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Landed wisdoms : collaborating on museum education programmes with the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay Baird, Jill Rachel 2011

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LANDED WISDOMS: COLLABORATING ON MUSEUM EDUCATION PROGRAMMES WITH THE HAIDA GWAII MUSEUM AT KAAY LLNAGAAY by Jill Rachel Baird B.F.A., The University of British Columbia, 1990 M.A., The University of British Columbia, 1997  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Curriculum Studies) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) May 2011 © Jill Rachel Baird, 2011  ii ABSTRACT  This dissertation is an adaptive case study/autoethnography used to examine the collaborative development of educational programming at the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay, in Skidegate, Haida Gwaii. The collaboration involves First Nations and non-First Nations working in a First Nations community museum context and seeks to learn ways to develop museum education programming that reflects Haida ways of knowing and to transfer this learning to non-First Nations museums. The study is grounded in the intersecting theories of Indigenous knowledge systems, postcolonialism and feminist poststructuralism, and critical and collaborative museologies. The research process involved a mix of methods including personal journaling, photo-documentation, participant interviews and observations. Fieldwork was undertaken over a sixteen month period. Kirkness and Barnhardt‟s (1991) 4Rs were used to critically examine the collaborative process. The themes of relationship, and place and land were added to responsibility, reciprocity, relevance and respect. The results demonstrated that reciprocity and relevance were processes of give and take between colleagues, where the needs of all participants to see value in the process and be proud of the outcomes were recognized as critical for success. A major finding is that respectful relationships between First Nation and non-First Nations are needed for positive and productive collaborations and essential if the work undertaken is to foreground Indigenous knowledge in ways not normally incorporated into main-stream museum education programming. This study shows that through committed relationship building, spending time getting to know the people and the place, museum colleagues can contribute to a post-colonial museum practice, one argued here as a liminal museology. This means adapting established educational practices, listening and waiting for relevant local options to emerge.  iii PREFACE  This research was undertaken with UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board approval – Certificate # HQ7-00313. The project was titled Education Programme development - A Collaboration with the Museum at Qay'lnagaay – Dr. Kit Grauer and Jill Baird, co-investigators for the UBC Faculty of Education, Curriculum Studies Department.  iv TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract.................................................................................................................................................................. ii Preface................................................................................................................................................................... iii Table of contents ................................................................................................................................................ iv List of figures ....................................................................................................................................................... vi Acknowledgments .............................................................................................................................................. ix Chapter 1: Introduction ...................................................................................................................................... 1 Introducing colleagues ................................................................................................................................. 3 The place ........................................................................................................................................................ 7 The dissertation structure.......................................................................................................................... 10 Chapter 2: Grounding the research ................................................................................................................ 13 Coming to understand Indigenous knowledge systems ...................................................................... 14 Respect, reciprocity, relevance and responsibility ................................................................................ 18 Theoretical intersections............................................................................................................................ 29 Local options /post-colonial .................................................................................................................... 39 Bringing it home to museums .................................................................................................................. 41 Museums as contact zones........................................................................................................................ 42 Collaborative museology ........................................................................................................................... 43 Critical museology ...................................................................................................................................... 45 Chapter 3: A museology betwixt and between ............................................................................................. 47 Betwixt and between .................................................................................................................................. 48 What is a post-colonial museum? ............................................................................................................ 49 Indigenous museology ............................................................................................................................... 51 Dialogic museology .................................................................................................................................... 60 A liminal museology ................................................................................................................................... 65 Chapter 4: An adaptive methodology ............................................................................................................ 72 Researcher participant................................................................................................................................ 72 The back story ............................................................................................................................................. 74 Autoethnography ........................................................................................................................................ 78 Research as conversation .......................................................................................................................... 80 Photo documentation ................................................................................................................................ 80 Interviews, journals and photographs..................................................................................................... 83 The process and limits of permission ..................................................................................................... 85 Process of analysis of transcripts ............................................................................................................. 87 Chapter 5: Landed wisdoms: my research journey ...................................................................................... 89 Landed wisdoms ......................................................................................................................................... 90 Accounting for oneself: arrivals and encounters .................................................................................. 93 Initial intentions and early lessons learned............................................................................................. 94 Landing in this place – Haida Gwaii ....................................................................................................... 96 First impressions and initial proposed programming .......................................................................... 99 Finding focus: Haida canoes...................................................................................................................108 From sapling to sea ..................................................................................................................................109 „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme ........................................................115 Returning to Haida Gwaii .......................................................................................................................122  v Developing the grant ...............................................................................................................................124 Adapting my research and my timetable ..............................................................................................126 Teacher consultations ..............................................................................................................................128 Looking back .............................................................................................................................................131 Chapter 6: Interactions and understandings ...............................................................................................134 Rationale for framework .........................................................................................................................134 Characteristics of the data .......................................................................................................................135 Respect........................................................................................................................................................137 Reciprocity .................................................................................................................................................141 Responsibility ............................................................................................................................................147 Relevance....................................................................................................................................................152 Relationships..............................................................................................................................................158 Place and land ............................................................................................................................................162 Chapter 7: Rapprochement ............................................................................................................................168 Returning to place, relationship and the 4Rs.......................................................................................168 Lessons learned .........................................................................................................................................171 The third space – a liminal practice of museology .............................................................................174 Bibliography ......................................................................................................................................................175 Appendix A: St. Pierre poem citations ........................................................................................................187 Appendix B: Subject consent form ..............................................................................................................188 Appendix C: Argillite research programme ................................................................................................190 Appendix D: „Waadluuxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme ....................................192  vi LIST OF FIGURES  Figure 1: Nathalie Macfarlane, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...................................................................................... 4 Figure 2: Nika Collison, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................................................................. 5 Figure 4: Copper hanging in Welcome House, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007................................................ 6 Figure 3: Kwiaahwah Jones, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......................................................................................... 6 Figure 5: Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................... 7 Figure 6: The Bill Reid Teaching Centre and Canoe House, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................ 8 Figure 7: View of Kaay Llnagaay from gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007, .............................................. 8 Figure 8: Map Northwest coast of British Columbia, courtesy of Gowgaia Institute. ............................ 9 Figure 9: Skidegate Inlet, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..............................................................................................14 Figure 10: Shell beach, SGang Gwaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ......................................................................16 Figure 11: Mushroom, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..................................................................................................17 Figure 12: The blow hole at Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......................................................................18 Figure 13: Canoe carving in progress with tools, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................................19 Figure 14: (L-R) Haida Singers Marg Zeller, Christine Alsop, Nika Collison, Dana Watson, Clan parade for the Grand opening HHC, 2008. ..............................................................................20 Figure 15: East coast Haida Gwaii, 2007......................................................................................................22 Figure 16: Culturally modified tree, Spirit Lake Trail, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................25 Figure 17: Forest view, the site where the Golden Spruce once stood, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................27 Figure 18: Three Haida canoe prows, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ........................................................................29 Figure 19: Skidegate beach in the fog, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......................................................................35 Figure 20: Aerial view west coast Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................................................36 Figure 21: Ocean view, Sandspit in far distance, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ......................................................39 Figure 22: Grand opening HHC, Haida Gwaii, August 23, 2008. ............................................................42 Figure 23: Beach rocks, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................................................................44 Figure 24: Danny Robertson, Jill Baird, Bob Mills at Naa'Yuu'ans Xaaydagaay potlatch, photo Cecil Baird, Haida Gwaii, September 27, 2008. ..................................................................................73 Figure 25: HGM in progress, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ......................................................................................74 Figure 26: Standing pole, SGang Gwaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..................................................................75 Figure 27: My bike at the beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .................................................................................76 Figure 28: Jill Baird, photo K. Jones, Langara Island, Haida Gwaii, 2007 ..............................................77 Figure 29: (L-R) Billy Bellis, Robert Vogstad; Tyson Brown adzing interior; rough fit of prow; painted bow Taanaay skinxa dii, Haida Gwaii, 2007................................................................81 Figure 30: Leo Metz, Valdo Rananovic installing case work, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ....................82 Figure 31: Looking toward Rose Spit, Haida Gwaii, 2007.........................................................................83 Figure 32: Loo Taas at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ......................................................................85 Figure 33: Aerial view west coast Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................................................89 Figure 34: Balance Rock, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..............................................................................................90 Figure 35: The beach at Kaay Llnagaay outside of HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.......................................91 Figure 36: Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...............................................92 Figure 37: Entrance the Haida Heritage Centre, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ......................................................93 Figure 38: Horsetails, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ....................................................................................................94 Figure 39: Work table in Pole gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...........................................................95  vii Figure 40: Irene Mills stripping cedar bark, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..............................................................96 Figure 41: Pesuta boat wreck on Naikoon beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ....................................................97 Figure 42: Stripped cedar bark, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...................................................................................98 Figure 43: Inside gallery HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007....................................................................................99 Figure 44: Consultation workshop with the curriculum working group, Haida Gwaii, 2008. .......... 100 Figure 45: HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................................................................................................ 101 Figure 46: Visiting Haida students listening to Haida language exhibit, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. 102 Figure 47: Kwiaahwah Jones and Judith Gould preparing the argillite, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. 103 Figure 48: Haida argillite carvings, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................................. 104 Figure 49: South Moresby Island, aerial view, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ....................................................... 105 Figure 50: Early stages of shaping cedar log into canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......................... 106 Figure 51: Billy Bellis, Tyson Brown working on canoe hull, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007................... 107 Figure 52: Standing pole, K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ............................................................................ 108 Figure 53: (L-R) Garner Moody adzing hull, HHC; Matthew Ridley adzing inside, Ridley using level, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007; Launch The Spirit of Rediscovery, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ...................................................................................................................................................... 109 Figure 54: Preparing to launch two of the new canoes, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ............................ 111 Figure 55: Jaalen Edenshaw sketching a Haida canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ............................. 111 Figure 56: (L-R) Full log before shaping; Guujaaw sanding hull, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007; Steaming T'aa; T'aa resting on beach at Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ..................................................... 112 Figure 57: Canoe study spiral drawing, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................................... 113 Figure 58: (L-R) Billy Bellis, Guujaaw, Tyson Brown review drawings, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. 114 Figure 59: Steaming of T'aa canoe, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008................................................................ 114 Figure 60: Matthew Ridley, Garner Moody, The Spirit of Rediscovery, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. 114 Figure 61: Matthew Ridley knifing interior of canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ............................... 115 Figure 62: Guujaaw, Jaalen Edenshaw watching the steaming of T‟aa, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008. .. 116 Figure 63: The fire for heating the rocks to steam T'aa, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ........................... 117 Figure 64: Painted canoe paddles, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007................................................................. 118 Figure 65: Jaalen Edenshaw painting the bow of T'aa, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2008.............................. 119 Figure 66: Haida artist Christian White, Massett, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .................................................. 120 Figure 67: Jaalen Edenshaw adzing the hull of T‟aa, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................ 122 Figure 68: Kwiaahwah Jones, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ....................................................................... 124 Figure 69: Kwiaahwah Jones touring visiting students, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007 .............................. 126 Figure 70: Carving tools, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ............................................................................... 127 Figure 71: Curriculum working group meeting, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ....................................... 128 Figure 72: Pole fragment, K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................................................................... 129 Figure 73: Cover of Gina 'Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe book, 2010. ...................................... 130 Figure 74: (Top – Bottom) Jill Baird and Kwiaahwah Jones, Langara Island, photo; unknown; A moss mound, Langara Island; Old dock, Langara Island, Setting sun, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...................................................................................................................................................... 133 Figure 75: Nika Collison, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ............................................................................. 136 Figure 76: Entrance to HGM, pole by Bill Reid, HGM, Haida Gwaii 2007........................................ 137 Figure 77: Kwiaahwah Jones, installing the bird collection, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................... 138 Figure 78: Paddlers Loo Taas, Haida Gwaii, August 2007. .................................................................... 140 Figure 79: Jaalen Edenshaw speaking to visiting students, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ...................... 141 Figure 80: Aerial view on route to K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ............................................................ 143  viii Figure 81: Nathalie Macfarlane giving tour to MOA volunteers, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......... 144 Figure 82: Spirit Lake trail, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................................................................................ 145 Figure 83: View of Contact & Conflict gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................................ 147 Figure 84: Visiting student looking out to Skyaas Island, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ........................ 