Keith Carlson presents us with an interesting suggestion: “the very act of transforming … [is] an act of literacy” (62). This may seems incongruous on the surface, but when we dig deeper we can see that it really is quite simple. What do we do when we write? We transform a blank page into something meaningful through the use of symbols, and if anybody thinks this demonstrates white supremacy they should give Mandarin a shot. It is interesting to hear the symbols have not historically been included in accounts of ‘literacy’. Perhaps as academics we become caught up in literariness, and think exclusively of words as conveying deep meaning, but certainly we need to consider other symbols to be literary as well. Totem Poles are a great example of this, and this video describes how the symbols on a pole can represent the events of a story.

In the video, Mr. Hoyt also notes that there is a set of rules, or conventions, that limit that dictate what an artist/writer must do to convey the message he/she desires. Ravens have long beaks, and Eagles have curved ones. Proper nouns are capitalized, and i comes before e, except after c, except in feign… and science. Shit, even totem poles have clearer ‘rules’ than languages do. How can we not consider them to have adequate literariness?

To take this notion of transformation one level deeper, lets think about what happens to our brains when we tell a story (or speak in general). When we tell a story, or even simply listen to a story, our brains are being transformed (or marked) as the stimuli are processed by our minds. Studies in neuroplasticity, such as those quoted in the hyperlink, have shown that our brains are noticeably changed by our environments, including the words we hear and things we see. Hopefully this clears up the question of whether we should consider transformations to be literary, and it also explains why we did not consider their equality sooner. Much of the literature in neuroplasticity is recent, and academics could not have made such a connection in previous generations of First Nations studies. Clearly though, it is high time we consider transformations or markings, such as those of the Salish people, to be a form of literacy. It is ridiculous to assume that another cultures markings cannot convey meaning as ours do because they look different or exist on a different medium, especially when we now know they can affect our brains in similar ways. Whether a story is written on a piece of paper, told by a dancer, or carved on a pole, we are forging connections in our minds to allow us to interpret the story, and the possibilities inherent in all three mediums (and undoubtedly many more) should be embraced and explored.

End-note: Anyone who watched RoadRunner as a kid should be able to see what I’m getting at here.

Works Cited

Carlson, Keith Thor. “Orality and Literacy: The ‘Black and White’ of Salish History.” Orality & Literacy: Reflections Across Disciplines. 43-72. Print.

Hoyt, Randy. “Art & Story in Totem Poles / Ignite Dallas.” YouTube. 2011. Web. 11 Feb. 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Lht4XGkk0k>.<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Lht4XGkk0k>.

Widrich, Leo. ” The Science of Storytelling: Why Telling a Story is the Most Powerful Way to Activate Our Brains” Lifehacker 2012. Web.  11 Feb. 2015. <http://lifehacker.com/5965703/the-science-of-storytelling-why-telling-a-story-is-the-most-powerful-way-to-activate-our-brains?action_type_map=%7B%2210151358961859747%22%3A%22og.likes%22%7D&action_object_map=%7B%2210151358961859747%22%3A133605103460290%7D>

As Dr. Paterson alludes to in here second prompt this week, there exist some difficulties when trying to understand or trying to ascribe meaningfulness to First Nations stories. These difficulties arise from the First Nations’ storytelling process and from sanctions against the First Nations, as described by Dr. Paterson, but they also arise from a failed academic approach that looked at myths instead of modern stories.

O.K. Nick, then tell me about the storytelling process. 

While Western histories are understandable by way of close reading alone, First Nations histories are much more complex and elaborate because of the oral tradition of storytelling. When I call it an oral tradition it is almost a misnomer, since it so much more than that, but it is the best English word I can find to describe the First Nations story. Performance makes it sound to informal and dramatic, calling it an oral tradition gives it more authority. Yet beyond the oral aspect of First Nations storytelling is the visual, historical, and temporal aspects that give it a constantly evolving significance. Previous units have shown us that only certain people can tell stories at certain times, and if the conditions are not right these stories may not be told. That is because First Nations stories are more than just words, they have meaning in their delivery, their time, and their place, permitting the storyteller to adjust the tale but keep the meaning intact. This allows the story to grow and evolve over time, and multiple hearings are necessary for one to truly understand the meaning (Robinson, 19).

So why can’t we just watch First Nations ceremonies and understand them now?

This is where the sanction of the previous century weigh heavy on our ability to understand First Nations histories. The Federal government was determined to assimilate the various First Nations across the country, and in doing so they took children away from their families and disconnected generations of First Nations people. Many First Nations celebrations and ceremonies where stories were told, such as the potlatch, were banned by the government as part of the attempted assimilation. Now that we know how important the ceremony of storytelling was it is not hard to see why many histories have been lost. The chain of storytelling was broken, the stories were unable to grow and evolve, and many never had a chance to be retold once bans were overturned. In unison with the potlatch ban was the opening of residential schools that took First Nations children away from their families and placed into Western boarding schools. These children were denied any knowledge of their ancestors existence and where taught Western-Christian value systems that eroded much of the connection to their past. The potlatch ban and the residential school system combined to inhibit an entire generation of storytelling, killing many histories that were never retold.

And how was this compounded by a failed academic approach?

As we see in Wickwire’s book, the historians and anthropologists studying First Nations stories focused more on the classic mythical tales and less on more recent retellings of the classics. Perhaps this was a function of the sanctions as well; the disconnect in the First Nations communities between generations meant that very few stories were retold in the early and mid 20th century and academics glossed over the 19th century retellings because there was no recent evidence that this had occurred. In any regard the academics took the mythological/historical approach they did, as described by Wickwire (22-23), and this left many modern First Nations stories unknown in the literature. Wickwire argues that this “raises questions about the messages that collectors gleaned from their narrators’ stories” (23). Wickwire has made an effort to reconcile this by purposefully seeking out stories with historical ‘impurities’, but the old approach remains a large burden on our ability to truly understand First Nations first stories.

Works Cited

Posluns, Michael. Speaking with Authority: The Emergence of the Vocabulary of First Nations’ Self-government. New York: Routledge, 2007. Print.

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

Paterson, Erika. “Lesson 1.2 Story & Literature.” University of British Columbia , Vancouver. 5 Feb. 2015. Lecture.