We would like to like to dedicate our Digital Story assignment to the life and work of Ahasiw Maskegon-Iskwew. We hope to pay tribute to Maskegon-Iskwew by adding layers of sounds to Cheryl L’Hirondelle’s recording of a poem entitled Disintegration. This poem was composed by Greg Daniels and was featured on Ahasiw Maskegon-Iskwew’s website, Speaking the Language of Spiders. Additionally, we have selected the images that accompany Disintegration from Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders to as a way reflect further on this work. Before we begin, we would also like to acknowledge that we are white settlers living and learning on the traditional, ancestral and unceded territory of the hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓ speaking xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam) – People of the River Grass.

Speaking the Language of Spiders is a unique cyberspace that uses hyperlinks to showcase the poems of many Indigenous artists such as Greg Daniels, Lynn Acoose, Cheryl L’Hirondelle, etc. It uses a non-linear method of site navigation that is disorienting and challenges colonializing societal norms about how websites should be consumed. An eloquent statement made by a colleague of Maskegon-Iskwew named “S.U.” on why Speaking the Language of Spiders is formatted the way it is can be viewed here. The website is formatted as a web of knowledge, where each hyperlink of an image takes the user to a poem. The image of the buffalo looms in the corner of each page, and upon clicking it the user is returned to the centre of the web(site).

Speaking the Language of Spiders was a ground-breaking website that encouraged other Indigenous artists to use new media to showcase their artwork. A friend of Maskegon-Iskwew, Cheryl L’Hirondelle created a beautiful rendition of Speaking the Language of Spiders entitled Loving the Language of Spiders. In this tribute, Maskegon-Iskwew’s is remembered through snippets of conversations and memories and stories about his work. These are paired with artistic interpretations of each poem. We hope to honour Maskegon-Iskwew’s work by adding another layer to Cheryl L’Hirondelle’s rendition of Disintegration. We chose this poem because of the imagery it evoked for us and the sense of passing we felt after reading it.

Furthermore, we view Speaking the Language of Spiders as an example of Indigenous Futurism because it embraces technology to create an Aboriginally-determined cyberspace where Indigenous voices are at the forefront and colonial notions of rapid consumerism are restricted. We also envision Speaking the Language of Spiders as an illustration of screen sovereignty. Kirsten Dowell defines screen sovereignty as, “the articulation of Aboriginal people’s distinct cultural traditions, political status, and collective identities through cinematic and aesthetic means” in Vancouver’s Aboriginal Media World (Dowell, 2013, p. 2). To illustrate, Maskegon-Iskwew engages with screen sovereignty by demonstrating Indigenous artists’ collective identities through self-representation. He also uses Indigenous hypertextuality by creating an interconnected virtual mindmap and linking layers of poems to images (Haas, 2007, p. 83)

Here is our interpretation of Cheryl L’Hirondelle’s audio podcast of Disintegration. After you have listened to our recording, you can find images from Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders and a paragraph where we reflect on our positionality.

We created a spider web to represent the connections between the poem Disintegration on Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders. 

As previously mentioned, we are interacting with the Ahasiw Maskegon-Iskwew’s cyberspace as white settlers. We will reflect further on our positionality and how it affects how we engage with the Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders webpages. Further, we would like to also reflect on how our tribute and Cheryl L’Hirondelle’s tribute to Maskegon-Iskwew differ based on our respective positionalities. To clarify, we are not responding directly to the content of L’Hirondelle’s tribute, but rather the ways that she is able to interact with Maskegon-Iskwew’s memory and the Speaking the Language of Spiders website.

Cheryl L’Hirondelle is a woman of Metis/Cree-non status/treaty, French, German, and Polish descent. She was part of creating the Speaking the Language of Spiders website alongside Ahasiw Maskegon-Iskwew. As a result, she was at the forefront of shaping Indigenous cyberspace. L’Hirondelle’s motivation may have been similar to that of Lewis & Skawennati (2005) when discussing their involvement with CyberPowWow. “As like-minded people [Aboriginal contemporary artists separated by vast distances], we saw the internet as a valuable tool for community building” (p. 109). Using the internet as a tool, L’Hirondelle, Lewis, and Skawennati, all connected this group despite the large degrees of separation between them.