148 Figure 85: Culturally modified cedar tree, Spirit Lake Trail, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ................................ 149 Figure 86: View to Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .................................................................................... 151 Figure 87: Beach stones, Haida Gwaii, 2007............................................................................................. 152 Figure 88: Spirit Lake, Haida Gwaii, 2007................................................................................................. 156 Figure 89: Stone sculpture, Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..................................................................... 157 Figure 90: Jill Baird's and Kwiaahwah Jones' feet, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ................................................ 158 Figure 91: Hiking trail signs Langara Island, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .......................................................... 159 Figure 92: Canoes in progress, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007. ..................................................................... 160 Figure 93: My bike at the beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................................................. 161 Figure 94: Sea gull and fish, Haida Gwaii, 2008. ...................................................................................... 163 Figure 95: View from Skidegate, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................................................. 164 Figure 96: Butter cups, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................................................................. 170 Figure 97: Jill Baird, photo Carson Baird, Haida Gwaii, 2007. .............................................................. 172 *All photographs by Jill R. Baird with the exception of Figure 24 by Cecil Baird; Figure 28 by Kwiaahwah Jones; Figure 74, photographer unknown and Figure 97 by Carson Baird.  ix ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  Throughout this research I was conscious of being a guest in someone else‟s house, and on someone else‟s land. As a long-term guest on the un-ceded First Nations territory of the Musqueam people, I want to acknowledge the following contributors to my work. To Nika Collison and Nathalie Macfarlane for offering the invitation to do this research and for accompanying me on this journey – haaw‟a1 - without your participation, this research would not have been possible. I want to acknowledge the important role Kwiaahwah Jones has in this research. You have a special seat in my canoe. Haaw‟a. To all the family and friends whose energy, support, and persistence helped me undertake and complete this work. To my husband, Cecil Baird, whose love and support keeps me going. To my mother Helen, my daughter Rachel and son Carson, for putting up with me and all my moods. To Irene Mills, who I am proud to say is my sister. Thank you for hosting me in Haida Gwaii, and supporting me throughout – haaw‟a. To Marie Lopes and Kersti Krug each in their own way helped me think through and finish this. To Dr. Kit Grauer, my supervisor, who not only inspired and supported me during this process along the way, but who also created many opportunities for me to teach collaboratively. You have enriched my professional life. To Dr. Jennifer Kramer and Dr. Jo-ann Archibald whose insights were critical to this work and who stayed with me in what turned out to be a bit longer process than originally envisioned. And to the UBC Museum of Anthropology for the study leave that enabled this research and for the support of the Theodore R. Arnold Fellowship and the UBC Graduate Fellowship, I am grateful to you all.  1  Haaw‟a is the Haida word for thank you.  1 CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION  Yahgudangang.2 Yahgudangang is a Haida word meaning to „pay respect‟. I begin by paying my respects to those who have accompanied me on this research journey. Yahgudangang is a term the Haida community use to signal the returning home of ancestors and objects from museums and collections around the world. It is an old word used by Haida for a uniquely post-colonial process of repatriating cultural patrimony. I use the term to start this work both because I pay respect to the knowledge and wisdoms shared with me throughout this research and because I conceive of this research as an act of giving back. This dissertation entitled Landed Wisdoms is an in-depth study of a collaboration between me – a museum educator, and a community museum in the Haida community of HlGaagilda (Skidegate), Xaayda Gwaayaay (Haida Gwaii). 3 The research project was the co-development of educational programming for the newly expanded and renovated Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay (HGM).4 The goal of the research was threefold. The first goal was to codevelop education programmes that shared Haida knowledge and culture in ways that were meaningful to the Haida and rooted in Haida epistemologies. The second and completely intertwined goal was to document a specific collaboration between First Nations and non-First Nations museum professionals to see what could be learned from an in-depth analysis of the process. The third goal was to discover what could be learned by museum educators in order to be more inclusive and responsive to Indigenous ways of knowing in the development and delivery of educational programming in non-First Nations run museums. In this chapter, I introduce my research study and my colleagues who are at the heart of this collaboration. I then introduce the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay where I undertook my research. I also provide a snapshot of Haida Gwaii, the place where my landed wisdom  Yahgudangang is in the Skidegate dialect of the Haida Language. HlGaagilda Xaayda Gwaayaay is written in the Skidegate dialect. I acknowledge the Haida language here but use the more common designation Skidegate, Haida Gwaii throughout this dissertation. 4 The Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay is called Saahlinda Naay – Saving Things House in Haida in the Skidegate dialect. Kaay Llnagaay translates to Sea Lion Town in English. Throughout this dissertation I refer to the Museum as the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay as it the name most often used. 2 3  2 metaphor took seed and a place that will always be in my heart. I then offer an overview of the structure of this dissertation. Kwiaahwah Jones, a key contributor to this research offers a definition of collaboration: “How would I define collaboration? A bringing of the land and the sea together! Taking energies and putting them together and making them meaningful to all those involved” (Kwiaahwah Jones, June 28, 2007, personal communication). Collaboration with source communities in museums is not new. Non-Indigenous museum professionals have been collaborating with Indigenous5 communities and Indigenous museum professionals on exhibition and facility development with increasing frequency in the last fifteen years (Ames, 1999, 2005, 2006; S. Butler, 1999; Clifford, 1997; Conaty, 2003; Lonetree & Cobb, 2008; Noble, 2002; Peers & Brown, 2003; Phillips, 2005; Tapsell, 2001, 2002). Too few of these collaborative ventures focus on the development of educational programming (Baird & Campbell, 2004), and too few take as their subject ways of incorporating Indigenous knowledge into museum interpretative and educational programming. This work documents the research to develop education programming on Haida canoes which strove to imbed Haida knowledge. It also explores the collaborative process, shared learnings, and relationship building that was part of the process of working with colleagues at the HGM. I argue that museum professionals in these complex and complicated times can make space where different and competing knowledges can find fertile ground, perhaps even take root through collaboration. Nika Collison offers a compelling example of how these differences can be perceived and interpreted. I like that description of a Haida guy who didn‟t have a word for musket because he‟d never seen a musket before, and he was explaining that when the thunderbird pecked at this thing, it exploded. Throughout this work I use the terms Indigenous, Aboriginal and First Nations. I also choose to capitalize all three words – in keeping with the capitalization of identifying terms like European and Canadian. I use Indigenous when referring to ways of knowing that encompass the global community of original peoples whether Maori, Maasai, or Musqueam. I feel it is a respectful and inclusive term and one that many Indigenous and other scholars use (Battiste, 2000; Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Cajete, 2000; Collison, 2006; Sefa Dei, Hall, & Rosenberg, 2000; Smith & Ward, 2000; Smith, 1999). The term Aboriginal I use specifically to refer to Canadian First Nations, Métis and Inuit. Since the 1994 Canadian Constitution entrenched Aboriginal Rights and defined Aboriginal, I use this to be the most inclusive term for the original peoples of Canada. Finally, I use the term First Nation(s) when referring specifically to the Haida and other communities whose histories and territories are such that the designation nation is one they have adopted. For example, the Haida have adopted the Council of Haida Nation and for this reason I use First Nations when discussing this research context and relationships with museums. 5  3 Really it was the firing mechanism. When you pull the trigger, then that little thunderbird goes down and sets off the powder. It‟s an amazing description, and if you did not know that he was talking about a musket, you‟d think he was talking about a thunderbird sending thunder and fire into the sky (Nika Collison, March 9, 2008, personal communication).6 Finding ways to address these fundamentally different ways of seeing the world is necessary to address the colonial legacies of museums and to address current relevancy questions that museums face from the general public and from the source communities7 whose histories, cultures, and perspectives museums continue to struggle to present or co-present. Introducing colleagues  There are four principle people involved in this research: Kwiaahwah Jones, a member of Nas‟agaas (Rotten House) Xaaydagaay Clan; Nathalie Macfarlane a member Kadaas Gaah Kiiguwaay (Raven Wolf) Clan of T‟aanu; Nika Collison a member of the Ts‟aahl Clan; and myself, a member of Naa‟Yuu‟ans (Big House) Xaaydagaay Clan. Kwiaahwah Jones, and Nika Collison are both Haida. Nathalie Macfarlane and I are non-Haida and were adopted into our respective clans earning both a privilege and a responsibility. Between May 2007 and September 2008, I undertook research with colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay (HGM) with Nathalie Macfarlane, Nika Collison, and Kwiaahwah Jones. It was conversations with Nathalie and Nika that precipitated my doctoral research at the Museum. The Museum is part of a larger complex called the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay.8 This research is the result of working and learning with these women over a period of sixteen months. Nathalie Macfarlane is the Director of the Haida Gwaii Museum. Her role in this research is critical. Her invitation to come to the HGM to work on education programmes opened the Throughout this dissertation I use a variety of interview excerpts and journal excerpts. Interviews excerpts when longer than two lines are italicized and indented from the main text and italicized when used in text boxes. My personal journal excerpts and textual asides are in regular font because they began as written text unlike the interviews that are transcription of audio. The italics designate a shift in voice. 7 This term has come into common usage in museums to refer generically to the communities of origins represented by museum collections (Peers & Brown, 2003). 8 The Haida Heritage Centre is referred to in a number of ways such as the Haida Heritage Centre, the Heritage Centre, Kaay and still sometimes by its English translation Second Beach. In this text I use Kaay or the Haida Heritage Centre. 6  4 door to this research, and her willingness to introduce me to members of the larger community, to sit and chat and share meals helped me get my bearings and begin to understand some of the intricate relationships at play in terms of the Museum and the Haida Gwaii community. It was an early conversation with Nathalie where I began to understand the relevance of place and land. Nathalie spoke about the stories born at Kaay Llnagaay. Nathalie reiterated a number of times that the supernatural and ancestral connections to the land that the Museum sits upon are still extremely important and that to truly understand the place one needs to read and or hear those stories. Her first recommendation was that I read Skidegate Haida myths and histories collected by John R. Swanton and edited and translated by John Enrico. This I did, and was glad to do so as people I spoke with inside the museum and beyond made references to these stories countless times. Alongside ancient stories, the words in the preface entitled „This box of treasures‟ by Guujaaw, President of the Council of the Haida Nation stood out. He Figure 1: Nathalie Macfarlane, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  asks us all to “[l]ook past the written  word and you will find yourself in the world of a people whose fate is intimately tied to the ocean people, the sky people and the forest people” (Enrico, 1995, p. vii). My work needed to take to heart that the land was inseparable from all the other ideas I would be exposed to over the next sixteen months. Nika Collison was the Haida Curator when I first began my research. She is an active member of the Haida Repatriation Committee and has co-curated exhibitions outside of her community at such institutions as the National Museum of the American Indian9 and the Vancouver Art Gallery.10 Working on behalf of her community, she was one of the major forces behind the exhibitions in the newly expanded Museum. Nika‟s role in the research is an Listening to Our Ancestors: The art of Native Life along the North Pacific Coast; Haida Section: We carry our Ancestors‟ Voices, 2007, National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, D.C. 10 Raven Travelling: Two Centuries of Haida Art, 2006 Vancouver Art Gallery. 9  5 interesting one. She was pregnant when I arrived in May 2007, preparing for a maternity leave at the end of August. She has since returned as Curator. I relied heavily on Nika‟s knowledge of the Haida community and insights into how work on educational programming could proceed at the HGM. Dinners, walks, and casual visits at her home routinely involved intense conversations about the Museum, the dynamics of working with and for your community, and the possibilities and limits of what external people such as I could contribute. In April 2008, Nika and I shared the keynote speaker‟s podium at Figure 2: Nika Collison, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  the Canadian Art Gallery Educators conference talking  about our work in community, the idea of sharing power and authority, and relationship building between cultural institutions. That co-presentation was in part due to the research I was undertaking at the Haida Gwaii Museum. I recommended Nika to the planning committee and Nika suggested we do it together. Nika is a continual presence in this research. She was an important link to the larger community, making introductions for me, inviting me to accompany her to the local high school where she was giving a class on cedar bark rope making, and encouraging my participation in community events. She also provided me with all the information and text generated for the new museum in advance of the exhibits being installed so I could understand what was coming and then propose some complementary educational programming. Although her contribution to my work was important, Nika Collison‟s role evolved into one of a critical friend – listening, steering, questioning and supporting. She is also a personal friend.  6 At the outset of my research, Kwiaahwah Jones was a summer-work student at the Museum assisting in the installation of the new gallery. Her jobs included cutting foam to house collections, organizing drawer units for textiles and argillite collections and giving visitor tours of the facility. Kwiaahwah had a bit of experience in museums outside Haida Gwaii. She worked as a gallery animateur for the Vancouver Art Gallery during the exhibition Raven Travelling: Two Centuries of Haida Art. Her schooling had been in fashion design and when I met her she was a support worker at the local high school in an alternative Figure 4: Kwiaahwah Jones, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  programme for Haida students. In September 2007, Kwiaahwah Jones became the intern  Haida curator. I feel my research would not have been fruitful if Kwiaahwah and I had not worked together and developed a special relationship. Over sixteen months we dreamt up education programmes, interviewed artists, took countless pictures of the canoe making, shared many meals and beach walks and trips up island. I believe I was part mentor for Kwiaahwah and she was part mentor for me. My role as mentor focused on the institutional setting of the Museum thinking and rethinking what was possible and supporting her as she undertook work that was new to her. From her, I learned much about Haida Gwaii as a place with its complex histories, family, and clan relationships. As well, I gained from her enthusiasm.  Figure 3: Copper hanging in Welcome House, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  7 The place  The Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay (HHC) is a beautiful building complex of wood and glass consisting of five linked monumental timber big-houses. The Centre is in Skidegate, Haida Gwaii, British Columbia and sits on Kaay Llnagaay, known in English as Second Beach, with a view to Skidegate Inlet and village of Skidegate. The Heritage Centre is a partnership of three  Figure 5: Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  organizations – the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay, the offices of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site, and the Heritage Centre. The Heritage Centre has five interconnected Houses. Slay daaw Naay (the Greeting House also known as the Welcome House) is where most of the visitors enter. One is greeted by a large open room with vistas to the sea and by a large Copper11 by Haida artist Guujaaw. Beside the entrance is the Gina Daawhlgahl Naay (Trading House or Gift Shop in English). Ga Taa Naay (Eating House) is the home of the Haala Ga Taa café and a place for the local 11  Coppers are a symbol of wealth for the Haida and are considered of very high cultural value.  8 community and visitors to eat and enjoy the view. Beside the café is Gina Guuahl Juunaay (the Performing House) based on the design of a traditional big-house. Here performances, ceremonies, and other special events take place. It was in this space that I attended Sinxii‟gangu by Jaalen and Gwaai Edenshaw, the first  Figure 6: The Bill Reid Teaching Centre and Canoe House, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  contemporary play written and performed in Haida. Beside the Performing House is the Bill Reid Teaching Centre and Skajjang Naay (the Canoe House). Here Loo Taas (Wave Eater) and its fiberglass „cousin‟ Looplex are on display. This House also has a workshop area for local artists. At the far end of the complex is the Carving Shed. This area has an open design to accommodate large monumental carving. This was where three canoes were carved in 2007 – 2008. It was these canoes, their making, and their historical and contemporary significance that formed the core of the education programme that Kwiaahwah Jones and I developed. Saahlinda Naay (Saving Things House or the Haida Gwaii Museum) is at the other end of the complex. The Museum consists of four major galleries. The first is the temporary exhibit gallery  Figure 7: View of Kaay Llnagaay from gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007,  2007. where local and travelling exhibitsHGM, are hosted. Visitors are then welcomed into the permanent  galleries. The first offers a unique mix of Haida history and archeological connections; this is followed by the Contact and Conflict Gallery. Here you move through a torn canvas that has a  9 painted image of Skidegate from the mid-19th century towards a graphic depiction of the effects of small pox by Haida artist Bill Reid. A short documentary is shown here that provides an excellent introduction to the Haida. The galleries open up to the Box of Treasures and the Pole Gallery where contemporary collections sit comfortably alongside historic work. Exhibits profile the Council of Haida Nation, Repatriation and the Skidegate Haida Immersion Programme, to name just a few. At the end of this hall are contemporary and historical poles. To the right of Pole Gallery is the beginning of the natural history section. The last gallery is a mix of natural history and temporary exhibits. All the galleries, with the exception of the  Haida Gwaii  first, are flooded with light and have an array of large glass windows so that the land and the sea are always within view. The Museum is an active place with changing exhibitions, public programming and special conferences and events.  For those who are not familiar with Haida Gwaii I recommend the Council of Haida Nation website  Vancouver, BC  for an unparalleled cultural, historical, and political introduction.12 Haida Gwaii is the homeland of approximately five thousand on- and off-island  Figure 8: Map Northwest coast of British Columbia, courtesy of Gowgaia Institute.  Haida. It is an archipelago off the northwest coast of British Columbia – just south of Alaska13 and west of the port city of Prince Rupert, British Columbia. The resident population is a mix of Haida and non-Haida peoples totaling approximately five thousand. Old Massett and Skidegate are the two primary Haida communities where the majority of the on-island Haida reside.  The Council of Haida Nation (CHN) http://www.haidanation.ca (accessed February 7, 2011) Though an international border now exists between Haida Gwaii and Alaska, the Haida homelands span these territories. 12 13  10 The dissertation structure  The organization of this dissertation is as follows. Chapter Two reviews the intersecting literatures that support and guide this research from a theoretical perspective; it is a busy intersection. I begin with grounding my research in Indigenous knowledge systems in order to situate the context of working in a First Nations community museum and to provide a framework for moving beyond my own traditions of museum education practices. In this section I introduce the analytical framework for the 4Rs – respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility – research drawn from the foundational work of Indigenous scholar Verna Kirkness and Ray Barnhardt (1991, 2001). To this wealth of knowledge, I add postcolonial and feminist poststructural literature as a way to position myself within the research and to account for the colonial legacies that continue to linger in museums and around research relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. Choosing a mix of theoretical positions is a deliberate choice – a kind of mettisage that fits this research context. To change established practices in museums requires a fluid and responsive approach that postcolonial and poststructural theories support. Postcolonial theorist Homi Bhabha has a strong presence here as do feminist scholars Judith Butler, Elizabeth St. Pierre and others. In this section, I introduce my arguments for using textual asides as both a method and a theoretical position that complicates and disrupts the normal flow of the text (St. Pierre, 2000a). From here, I introduce the literature on collaborative and critical museology. I consciously step aside from the literature on teaching and learning in museums to focus instead on the museological traditions that frame and sometimes constrain the changing practices in museums; specifically I am interested in museums that display and interpret a diversity of materials from a broad range of source communities, but have a particular interest in Indigenous and First Nations interactions with mainstream museums. I rely on the contributions of Michael Ames, James Clifford, Christina Kreps, and others who are invested in museums and change, and who undertake their work with critical insights and deep experience. Chapter Three further develops the museological foundations for this work and opens up some space for me to theorize museology and propose new possibilities in terms of working with First Nations. A separate chapter for this topic was necessary in order to argue in more depth the museum contexts that this research work crosses. Using Bhabha‟s ideas of the third  11 space, the chapter offers examples of Indigenous and dialogic museological practices and then proceeds to argue for something betwixt and between these two established ways of working in museums. This third space is an adaptable, fluid, and often contested space where cultures intersect, interact, and interrelate in productive ways. I felt it was critical to have this chapter follow what is a more traditional literature review. The focus of this study is on museum education practices. However the literature that is most relevant is not the rich literature that addresses learning in museums, it is the work of a range of scholars who question the role, structure, and authority of the museum or as Michael Ames articulates - challenge the “Idea of the Museum” (2006, p. 171). With the theoretical foundations laid, I move in Chapter Four to identify the adaptive methodology used in this study. I argue for a combination of autoethnography and case study, mixed with photo-documentation. This kind of hybrid methodology helps to position me inside the research, while still ensuring that I step back and reflect on my role and those of my colleagues. In this mix I draw on autoethnography scholars like Deborah Reed-Danahay and Carolyn Ellis, and Indigenous scholar Jo-ann Archibald‟s notion of research as conversation. To this mix I add image-based research using the works of Kit Grauer, Jon Prosser and others who consider images and photographs as integral to the text. What is offered by this mix of methods and theories is a landed-wisdom that presents examples and insights grounded in a place and connected to a people. In Chapter Five I put forth my research journey entitled „Landed Wisdoms‟. Here I share my perspective on the process of doing field work, of working in a First Nations community museum, of building relationships, and of analyzing the education programming I developed with colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum. I explain Landed Wisdom as an outcome of my experiences and as a way to contextualize what I learned through my research. The chapter is roughly divided between my account of arriving and working in Haida Gwaii and a reflection on the development of the „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe school programme outline. Throughout, I integrate my text with journal entries, photographs, and excerpts from my colleagues‟ interviews.  