds.

For many, home is something intangible, having more to do with internal feelings than external objects or land. It’s something that is created by memories, experiences, and emotions. Memories of “childhood, friendship, and adventure,” as Madelaine Walker says, were common in these short stories, provoking a sense of nostalgia for good or better times. Sometimes these memories are triggered by a physical space (the house) or object (household items), or even smells and sounds. We attribute these good memories to the place where they occurred, the house. These memories give meaning and value to the house, thus making it home. Then there are experiences, things that happened in the past which connect us to our homes, or pull us away from them. The experience of growing up, losing a loved one or seeing them sick can make home more meaningful. It can also diminish one’s sense of home if the experience was negative. Finally, emotions were a common theme in each blog. Feelings of belonging, happiness, contentment, security, love, and laughter gave home meaning for many. Memories, emotions, and experiences an help us explain the intangible idea of home.

Of course, not everyone considered home to be something that is intangible. Many stories talked about specific people that made a house into a home. “Home is wherever I’m with you,” as the song goes. Most often these people were direct family members such as parents and siblings, but also boyfriends, girlfriends, and friends.

One thing I did notice is that very few, if any people thought of home as being directly tied into the land. I don’t think anyone talked about physical ownership or physical space as home. As we learned in unit 2, the relationship between home and land is much more complex, valued, and important in First Nations culture, but we do not seem to have stories about land in the same way that First Nations cultures do.

Another similarity between our stories about home is the notion that home can change and evolve. Some storytellers grew to feel that their new homeland was really home, more so than the place they left behind. Many made their own homes as adults, separate from the homes of their parents that were once home to them as children. That brings us to another similarity, that home is something you can create for yourself. Most of the storytellers seemed to agree that we can make homes for ourselves and if we uproot we can create a new home. This illustrates my previous point that home is not so much tied to land for us as it is tied to emotions and feelings of safety, comfort, etc.

Many bloggers felt that home was a place of shared values. For one blogger, it was the familiarity of language that made them identify with Canada as home. And although several people pointed out the cliché that is “home is where the heart is,” it succinctly describes the most common idea of home that we as students seem to share, that home is not a physical space but rather something you feel.

Works Cited

When I think about home, I think about the Old Old House. It’s what we call the house that I, my sister and my brother grew up in. We lived on the bottom floor with my parents, and my grandparents lived upstairs. It was big and roomy, so we always had a revolving cast of friends, family members and friends-of-friends staying with us. Because of its size, our house was the main gathering place for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, birthday parties, anniversaries, etc. We lived on an acre and a half. At the very back of our acreage was a mini forest filled with pine and maple trees and a wood chip path lined with logs. The back fence looked out onto a Christmas tree farm that stretched out so far all you could see was green and the mountains beyond. The Old Old House was succeeded by The Old House, but we don’t mention it with the same nostalgia and reverence as we do the Old Old House. And although I do think of my current house as home it cannot compare to the Old Old House and the meaning it has not just for me, but for my entire family, who remember it fondly. Cousins, uncles, and family friends will often remark to me how much they miss “the big house”, but we knot it’s not the house itself they are referring to. A house is tangible. Home is intangible. Memories, experiences and emotions are tied to the physical space.

The Old Old House is the only house I ever dream about. Usually, I dream that someone is trying to kill me, that evil creatures have invaded and are approaching from the woods and I try to hide or escape. Sometimes the sky is stormy and apocalyptic and my family furiously pack our belongings before driving off into the night, knowing we can never return. As a child home meant stability, something that was interrupted when we moved for the first time. I think I have these dreams because I long for the feelings of comfort and safety that home used to provide. When my family tells stories about  things that happened at the Old Old House or the house I am living in now, I feel that familiar sense of comfort. Again, it’s not the physical space we are talking about but the intangible experiences that occurred in that space, the place where reality and imagination meet (Chamberlin, p. 74).

Thinking about the stories and memories I have of home, I realize that they are tied to physical land and objects which give meaning and value to the places I call home. There’s the oak dining table with the claw feet that I always thought looked like a lion’s paw. It was the site of many family dinners. The garden where I picked peas off the stalk with my nana was where we buried my first pet. It was my first experience with death. The forest with its golden maple trees, where we would pretend to be villagers foraging for food of play kick-the-can and flashlight tag. The garage where I would go to sneak popsicles, wary of the glistening eyes of the mounted bucks that lined the walls. Waking up in the middle of the night to sneak a peek at the glittering Christmas tree, hoping to spot a certain red-suited fellow.

All of these memories and experiences of growing up, being alive, and being part of a family have all contributed to my ideas of home.

Works Cited