In comparison, as millennial white settlers, we have become accustomed to websites that prioritize a straightforward, friendly, and linear user experience. The viewpoint that facilities this system – Western and colonial – is the perspective we have become attached to. Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders challenges our experiences because it does not adhere to colonial norms. However, Speaking the Language of Spiders was not created simply so that non-Indigenous peoples could have their assumptions challenged. Speaking the Language of Spiders is also an example of screen sovereignty. As Kirsten Dowell highlights, “… the consideration of an Aboriginal audience for Aboriginal media also expresses visual sovereignty” (Dowell, 2013 p. 3). Speaking the Language of Spiders was created by Indigenous peoples for Indigenous peoples to engage with Indigenous new media.

Speaking the Language of Spiders and Loving the Language of Spiders are Aboriginally-determined cyberspaces by Ahasiw Maskegon-Iskwew and Cheryl L’Hirondelle, respectively. As guests in these cyberspaces, we are honoured to be interacting with these sites.

References:

HunteR4708, creator. Knock on the Door. Freesound.org, 3 Dec. 2014, https://www.freesound.org/people/HunteR4708/sounds/256513/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

—, creator. Rain Interior Perspective. Freesound.org, 28 Oct. 2015, https://www.freesound.org/people/HunteR4708/sounds/326359/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Tomlija, creator. Kicking an Empty 20 Oz Beer Can. Freesound.org, 12 Oct. 2010, https://www.freesound.org/people/Tomlija/sounds/106611/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Daniels, Greg, author. “Disintegration.” Isi-Pikiskwewin Ayahpikesisak (Speaking the Language of Spiders), 1996, http://www.spiderlanguage.net/disintegration.html. Accessed 2 Dec. 2016.

Dowell, Kirsten. “Vancouver’s Aboriginal Media World” in Sovereign Screens: Aboriginal Media on the Canadian West Coast, pp. 1-20. University of Nebraska Press.

kangaroovindaloo, creator. Medium Wind. Freesound.org, 10 Nov. 2013, https://www.freesound.org/people/kangaroovindaloo/sounds/205966/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Haas, Angela M. “Wampum as Hypertext: An American Indian Intellectual Tradition of Multimedia Theory and Practice” in Studies in American Indian Literature, 19.4, pp. 77-100. University of Nebraska Press.

L’Hirondelle, Cheryl, performer. Disintegration. SoundCloud, 19 Apr. 2012, https://soundcloud.com/cheryllhirondelle/disintegration. Accessed 1 Dec. 2016.

—, writer. “The Spider Takes Many Forms.” Loving the Spider, 2012, http://lovingthespider.net/?page_id=177. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Lieberkind, Patrick, creator. Dark Ambience. Freesound.org, 2014, https://www.freesound.org/people/PatrickLieberkind/sounds/244961/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Maskegon-Iskwew, Ahasiw, aritist. “Buffalo.” 1996.

—, artist. CyberPowWow Cross. 2012.

—, artist. “Prairie Piece.” 1996.

—, artist. “Spider.” 1996.

—, producer. “Spider Language.” Isi-Pikiskwewin Ayahpikesisak (Speaking the Language of Spiders), 1996, http://www.spiderlanguage.net/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

—, creator. Tipicabin3. 2012.

—, artist. White Shame. 2012.

Tricia Fragnito, Skawennati, and Jason Lewis, curators. “Welcome to CyberPowWow.” CyberPowWow, 2006, http://www.cyberpowwow.net/. Accessed 12 Dec. 2016.