12 Building off my own experiences I move to Chapter Six: Interactions and Understandings. In this chapter, I use the 4Rs as an analytical framework. I make meaning from the sixteen months of research work I undertook. I look at the results of my interactions through transcripts, journal entries, and the contributions of my colleagues filtered through the concepts of respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility. Two other themes emerged from the data that I explore in this chapter which are relationship, and place and land. Using the concept of rapprochement (the establishment or re-establishment of harmonious relations) in the final chapter I bring together the implications of my research and my final thoughts. I return to my research questions and consider what has been learned from this collaboration, offering a series of guiding principles as outcomes from this education programme development. This work contributes to the burgeoning literature in museums by offering insights and methodologies in the development of educational programming, particularly alternatives that make room for different ways of knowing. By focusing on a specific case between First Nations and non-First Nations museum professionals the outcomes and understandings that emerge from this research suggest ways to work collaboratively in adapting museum-based programming to embrace Indigenous ways of knowing, and thereby enabling ethical and equitable ways of presenting cultural knowledge. I conclude by returning to my notion of a liminal museology and put forward this collaborative research experience as an example. The interstitial space this creates is not wholly about Indigenous ways of knowing, nor does it rely fully on the established museum education practices. It is somewhere in-between.  13 CHAPTER 2: GROUNDING THE RESEARCH  The purpose of this chapter is to explore the interconnecting bodies of literature that reflect strong intersections in this research – 1) Indigenous knowledges, 2) post structural and postcolonial theories, and 3) collaborative and critical museology. In combination, all three offer ways to consider the creation of spaces for respectful, relevant, reciprocal, and responsible cross-cultural research and museological practices. The first section characterizes Indigenous knowledge systems based on the academic writings of Indigenous scholars, such as Jo-ann Archibald, Marie Battiste, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, and others. As Marie Battiste chastises non-Indigenous researchers, I do not seek to define Indigenous knowledges (2005), but rather to sketch a landscape to which this research relates. In this section, I also articulate Indigenous theory that is the grounding analytical framework of this study – the four Rs – respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility (Kirkness & Barnhardt, 1991, 2001). The second section leads into the theoretical positioning for this work, – looking at the possibilities offered by postcolonial and feminist poststructural theories to locate myself in the research, to respond to different ways of knowing and being in the world, and to complicate comfortable positions that need constant re-examination in order to affect real change in museums. In the final section of this chapter, I look at change in museological practices and how these inform and affect First Nations and non-First Nations relations. This field is far ranging and is selectively deployed here in relation to research pertaining to Indigenous and non-Indigenous relations and change. I also draw upon two related museological practices – collaborative museology and critical museology, looking to scholars such as Michael Ames, James Clifford and Christina Kreps who extend the idea of museums as contact zones into fruitful areas relevant to the context here of working across cultures and institutions – a kind of border crossing practice.  14 Coming to understand Indigenous knowledge systems  Indigenous knowledge systems and the theoretical perspectives they engender are strong threads that weave in and out of this research.14 As such, it is important to articulate how Indigenous knowledge systems are characterized within the literature. Indigenous knowledges cannot be conceptualized as being uniform. Indigenous knowledge systems are as diverse as the cultures of those who hold these ways of knowing. This complicates the desire for fixed definitions. However, Archibald (1990) describes Indigenous epistemology as a wholistic, cyclical relationship that focuses upon generation and regeneration. It is worthy to note  Figure 9: Skidegate Inlet, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  that Archibald chooses to spell wholistic using whole as its root. Indigenous knowledge systems comprise spiritual, emotional, and physical relationships to the environment (Battiste & Henderson, 2000a; Cardinal, 2001; Kuokkanen, 2007). Indigenous knowledge systems include traditional teachings15 and are often also described as personal, oral, experiential, and wholistic, and may be conveyed in narrative or metaphorical language (Battiste & Henderson, 2000b; Brant Castellano, 2000; Smith, 1999). Many Indigenous scholars are “writing-back” and “teaching-back” as a means to cement research and teaching practices that are grounded in Indigenous epistemologies (Battiste, Bell,  I deliberately use the plural for both Indigenous knowledge systems and the theoretical perspectives because there is no homogenous way in which Indigenous knowledge is conceived and acted upon, nor is there one theoretical viewpoint. 15 The World Intellectual Property Organization acknowledges traditional knowledge “refer[s] to traditionbased literary, artistic or scientific works; performances; inventions; scientific discoveries; designs; marks, names and symbols; undisclosed information; and all other tradition-based innovations and creations resulting from intellectual activity in the industrial, scientific, literary or artistic fields. „Tradition-based‟ refers to knowledge systems, creations, innovations and cultural expressions which have generally been transmitted from generation to generation; are generally regarded as pertaining to a particular people or its territory; and, are constantly evolving in response to a changing environment” (http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/glossary/#tk (accessed April 10, 2010). 14  15 & Findlay, 2002; Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Cajete, 2000; Fitznor, Haig-Brown, & Moses, 2000; Kawagley, 2001; Marker, 2004b; Posey & Dutfield, 1996; Sterling, 2002). The centering of Indigenous knowledges within their research, theory, and practice has developed an Indigenous theory that is grounded in Indigenous epistemology, ontology, axiology, and ethics. Indigenous knowledges as theoretical frameworks have been used in a variety of contexts by Indigenous scholars to empower, decolonize, and reaffirm their ways of knowing in everyday practices. For example, Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) uses a wholistic model to explain an Indigenous research agenda that has four directions of decolonization, healing, transformation, and mobilization. Each direction represents processes that connect, inform, and clarify the tensions between the local, the regional, and the global. These research processes can be incorporated into practices and methodologies used by a range of researchers (Smith, 1999) and are particularly relevant in a contemporary museological context. As educational initiatives in museums branch out in terms of the methods and designs used for interpretive programming, it is critical that knowledge of ways of knowing as well as ways of learning are equally considered. There is a growing depth of research on learning styles and issues in museums which consider reception and delivery (Falk & Dierking, 2000; Falk, Dierking, & Foutz, 2007; Golding, 2009; Hirsch & Silverman, 2000; Hooper-Greenhill, 2007; Roberts, 1997). I believe it is useful to make a distinction between ways of knowing and ways of teaching and learning. In this framework ways of knowing considers the cultural context in which knowledge is derived and the diverse practices and traditions of sharing this knowledge. For understanding Indigenous knowledge, I turn to scholars who offer broad definitions of what Indigenous knowledges can be and who seek to create spaces in traditionally western institutions like universities, schools, and museums where Indigenous knowledge can meaningfully engage in issues relevant to Indigenous and non-Indigenous people (Atalay, 2006; Battiste, 2000; Battiste & Henderson, 2000a; Bishop, Berryman, & Richardson, 2002; Calliou, 1997; Lonetree & Cobb, 2008; Marker, 2003, 2004b; Smith, 1999). Professor emeritus Leroy Little Bear, in his introduction to Gregory Cajete‟s Native Science says, “[s]cience has been and can be defined many different ways depending on who is doing the defining. But one thing that is certain is that „science‟ is culturally relative. In other words, what is considered science is dependent on the culture / worldview / paradigm of the definer” (2000, p. viiii). Little Bear goes on to use Immanuel Kant‟s  16 understandings that “the appearances of the world are deeply conditioned by the human sensory and intellectual apparatus” and then reminds us that “we see the world through particularly human goggles” (quoted in Cajete, 2000b, p. viiii). Yet some corralling of the ideas behind Indigenous knowledges seems productive, particularly for me as a non-Indigenous researcher. Again Leroy Little Bear‟s definition of the Native American exemplar is useful here. “The Native American paradigm is comprised of and includes ideas of constant motion and flux, existence consisting of energy waves, interrelationships, all things being animate, space/place, renewal, and all things being imbued with spirit” (Cajete, 2000, p. x). In other words, everything is interrelated. In a Haida context Nika Collison uses the Haida concept gina „waadluxan gud ad kwaagiidang16 everything depends on Figure 10: Shell beach, SGang Gwaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  everything else when  describing the relationships between Haida visual art, cultural and history (2006). It was this concept that led me to explore how an education programme at the Haida Gwaii Museum might communicate Haida ways of knowing – understandings that I explore in chapters five and six. Renewal is a key part of the Indigenous knowledge paradigm, and therefore it seems appropriate to be guided by Indigenous knowledges when attempting to rebalance relationships between museums and Indigenous communities (Simpson, 2006). Land is also a central tenet in Indigenous knowledge systems. The supernatural history of Kaay Llnagaay was the first story I heard upon arriving at the Haida Gwaii Museum.17 Kaay Llnagaay was a story town and there are many, many places on Haida Gwaii whose histories are informed by This is the Skidegate dialect. There are protocols and issues of ownership involved in the telling and re-telling of stories, even those stories recorded in books like Skidegate Haida Myths and Histories. These stories are not mine to tell. I did not seek permission from the appropriate sources to tell the histories of the story town of Kaay Llnagaay. 16 17  17 supernatural interactions, which tell of past encounters between people, the land, the sea, and the sky. As Little Bear suggests, “[I]t is not just the words and the listening but the actual living of the story” that is relevant to express (quoted in Cajete, 2000, p. xii). Additionally, Cajete opens his book with the assertion that there are no words in Native languages for science or philosophy or psychology, or any other foundational ways of coming to know (2000b, p. 2). He asserts native science is born of a lived and storied participation with the natural landscape (2000, p. 2). This certainly is an idea rooted in Haida culture – gina „waadluxan gud ad kwaagiidang - that everything depends on everything else – that villages, fishing sites and other sites are „story towns‟ where all things connect. This offers a productive place to consider the potential of Indigenous knowledge in museum educational practices. What Indigenous scholars offer is the understanding that people see their worlds, and record and retell the knowing of these worlds in different ways. It is irrelevant if these ways do not adhere to Eurocentric principles of impartiality or objectivity, or fit tidily into useable definitions or are easily packaged into museum-based education programmes. As an example, it did not matter to Nika whether or not I believed that supernatural entities formed the islands of Haida Gwaii and were the genesis of the Haida people, nor that these supernaturals continue to interact with the human and natural worlds. It was important for her to interrupt one of our conversations when I was discussing how I had to learn to consider my language and use of terms. She interjected and said “you‟re using Figure 11: Mushroom, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Creek Woman” (Nika Collison, March 9, 2008, personal communication). Creek Woman is a  supernatural Haida entity. She was clearly pleased with my inclusion of Creek Woman as a descriptive reference. Her animated acknowledgement of my use of Creek Woman demonstrated to her that I knew the story and could apply its relevance in our conversation even if I didn‟t believe in the supernatural.  18  My use of Creek Woman‟s story points to a level of shared understanding that only came to me as a result of determined effort, active listening, and constant reflection. Indigenous knowledge is the way of living within contexts of flux, paradox, and tension. As I journeyed through this research, I had to become comfortable with tension and paradox, and had to be willing to embrace ideas I did not fully understand. I come to recognize that these small moments are not small at all. Taking this approach allowed for a give and take to emerge, and for possibilities to arise as two knowledge systems listened and offered the potential of creating a third space, an interstitial space that potentially addresses  Figure 12: The blow hole at Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  discrepancies in First Nations and non-First Nations relations in museums. Respect, reciprocity, relevance and responsibility  Kirkness and Barnhardt (1991, 2001) offer important principles for undertaking any research and lead us to fully understand the history of research, and its promise to address current issues and to investigate ways of knowing. Reciprocity, respect, responsibility, and relevance are four key principles that tender an answer to Smith‟s (1999) challenge to rethink the role of researcher and the researched in Indigenous communities. They are the principles, which both guided my research and frame my analysis. The tenets of respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility are fundamental in undertaking research within an Indigenous context (Archibald, 2008; Battiste, 2000; Battiste, Bell & Findlay, 2002; Battiste & Henderson, 2000b; Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996; Kirkness & Barnhardt, 1991, 2001; Mithlo, 2004b; Sefa Dei, Hall, & Rosenberg, 2000). The history of respectful research in Indigenous communities is an uneven one. Much of the research benefits external sources and frequently does not directly benefit the  19 communities/cultures/peoples involved (Battiste & Henderson, 2000b; Marker, 2003; Mithlo, 2004b). Respect (excerpt of Respect by Peter Cole) with respect to this canoe journey there will be extremes of weather and climate there will be portages rapids waterfalls riptides swells crests gales typhoons tsunami forest and grass ®res droughts sandstorms blizzards toxic sludge customs agents so bring waterproof windproof heatproof coldproof insulated breathable comfortable light wash `n wear bedding clothing attitudes and a thick skin you might want to bring a tent some bushsmarts and navigating knowhow but please no cellphones beepers laptops palmtops modems satellite communication devices radios tvs cd recorders dats recorders the default position here is ``unencumbered‟ ‟ by the ``conveniences‟‟ of modern life wireless transistorless chipless some ports of call require a passport and visa some require oaths or affidavits of allegiance some sovereign indigenous nations require that you apply in advance to enter their domain using the correct protocol I know you will be respectful to the shapes and textures scents resiliences resonances zoning bylaws stones native flora ``driftwood‟‟ mores ethics of the places we visit I know that you know how to act in someone else‟s home where you are an invited guest not a tourist so grab a paddle or rudder or line and keep time i t indian time (P. Cole, 2002) 18 The fact that an educational programme on the Haida canoe was the focus of my research makes using Peter Cole‟s poem as a guide particularly relevant. Using the canoe for an analogy for respect has a particular resonance. I have come to better understand how critical respect is in any relationship, but specifically in the relationships I worked at enriching as I learned about the Haida  Figure 13: Canoe carving in progress with tools, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  canoe, and its centrality and critical relevance to my Haida colleagues. Through using the canoe  The excerpt of the poem Respect by Peter Cole is transcribed based upon the format in Qualitative Studies in Educational Action Research, 14(4), 447-459. 18  20 as boat, metaphor, and philosophy, Peter Cole reminds us all that a researcher needs to be respectful. His call for respect goes beyond behavior in a canoe to an acknowledgement of the extremes one might encounter in research, the need to listen to the flow of experiences, and a reminder that „we‟ (all researchers) should know how to act in someone else‟s home. Respect must be embedded in the research relationship (Archibald, 2008; Barnhardt & Kawagley, 2005; Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996; Herle, 2003; Marsden, 2006). Anthropologist Charles Menzies cautions that respect can unfortunately be seen as a “technical form of respectful consultation but without the necessary depth and real respect it becomes more tokenism and further colonization” (2001, p. 21). Researchers choosing a bureaucratic form of relationship rely on a documentary trail of paper work, consent forms, and releases  Figure 14: (L-R) Haida Singers Marg Zeller, Christine Alsop, Nika Collison, Dana Watson, Clan parade for the Grand opening HHC, 2008.  that do nothing to change unequal relationships and that continue hegemonic research practices (Tilley & Gormley, 2007). Many Indigenous communities now have research protocols that external and internal researchers must agree to. Those who do not agree or who show a lack of respect for the local community protocols, issues, and concerns can be denied permission to undertake research in that community (Menzies, 2001; Piquemal, 2001).  21 Respect can also be understood as honouring diversity within a community, refraining from quick judgments, and taking responsibility for one‟s efforts, ideas, and relationships. The idea of honouring diversity is a complex one. It can mean paying attention to the distinctive perspectives of contributors, or it can mean widening your horizons to include a range of people and therefore perspectives; this, of course, is intimately tied to the research questions. It also puts forth the need to question any desires for totalizing accounts. For example, I began this research using the term “Haida perspective”. Very quickly, Kwiaahwah Jones and Nika Collison questioned what I was looking for. Did they have the requisite knowledge to represent all Haida? Was I searching for a definitiveness that was neither possible nor necessarily required to advance the research and create meaningful education programmes? The following exchange captures this issue well. Kwiaahwah Jones: I think another really good thing for me for this, reading your presentation, is when you said I want the Haida perspective, and you looked at me, and you expected it. I didn‟t know what to say, because there‟s a lot of us and we don‟t necessarily see things the same way. Guujaaw now, he‟s the President of the Council of the Haida Nation, well ask him he‟s elected so better go get him to give you the Haida perspective. Jill Baird: The funny thing is, if you ask me that, I know that there is no one perspective, right? And I knew that before I came. But you get into the mode, which is for me the most instructive, both as a researcher and as someone trying to work cross culturally, you get into the mode where you want to get something done. Then it, this desire to get something tangible, can become the driving energy and you want things to be simple – could you just give me the Haida perspective and we can move to the next item. It‟s a good lesson to be reminded, not to lose your path for the sake of expediency (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, March 8, 2008, personal communication). Another characteristic of Indigenous practices is the revelation of knowledge in a gradual manner and at different levels according to what is considered appropriate for the time, the place, and the people gathered. Information in Indigenous systems of knowledge is rarely definitive. Instead, this knowledge, grounded in oral traditions, can be ambiguous and open to alternative understanding depending upon the context (Smith & Ward, 2000, p. 11). Smith and Ward acknowledge that in “an interconnected world one question to consider is how to transmit the fluidity of Indigenous understanding to a public whose education is grounded in written traditions” (2000, p. 11). Merlan goes further and states that when fixing “Indigenous meanings in definitive interpretative materials, the problem lies in attempting to render Indigenous culture as a product, such that „the‟ Indigenous meaning of a place or a thing extend beyond the capacity of the individual person/informant to define it” (quoted in Smith & Ward, 2000, p. 12).  22  My goal was to find ways through respectful listening and talking to foreground the ways of knowing intrinsic and important to my Haida colleagues. In this way, I saw myself as a participant in a decolonizing methodology, working respectfully and productively across the history of First Nations and non-First Nations relations in museums (Ames, 1999, Phillips 2006) , while acknowledging that “the complexity of social life is mirrored in a research practice” (McCall, 2003, p. 1172). It is these understandings of respect which I employ as part of a research methodology and as a component of the analytical framework. Reciprocity Reciprocity has been put forward as a research design by Indigenous scholars (Archibald, 2008; Barnhardt & Kawagley, 2005; Sefa Dei, Hall, Rosenberg, 2000) as well as feminist researchers (Abu-Lughod, 1992; Behar, 1996; Hein, 2007; Lather, 2004) as a way to mitigate the exploitative potential of research/researched hierarchies, as a way to change research agendas, and as a requirement for evaluating research outcomes. Reciprocity demands an accountability of the researcher/researched. This accountability goes both ways; a researcher must consciously consider how the research will be reciprocal and how to give back as part of the research process. Considerations include how best to share the research findings, to ensure copies of all reports and outcomes are deposited with participants or agencies of their choosing, and to develop training or mentoring opportunities either in the research or as collateral projects. Individuals, communities, or organizations that are part of a research process – the researched – also reciprocate. Most often their knowledge and participation are their contribution. They reciprocate by giving time, knowledge, and experience that directly feed into the  Figure 15: East coast Haida Gwaii, 2007.  