The exhibit “Speaking to Memory” in the MOA is framed, from the first plaque beside the door on the way in, as a way to make real the injustices that occurred to those who were taught within St. Michael’s Indian Residential School. In exposing the truth, the exhibit proposes that the nation can “reconcile” with the native people who were wronged, to acknowledge the faults made and learn from it. Several times, these ‘descriptive’ plaques explained that the purpose of the testimonies, and the pictures, were to give those who were affected a voice, to “identify” them with permanence.
But what struck me as most odd was the impermanence in which the victim’s testimonies, in their material sense, were displayed. Any text that was not written by an aboriginal was made much more prominent, much more permanent looking, as a fixture in the exhibit. Just speaking graphically, I found that nearly all of the Commission’s statements were much bigger than the actual testimonies of the native people. The statements about the intention of the Indian Residential School commission, right when you first walk through the door, are huge. They have backdrops, and are written in fancy texts. Likewise, the ‘apology’ section, in which factions of society admit to their part in the wrongdoing, are displayed almost beautifully. They look like scrolls, and give the impression of being formal and important. In stark contrast, the victim’s testimonies are virtually large pieces of paper, in colourful ink, tacked up to the wall. They almost don’t look as though they belong, or that they could easily be ripped down. Similarly, beside the photos that are displayed, there is an explanation, saying that their purpose was to “make visible” the victims, and that they were still in the process of “naming” the photos in order to do so. Yet, the “naming” of people in the photos literally occurred with, what looked like, erasable marker. The description even prompted people to “add to” or “change” the names if they had additional information! This seems like the opposite of validating someone’s existence.
In my eyes, the curation of the exhibit went against what it proposed it was doing. And I can’t help wondering, why? Why make the victims testimonies and pictures seem like the most temporary part of the exhibit? The only thing I could think is that perhaps “they”, the Commission, the government, still wants to downplay what happened. As with my doubts of the TRC, I begin to wonder who this “reconciliation” is actually for? Is it actually to make amends, and help those who were affected move forwards without forgetting what happened? Or is it to assuage the guilt, restore respect of the government, and move past the incident?
I think both. And I do think there are hugely positive things to be said about what it has done for the victims; sharing the truth, and being heard, must have been vindicating to say the least. But I fear the latter may be the true motivation. Consider the context of the actual exhibit: it’s in a museum. When I think of museums, I think of the past. And yes, the residential schools did exist in the past. But it was the very recent past, and the racism and intolerance surely still exists today. By putting this exhibit in a museum, it’s like saying “well, that was a sad thing that happened, thank goodness it’s over”. Also consider the very specific museum it was chosen to be exhibited in: the Museum of Anthropology. A museum that, while your walking towards Speaking Memory, boasts native American totem poles and artwork. MOA does not seem dismissive of this culture; rather the museum prides itself on it. How easy then to walk through Speaking Memory and think that it’s just a thing of the past, something that has been “resolved”.
I know it’s cynical, but I can’t help thinking: whose interests is this exhibit really serving?
Rachel, I like your approach to “Speaking to Memory,” and I don’t view it as cynical, but necessarily critical. I also noticed many aspects of the exhibit that you noted, especially how certain testimonies were visually more prominent, and others less so. Upon entering the O’Brien gallery, an observer immediately encounters huge photographs of the dilapidated St. Michael’s school, overlaid with statements from the Indian Residential School Commission and the Deputy Minister of Indian Affairs (1934). Both statements spoke on objectives of aggressive assimilation and the absorption of Indigenous students into the “body politic.” Like you, I was also struck by this sequential presentation, and I wondered why these quotes were presented first. It is not until the third panel that we see a student’s story about the school (about washing the stairs). While I can see how these opening statements provide necessary context for viewers about the attitudes of those who implemented the Indian Residential School (IRS) system, I also found this privileging of colonial voices troubling. Why do they get to speak first? Is this to emphasize the mass silencing of Indigenous cultures, languages and individual voices that occurred in the IRS project? Or does it participate in this silencing?
Similar questions arose for me when I encountered the “apology” section of the exhibit. As you emphasized, these texts are presented beautifully, on translucent white scrolls backlit by natural light. They ALMOST looked holy. And then one reads the text, still fraught with problems and deletions, which focuses primarily on remedying past abuses, ignoring contemporary issues. This literal framing of the apologies seemed to exalt their content and was more visually appealing than the student testimonies. Interesting.
Your comment about how we must remember that these testimonies are presented in a museum (often a place for articles of the past) resounded with me and supported many critics’ view of the TRC as too focused on dealing only with the past history of the IRS system – not the present-day traumas and abuses. If we think about this exhibit in the context of THIS museum (MOA at UBC), more questions about intent arise. While I wholly agree with you about the importance of the TRC as a vehicle for individual expression, agency and healing, it also works to separate the current government and current educational institutions from involvement in the IRS system. While I believe that the “Speaking to Memory” exhibit at MOA is an important one, in terms of its educational value and its function to (hopefully) catalyze conversation about the issues (past and present) surrounding IRS in Canada, I also question in what ways it serves UBC’s interests. By framing these testimonies as impermanent and of the past, does this exhibit work to legitimize UBC’s presence on unceded Musqueam territory? I think we need to continue asking these kinds of questions.