Indigenous Futurism is a platform by which Indigenous peoples are able to combat dominant narratives that feed into the colonial project and the notion that Indigenous people are “in the past”. To define Indigenous Futurism within the context of this paper, I will draw on outside sources such as Alicia Inez Guzman. My definition of Indigenous Futurism is best illustrated when Guzman states that those who create Indigenous Futurism, “embrace technology in all it’s instantiations, from the galactic machinations presented in the compilation to game design, Indigenous speculative fiction writing, artistic production, and the potential for space travel, whether imaginative or cosmological…the understanding that technology is essential to contemporary Indigenous constructions of selfhood contrasts longstanding notions of Native peoples as artifacts of a bygone past” (Guzman, 2015). Therefore, Skawennati demonstrates Indigenous Futurism through new media that hosts an imaginary of future Indigenous peoples. This imaginary combats colonializing discourses of Indigenous people by demonstrating the agency of Indigenous people to decide their own future, as well as highlighting the resilience and survivance demonstrated by characters in TimeTraveller.

Floating Jingle Dancers

One of the starkest examples of Indigenous Futurism in TimeTraveller is that InterGalactic PowWow in 2112. Karahkwenhawai dances among the rows of Jingle Dancers as the commentator discusses past tales of how the PowWow was historically banned because of fear that Indigenous people would “plan.” The commentator also notes how Indigenous people met in private as a method of resistance, until the PowWow became an internationally (and intergalactically) recognized and televised event. The tale of how the PowWow was previously banned is met with boos and anger from the audience, a clear demonstration of Indigenous resistance. Additionally, the floating jingle dancers point out how the intergalactic Powwow is not just a resurgence of publically held Indigenous traditions, but building on traditions to add a new dimension to Indigenous celebration. The regalia fashion advertisement on the big screen is important because it highlights how in our current world, Western displays of fashion are the unmarked “norm” in society. Skawennati’s world imagines regalia as being the norm in international fashion shows. The famous “Dead Mohawks” band that plays on the big screen during the PowWow is another assertion of Indigenous survivance in a futuristic context. It is also worthwhile to note that the PowWow takes place at the Winnipeg Olympic stadium, a nod towards how in the future Indigenous people will reclaim spaces historically European spaces (as the Olympics were born from Greece) where Indigenous peoples have been marginalized.

In addition to futuristic settings, scenes from the past are also reimagined through an Indigenous lens. Although these scenes exist in the past, they are still an example of Indigenous Futurism because of the insertion of Indigenous technological perspectives into the scene. In Episode 3, Hunter is portrayed in the opening scene as the Mohawk warrior from the famous photograph of the standoff with a soldier during the Oka Crisis. The original photograph and the media that followed frames the Mohawk warrior as a danger to the white soldier, however in TimeTraveller we hear the soldier say the word “motherfucker” to Hunter. This is a side of the story that was not depicted in the framing of the Oka Crisis by dominant media at the time. Although this is a photograph of a scene from 26 years ago, Skawennati is able to critique and examine it in a futuristic context.

TimeTraveller

Original Photograph

Adding to the layers of Indigenous Futurism in TimeTraveller, there are many ways by which Skawennati engages in screen sovereignty by creating an Aboriginally-determined cyberspace. As Lewis and Skawennati stated, “The World Wide Web has offered us the possibility to shape our own representations and make them known” (2005). Hunter and Karahkwenhawai are avatars that self-determine their position in time and the identity they choose to take on when entering a new time period, such as when Karahkwenhawai chose to participate as a jingle dancer or Hunter chose to sacrifice himself at Aztec to he could have a life with Karahkwenhawai. Additionally, Shakwennati draws attention to the different confederacies for different nations that were created alongside countries such as Canada or the United States of America in the future. This is an another example of Aboriginal screen sovereignty that shows Indigenous nations having sovereign rights.

Although Hunter and Karahkwenhawai are able to self-determine their identity, they cannot change the events of the past. However, they are very much the heroes of the story. They support the people of the scenes they visit indirectly and their influence is felt greatly. At Alcatraz, they supported the actions of Richard Oaks in reclaiming the land, and Karahkwenhawai supported Kateri Tekakwitha in her final days. The justice-seeking and advocacy that Hunter and Karahkwenhawai reminded me greatly of the vigilante protagonist from A Red Girl’s Reasoning by Elle-Maja Tailfeathers.