research. It is a crucial component, of course, but to see this as reciprocal is to again weight it with importance, and is a reminder to all of us involved in the research process that those we work with are active subjects, not objects (Gannon, 2002; Haig-Brown, 2001). The act of giving knowledge  23 begins to focus the exchange that research engenders and the two-sided nature of learning that occurs as relationships are built and respect is conferred. Further to this, the issue of respect for cultural ownership and control over the research results is important to address. It is for this reason that the oral histories of story towns that Nika Collison and Nathalie Macfarlane shared are not part of this work. 19 If the research is to contribute to changing relationships and moving research towards being valuable and productive to Indigenous peoples and communities (Smith, 2005b), then control over, and dissemination of the research results needs to be negotiated at the outset. Cultural ownership of knowledge, stories, songs, or other sources of community knowledge need to be acknowledged and protected. In Indigenous contexts, there are limits to what can be shared within any research circumstance. External researchers, whether Indigenous or not, must understand and respect those limits. Menzies (2001) argues that the University system of consent and ownership over research are problematic in Indigenous contexts because such “regulations perpetuate the colonial system of research where Indigenous peoples are constructed as the subject of the  Landed Wisdom Mary Hermes suggests a situated response when working in Indigenous communities (1998). Hermes learned through developing culture-based curriculum in a community as an insider and outsider. She found that one predetermined methodology or theory could not answer all the dilemmas nor support her in the kind of research she wanted to do. Instead she found her own path, informed by critical ethnography, activist methodology and narrative inquiry, what some call being a savvy bricoleur. Hermes also offers an important response to the need to fix identity or deconstruct identity into meaningless parts. She structures her text like a montage taking her inspiration from film and video editing. Admitting that some transitions were smooth and others were “jarring juxtapositions”, she wanted to ensure that the details and complexity of the voices were captured. Her strategy was more than methodological; she states “textbook and tradition took a backseat to ethics and responsibility; methods began to feel like a recursive process rather than one procedure, apart from the whole” (1998, p. 166). Instead of prepackaged notions of identity politics and defensible methods, she declares “[i]t must be time to evolve beyond impossible choices for women and people of color in the academy” (1998, p. 166).  colonist‟s gaze and the university re-affirms its view of itself as the center of legitimate knowledge” (p. 25). In order for the process to be reciprocal, a fluid response to informed consent needs to be On this page is the first of many asides used in this text. The concept is drawn from Elizabeth St. Pierre (2000a) and is fuller discussed beginning on page 32. 19  24 incorporated into the research process. Informed consent entails more than getting a signature on a consent form. It requires that all participants share full understanding of the research project and this understanding needs to be consistently revisited to ensure participants are still willing, that situations have not changed, and that relationship-building is ongoing. Relevance The principle of relevance refers to the meaning and value the research project has to the community organizations, and individuals involved or affected by the research. Researchers need to consider the relevance of their work, to ask what benefits will accrue and to whom, and whether the goals of those participating are accommodated as part of the research agenda. Researchers must accept a bundle of responsibilities in order to undertake research of any kind. In an Indigenous context, one key responsibility is to negotiate power and privilege within research relationships (Ames, 1996; Conaty, 2003; Golding, 2009; Haig-Brown, 2001; Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996; Kreps, 2003b; Kuokkanen, 2007; Macdonald, 1998). Questions such as whose ideas are privileged, what ideas and experiences are interpreted, and which ones are kept confidential all need to be addressed. That can be as simple as deciding what conversations or documentation become data to analyze. Not everything shared within a research context is available to the researcher. Researchers receive personal and privileged knowledge and must pay attention to how they account for this privilege and whether the knowledge or experiences shared are relevant to the project at hand. As stated earlier, relationship building is critical in maintaining a respectful research environment and informed consent. Building strong relationships is an important part of research, whether this is having tea or wine, sharing stories, or hiking along trails, it all contributes to getting to know each other and, by extension, the researcher‟s intentions (Behar, 1996, 2003). Relationship building is also one way to determine the limits of the research, what privileged knowledge needs to remain private and which knowledge is consented to be shared – thereby ensuring the research results are ethical and relevant. Interactions all of kinds, whether people or place, need to be undertaken with a spirit of kindness and honesty (Weber-Pillwax, 1999). Collaborative projects are one way to address issues of relevance. Collaborating and sharing power and authority in the development of a project can make a project truly relevant to the  25 community organizations, or individuals. Collaborations can also allow for active mentoring and learning among participants as well as facilitate multiple perspectives on a range of issues that arise. Responsibility Developing and sustaining relationships are a component of responsibility. Ultimately, the value of the research is outweighed by the quality of relationships that have developed. Strong respectful relationships allow for new conversations, and new initiatives to be pursued and provide a vibrant condition in which concerns and questions can be raised as part of, not as an addendum to, the research process. The impact of a researcher‟s intention and motives needs to be considered as an inherent responsibility. “A good heart guarantees a good motive, and good motives may guarantee benefits to everyone involved” (Weber-Pillwax, 1999, p. 42). A good heart is a place to start, but by itself does not translate to responsible and transformative research practices. Working towards meaningful relationships is a responsible act and one which makes research not simply a clinical or intellectual exercise, but makes it a human exchange where all realms of human experience – social, political, emotional, and spiritual are made manifest. Developing a critical self-reflexivity as a researcher and applying what one feels, learns and observes is another important component of responsibility. Researchers must become selfconsciously aware of their role and make concrete steps toward effecting progressive change. This concern has been raised by many scholars and needs to be considered as being both within  Figure 16: Culturally modified tree, Spirit Lake Trail, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  26 the researcher‟s responsibility and that of community members who are sharing their knowledge (Sefa Dei, 2000; Marker, 2003; Menzies, 2001; Mihesuah, 2000). There are ethical responsibilities for non-Indigenous researchers which, while not fundamentally different from Indigenous researchers, require a heightened sensitivity to the colonial legacies that have constricted Indigenous voices, knowledges and activities. In the case of museums, the legacy of primitivism, essentialism and exoticization of Indigenous people, coupled with the history of collecting cultural patrimony are constant realities even in contemporary times (Ames, 1992; S. Butler, 1999; D. Cole, 1985; Peers & Brown, 2003; Phillips, 2006; Janes, 2009; Tapsell, 2006). I refer to the colonial legacies of museums because these legacies needs to be a constant presence in the research process otherwise the process is in danger of focusing too much on personal relationships and do not productively account for the institutional structures of power and authority which continue to circulate in museums which are often perpetuated by museum professionals. I return to this issue in chapter five when I suggest a liminal museology as an alternative. Sharing results, as well as the process of getting to results, is a critical responsibility researchers must accept. “Sharing knowledge is also a long-term commitment…The responsibility of researchers and academics is not simply to share surface information (pamphlet knowledge) but to share the theories and analyses which inform the way knowledge and information are constructed and represented” (Smith, 1999, p. 16). Terrain for a non-First Nations researcher working in a First Nations setting is complex and requires considerable attention to finding an ethical position which enables respectful and meaningful research. Smith boldly asserts in the opening pages of Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples “„research‟, is probably one of the dirtiest words in the Indigenous world‟s vocabulary” (1999, p. 2). The reasons for this are many, but critical to this study is the historic role non-Indigenous museums play in collecting, describing, interpreting, validating,  May 29, 2007 I must remember to listen more than I normally do and talk less. I think out loud. I know that can be seen as someone talking too much and taking up too much space. I have to remember to think of course, but find times or use Irene where I can process out loud – she‟s like a critical friend – ha ha ha I‟m already using the language of the academy…  27 including and excluding histories and knowledges from Indigenous worlds. The history of research with museums and First Nations has not always been one of equity and reciprocity. Knowing this, however, does not make the path less tricky. The late Mohawk scholar Deborah Doxtader asserts that “the goals of European society for intellectual stimulation and cultural growth have been met to a far greater degree than have the needs of aboriginal communities whose needs are a sense of self-knowing, self-worth and self-determination” (1996, p. 65). I kept Doxtader‟s statement in my thoughts throughout this research, constantly returning to it and measuring myself against it. I asked myself, is the work I am doing for my own intellectual growth alone, or does it address the needs of the community and the individuals with whom I work? To conclude this section, I will slide into a definition of Indigenous knowledge as a way of bringing the concepts of respect, relevance, reciprocity, and responsibility back into a whole. The definition is drawn from The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, which was the work of many Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars, activists, and others. In this important document Indigenous knowledge systems are characterized “as a cumulative body of knowledge and beliefs, handed down through generations by cultural transmission, about the relationship of living beings (including humans) with one another and their environment” (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, 1996, p. 4:454). I began wanting to know what Indigenous knowledges are, and how I can define them, deploy them or simply acknowledge them. I have however, moved away from the need to define, and moved to a place where I can characterize my own understandings – coming to agree with Battiste‟s argument that the Eurocentric quest for definitions is still part of Figure 17: Forest view, the site where the Golden Spruce once stood, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  the problem (2000b). In a parallel way Judith  28 Butler also suggests that a fixed frame is not what we should seek. “Consider that one way we become responsible and self-knowing is precisely by deferring judgments, since condemnation, denunciation, and excoriation work as quick ways to posit an ontological difference between judge and judged, and even to purge oneself of another so that condemnation becomes the way in which we establish the Other as nonrecognizable” (Butler, 2001, p. 30). I use Butler‟s proposition on deferring judgment perhaps in a different way than she does in her essay “Giving an account of oneself” (2001). I use it to find a kind of comfort in the heterogeneity that is Indigenous knowledge and a releasing of my desire to solidly define these diverse and alternate ways of conceiving and knowing the world. I see the act of letting ways of knowing such as Indigenous knowledge just be as both a political act and an act of deferring judgment. From fixed definitions come exclusions or, to use Butler‟s term denunciations, things that don‟t fit into my epistemological frame could be viewed as unrecognizable and possibly less knowable and potentially less valuable. Holding to definitions reflects more on the definer than the defined. “As we ask to know the Other, or ask that the Other say, finally, who he or she is, it will be important not to expect an answer that will ever satisfy. By not pursuing satisfaction, and by letting the question remain open, even enduring, we let the Other live, since life might be understood as precisely that which exceeds any account we may try to give of it (Butler, 2001, p. 28). In their book on life writing Erika Hasebe-Ludt, Cynthia Chamber and Carl Leggo ask “[w]ho are we becoming in the encounter with the other” (2009, p. 33). This is a good guiding question for a researcher that seeks to position herself between the established worlds of mainstream museums and First Nations community museums, and between the worlds of Indigenous and non-Indigenous ways of knowing – what Homi Bhabha articulates as the interstitial or third space. “These „in-between‟ spaces provide the terrain for elaborating strategies of selfhood – singular or communal – that initiate new signs of identity, and innovative sites of collaboration, and contestation…(Bhabha, 1994, p. 1)”. It is in these fluid and potentially unstable places that I seek to find meaning and develop an educational practice that is inclusive and adaptive. As described by Butler, Chicano cultural theorist Gloria Anzaldúa asks us to “stay at the edge of what we know, to put our own epistemological certainties into question, and through that  29 risk an openness to another way of knowing and of living in the world” (Butler, 2004, p. 228). Making use of the contact zones between Indigenous knowledge and Western knowledge, I enter the relationship with my colleagues with respect (Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996) and ensure that reciprocity is more than a polite gesture. Perhaps then the need to fix identity or knowledge diminishes. I do as Sharilyn Calliou suggests and engage for the purposes of listening, learning, and working towards change for all two leggeds and non-two leggeds (1998). Theoretical intersections  When you said “I don‟t quite understand the supernatural,” and I‟m like, “it wouldn‟t be supernatural if we understood it!” It‟s ok not to be finite and to get people thinking and questioning and theorizing. Because I have such an issue, I know I have issues with some types of academics. And yet, I‟m totally into theory. I love theory! It‟s just that they come off as experts on something because they‟ve come up with the theory …That‟s what turns me off, and I‟d be more open to the theory if it wasn‟t so finite” (Nika Collison, April 7, 2008, personal communication). An adaptive theory, one that accounts for the researcher and the research in ethical, equitable, and reciprocal ways is required here. Working on a collaborative project between First Nations and non-First  Figure 18: Three Haida canoe prows, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  Nation museum professionals in a First Nations community museum requires a theory that is informed by Indigenous knowledge systems, feminist poststructuralism, and postcolonialism. This blending offers a way to acknowledge differences between the collaborators and yet leaves space for knowledge to emerge and experience to matter. Such an adaptive theoretical framework opens a space for theorizing productive and meaningful cross-cultural collaborative research.  30 Grounding myself first in Indigenous knowledge discourse, I can then draw into my theoretical mix postcolonial20 and feminist poststructural theorists because they are part of counter hegemonic discourses which are informed by the „margins‟ and whose critique is useful when considering change to the powers held by museums and enacted through museum education practices. Drawing on feminist poststructuralism, I move to an ethical and responsible location for working in the border zones – a kind of arrivals and encounters. This theoretical locating then flows into the last section of this chapter, exploring the museological context – the museum as contact zone – in which this work is situated. Instead of presenting a fixed notion of feminist poststructuralism and postcolonialism, I find it more useful to draw upon the trajectories these theories offer, rather than trying to argue that A declarative aside - feminisms When I began this research I was asked about my feminist poststructuralist positioning. Many Indigenous women do not align themselves with feminist movements, I was told. I do not feel that the theories in which I find possibilities necessarily need to be taken up or even agreed upon by my Haida or non-Haida colleagues on Haida Gwaii. Feminism has always been a part of my self-description since I can remember having to declare an identity. Here I would refer to Judith Butler‟s questioning of social transformation and to think beyond the unitary and beyond the binaries that all too often seem to linger in declaration of identities (Butler, 2004). My declaration does not require my colleagues to share my way of seeing the world. I consider feminist work that which pays attention to experience in ways that account for the social, political, and epistemological, and responds productively to issues of anti-oppression, representation, gender, and race.  they intersect and produce a third theoretical option. I use aspects of both feminist poststructural and postcolonial theories to help me open a space for theorizing productive and meaningful cross-cultural collaborative research working in a First Nations museum context with Haida and non-Haida colleagues. Another reason for abandoning fixed definitions of poststructuralism or postcolonialism was because it is like “nailing jello to the floor.” I have taken this phrase from Handel Wright who uses it describe the fluid activities of  curriculum theorizing (2000). St. Pierre suggests that the terms like poststructuralism mean so many things to different groups that a “certain exhaustion with trying to fix their meaning has set in” (2000b, p. 477). Many feminist poststructuralists interrogate their theory as intensely as Many Indigenous scholars work in postcolonial contexts. Worthy of note is the Postcolonial University Project at the University of Saskatchewan http://www.usask.ca/education/postcolonial/description.htm (accessed February 7, 2011). 20  31 they use it to interrogate practice (Alcoff, 2001, Butler, 1995, 1999, 2004; Hill Collins, 1990, 2000; Harstock, 1998; Lather, 2001; Spivak, 1993, 1996; St. Pierre 2000a, 2000b; St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000, Villenas, 2006), thereby encouraging “suspicion of categories we create, like poststructuralism” (St. Pierre & Pillow, 2001, p. 6). This “suspicion of categories” I would argue is harmonious with Indigenous knowledge systems understanding that ideas are in constant motion and flux (Cajete, 2000). Despite the impossibility of the task, I want to at least sketch out what the terms postcolonial and feminist poststructural signify for me in this work as I did with Indigenous knowledge systems. Postcolonialism and poststructuralism call for a constant re-thinking and re-positioning in order to account for diverse perspectives, specific relationships, and the external and internal pressures and realities embedded in research (Bhabha, 1994, 2009; Fuchs, 1993; Minh-ha, 1989; Spivak, 1996). Both are sophisticated ways of looking at the world, its constructs and relationships. I refer to poststructuralism as a bundle of theories that critiques hegemonic discourses, knowledge, truth, and subjectivity predominantly informed by mid 20th century French philosophers, such as Foucault, Derrida, Deleuze, and Guattari. On the other hand postcolonialism, with similar roots, investigates and critiques the foundations of imperial authority focusing on the experience of migration, slavery, suppression, resistance, and representation. Such theorists as Fanon, Said, Spivak, Bhabha, and others have been called postcolonial theorists. For both poststructuralism and postcolonialism issues of power, race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and class are categories and constructs of identity. Not unlike the quest to define Indigenous knowledge, a quest to define the rich intellectual explorations of postcolonial and poststructural ideas is difficult and could divert attention from applying some of the ideas to my research context at the Haida Gwaii Museum. Homi Bhabha begins his book The Location of Culture (1994) by introducing the idea of “border lives” while simultaneously introducing the conundrum of positioning and labeling what he calls the “shiftiness of the prefix „posts‟: postmodern, postcolonial, postfeminism…”(1994, p. 1). Boundaries, borders, crossings, and creating new spaces are consistent themes in postcolonial and poststructural thinking that I apply here to my theoretical positioning. Throughout this positioning however, I keep Homi Bhabha in mind and stay aware of the complexities of differences and  32 identities, and try “to focus on those moments [my emphasis] or processes that are produced in the articulation of cultural differences” (1994, p. 1). The moments are the in-between spaces, the actions, and the outcomes, where practitioners like me work in collaboration with First Nations and non-First Nations colleagues in a First Nations museum context. As a non-First Nation researcher doing collaborative work in a First Nations museum, where the often oppressive histories of museum representation and past ethnographic practices are still fresh, my situation demands a theoretical position that is adaptive. The intersections of post-colonial and feminist poststructural theories open up a space for thinking about cross-cultural research. Judith Butler offers me hope that: [t]here is a new venue for theory, necessarily impure, where it emerges in and as the very event of cultural translation. This is not the displacement of theory by historicism, nor a simple historicization of theory that exposes the contingent limits of its more generalizable claims. It is, rather, the emergence of theory at the site where cultural horizons meet, where the demand for translation is acute and its promise of success, uncertain (1999, p. ix). Throughout this dissertation, I have included separated text boxes, or what Elizabeth St. Pierre calls asides. As one of her „asides‟, St. Pierre wrote a poem justifying their use (2000a). I have quoted the poem in its entirety here because she theorizes the use of asides and argues they can provide harmony or dissonance to the overall text and that the aside is also the „field‟ – meaning the „aside‟ is relevant to the overall text, not tangential. St. Pierre‟s asides are similar to Herme‟s (1998) call for a recursive process where montages both connect and jar the reader. As I write this dissertation, I find myself fluctuating in voice – making the idea of harmony and dissonance appealing.21 The Aside I see the space of the aside in this performance as a pleat in the text where the outside and inside fold upon each other, a space that tends towards the outside only because the outside itself has become „intimacy‟ „intrusion‟ (Deleuze, 1988/1986, p. 120 The space of the aside might be a “movement of play, permitted by the lack or absence of a center or origin….a supplementarity” (Derrida, 1970/1966, p. 260). It is the excess, the overflow. The space of the aside toys with the “rage of unity” (Spivak, 1974.p xvi) demanded by a leveled humanist construct such as the academic essay. It encourages “subversive repetition” (Butler, 1990, p. 147) and interrupts form for meaning‟s sake. The space of the aside is a parergon – an embellishment, an accessory to confusion, a space for play and fancy.  I have listed the citations for St. Pierre‟s poem separately as to not misrepresent the scope of my knowledge. See Appendix A. 21  33 The space of the aside is a space of doubling, a site of enunciation that evokes the thrill and the threat of discourse (Bhabha, 1987, p. 8). The space of the aside is post-history, a ruin where “the events of history shrivel up and become absorbed in the setting” (Benjamin, 1977/1963, p. 19). The aside is a space of “sheer happenings” (Arendt, 1968b, p. 104) which might present “those unassimiliable fragments of experience that refuse to be woven into a neat tale, the unspeakable, what literally cannot be talked about” (Linden, 1993, p. 17). The space of the aside might create a “new form of reflexive and transgressive verisimilitude” where the text‟s authority becomes self-referential (Denzin, 1994, p. 304). In the space of the aside, one textual space might incite another textural space to discourse (Lather, 1993, p. 673) in a collision of heteroglossia (Bakhtin, 1975/1981, p. 428). Text intrudes upon text in an “enabling disruption” (Butler, 1993, p. 23). The aside is a space for nomads, “those emigrant thinkers who deteritorialize accepted notions of space” (Conley, 1993/1988, p .xv). The aside is a space “to be other and to move toward the other” (DeCerteau, 1984, p.110). It is a “space-off” (de Lauretis, 1987, p. 25), a spatial practice. The space of the aside is a place, a pause in textual space (Tuan, 1977, p.6). And so on. The space of the aside contains more data, if you will, but data that may escape the violent coercion of manipulation, narration, and interpretation – but only if you wish it to. The aside is the field (St. Pierre, 2000a, p. 272-273).  Blending aspects of postcolonialism and feminist poststructuralism are my way of landing or at least balancing for a while in a theoretical position. Throughout this work I use asides to situate myself, grounding my experiences in identity and place that give voice  Jill Baird: Yeah, it will be a dilemma to figure out how to  speak to that myself, without imposing an ideology on you, on this, on the people that I'm working with. I see myself as a feminist and a poststructuralist, but there might be ways of saying it. Irene and I've had a number of these conversations about what kind of language you use doesn't mean that those ways of thinking aren't shared, it's just different for different people. All kinds of us use different language, often the ideas are very similar to <laughs> <crosstalk> And in the academy, we like to use a lot of language. <laughs> And some of it requires a dictionary close at hand. (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, October 19, personal communication)  to issues of race, gender, power, and authority (Hill Collins, 1990, 2000; Haraway, 1991; Harstock, 1998) and that open up spaces for other voices (those of my colleagues) and images (those of the land and of experience) “where the outside and inside fold upon each other” (St. Pierre, Elizabeth, 2000a, p. 272). This is a step to account for the privileged position of the researcher and a call to break down barriers of exclusion and change the structures which have historically privileged Eurocentric knowledge and institutions (Calliou, 1997; Visweswaran, 1997; Wolf, 1996). I suggest that this blending or adaptive approach contests dominant, hegemonic ways. What Sherene Razack calls “unmapping the primary claim” (2002, p. 5) is a way to reveal and undermine  34 the world views upon which dominant perspectives rest. This unmapping, what Judith Butler (1992), Mary Louise Pratt (1999) and Gayatri Spivak (1993) would call the simultaneous construction and subversion of identity, is part external and part internal. It forces me, the researcher, to look at myself, as well as at the world. In order to re-consider relationships, researchers need to consciously question assumptions, and “think about and against habits of mind in making sense” (Lather, 2001, p. 211), and propose to build alternatives which account for power, knowledge, authority, and difference (Behar, 1996; Berry, 2005; hooks & Mesa-Bains, 2006). From an Indigenous perspective, Michael Marker is more explicit: “It is useless to support subaltern groups without concomitantly exposing and destabilizing the hegemonic forces that continue to oppress them, just as it is useless to listen to the Native voice without paying attention to the countervailing voices of power and privilege” (2003, p. 370). Many critiques of poststructural methods suggest that deconstruction can only get you so far. Identifying systems of oppression and domination is  Feminism is both a highly contested term and a broad array of practices. Over the past century it has evolved from being an activist paradigm where the focus was opening the patriarchal door and making room for women, reclaiming women of the past and substantiating their contributions to knowledge making. A more diverse project has emerged in the past thirty years, specifically diverse in terms of race, culture, gender, sexual orientation and class of the women and men engaged in feminist research and the topics and perspectives they are theorizing. Feminist research also has reflexive qualities that ensure the researcher does not stand apart from her work, to be “speaking subjects in every possible conversation” (St. Pierre, 2001, p. 147).  critical, and understanding how and why they operate is indeed necessary, but by not proposing alternatives all one has is sophisticated theory that recognizes and categorizes but does not offer change. Patricia Hill Collins says that “deconstructive methodologies operate more effectively as a critique of power than as a theory of empowerment” (Hill Collins, 2000, p. 56). The purpose of collaborating with colleagues at the HGM is to see what alternatives can be co-developed that does not feed into the existing systems of exclusion and marginalization. “[O]ne must be placed for a time in order to remap one‟s cartography” (St. Pierre, 2000a, p. 259). This remapping requires situatedness, a starting place where the researcher is located, accountable, and “available to a transformation of who we are, a contestation which compels us to rethink  35 ourselves, a reconfiguration of our place and our ground” (Butler, 1995, p. 131). And as Butler further asserts, we must “interrogate what the theoretical move that establishes foundation authorizes, and what precisely it excludes or forecloses” (1992, p. 7). What are my foundations, my location, and what kind of privileges do they confer or deny? I understand what it means not to have to declare an identity. It speaks to being already accepted, not having to explain oneself. I have enjoyed this location most of my life. Only recently have I added mother, wife, white woman of mixed European ancestry, educator in an anthropology museum, and a doctoral student. Saying who I am, even partially, does not answer Butler‟s question of how do I benefit from the positions I take and what  Figure 19: Skidegate beach in the fog, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  becomes impossible to see from those positions. But it is a start to set in motion an ongoing reflexivity about my position as researcher, about the privileges I garner by virtue of my positioning, and about its problems. For those imbibed in privilege, to know someone is to expect them to reveal themselves, to tell themselves, to give up their sovereignty, while at the same time shielded by their privilege, never having to show their own bloodstains, track marks, piling bills, or mismatched socks (Fine, Tuck, & Zeller-Berkman, 2008, p. 169). Identity, as many theorists propose (Britzman, 1997; Butler, 1993, 2005; Fine, 1994; Lather, 2001; McLaren, 1997), is not fixed; it is fluid and contingent upon the situation and structure of power June 20, 2007 Kwi asked today for me to give short description of what I meant by post structural feminism. I couldn‟t. I started in a roundabout way talking about deconstruction and looking at the ways ideas were put together and what the dominant influences were, but got quickly stuck in the shift from deconstruction to poststructuralism – couldn‟t even get to the my conception of how feminism might colour these ways of thinking. I bet she wonders how I can get a PhD when I can‟t really explain what I mean……  and regimes of truth that circulate around such assertions. As a result of working with Elders of Athapaskan and Tlingit ancestry, Julie Cruikshank asks: “What are the consequences of categorical  36 practices that distance people from lived experience” (1998, p. 70)? Other theorists, (Hill Collins, 1990; Hall, 1997; hooks & Mesa-Bains, 2006; Smith, 1999) question the abandonment of the concepts of identity and authority “during a period when blacks, feminists and other marginalized groups are asserting authorship, tradition and subjectivity” (Mae Henderson quoted in Hill Collins, 2000, p. 5). Theories can be another way to exclude, maintain hegemony, and marginalize the intellectual contributions of others. These issues lead me to wonder what cultural identity is and whether it is different from identity. Need it be defined? Can it be defined? Stuart Hall assists in giving me some parameters to think about this critical issue. The first definition he offers describes cultural identity as that which reflects a people‟s cultural codes and common historical experiences, and provides them with the “stable, unchanging and continuous frames of reference and meaning” (2006, p. 435). Hall goes on to cite Franz Fanon who argues that “in trying to  Figure 20: Aerial view west coast Haida Gwaii, 2007.  regain their cultural identities, colonized peoples are not simply just uncovering traditions that were buried by colonialism; rather they are producing their identities by telling the past” (quoted in Hall, 1994, p. 394). I find more potential in Fanon‟s definition of cultural identity. It builds a bridge between the rigidity of claiming a fixed identity that presupposes a purity which cannot exist, yet allows for an identity to evolve in response to the past and the present. This point is critical when oppressed or under-represented communities struggle to fight colonial legacies and exclusionary practices, and who use concepts of identity and place to fight ongoing social and political inequity. As I come to terms with what cultural identity might be, I must be careful not to exclude myself. Cultural identity is not just found in „others‟. I use the term non-First Nations or non-native, which Celia Haig-Brown suggests is a kind of identity. “[N]onnative is a term of negation, its power lying in its ability to strategically exclude and its focus on what one is not rather than on what one is”(Haig-Brown, 2001, p. 20).  37  To be told that identities are constructs of this theory or that theory too quickly dismisses the strengths and purposes identity offers. Such positions beg the question: what good is theory if it dismantles the authority that minority groups have managed to gain (Hill Collins, 2000)? Butler shifts the poststructural/postcolonial occupation with fluid, contingent identities, and instead encourages us to read theories closely and ask why it is we come to believe and defend theories – to whose benefit and whose detriment (1995). Patti Lather encourages as well the simultaneous doing and troubling of practice and theory (2001). Some declaration of identities, mine and my collaborators in this research, seems at least preliminarily necessary. How else will I come to understand the difference between my tradition of knowledge and communication and those of my Haida colleagues? I need to attend to what Hill Collins derides as the center absorbing the discourse of the margins without any change to structures of authority or power (1990, 2000).  St. Pierre is urging us to see the aside as more than a musing, but as a provocative act of deconstructing and reconstructing the text, a poststructural turn. It is not simply a stylistic choice. By adopting this somewhat fractured approach to textual representation, she is enacting a theory. Asserting that “[t]he aside is the field” (2000, p. 273). In this way, the asides I employ here are also acts of embodying a theory. My voice is offered in different tones, similar to how I experienced Haida Gwaii.  To return to the space for theory and action that both Butler (2004, 2005) and Bhabha (1994, 1995, 2009) suggest opens where cultural horizons meet, brings me to collaboration as a form of engagement. Collaboration as an act requires respect, reciprocity, and trust. Writing about her struggles in undertaking doctoral research within her own community Researching „My people‟, researching myself, Lubna Nazir Chaudhry clearly talks about the need for reciprocity, offering as an example her need to assume the role of counselor to one of the women in her study (2000). In these areas, feminist poststructuralism and postcolonialism call for similar research approaches as Indigenous scholars. Collaboration entails risk taking by all sides, and theorizing where they come together also requires some risk, as Butler warns about theory “its promise of success, uncertain” (1999, p. ix). However, this is no reason to not do this work. In Russell Bishop‟s 1996 publication Collaborative Research Stories: Whakawhanaugatanga, he quotes Maori scholar Ranginui Walker who  38 argues that the Maori “cannot achieve justice or resolve their grievances without Pakeha [nonMaori] support” (quoted in Haig-Brown, 2001, p. 20). As Haig-Brown, a non-native, states that “[w]e nonnative researchers who work in contexts where our predecessors have violated trusts, misrepresented, and declared reality for others seek such pearls of affirmation as we continue to work collaboratively in producing programmes and knowledge” ( 2001, p. 21). Collaboration is more than agreeing to work together. Butler uses the idea of coalitions across differences to describe the importance Anzaldúa attributes to the borderlands where cultural translations open up space for real exchange and real change (Butler, 2004, p. 229). St. Pierre and Pillow describe the task of the educator to “ask questions that produce different knowledge and produce knowledge differently, thereby producing different ways of living in the world” (2000, p. 1). This call for a destabilizing of  June 8, 2007 Trying to explain what pedagogy meant today – my what a muddle I made of it. Instead of saying something clear I got too quickly into the ideas of critical pedagogy and Paulo Freire. I did manage to say it includes more that the study of teaching……. I use it to encompass more than teaching and teaching methods – but learning and world views, new technologies…. I feel I lost her before I started – now I‟m on-line arrggh dial up looking up the Wikipedia etymology version “to lead the child”.  dominant structures and diversifying the positions from which those structures are accessed is critical to understand in cross-cultural work. It is not a singular position or experience that is up for investigation however, and as Spivak assert “[t]he reader must accustom herself to starting from a particular situation and then to the ground shifting under her feet” (1993, p. 53). I find her assertion relevant for this research where waiting, listening, and adapting are critical themes. I use the concepts of mapping, unmapping, and remapping my research journey. These concepts are my way of describing critical theoretical positions. Mapping situates the researcher, grounding experiences in identity and place. It is also a way to account for the privileged position of the researcher and a call to change the structures which have historically privileged Eurocentric knowledge and institutions (Calliou, 1997; Visweswaran, 1997; Wolf, 1996). Mapping is a way to reveal the history of the relationships as they evolve in this research while unmapping contests dominant, hegemonic ways, what Richard Phillips argues “undermine the world views that rest upon it” (quoted in Razack, 2002, p. 5).  39  Figure 21: Ocean view, Sandspit in far distance, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Butler urges me to remember “that the „I‟ that I am finds itself at once constituted by norms and dependant on them but also endeavors to live in ways that maintain a critical and transformational relation to them” (2004, p.4). Unmapping is the term I use to characterize this reflexive cycle. Remapping proposes building alternatives which account for power, knowledge, authority, and difference (Behar, 1996; Berry, 2005; hooks & Mesa-Bains, 2006). Identifying systems of oppression and domination is critical, but by not proposing alternatives no change is offered. I subscribe to the notion that theories which create bridges where cultural horizons meet offer a path toward changing relationships, a remapping towards more just and equitable relationships. Local options /post-colonial  In an act of word play that produced an interesting anagram, I rearranged the word postcolonial and came up with local options. The exercise was initially a procrastination  40 activity. This anagram, however, has grown into much more than a new arrangement of letters. As a concept “local options” gives me a way to try to make sense of post-colonial feminist poststructuralism theories. I use the phrase as a deliberate strategy of placing myself into the context of the local, into the research at the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay. By focusing on local options (the anagram happily is a plural so as not to limit the possibilities the local can create), I see that the education programme development I undertook with colleagues at the HGM accounted for local knowledge, local relationships, and local geography.  “Local” is synergistic with my contention that this research is a work of landed wisdom – an actual place, a specific set of relationships and sharing of knowledge. “Options” invokes multiple possibilities which are contingent upon who is involved and where it is taking place. It is rooted in a place and a time and does not seek to create a unity of experience. Does rearranging letters from post-colonial to local options really relate to the ideas of power, communication, and centre versus periphery? This particular rearrangement worked for me because it helped crystallize the ideas in postcolonialism and poststructuralism in relation to my research work in Haida Gwaii. The “posts” for me are about displacement, disruption, and difference. This word play also offers me a way to understand and embody a theoretical position. By rearranging the letters of postcolonial, I have finally found a way to create my own understanding that lands me in a place and opens up possibilities. A note on the local: I do not choose the local as something geographically and culturally bound that which then has no relevance beyond its borders. In contrast, the local is productively at odds with the seeming normalized and universal traditions posited by western knowledge traditions. Judith Butler reminds us that normality is constructed and circulated by culturally bounded systems of knowledge (2004). My use of local tries to reconfigure relations outside the frame of accepted practices.  41 Bringing it home to museums  As George Orwell noted in his dystopic novel 1984, those “who control the past controls the future” (1949, p. 309). In order for museums to step out of the role of controlling the past and potentially the future, new methodologies and new hybridities need to be acknowledged, applied, and analyzed. In this section, I review the critical literature on museums and change, with a special focus on working with Indigenous communities from within museums. I then consider how well this sits within formulations of museums as contact zones, as hybrid spaces designed to participate in the process of decolonization where diverse community voices and experiences can be presented in respectful and culturally meaningful and significant ways. Museums are institutions historically used in creating and sustaining national identities which translate to political and social authority (Bennett, 1994; McLean, 1998, 2005). Even in contemporary times, museums continue to function as public and state sanctioned repositories of official history, whether it is the inclusion of previously marginalized peoples like the National Museum of the American Indian (Lonetree & Cobb, 2008), or such institutions as the Canadian Museum of Civilization and the Australian National Museum (Dean & Rider, 2005), or the pervasive role nationalism plays in museums from the local to the global (McLean, 1998, 2005). “Postcolonial criticism bears witness to the unequal and uneven forces of cultural representation involved in the contest for political and social authority within the modern world order” (Bhabha, 1994, p. 171). Bringing a postcolonial theorizing to bear on to these institutions is particularly useful, because as Bhabha (2009) suggests through critique, dialogue, and engagement a space opens up – an interstitial space – something betwixt and between existing doctrines and practices. In the language of Judith Butler these become spaces of possibilities (2004). In the past two decades the discourse around the politics of museums, their histories, their disciplines, their authorities, and their very existence has expanded tremendously. Titles such as Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display (Karp & Lavine, 1991), Museums and Communities: The Politics of Public Culture (Karp & Lavine, 1992), Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museums (Ames, 1992), The Birth of Museum: History, Theory, Politics (Bennett,  42 1994), Theorizing Museums: Representing Identity and Diversity in a Changing World (Macdonald & Fyfe, 1996), The Making of Representations: Museums in a Post-Colonial Era (Simpson, 2001), Preserving What is Valued: Museums, Conservation and First Nations (Clavir, 2002), Museums and Source Communities (Peers & Brown, 2003), Liberating Cultures: Cross Cultural Perspectives on Museums, Curation and Heritage Preservation (Kreps, 2003b), Museum Frictions: Public Cultures/Global Transformations (Karp, Kratz, Szwaja, & Ybarra-Frausto, 2006) Museums and Education (HooperGreenhill, 2007),The National Museum of the American Indian: Critical conversations (Lonetree & Cobb, 2008), Museums and Difference (Sherman, 2008), Learning at the Museum Frontiers: Identity, Race and Power (Golding, 2009) give a snap shot of the sense of the broad range of discourse circulating among and around museums, whether they are natural history, ethnographic, science or art museums. Most of these are edited volumes which offer those who interrogate museums a wide variety of voices and perspectives. It is broadly within this discourse that I locate my research. Museums as contact zones  James Clifford, in „Museum as contact zones‟ asserts that “[u]ntil they bring a wider  Figure 22: Grand opening HHC, Haida Gwaii, August 23, 2008.  range of historical experiences and political agendas into the actual planning of exhibits and the control of museum collections, they will be perceived as merely paternalistic by people whose contact history with museums has been one of exclusion and condescension” (Clifford, 1997, pp. 207). Cultural studies, anthropology and museum studies have, in recent decades, positioned museums as sites in which collective social understandings of cultural difference are constituted, communicated and negotiated. This positioning acknowledges that museums can be important sites of knowledge creation, sharing, and contestation; they are therefore important sites to interrogate the processes behind the presentation of culture, history, and  43 knowledge. With histories tied to colonialism, museums continue to struggle to improve relationships with ethnic and cultural communities. Partially as an answer to questions posed by Clifford (1997, 2001, 2003, 2004), Ames (1992, 1999, 2005, 2006) and others, many museums are in a stage of flux, moving away from their colonial roots into arenas where knowledge is contested and stronger and more equitable and productive relationships are being forged with visitors and source communities alike (Golding, 2009; Heumann Gurian, 2006; Janes, 2009; Kreps, 2003a, 2003b; Peers & Brown, 2003; Sandell, 2007). Partnering and collaboration are much used and popular ideas in museums as a practice to build these equitable and productive relationships. Researchers have explored the troubled relationships between museums and communities, including relationships between museums and First Nations communities (Ames, 1999; Ang, 2005; S. Butler, 1999; Conaty, 2003, 2006; Conaty & Carter, 2005; Frank, 2000; Graham, 2003; Karp, Kratz, Szwaja, & Ybarra-Frausto, 2006; Kelly & Gordon, 2002; Mithlo, 2004a; Peers & Brown, 2003; Phillips, 2006; Sherman, 2008). Indigenous peoples have become increasingly vocal in their demand for inclusion in museum programming as they argue for representing their own interests (Frank, 2000; Lonetree & Cobb, 2008; Mithlo, 2004a; Tapsell, 2001; 2002, 2005, 2006). Like theories and methodologies, museum practices need to be adaptive and responsive to the real situations they find themselves encountering. There are two streams of museology which address the changing roles and practices of museums that influence this research. The first is collaborative museology and the second critical museology. Collaborative museology  Michael Ames asks “[w]hat happens to a museum when it is called upon to put its principles into practice? and then asks “[w]hat happens to the process and the people involved when it is changed to include as full partners representatives of those whose culture or history is to be represented and who bring to the process their own skills and interests” (Ames, 1999, p. 171)? Ames goes further and states that if the “museum accepts the principle that people own their own histories then the corollary that people own the right to determine how their histories are to be publically represented” (1999, p. 175) must too be accepted. These are fundamental questions and principles with which much collaborative museology wrestles.  