On the next episode of TimeTraveller:

Hunter and Karahkwenhawai travel back in time to Virginia in the 1600’s. They meet Pocahontas and learn about her home, her interests and her personality. They follow her on her journey to England and witness the events that led to her death. Since Hunter and Karahkwenhawai cannot change the past, Karahkwenhawai would write a book about what actually happened to Pocahontas. She could also choose to create an art exhibit dedicated to her, either in 21st-century style art by painting a portrait of what she really looked like, an online gallery, or a futuristic virtual reality headset where one could visit her home of with the Powhatan nation. The choice of music would also be very intentional as it was in TimeTraveller, with songs that fit the mood of the particular episode but also range from techno music to drumming and singing, with some songs being a mash-up of both. Hunter and Karahkwenhawai would travel all around the world and talk about Pocahontas’s life (and they would travel from country to country on a Mohawk passport successfully). They would talk about her spirit, but they would also acknowledge how Pocahontas was previously a classic Disney film the problematic Indigenous representation in the film, and also how many people didn’t understand how young she was at the time of her death. They would tell people that her real name was Matoaka. They would talk about how many people have dishonoured Pocahontas’s memory in the past but they would also discuss how we can honour her in the future. Due to Hunter and Karahkwenhawai’s advocacy and truth telling, people would build a memorial for her in the city of Montreal and Virginia, and people who visit her grave in London would leave flowers at her grave regularly.

Pocahontas’ Grave

To conclude, Skawennati’s vision is not what the world would look like in the future if settlers had never made contact- it is instead an excellent example of Indigenous Futurism from where we are now and resistance to the colonial project. It is an example of what the world could look like in the future.

References:

Lewis, Jason and Skawennati Tricia Fragnito “Aboriginal Territories in Cyberspace” Cultural Survival, 29.2, 2005. Accessed Nov. 29, 2016

Guzman, Alice Inez. 2015. Indigenous Futurisms. InVisibleCulture: An Electronic Journal for Visual Culture. Retrieved Nov. 30, 2016. URL: https://ivc.lib.rochester.edu/indigenous-futurisms/

Visual sovereignty is a crucial part of self-representation for Indigenous peoples. Kristen Dowell defines visual sovereignty as, “the articulation of Aboriginal peoples’ distinctive cultural traditions, political status, and collective identities through aesthetic and cinematic means. I locate Aboriginal visual sovereignty as an act of production… and self-representation.” (Dowell, 2013, p. 2). Additionally, Dowell contests that, “the consideration of an Aboriginal audience for Aboriginal media also expresses visual sovereignty” (Dowell, 2013, p. 3), and that understanding Indigenous media “within a framework of broader Aboriginal political movements” is integral to what Dana Claxton explains as “self-government” (Dowell, 2013, p. 19). Aboriginal visual sovereignty has led to the growth of what is called “screen sovereignty” in cyberspace. I define Screen Sovereignty as Indigenous people decolonizing cyberspace through naming Aboriginal territory in cyberspace. It is about challenging the colonized digital “utopia” where ‘democratic’ thought runs free, by highlighting that equitable democratic thought on the internet cannot be possible when there is still a large digital divide in Canada (Gaertner, 2015, p. 60). It is about resisting the European settler’s entitlement to consumption of any and all information. Whether screen sovereignty is created by Indigenous peoples to share cultural traditions such as dances (like CyberPowWow) as the result of Indigenous peoples having been systematically forced off reserves and into urban centres by the Indian Act (Dowell, 2013, p. 5), or screen sovereignty as a way for Indigenous peoples or to situate outsiders from a reserve as guests (such as God’s Lake Narrows), it is ultimately about Indigenous people translating tradition, title, culture and survivance onto the screen. To illustrate, I will use the example of the God’s Lake Narrows interactive online experience created by Kevin Lee Burton as an excellent example of screen sovereignty. Burton demonstrates self-determination by repainting the image that is often stereotyped of his home and inviting guests to become visitors in the reality of his space, which he does through the use of soundscape, timed sequences, employing an inverted gaze, and designing a webbed network of knowledge which all lead to the de-centralization of digital knowledge.