44  In Canada, collaborative museology is an evolving practice that has developed over the past two decades in response to source communities‟ calls for better relationships, more power and authority over their individual and collective representations. The Task Force on Museum and First Peoples (Hill & Nicks, 1992) was a critical report, now nearly two decades old, guiding many of the efforts by museums working with Aboriginal communities. The collaborative work in museums has most often focused on repatriation, exhibition development and care of cultural patrimony (Clavir, 2002; Doxtader, 1996; Noble, 2002; Phillips, 2003; Phillips & Johnson, 2003). The development of a strong collaborative practice with Indigenous communities in Canada is mirrored in other countries such as United States (Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Clifford, 2004; Davis, Segger, & Irvine, 1996; Kreps, 2005), and the Pacific Islands (Herle, 2001, 2003; Stanley, 2007; Tapsell, 2001, 2006; Williams, 2003). Strong demands are also made for access to the interpretative powers museums hold alongside access to material heritage (Ames,  Figure 23: Beach rocks, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  2005, 2006; Baird & Campbell, 2004; Clifford, 2004; Conaty, 2006; Golding, 2009; Harrison, 2005; Kreps, 2003b; Phillips & Johnson, 2003; Speers, Montgomery, & Brown, 2000). Much of the literature focuses on relationships between museum and communities, though little focuses on educational or interpretative programming which accompanies museum-based initiatives whether exhibitions, performances, or other public events. A productive exception is Michael Ames‟ reflection on a collaborative project at UBC Museum of Anthropology (MOA) when he was the Museum‟s Director (1999). Ames titles the work „How to decorate a house‟. The title implies going beyond traditional consultative relations and to consider the house and all its intricacies part of the collaborative project. The title also suggests familiarity and comfort in the museum by referring to a house. Ten years after Ames‟ important reflections, work continues investigating Indigenous and non-Indigenous collaborations and impact of Indigenous knowledge on the structures of non-Indigenous museums (Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Brady, 2009).  45  Critical museology  Critical museology takes as its focus a wrestling with established ideas and practices and explorations of notions of hybridity as a practice of decolonizing the museum (Christen, 2007; Elsner & Cardinal, 1994; Hoerig, 2010; Macdonald, 2006; Shelton, 1997, 2001; Zimmerman, 2010). “Critical museology fields a relentless incredulity to the meta-narratives of the institutionalized professions, sometimes with the purpose to democratise museum and gallery spaces, introduce a plurality of practices and develop new genres of exhibitions which can engage with a panoply of wider critical cultural practices which have stimulated it” (Shelton, 2001, pp. 146-147). Critical museology makes space for interventions, reinterpretations, and reconsiderations of museums‟ own legitimating practices. Many important studies have been written by external researchers surveying the museum processes from outside (S. Butler, 1999; Macdonald & Fyfe, 1996; Simpson, 2001). While the insights from this literature are critical to understand the changing possibilities within museums, the work such as Kreps‟ Liberating Culture (2003b), Viv Golding‟s Learning at the Museum Frontiers (2009), Anthony Shelton‟s Unsettling the meaning: Critical museology, art and anthropological discourse (2001) and James Clifford‟s “Traditional Futures” (2003) are works that more directly inform this dissertation. Kreps writes from over fifteen years of experience working within the Indonesia museum context, while Golding draws upon personal relationships and experiences she has had with Caribbean Women Writer‟s Alliance and the Horniman Museum in South London, UK. Working relationships, institutional issues, and personal relationships all form a part of the research context for Kreps in Indonesia and for Golding in the UK as they do for me here in this study. Shelton asks questions of institutions that disrupt normalizing tendencies and Clifford chronicles the changing relations of power, authority, and representation of communities working with museums as places “where different cultural visions and community interests are negotiated” (Clifford, 1997, p. 8). The range of literature that informs this work is best described as a busy intersection where collaborative museology and critical museology are informed by Indigenous knowledges and postcolonial/poststructural positioning. As with all intersections there are still rules of who gets to  46 go before others; there are courtesies to follow and there are collisions. In chapter three, I further explore the museological context and consider what can be done in greater detail. This detail is warranted because I undertake to theorize a new museology that is made possible at these intersections.  47 CHAPTER 3: A MUSEOLOGY BETWIXT AND BETWEEN  “The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." Audre Lorde22 In this chapter, I explore the proposition of a liminal museology. I start by defining what I mean by a post-colonial museum practice. I then turn to descriptions of Indigenous museology and a dialogic museology which I argue are established practices. To end, I turn to the intersections of these museologies and argue that when the two are brought together a third, potentially postcolonial practice emerges. The practice that emerges is an alliance of equals where agendas are set by shared interests and possibilities not traditional museological practices and priorities. Setting a context for a new museological practice makes theoretical space for my research question of what can be learned by museum educators to be more inclusive and responsive to Indigenous ways of knowing, especially those colleagues who work in non-Indigenous museum settings. In The New Museology, Peter Vergo describes practice of museums as being in “a state of widespread dissatisfaction with the old….too much about museum methods and too little about the purposes of museums…”(1989, p. 3). He calls for a “radical re-examination of the role of museum in society…”or else museums may “find themselves dubbed „living fossils‟” (Vergo, 1989, p. 3). The call-to-action for change in museums is now over two decades old. In the spirit of re-examination, in this chapter I posit the idea of a new practice of museology – a postcolonial practice that lives as Homi Bhabha describes in the “third space” (Bhabha, 1994) – not the space where Indigenous communities develop and adapt museums and museology to their own ends, and not the space that has developed in Western museums over the past two decades to deal with the crisis of representation. I attempt here to theorize an interstitial space where these two practices collide, and in that collision spaces are created where museum professionals can be guided in the codevelopment of meaningful community-driven responses which tackle issues and ideas relevant to the community. This third space is not limited to current working concepts of museums. What follows is my “uneven passage” (Ames, 1992, p. xi). In moving towards a postcolonial museum practice, I want to propose that a liminal museology is emerging. A liminal museology is a museology acted out in the contact zones23 or 22  Lorde, 1984, p. 98.  48 as Homi Bhabha (1994) calls it the „third space or interstitial space‟ between traditions, peoples, and institutions, museology and Indigenous museology24. The “historical power of the museum can be seen not only to confirm conventional social hierarchies, but also to mark the overturning of older orders of control…”(Golding, 2009, p. 3), leaving much room for changing paradigms and inclusion of other ways of knowing and being in the world. Why did I choose to use the idea of liminal? Liminal comes from Latin meaning threshold (Dictionary.com). A liminal state is characterized by ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. A liminal museology, therefore, is one that is not fully comfortable, nor fully formed, and like a threshold it is betwixt and between. It is a contingent, uncomfortable, and contested place, but a productive one. It is precisely for these reasons that the idea of a liminal museology is appealing in characterizing the meeting of an Indigenous museology and a dialogic museology. Betwixt and between  In this work, I am guided by Michael Ames‟ conception of counterfeit museology and his claim that museologists hold too dear the „Idea of the Museum‟ (2006, p. 171) and that the “concern is how this Museum Idea shapes attitudes, and subsequently actions, towards both what is to be considered valued heritage and the proper role of museums (2006, p. 172). It is not surprising that Ames‟ influential book Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museum (1992) also called for a reexamination of the artifacts that are museums. In an essay about First Nation and museum exhibition collaboration, Michael Ames (1999) includes a personal conversation he had with a First Nations man25 during the negotiation of a set of First Nations exhibits at the UBC Museum of Anthropology (MOA). I have never forgotten the passage because of how clearly it stated an ongoing problem museums have representing others. I use the term contact zone to encompass Mary Louise Pratt‟s (1992, 1999) idea of transculturation and Clifford‟s (1997b) museums as contact zones. 24 Indigenous museology is a term that I use liberally to encompass the burgeoning traditions of cultural centres and museums in Indigenous communities that reformulate the dominant paradigms of museum exhibition and programming to suit local and Indigenous needs and knowledge structures, and for those projects outside of community contexts which offer Indigenous ways of knowing as a strategy to both take space and declare a distinctiveness. Examples range from the potlatch room at the U‟mista Cultural Centre, Alert Bay, BC, the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Skidegate BC to Makah Cultural Centre, Washington, USA and the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, D.C. 25 The individual is only identified in the essay as a man of First Nations ancestry. 23  49 Most museum exhibits of his heritage, he said, though dealing with familiar matters, never seemed to be quite right. It was like having a stranger decorate his house he said. He would recognize all the furniture and the settings. Everything would be familiar. Yet somehow their resulting assemblage just wouldn‟t convey the right feeling. It would not be the way he would furnish his home” (Ames, 1999, p. 48). The idea that Indigenous knowledge or ways of knowing could be a part of an exhibition or educational programme in a non-First Nations museum and still not be recognizable by a member of the community or culture lays at the heart of trying to conceive a new museology – a museology that accounts for different ways of knowing and finds productive and provocative ways of communicating these knowledges. Audre Lorde‟s (1984) assertion that the master‟s tools will never dismantle the master‟s house is relevant here. It asks the question whether the skills and experiences I have as a museum educator can be put to the service of another way of knowing – or will it be like decorating someone else‟s house as Michael Ames suggests (1999)? A dismantling of museums is perhaps not what is required here – but the insights offered by the First Nations man who spoke to Michael Ames clearly calls for a refocusing or a shifting of the ways things are done in order to account for community history, knowledge, and their desires to see themselves in the collaborative process and its products (1999). A key task for the museum with all its intellectual resources is less to “transfer knowledge but to create the possibilities for the production or construction of knowledge” (Freire, 1998, p. 30). Paulo Freire‟s advice nevertheless serves to remind us that before we become too enamored by our own expertise we pause to listen to those we wish to assist. An added benefit is that the exploration of non-museological alternatives in the community context might inspire us to introduce new initiatives into our own urban institutions, thus helping to break open the traditional western “Idea of the Museum” (Ames, 2005, p. 2). What is a post-colonial museum?  A seminal 1971 article by Duncan Cameron "The Museum: A Temple or Forum?" (Cameron, 1971) proposed that museums serve as places of civic discourse, not sanctuaries for sacred objects. He later added the village green to his concept of the museum (CMA conference presentation 1996). This addition is critical in defining what a post-colonial museum might be.  50 There are key differences between temples, forums, and village greens. Temples are sacred spaces where only authorized behaviours are accepted. This could be characterized as the traditional museum. While forums are spaces for diverse discussions and debates, they too are ordered and controlled. Many museums perceive themselves as these dynamic spaces where ideas are wrestled. Village greens however, are spaces where all kinds of people meet, watch, protest, discuss, fight, buy, and sell. Village greens can be quiet and calm, messy and noisy – different kind of spaces depending on who is there and what is going on. The notion of a museums as a village green – “a kind of theoretical thoroughfare: a place where unexpected meetings and alignments may take place” (Macdonald & Fyfe, 1996, p. 6) – is a good place to start to define postcolonial museums. To add to the village green thoroughfare metaphor, a museum that is inclusive of difference, which embraces competing knowledges and understandings, that creates spaces for debate and contestation, and which implicates itself in its own practices is a post-colonial museum. An institution that constantly interrogates the forms of expressions and representations it uses – inclusive of everything from design, exhibition, programming, reception, audience development, and marketing is my concept of a post-colonial museum. In fact, I am calling for a postcolonial museum to be a heterotopia. Drawing on Foucault (1984), philosopher Beth Lord defines a museum heterotopia as a “contingent document that may be constituent of multiple, discontinuous and even disputatious points of view” (2006. p. 10). Lord argues for museums as heterotopias, as “spaces of representation and spaces of difference, not difference in the sense of the exotic or the „other‟ instead difference that undermines the established norms and perceptions” (2006, p. 10). This is similar to how Judith Butler describes the possibilities of working out the failures of received knowledges in Contingent Foundations (1992). Museum as heterotopia is not to be interpreted as a place where there is a reversal of power from those who have it to those who do not. Instead it is a place where difference in all its power and potential can offer other ways of knowing, representing, and negotiating power and authority (Lord, 2006). Lord goes on to suggest that museums have always been heterotopias. I suggest that museums can be heterotopias if they fully take on the role of representing difference in complex and changing ways. These characteristics are the seeds of a liminal museology to  51 which I will return. However, first linking these notions of a liminal museology with Indigenous knowledge and Indigenous agendas for museums needs to be undertaken. Indigenous museology  There must be other ways to narrate our history. Loretta Todd26 I‟m talking about owning who we are. Deborah Doxtader27. Deborah Doxtader‟s and Loretta Todd‟s quotes offer insight into the development of an Indigenous museology. Challenges to be more responsive and relevant to the Indigenous communities‟ desire for self-representation and self-determination have been lobbed at museums for more than two decades. The two women‟s comments are drawn from these challenges. Indigenous communities, activists and scholars questioned the legitimacy of museums to continue to keep Indigenous belongings28 and to represent Indigenous peoples‟ experiences and knowledges (Deloria Jr., 1969; Doxtader, 1996; Fuller, 1992). These challenges go beyond a call for inclusion; they are demands for control over their representation, one that I would argue fostered an Indigenous museology. Indigenous museums and cultural centres are a global phenomenon from Canada, the United States, and spreading to the Pacific Islands, and it has been growing for the past 30 years. The growth is the result of a number of reasons, ranging from commercial to cultural and political with many combinations and variations. A close study of this phenomenon is not only valuable for museological practice but may challenge our current assumptions about the very nature and purpose of the museum. For example, The Museum at Warms Springs in Oregon (established in 1993) states that “[t]he museum exists as an answer to the question that has troubled Native Americans in general and Gerald McMaster and Michael Ames refer to Todd‟s comment at the Curatorship; Indigenous perspectives conference in 1995 (Davis, Segger, Irvine, 1996). 27 Doxtader 1996, p. 56. 28 „Belongings‟ is a term Debra Sparrow uses to remind us that people are connected to the materials housed in museum collections, particularly ethnographic collections. The term artifact and object in her opinion are too clinical and distances the belongings from the people who made and used them. Ruth Phillips adds that “terms such as object, work of art or specimen are, of course themselves artifacts of these processes of [Western knowledge] detachment and fragmentation (Phillips, 2005, p. 86). 26  52 the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs in particular for most of the past century. Can this Nation‟s Indigenous peoples take any meaningful steps on their own initiative, under their own control to halt the erosion of their traditions, the dispersal of their sacred artifacts, and the loss of their very identity as culture” (The Museum at Warm Springs)?29 Kreps offers another example. I discovered that people in Central Kalimantan were museum-minded, but in their own ways. They have their own means of interpreting and appropriating museological concepts to fit into their own cultural patterns. What Indonesian museum leaders see as a lack of museum-mindedness may be a form of resistance to a predetermined idea of the museum‟s meanings and purposes as well as forms of cultural representation and curation imposed from above and from outside local communities (2003b, p. 42). Before exploring just what this „Indigenous museology‟ might include, it is important to put some context around the debates between Indigenous peoples, museums, and representation. Choosing a time to pinpoint when Indigenous peoples began to challenge their representations in museums is arbitrary.30 I want to focus on 1988 when a First Nations controversy and ensuing boycott erupted around the exhibition The Spirit Sings: Artistic traditions of Canada‟s First Peoples in Calgary, Alberta. I choose this example not because of the content of the exhibition or even the context of the Lubicon Cree‟s concerns31, but because of what it engendered. The Task Force Report of Museum and First Peoples was a direct outcome of the controversy encircling The Spirit Sings. Ovide Mercredi states, in his letter in the preface of the Task Force Report, that “out of controversy has come understanding and an opening for constructive dialogue” (Hill & Nicks, 1992).32 The recommendations of The Task Force are for partnerships between museums and First peoples in all areas of policy, representation, interpretation, repatriation, training, and funding. Its tone is one of harmony, asking for moral and ethical responses to the issues confronting museums and  http://www.warmsprings.biz/museum/aboutus/museumstory.shtml (accessed February 7, 2011). For a fuller analysis from an international perspective see Making Representations: Museums in the Post-Colonial Era (Simpson, 2001). 31 The boycott was initiated by the Lubicon Cree, a First Nations group in the Canadian province of Alberta, for multiple reasons, but primarily because Shell Canada was sponsoring this major exhibit during the 1988 Olympics while also failing to negotiate land and resource issues with the Lubicon. 32 It should be noted that the exhibit became a lightening rod for issues for First Peoples regarding power relations and the representation of Indigenous peoples in museums. Only a few of the concerns addressed by the many activists and critics were directed specifically at the content of The Spirit Sings exhibit. For more see (Butler, 1999; Harrison, 2005) and the entire issue of Canadian Museums Association journal Muse 1988 6(3). 29 30  53 First Peoples (Hill & Nicks, 1992).33 It does not, as Doxtader critiques, dislocate the power from the museum: “It‟s like always being a guest in someone else‟s home” (Doxtader, 1996, p. 68). Doxtader‟s sentiment is achingly similar to the statement of the First Nations man Michael Ames recounts. The issues raised by First Nations were in sync with issues raised across the social sciences and humanities with regard to research, voice and participation. Many were asking who speaks for whom, and were raising critical issues about field work and the act of writing and interpreting research (Bhabha, 1994; Clifford, 1997; Deloria Jr., 1969; hooks, 1994; hooks & Mesa-Bains, 2006; Hooper-Greenhill, 1992). The museum community fully participated in these debates hosting several conferences which generated important texts. A few important North American examples are: Exhibiting Cultures: The poetics and politics of museum display (Karp & Lavine, 1991), Museum and Communities: The poetics of public culture (Karp, Kreamer, & Lavine, 1992), Curatorship: Indigenous perspectives in post-colonial societies (Davis, Segger, & Irvine, 1996), and Different Voices (Tucker, 1992). At the 1995 conference, Curatorship: Indigenous perspectives in post-colonial societies co-chairs Alissandra Cummins and Emmanuel Arinze said it was time for Indigenous peoples “to engage in dialogue among themselves and with others about the relevance of traditional museums and such issues as representation, repatriation and new forms of cultural stewardship” (1996, p. 4). This was followed by a conference resolution to move “toward finding alternations or extensions to the museum concept and, in the process, deconstructing the colonial perceptions of museums and other public institutions that collect, measure, classify and identify past Indigenous cultures” (quoted in Davis, Segger, & Irvine, 1996, p. viii). Both statements speak to more than the desire to be included in the museum project; rather it is to rethink what a museum is and to create alternatives. Their comments also speak to the fact that in 1996 the need for change in museums was still an important issue. The previous decade of debate and contestation had not generated enough positive examples of change.  Initially I had intended to draw on the recommendations from arts and culture Chapter 6 “Gathering Strength” from The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP, 1996). However, the general nature of the text offers few concrete recommendations with the exception of the establishment of an aboriginal arts council and a call for ethical guidelines for cultural institutions. In terms of recommendations for museums it is a pale iteration of the Task Force of which I could find no mention in RCAP. 33  54 The demands for change were international in scope. Former President of International Council of Museums (ICOM) Alpha Konare, a Malawian, similarly claimed the “the traditional museum is no longer in tune with our concerns; it has ossified our culture, deadened many of our cultural objects, and allowed the essence, imbued with the spirit of the people, to be lost” (quoted in Kreps, 2003b, p. 42). Clearly this is a harsh indictment from someone elected to lead the profession internationally. The fact that is was written in 1983 before many museums took on the challenges of working more collaboratively and inclusively with source communities makes the comment no less powerful today. In answer to the above call, and in partial answer to the needs of Indigenous communities for “a sense of self knowing, self-worth and self-determination” (Doxtader, 1996, p. 65) many First Nations or Tribal communities established cultural centres and community museums (Stanley, 1998).34 Indigenous methods and knowledges play central roles in these institutions creating what has been called an “Indian museology” by Gerald McMaster (quoted in Lonetree, 2006, p. 638). It is this concept of an “Indian” or Indigenous museology I want to describe here by using the two examples of a community-based museum and a national museum. 