Burton first manages to disrupt the settler experience of navigating a website by situating the visitor of this domain of cyberspace as a guest on the reserve through sound. As a guest at God’s Lake Narrows reserve cyberspace and as a White settler, I had the startling realization that I was not in control as I first accessed the website by the sounds the came with the loading map of reserves in Canada. Then came the soundscape of daily home life and the ringing of dial-ups, where suddenly it is made clear that the conversations are being had without you. The presence of screen sovereignty is felt clearly and loudly by the music that is so unique and unlike music heard on mainstream radio stations. The music changes to a more uplifting rhythm and beat as the text moves from a discussion surrounding a lack of funding for reserves to images inside a home, where the audience is made to feel as an invited guest in their presence. This disrupts the settler dominance of entering spaces when we wish and demonstrates Burton’s capacity for screen sovereignty.

Further, the timed sequence of slides are designed so that the guest cannot rush through the story of God’s Lake Narrows. The timing requires the visitor to slow down and absorb all parts of what they are viewing. The timing is decided by Burton, an example of how the sovereign space of the God’s Lake Narrows website dismisses the settler need for quick consumption in order to move on to the next thing. I found that when I was experiencing the site for the first time and an IOS update popped up in the corner of my screen, I found myself feeling angry at Apple for intruding on God Lake Narrow’s hospitality and pacing. Additionally, the inverted gaze from both the families of God’s Lake Narrows reserve and Kevin Burton himself looking back at the viewer place the observer as the outsider to the reserve. When clicking “about God’s Lake Narrows” one can deduce from observing Burton’s moving picture and narrative that he governs how God’s Lake Narrows is represented in this space by detailing his lived experience.

To further illustrate God’s Lake Narrows as an example of screen sovereignty, Haas describes the value of, “nonhierarchical content linked in a hypertext and the capacity for hypertexts to have multiple layers of meaning.. to subvert the traditional hierarchy of information” (Haas, 2007, p. 87). God’s Lake Narrow’s website does not necessarily have a clear end or start, and each slide is a story in and of itself, which forms the webbed network of knowledge that Haas discusses in Wampum as Hypertext (Haas, 2007, 86). God’s Lake Narrows website exists as a sovereign space with different networks of knowledge outside the colonial dimensions of the internet.

To conclude, Burton discusses in his narrative that when one googles images of God’s Lake, pictures and of pristine forests and carefree teenagers often pop up (Gaertner, 2015, p. 71). Gaertner analyzes this as when he states, “focusing on the ‘pristine’ landscapes and the ‘savage’ Indian, these casual representations of the community reinforce colonial stereotypes” (Gaertner, 2015, p. 71). I decided to google these images for myself (which I now realize upon reflection that this is an example of how the settler in me was trying to consume knowledge through ‘evidence’) I found buried underneath the images of pristine forests to be a picture of God’s Lake Narrows fishing lodge, as pictured below. When I even scrolled further, I found an image of a young girl named Krystal Andrews, and as I explored more I found the news article of how she was murdered last year on God’s Lake Narrow reserve. I felt angry as I began to question why an image advertising a fishing lodge has been given more priority in this domain of the internet than the picture of a murdered Indigenous woman? This situation is one example of why self-representation, screen sovereignty and Aboriginal territory in cyberspace are vitally important. In the current state of Canadian society where community members often don’t have any say over how their community is represented or what makes it into the media and what does not, screen sovereignty in Aboriginally defined territory in cyberspace is an important method of resistance. By Burton showing what God’s Lake Narrows looks like to the people inside it, he succeeds in making advertisements for a fishing lodge look irrelevant and ridiculous.

References:

Dowell, Kristen. “Vancouver’s Aboriginal Media World”. Sovereign Screens: Aboriginal Media on the Canadian West Coast, pp. 1-20.

Gaertner, David. “Indigenous in Cyberspace: CyberPowWow, God’s Lake Narrows, and the Contours of Online Indigenous Territory”. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 39(4), pp. 55-78.