35 Drawing on the U‟mista Cultural Centre (U‟mista) and the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) helps to illustrate a history of Indigenous museology. U‟mista opened in 1980 and the NMAI opened in 2005. These two examples illustrate that this kind of museology is not a new phenomenon and that it is not restricted to community-based institutions. U‟mista is one of the grandmothers of the First Nation museum/cultural centre movement in North America. U‟mista has a rich and important history of innovation and advocacy, but also ongoing problems with sustainability (see Fortney, 2001; Mauze, 2003). Much of what was created at U‟mista was done in advance of the major critiques in anthropology and museology For a study of development of tribal museums in United States see (Erikson, Ward, & Wachendorf, 2002). I have not been able to find a history of the development and impact of Canadian First Nations, Métis and Inuit museums and cultural centres. It would be an important contribution. For useful reflections on U‟mista and the Kwaguilth Museum see (Clifford, 1991; Mauze, 2003) and see (Fortney, 2001) for a status report of these two institutions prepared for the Department of Canadian Heritage. An interesting note: according to Ruth Phillips‟ research the 1967 Expo in Montreal the Indians of Canada Pavilion was the first radically innovative exhibition controlled by aboriginal people and offering their perspectives. Perhaps this was the early genesis of a Canadian Indigenous museology (Phillips, 2006). 34 35  55 of the 1980s and early 1990s. In terms of Indigenous museology, the Hunt Hall where a selection of repatriated potlatch materials is displayed offers an early example of Indigenous museology. Family wealth in the form of masks, headdresses, coppers, and rattles are on display– not behind glass – in a room designed as a ceremonial big house. Organized in a uniquely Kwakwaka‟wakw way, the „treasures/privileges‟ are ordered according to their appearance in a potlatch. An ethnographic exhibit, this is not. Interspersed between these returned treasures are copies of documents implicating the colonial powers in their agenda of assimilation and cultural genocide. There is no attempt to explain the traditions of the Kwakwaka‟wakw, or their family privileges, or even any of the individual pieces. Instead the architectural space, the placement of objects and the minimal, non-didactic labeling combine to create an environment which is provocative, emotional, and complicated. U‟mista uses poetics instead of didactics in its display (Houlihan, 1991). U‟mista has expectations of visitors that differ from traditional Euro-western museums. The display is not what is expected by museum visitors, nor is it reflective of traditional representations of Indigenous peoples in ethnographic museums (S. Butler, 1999; Clifford, 1997; Smith, 1999)36. Visitors, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, are confronted with oral and social histories troubling past actions. The exhibit leaves no simple interpretations. This approach to communication is an important aspect of Indigenous practice. Led by Gloria Cranmer Webster, the genesis of this space was partially in response to being “the most „anthropologized‟ group of people in the world” (quoted from film Box of Treasures, Olin & U'mista Cultural Society, 1983). Choosing not to use the traditional tropes of ethnographic exhibition display and conservation were deliberate acts to assert a sovereignty and ownership over material that had been separated from the community for almost seventy years. The exhibit also functions as a way to remember the life of things and what the journey of these treasures tells about colonization and community agency. After many years of fighting, the treasures return home. But their work is not done. Their display is complicated by the presence of government letters, clergy correspondence, and community oral histories.  U‟mista has since included more history of the potlatch collection and details about individual pieces. It is not in the exhibit area; it is on their website at http://www.umista.ca/collections/collection.php (accessed February 7, 2011). 36  56 U‟mista has used the space, the collections, its organization, and historic documentation to provide multiple entry points and interpretations of the exhibition contributing to an Indigenous museology. Indigenous museology offers a complicated, nuanced, and integrated practice of presenting Indigenous philosophies, histories and identities. Amanda Cobb (2005b) adds to this definition that an emphasis on the importance of questions and a multiplicity of community perspectives is an Indigenous learning and teaching practice, one that fits nicely into the museum context. Indigenous cultural centers, heritage sites, and museum-like environments are often continuations of Indigenous traditions of storytelling, collection and display (Kreps, 2003b). U‟mista‟s potlatch collection clearly demonstrates this. The National Museum of the American Indian is another example of a burgeoning Indigenous museology. I start with a quote from an interview with NMAI Director Richard West (Southern Cheyenne): “Don‟t expect didactics, don‟t expect an imposed narrative. Think of an impressionist piece of art, a cubist piece of art that simply, from a number of perspectives, lays thoughts, visions, ideas on a table for you to take with you out of there” (Cobb, 2005a, p. 529). West “had a very clear sense of how to turn an instrument of dispossession [a museum] into one of self-definition” (Cobb, 2005a, p. 488). It is important to recognize that the National Museum of the American Indian is more than one site on Washington mall. The Gustave Heye Centre in New York and the Cultural Resource Centre (CRC) in Suitland, Maryland are all part of this institution. The New York site is predominantly an exhibition centre and the CRC is where the NMAI houses its collection, its archive, and its library providing access to a broad range of researchers. The architecture of the CRC, like the Museum on the mall, reflects numerous Indigenous cultural and design principles as a result of consultations and collaborations with a crosssection of Indigenous communities from North, South, and Central America. Specifically, the CRC has really considered the visiting researcher/community member. The entrance is welcoming ensuring that those who are uncomfortable coming to see their „belongings‟ are welcomed in an appropriate way. For those who are comfortable visiting collections, it is no less important to feel welcomed and to have it acknowledged that we are entering a “native  57 place”.37 A great innovation at the CRC is a special room where cultural objects can be brought to be smoked or fed or attended to in culturally appropriate ways. The room opens to an exterior courtyard, called the „inter-tribal space‟, where community members working with objects can actually go outside releasing energy or spirits that many Indigenous cultures believe inhabit their belongings. The policies of how objects are cared for have changed to permit their use, movement and cleansing by their cultural owners.38 The building of a special space combined with a change of professional practices for the care for cultural materials are important contributions by the NMAI to the museum community and keystones to their Indigenous museology. Objects are viewed as part of complex systems of knowledge, experience, and community. The Cultural Resources Centre is also the hub of the NMAI‟s outreach activities. Here is an excerpt from the Director‟s Statement for 2007-08: Even as we welcome millions of visitors each year at our landmark museum on the National Mall, we never lose sight of the multitudes that may never get the opportunity to cross our threshold. While our three physical facilities in Washington, D.C., New York, and Maryland provide a wide variety of learning opportunities, we remain dedicated through our outreach efforts to strengthening connections in equal measure with Native peoples where they live (National Museum of the American Indian, 200708). To fulfill this promise the NMAI offers an impressive array of activities such as Native radio, visiting artists, internships, film and video training, and local symposiums and workshops on cultural centre planning and development. These services are offered in Native communities in North, Central, and South America. This outreach presence, which has been referred to as the „fourth museum‟, (Jacknis, 2006) is an important part of the NMAI mission and its commitment to an Indigenous museology. The Museum is more than a site and a collection; it is connected to community, knowledge, and place.  The NMAI calls itself a “Native Place” http://www.nmai.si.edu (accessed February 7, 2011). It is important to note that in 2010 many non-Indigenous museums have policies that permit the spiritual or cultural work on objects, whether this is handling, or feeding or smoking or other relevant cultural practices. 37 38  58 In both sites, the CRC and the Museum on the Washington mall,39 the landscaping of the museum and the architecture highlight the relationship between the built and natural world integral to Indigenous worldviews. This view is shared by many who reviewed the NMAI (Atalay, 2006; Cobb, 2005b; Nelson, 2006). Worthy of note are the cardinal markers. The cardinal markers are four large stones, one from Nunavut, Chile, Hawaii and Maryland respectively placed on north-south and east-west axis of the site signifying the geographic and cultural diversity the Museum is charged with representing. The building‟s concept and design was created by Blackfoot architect Douglas Cardinal who built into the architecture cosmological elements. For example, the prisms on the south wall catch the sun‟s rays and reflect the light into the Potomac – the main welcome rotunda of the Museum. The sun physically and metaphorically shines a path for visitors into the exhibition galleries. From the grounds into the entrance rotunda visitors to the Museum are subtly enveloped from the outset in an Indigenous framework. Sensitive architecture is not the sole purview of Indigenous worlds. Ensuring however, that the architecture links with other Indigenous concepts such as people, place, diversity, and respect found in other aspects of the NMAI is what makes the architecture in this case part of an Indigenous museology. I will use one of the long-term exhibits, Our Peoples: Giving Voice to Our Histories, to illustrate Indigenous museological inside the building. The exhibit was curated jointly by Jolene Rickard (Tuscarora) and Paul Chaat Smith (Comanche) in collaboration with Indigenous communities. In particular, I will look at three major features of the exhibit space – a wall of gold objects, a wall of guns, and a wall of bibles. Instead of discrete objects with labels that tell a story-line, these curators chose to display a huge wall of gold artifacts identified as „the Prize‟. Gold objects are used as props to show both the riches of Indigenous America and the greed which fueled the conflicts and ensuing devastations of colonialism. Melissa Nelson (2006) argues that it also refers to the greed for knowledge and lack of respect for cultural privacy that is all too common in contemporary society. As museum visitors we have a greed for information wanting to be told why something is important. By offering a huge wall of objects not individually identified, the curators twist the power of history, and resist meeting some basic  The NMAI, a Smithsonian Institution, was built on the last open site on the Washington mall with its front doors looking directly at the US Capital Building. 39  59 museum visitor desires. This deliberate act is part of an Indigenous museology which seeks to provoke, or question, not to answer or appease. Next to the wall of gold, a large wall of guns is displayed aesthetically, again without detailed information such as whose gun was it? When was it used? Why is it important? Instead the curators, by the placement of the objects and lack of explanatory text evoke generations of conflict between Indigenous communities and newcomers, but complicate it by not offering a story. To a large extent they leave it open for visitors to make their own meaning. In another open ended statement, a third section is filled with bibles beaded or decorated with Indigenous imagery or printed in an Indigenous language. Though Christianity has wrought its fair share of devastation in the Indigenous world, it has also come to have an important place accepted and adapted in many forms into Indigenous lives. The combination of the gold, guns and bibles is very powerful as a metaphor for complexity and interrelatedness of Indigenous worlds among themselves and in relationship with the newcomers/colonizers. The exhibit offers impressions and possibilities, but nothing definitive. It also questions assumptions of the nature of history and knowledge and the expectations we bring to exhibits to answer our (often ethnocentric) questions (Isaac, 2006). Elizabeth Archuleta reflects on a similar issue in response to the Museum in general. She states that absence is a presence in the whole Museum, inviting visitors to consider why (Archuleta, 2005). This subtlety, I suggest, is firmly rooted in an Indigenous museology – a practice that is not just shifting the emphasis in museums, but asking visitors to engage in unprecedented ways. The NMAI as a whole enterprise reflects an Indigenous museology because of the way that all of these components integrate Indigenous views of land, people, and knowledge into a complex and interwoven context which asks us all to consider place, relationships, rhythm and feeling together with experience and information in order to make meaning. By using examples of U‟mista and the NMAI I do not want to suggest that their practices are unproblematic, nor that everything they do is motivated by Indigenous ways. There is much to critique as writers point out (Atalay, 2006; Berlo & Jonaitis, 2005; Carpio, 2006; Fortney, 2001; Lonetree, 2006; Mauze, 2003). Nevertheless, both cases provide evidence of a museological approach that is consistent with Indigenous ways of knowing, visually evoking histories and  60 potential interpretations. This is a departure for many exhibits, particularly the tradition of ethnographic exhibitions where singular objects or groups of objects are made to stand in for interwoven complex cultural histories. Drawn from the examples above and from the literature on Indigenous museum practice (Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Camerena & Morales, 2006; Erikson, et al., 2002; Norkunas, 2004), I bring together a number of principles which might constitute an Indigenous museology. This is not to fix Indigenous museology into a core set of methods, but to suggest that there are many things at play which together produce an Indigenous museology, for example: the role of Indigenous knowledge and experience is primary; objects are seen as integral to community knowledge and experience; collaborations and inter-relationships are used as a means to widen the circle of knowledge; multivocality and diversity of points of view are presented; western museological traditions of display are challenged; there is a comfort with ambiguity and contested viewpoints; evocative rather than didactic environments are offered for interpretation; open ended and non-linear presentations avoid fixing knowledge and reinforcing stereotypes; questions are posed and intentionally left unanswered; visual, auditory, and experiential concerns compete with textual information; and Indigenous perspectives are not translated but developed by Indigenous curators, programmers, designers, and directors. Thus far, I have offered my arguments for what constitutes an Indigenous museology. As Indigenous communities were remaking museums/cultural centres to represent themselves, mainstream museums were developing ways to answer the critiques that they were colonial, elitist, and self-perpetuating institutions. Welcoming source communities into the museum to do research and to collaborate on exhibits, and educational programming has been an important movement that begins to answer the criticisms. These collaborations have engendered a dialogic museum practice. Dialogic museology  Ruth Phillips (2005) declares we are entering a second museum age with the world-wide interest in building new museums and expanding others. She goes on to assert that little of this  61 monument building is done in tandem with the intellectual movements in museology. One characteristic Phillips attributes to this intellectual movement is a dialogic process replacing the traditional didactic methods in museums. This notion of a dialogic process or dialogic museology is in keeping with ideas about a critical museology (Shelton, 1997; 2001) and comparative museology (Kreps, 2003b). The dialogic museology is not limited to adding previously excluded voices into the museum; it includes looking at the social life of things (Appadurai, 1986), the changing relationships and role of museum professionals, encompassing “an array of educational initiatives that can include training opportunities and internships for community members, performances and public programmes, the sharing of research and resources, and the building of an ongoing partnership that can lead to social and political advocacy” (Phillips, 2003, p. 161). To understand what this dialogic model offers, I will look at recent collaborative projects which Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (1991) and James Clifford (1997) might argue move museums from colonial to cooperative places. Before proceeding, a reminder of the different meanings of the word collaboration is appropriate. The word means to work with, especially in a joint intellectual effort and to cooperate treasonably (Dictionary.com). The conflicting meanings are relevant in this context. As I investigate a dialogic practice built on collaborations, it is important to attend to the different definitions and perceptions this word generates. Collaborative efforts in museums are frequently referred to as inherently positive and as important steps towards a post-colonial positioning for museums (Ames, 1999; Clavir, 2002; Clifford, 1997; Karp, Kreamer & Lavine, 1992; Karp & Lavine, 1991; Peers & Brown, 2003); but this understanding may not always be shared. Deborah Doxtader warns that too often collaborations between First Nations and non-First Nation in museums continue to confer the authority to the non-First Nations institution where they gain disproportionate cultural capital from working with „communities‟ (1996). Acknowledging the double edge that is collaboration requires an attention to issues of power, authority, representation, and reciprocity. In 1990, the Glenbow Museum in Calgary began a new relationship with Blackfoot with the return of sacred objects and opened an exhibit Nitsitapisinni: Our way of life in 2002. The intervening time period demonstrates a commitment on behalf of the community and museum staff to develop relationships first and projects second. In the intervening years, the Museum hired a Siksika person  62 to fill a newly created Treaty Seven liaison position, and then hired First Nations people to develop and deliver school and public programmes (Conaty, 2003). In 1998, the museum signed a formal memorandum of understanding with Mookaakin Foundation of the Blood Tribe. The Glenbow readied itself before taking on Nitsitapisinni: Our way of life, a major exhibition project created in full collaboration with the Blackfoot. Gerald Conaty asserts that: “the Blackfoot made it clear that they were not participating just to help Glenbow create an exhibit. They saw this project as an opportunity to develop an educational place where future generations of Blackfoot youth can learn the fundamentals of their own culture. This perception of Glenbow as a site of Blackfoot education is an incredible demonstration of the interconnectedness that has developed between us” (2003, p. 231). The Glenbow is seen as both public museum and agent of the Blackfoot to meet their own internal needs. Doxtader‟s concern that they might be „guests‟ seems to be answered. Conaty tells us that both the museum staff and the Blackfoot gained new appreciation for each other. The museum staff learned to have good ideas rejected because they contravened cultural protocols and the Blackfoot, though frustrated by how much time it took and by the cost of the project, saw the staff create a meaningful exhibit of their story and in their words. Nitsitapisinni: Our way of life does not offer any non-Blackfoot perspectives. It is not multi-vocal outside of Blackfoot experience. No references to the complicated histories of the objects in the exhibition or their shifting meaning from pre-colonial to colonial and post-colonial times are offered. Nor as Phillips (2003) notes are the museum staff even acknowledged as collaborators in the major acknowledgement panel at the exhibit exit, so a visitor may not know that the project was a collaborative effort. However, Nitsitapisinni is dialogic because of how it presents a respectful blend of Indigenous knowledges, stories and experiences that focuses on Blackfoot life ways, and experiences. The layout of the exhibit and its focus on Blackfoot thought, language, and interpretation demonstrates a major movement in the museological practice of Glenbow curators, educators, and designers. Conaty declares “it is impossible to understand the Blackfoot world without experiencing the immensity of the Northwestern Plains” (2003, p. 236); so the exhibit creates an evocative environment with two 8‟ by 10‟ screens which take visitors on seasonal trips through the landscape. All is not beautiful objects, pictorial vistas, and uncomplicated community histories though, as visitors move from the Plains section to the Reservation Era, the structure of  63 the gallery changes as you enter. It purposefully elicits a feeling of confinement to remind all of the devastating impacts this period of history had on the Blackfoot. Through the creation of inviting and disturbing environments that resonates with a range of Blackfoot experiences the exhibit encourages examination and reflection. The exhibit is a concrete example of the positive relationships museum staff and Blackfoot representatives created. The internal communications between museum and the community and the sensitive representation of the Blackfoot in the exhibit format speak to a dialogic museum practice. Not without listening and learning from each other can successes like Nitsitapisinni be achieved (Conaty, 2006). As Conaty reflects back on the exhibit, he notes that there was considerable interest in educational programmes despite the fundraising difficulties and feels proud that the Glenbow has hired Blackfoot interpreters to be in the exhibit. He goes on to say “the gallery reflects the co-existence of two peoples and their cooperation in achieving a common goal” (Conaty, 2003, p. 237). The active relationship between Glenbow and the Blackfoot offers a model of dialogic museology. Museum and community continue to negotiate turf, adjust expectations all the while trying to right some historical museological wrongs. Conaty argues that museums can go beyond this and advocate for community concerns that do not necessarily fall into traditional museological praxis such as the diminished federal funding for First Nations communities. For example, Conaty states that perhaps museums should center their attentions on explaining to the public the issues faced by Aboriginal peoples (2003). The ongoing nature of the relationship between the Glenbow staff and their Blackfoot collaborators opens up a channel for dialogue that reaches beyond being a guest in someone else‟s home. This kind of dialogic museology is relationship-based and notproduct based. Moving to another part of the world, I want to look at a dialogic project that deals with community knowledge and the complex histories of objects in museums, but which must also account for the distance between an Indigenous community and a museum. Anita Herle is a curator of anthropology at the University of Cambridge Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, in Cambridge, UK. Her account of creating the exhibition Torres Strait Islanders: An exhibition to mark the centenary of the 1989 Cambridge anthropological expedition to the Torres Strait (Herle, 2001, 2003, 2008), which was on display at the Cambridge Museum from July 1998 to December 2000, picks up on much of what Conaty offers in terms of relationship building with Indigenous  64 communities. Herle‟s focus however, is on the “space charged by the agency of the objects emerging through the intersecting interests of producers and collectors, Islanders and curators”(2003, p. 194). She continues that “[t]urtle-shell masks, feather head-dresses, models, photographs, and texts make important intercultural links between past and present, and between Cambridge and the Islands” (Herle, 2003, p. 195). Herle‟s notion of object agency is part of a dialogic practice that goes beyond a non-Indigenous institution documenting and presenting Indigenous knowledge and perspectives. It brings into the discussion the historical