Burton, Kevin. God’s Lake Narrows. Retrieved from: http://godslake.nfb.ca/#/godslake

Haas, Angela M. “Wampum as Hypertext: An American Indian Intellectual Tradition of Multimedia Theory and Practice”. Studies in American Indian Literature, 19(4), pp. 77-100.

Welcome to UBC Blogs. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Marshall McLuhan’s “The Media is the Massage” made me feel uncomfortable. I felt like I was being brainwashed with seemingly unconnected and bizarre images while reading McLuhan’s book. However, McLuhan’s book was one of the first pieces of media I have encountered in a long time that I felt was not trying to sell me on a product- although he may have been trying to sell me on an idea. The text’s central idea revolved around this assertion- MuLuhan asserts that the medium by which messaging is being communicated matters more than the content itself. This is further reflected in a quote that is featured on one of the first pages that reads, “The media works us over completely.” It is a statement that speaks strongly to the message McLuhan is trying to communicate that the medium by which content is shared  influences our perceptions more than the message itself. In fact, I believe McLuhan that the medium matters so much that I disagree that the title “The Medium is the Massage” was originally printed as a mistake. McLuhan was intentional in the words he chose to explain his assertions, which is illustrated when McLuhan stated,  “The media works us over completely. They are so pervasive in their personal, political, economic, aesthetic, psychological, moral, ethical and social consequences that they leave no part of us untouched, unaltered. The medium is the massage” (McLuhan,18). McLuhan was intentional in his use of the words “untouched” and “personal” to amplify his point that the medium is the literal massage and grooming of the mind. His assertions are also revolutionary in that the medium as the primary vessel of communication challenges Western academic norms of black and white blocks of text. Reading this book felt very similar to a screening I saw at the Vancouver Push Festival this year that featured a video montage of strange, seemingly unconnected images of nature with a voiceover of a person speaking words of insight into the human condition. I sometimes found myself so distracted by McLuhan’s voice that I forgot to “look around” and notice the ingrown toenail (McLuhan, 18). This book was meant to be read more than once in order to observe every aspect of it, which is why the pictures and subtle spelling changes are an impactful and disrupting medium to present knowledge. Mediums that ask the audience to figure out what exactly it is trying to tell you are the most effective in my mind.

However, while some of McLuhan’s insights are valid, his discussion of tribal societies is very problematic even for his time. His conception of a romanticized “tribal” society hints strongly of the stereotype of the noble savage. The image printed on page 38 communicates racist notions of what a tribal society should look like (McLuhan, 38).

In Mediacosmology written by Steven Loft, Loft acknowledges that while problematic, McLuhan is able to demonstrate great insight into “The Indigenous Imagination” and cosmology. Loft write that McLuhan states, “The function of art in a tribal society is not to orient the population to novelty but to merge it with the cosmos. Value does not inhere in art as object but in its power to educate the perceptions” (Loft, 181). Loft’s discussion of art reminded me of this image that I came across in another class of golf bags that are stacked on each other to resemble Totem Poles that was created by Brian Jungen: 

This is an excellent example of resistance to how capitalism and colonialism have disregarded Indigenous rights to land by preventing the land and it’s people from merging with the cosmos by building golf courses. The medium by which Jungen’s art was communicated is also similar to McLuhan’s medium because they both disrupt and challenge the everyday, with Jungen challenging the everyday trials of colonialism.

Ultimately, while McLuhan has his faults as we should be cautious laying his work as a foundation for our course, the basic sentiment of the medium as mattering is still relevant today. McLuhan asks his audience to get creative in a way many academics don’t, which makes his messaging all the more effective.

References:

Jungen, Brian. Deconstructed Totem Pole. Accessed Sep 25 2016. Web. URL: https://www.ago.net/assets/images/555/1960-1970-1980.jpg

Loft, Stephen. “Mediacosmology.” Coded Territories. Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 2012. Print.

McLuhan, Marshall, Quentin Fiore, and Jerome Agel. The Medium Is The Massage. New York: Bantam Books, 1967. Print.