collector relationships and the newly developed relationships between Islanders today and museum staff. This dialogue is mutually productive. As Herle tells the history of the exhibit she acknowledges that despite the fact that Cambridge is so far away from the Torres Straits, museum staff and researcher welcomed many Torres Strait Islanders to Cambridge to do informal and formal research and to open and close the exhibit. Torres Strait Islanders who saw the exhibit in Cambridge were often overwhelmed by the size and richness of the collection both on display and in storage – provoking emotions that ranged from sadness to excitement. “The care with which we attempted to associate people and things, attributed quotes and identified individuals in the photographs had a powerful effect on Islander visitors. These were not simply „multiple voices‟ but named ancestors – we heard stories about them and were reminded of their living descendants” (Herle, 2003, p. 201). This kind of dialogic museology continues beyond the needs of researching and mounting an exhibit, it renews a dialogue between Cambridge and the Torres Strait and changed the role of the museum in relationship to the community. Herle sees “the museum as a field-site that can become a place for encounter and creative dialogue, for the production as well as the dissemination of specialist knowledge” (Herle, 2001, p. 17). With this model the museum traditions of research and documentation are not abandoned as being irrelevant, rather the process of documentation expands to include Torres Strait Islanders and others in order to see more fully the social life of objects in museum collections. This can only be done in collaboration with community-based, museum-based, and university-based knowledge holders. Phillips argues that the “collaborative paradigm is founded on a need to deconstruct the singular, distanced, and depersonalized authority of the modernist museum, but the deconstruction remains incomplete when museums fail to disclose their processes fully” (2003, p. 165). The Cambridge Museum through its collaborative process with Torres Strait Islanders  65 and the opening of its own documentation to the community and adding to the documentation knowledge of Torres Strait Islander, curators, and collectors contributes significantly to the deconstruction process of museum authority. A dialogic model which is inclusive and multi-perspective “is crucial in illuminating the multiple meanings of specific objects as well as the complex processes involved in their production, collection and interpretation” (Herle, 2001, p. 17). As with the exploration of an Indigenous museology, I have focused on two examples. There are many others (For example Karp, Kratz, Szwaja & Ybarra-Frausto, 2006; Kreps, 2003b; Peers & Brown, 2003; Shelton, 1997; Simpson, 2001). From these, and from my experiences as a museum professional over the past fifteen years, I suggest that dialogic museology is: a place for encounter and dialogue which is mutually productive; a commitment to a process with products, like exhibits seen as outcomes; an acknowledgement that building long-term relationships is critical; a process that learns to respect private and public knowledge, necessitating the negotiation of cultural protocols; and multivocal and inclusive. Not to be contrary, but to actually provoke greater change in museum practices, Michael Ames asked “[a]re we guilty of dialoguing until our views are understood, so long as others learn our methods, or are we willing to rethink and change the very existence of museums as we know them in society” (1996, p. 149)? Conaty‟s and Herle‟s example offers something more than endless dialogue, but Ames‟ question stays with me as I move towards describing what a liminal museology might look like or what the intersection of an Indigenous and dialogic practice might engender. A liminal museology  To return to my proposal that a liminal museology emerges at the intersection or interstitial space between Indigenous and dialogic museology practices, I explore two examples close to home and that inform this research. Both examples are from 2000 and both from the UBC Museum of Anthropology (MOA). In ten years, many practices in museums have changed, but what these two examples still offer, I argue, are glimpses into possibilities of working against the „Idea of the Museum‟ that Michael Ames suggests (2006). They also suggest that the  66 interactions between people within the Museum are critical to opening spaces for change. In my work in Haida Gwaii I have found these two examples to be instructive as I create an adaptive museum education practice. The first example is the exhibition Raven‟s Reprise (Webb, 2000) curated by guest curator Lynn Hill (Iroquois) and the second is Protecting Knowledge: Traditional rights in the new millennium (UBCIC, 2000, February 24), a conference organized by the Union of BC Indian Chiefs. As I drawn on these examples, I will look at some of the characteristics of Indigenous and dialogic practices to see if their coming together creates anything new that contributes to my understanding of my research at the Haida Gwaii Museum. The exhibition Raven‟s Reprise was an exhibition of contemporary First Nations and Native American artists. The works were placed in provocative locations throughout the museum, some unobtrusive, others jarring by their juxtapositions to objects in MOA‟s permanent collection. A number of works were created specifically to respond to MOA as an ethnographic museum which highlights predominantly historical or traditional works of BC First Nations. I want to focus my discussion on two works from the exhibition that Jennifer Kramer uses in her article on figurative repatriation (2004) – Sanctuary by John Powel (Kwakwaka‟wakw) and Even though I am the Last One. I Still Count by Marianne Nicolson (Kwakwaka‟wakw: Dzawade‟enuxw). Both works are site specific in that they draw on the museum‟s collection, specifically visible storage,40 to locate and inform their work. Sanctuary, a quilted blanket-like piece, covered most of a 12‟ x 12‟ glass fronted display case at one of the entrances to the MOA‟s visible storage galleries. On the textile are images of coppers, family photographs, and writing which refer to the ceremonial masks and their disenfranchisement from their original cultural context, specifically masks in the case the textile is mounted against. The masks in the case are hamsamlth (mythical bird masks) collected over the last century whose display in the museum is part of ongoing debates about the display of Indigenous ceremonial materials. If this textile was to be hung anywhere else it would not  Visible storage was a term used at the UBC Museum of Anthropology (MOA) to describe galleries of the museum that are storage-like. In these galleries approximately seventy percent of the Museum‟s three dimensional works were on view categorized geopolitically and often by object type. In 2010, MOA opened a redesign of this area called the Multiversity Galleries. 40  67 speak to the mask collection as it does, nor would it have the role of troubling the museum, a point to which I will return. Even though I am the Last One. I Still Count is a mixed media tableau that includes crests from her home community of Kingcome Inlet (Dzawade‟enuxw), photographs of family members as children dancing at a potlatch and eight bumblebee masks from the Museum‟s collection which frame the tableau. The masks were owned by Nicolson‟s grandfather and sold to the Museum in 1960. The fact that these masks are not in Kingcome any more does not mean that the rights to their use have not been exercised. By creating this site specific piece Nicolson shifts the meaning of the masks, the artwork, and the site of museum. Kramer sees the works in „Butlerian sense‟ in that “the reiterative and citational practice by which discourse produces the effects that it names” (Butler quoted in Kramer, 2005, 174). “In making use of older native objects in the museum‟s collection, these artists reference the past, but in new ways…doing the work of repatriation and constructing contemporary identities through deconstructing former ones” (Kramer, 2004, p. 174). The entire Raven‟s Reprise exhibit takes this kind of reiterative and reflexive position. It is an example of an artistic and curatorial practice that is liminal and heterotopic. The characteristics of challenging western systems of representation, and a comfort with ambiguity and contested viewpoints meet the dialogic museological method of encountering different histories thereby creating something new – a different kind of contested representation. If these works had been exhibited anywhere else, they would have lost these values. The museum and the artworks required this space of contingent production (Butler, 1992) in order to speak about themselves, their making, and their reception. Lynn Hill, the curator, created space where artistic interventions undermined established norms and perceptions of the objects troubling museums, their histories and relationships with First Nations, while opening a new space for considering contemporary First Nations arts. To return to my earlier definition of a liminal museology, Raven‟s Reprise as a whole made MOA a contested space, an ambiguous place, and an uncomfortable place for many visitors and museum staff. By offering an Indigenous perspective that is informed by the historical exclusion of Indigenous perspectives in ethnographic museums and through collaborating with  68 First Nations and Native American artists and MOA, Hill created a unique exhibit which uncomfortably but productively crossed the borders. In February 2000, another border was crossed at MOA. The Museum co-sponsored Protecting Knowledge: Traditional rights in the new millennium organized by the Union of BC Indian Chiefs which was held in a number of locations on the campus of the University of British Columbia. The conference brought many local and international scholars and activists together to debate a wide array of issues confronting Indigenous peoples. There were sessions on ecology and eco-piracy, intellectual property, publishing, and repatriation to name a few. Ruth Phillips was the Director of the Museum during this period and recounts her experience of a panel on repatriation held in the Museum‟s Great Hall (2005). Phillips begins with recounting Kim Recalma Clutesi‟s powerful speech about how western museum classification has interfered with traditional systems of authority and interpretation of objects in their collections. Recalma Clutesi then introduced the audience to Chief Adam Dick who would “now perform the rarely seen ceremony of breaking of a copper. She [Recalma Clutesi] reiterates that the performance of this ritual is the ultimate insult that a Kwakwaka‟wakw leader can offer to a rival and states that Chief Dick is breaking the copper on the government of Canada, the province of British Columbia, and the museums to challenge them to deal with outstanding issues of repatriation” (Phillips, 2005, p. 103). Phillips confesses if Chief Dick were to really cut the copper, she would not do anything, arguing that “if Chief Dick were actually to alter the state of the object, its materiality would then reflect a new layer of history, one imbricated in the process of decolonization that is altering many traditions of museum practice, including paradigms of conservations and preservation” (2005, p. 103). In the end, Chief Dick only mimed the action of cutting the copper. Phillips willingness in the moment to consider doing nothing should an object in MOA‟s collection be damaged or altered is evidence of an emergent liminal museology, not just because its materiality might have been altered. Even though the Museum had worked with Chief Dick to facilitate the mimed copper cutting, in the moment she was prepared to let what ever would happen, happen. The Indigenous perspective which Recalma Clutesi had fervently argued was lacking in the First Nations  69 institution she represented (the Kwaguith Museum Cape Mudge) and missing from mainstream museums appeared at MOA for a suspended moment. It appeared as Chief Dick mimed the cutting action and lingered while Chief Dick and the other panelists continued to speak of their desires to have material return home, but also to alter the relationships between the Indigenous world and museums. The moment of Phillips‟ acceptance of potential damage to the object and the miming of the copper cutting witnessed by the rest of us in the audience is an example of a liminal museology. The Museum had participated in facilitating the drama Chief Dick offered, but MOA had moved itself to its edge, unable to answer its own questions. Questions such as what if Chief Dick broke the copper? was it Chief Dick‟s to break? how can we know when the provenance of so many of our objects are undocumented or only documented in the western museological tradition (by this I mean a paper trail of purchase, acquisition, or donation, a research trail that regularly documents a non-Indigenous researchers‟ knowledge)? The moment when Indigenous ways, demonstrated by Chief Dick‟s insult and ensuing miming action of cutting the copper, met Phillips‟ decision to not intervene is evidence of entering a different state. Not a dialogic one – it was not the result of dialogue. It was something else, something betwixt and between. Both the Raven‟s Reprise exhibit and the Protecting Knowledge event brought MOA to a threshold where neither the Indigenous nor the Museum‟s ways took precedence. But it was not by encouraging a multivocality or diversity, it was because the discomfort, the contest was permitted to linger. As a result of the lingering, a space of possibilities opened, one that offered a third space for Indigenous and non-museological practices. A kind of reciprocity was initiated – the Museum in Phillips‟ account, albeit momentarily, relinquished the power of deciding what can and cannot happen to contested objects in museums, and relinquished the authority to decide how history and knowledge are presented in the museum. In Chief Dick‟s example, his Chiefly knowledge, history, and authority was exercised by the copper-cutting gesture – an orally and performance-based transmitted knowledge – in a museum that historically and currently values predominantly written history. However, the moment passed, and the interpretative authority of the Museum remained intact. This does not diminish the third space which if recognized for its potential can be the space where wholistic Indigenous knowledges can lead western museological  70 practices into a new relationship – into a liminal space where new relationships can be generated and sustained and where notions of reciprocity hold potential for true change. I have defined what I believe constitutes Indigenous and dialogic museologies. Moving from these two similar but distinct practices I have offered instances where neither an Indigenous nor dialogic museology is sufficient to explain what transpired. Both the Protecting Knowledge conference and Raven‟s Reprise trouble museums by challenging them/us to move beyond our own intellectual traditions. I see tremendous potential in the dialogic model for museums, but I feel it continues to harbour the notion that things can be resolved through inclusion and multivocality. The two examples I choose to highlight lead me in a different direction. I think the examples show something interesting is at play. The goal is not simply to introduce Indigenous methods to the museum, nor export useful practices from Museums to Indigenous communities, but to make space where Indigenous knowledge traditions and the museological traditions meet and mix for the purposes of addressing historical power inequities and interpretative authorities held by museums with the goal that fuller stories can be told. I see them as thresholds to a postcolonial museum practice. The idea of a liminal museology is a productive place for work with Haida and non-Haida colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum. The goal of the research was to collaborate on the development of educational programming that reflected Haida ways of knowing. As such it might look as though this research would constitute a case study in Indigenous museology, adding a local and personal example to the ones I offered above. However, as I described in my research journey, the process was much more fluid and did not in the end focus solely on presenting an Indigenous view – rather it was betwixt and between established practices and new possibilities. As I continue to think of the potential of a liminal museology, the thoughts of four scholars are always with me. First Gloria Anzaldúa, who in Judith Butler‟s words, asks us to “stay at the edge of what we know, to put our own epistemological certainties into question and through that risk and openness to another way of knowing and living in the world to expand our capacity to imagine the human” (2004, p. 228). She is asking us work in coalitions across difference to more inclusive change possible. Next is Linda Tuhiwai Smith who proposes ways to move beyond past practices and to engage in meaningful research with Indigenous peoples that embeds Indigenous  71 epistemologies and honours local knowledge and ways of knowing (Smith, 1999, 2005a, 2006). Then, Michael Ames, who even after thirty years of museum work calls for a letting go of the „idea of a museum‟ in order to advance political and social justice agendas (Ames, 2006). Finally, the late Deborah Doxtader is with me constantly asking me to consider who I work with and to question who benefits from this work (1996).  72 CHAPTER 4: AN ADAPTIVE METHODOLOGY  This suspicion of the intellectual who both objectifies and speaks for others inveighs us to develop a kind of selfreflexivity that will enable us to look closely at our own practice in terms of how we contribute to dominance in spite of our liberatory intentions. Patti Lather 41 The research methodology used here does not fit easily into one tradition and would be better defined as a bricolage, which is “a complex, dense, reflexive, collagelike creation that represents the researchers‟ images, understandings, and interpretations of the world or phenomenon under analysis”(Denzin & Lincoln, 1998, p. 4). This research is essentially a case study that is infused with autoethnography. I am calling it an adaptive methodology because as a qualitative research method it assists in addressing the dilemmas and inherent discomforts of who researches whom? whose voice is speaking/privileged? what is at stake for the researcher? how are issues of power, authority, and subjectivity addressed in the research relationship? – all the while respecting the demands for complexity that this cross cultural research context requires (Bhabha, 1994, 2009; Butler, 1993, 1995; Gannon, 2006; Lather & Smithies, 1997; Lonetree & Cobb, 2008; McCall, 2003; Tapsell, 2001; Visweswaran, 1994; 1997). In this chapter, I situate myself as a researcher and participant – a role critical to this study. I then move to the backstory of how I came to decide on the method. It was a critical first step of listening and responding even before the formal research began. I offer a review of the literature for autoethnography that supports this component of my methodology as a way for me to be „in the research‟. To that I braid together research as conversation and photoethnography. Researcher participant  Ethnographies are most commonly a combination of observation and participation that a researcher engages in to learn about a particular group or culture through some process of observation and/or immersion. The frailties and failings of ethnographies are well told by anthropologists (Clifford, 1997; Clifford & Marcus, 1986) and Indigenous scholars (Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Menzies, 2001; Marker, 2004b; Smith, 1999) alike. Collaborative research, 41  Lather, 1991, p. 15.  73 action research, and community-based research protocols are just three ways both the academy and ethnographers have adapted their work (Strong, 2005). Even with the positive changes, the assumptions and biases of the researcher are seldom mixed into the results. In this research context, I am both researcher and participant. The focus of the research is the co-development of education programmes at the Haida Gwaii Museum. A critical part of the research is to ask what I can learn in this situation that is transferrable to my professional life as a curator of education in a metropolitan museum and what I can share with my colleagues in education departments in other museums. Bringing together a case study and an autoethnography asks: “is there really any firm place for me to stand where the research process is ethically, epistemologically and methodologically defensible?” I borrow the term (im)possiblities from Susanne Gannon (2006). The idea of (im)possible placement refers simultaneously to finding a place and not. Making me aware that any space I claim is necessarily contingent and fluid and temporary. I asked myself how do I acknowledge and write about my role in a research project and address the complex personal, intellectual, and cultural positioning in the context of co-developing a museum education programme that seeks to foreground Indigenous knowledge and practices. In drawing their maps, the Chinese utilized five compass points: the four cardinal points familiar to all of us as map readers, and one other. The fifth revealed the geographic position of the observer, and so declared to all who gazed at the map the biases and perspectives that might not otherwise be apparent in the finished product (Head, 1995, p. 14). Ivan Head reminds us that situating yourself is a necessity in order to acknowledge one‟s histories, biases, and perspectives. I am a white woman, mother, wife, a museum professional, and researcher. I am also Dadga Hilga jaad, a recent adopted member of the Haida Naa‟Yuu‟ans Xaaydagaay Clan (Big House People and Eagles of Skidegate). I add this last descriptive with a little trepidation. Not to show that I am accepted into  Figure 24: Danny Robertson, Jill Baird, Bob Mills at Naa'Yuu'ans Xaaydagaay potlatch, photo Cecil Baird, Haida Gwaii, September 27, 2008.  74 the Haida community in any privileged way, nor to give myself any authority which comes from association with Naa‟Yuu‟ans Xaaydagaay, but rather to make a little space for the complicating factors that relationships bring. My adoption was led by my now sister, Irene Mills, who has been a close friend for more than a decade and who played the role of a critical sounding board for me in this research. It was an honour for me to be adopted and an acknowledgement of our personal relationship which she chose to make public. An adoption in this context is done publically in a potlatch in front of the Chief, Clan Matriarchs, and guests. It also comes with responsibilities on my part. It is not just a one day event. I have joined the family, the clan and like all Clan members therefore can and will be called upon to support the business of the Clan. My research had very little to do with this, yet it is indeed a factor in my situation and in the end shifts or widens my responsibilities. It also places me once again at the edge of the inside/outside as both researcher and participant in a way that goes beyond the professional. The back story  Figure 25: HGM in progress, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  The idea of researching the collaborative development of an education programme with the staff of the HGM started in 2006 when I first entered the PhD programme at UBC. I began discussions with Nathalie Macfarlane, the Director of the Haida Gwaii Museum, and Nika Collison, the Haida Curator of the Haida Gwaii Museum when they were both in Vancouver working on their museum expansion project. Their expansion project involved expanding the Museum and creating new exhibits in the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay which would house the expanded Museum, teaching facilities, a café, and the offices of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site. We met for tea and I spoke to both of them about my interests in doing something in collaboration with them as part of my doctoral studies. I spoke about wanting to do something related to my work but not directly connected to the Museum of Anthropology at UBC where I am Curator of Education and Public Programmes. We discussed how the timing might be perfect for the HGM to move into programme development once the newly expanded Museum  75 was built and the new exhibits installed. The Museum has a small staff with big plans. The idea of collaborating was attractive because it allowed them to expand what they were doing with outside assistance. I focused on co-developing an education programme because it was a service I could offer. I could potentially provide them with some expertise they didn‟t have, while learning from them at the same time. I was very cognizant that I wanted to be able to offer something of value to them, and not just fulfill my own interests in research and learning. At the time I was taking a methodology course in action research at UBC. Action research is a participatory form of qualitative research that aims to have participants join the research, collectively establish research questions, and work together as a research team pursuing their research questions (Cook, 1998; Greenwood, 1998). After I tried to explain what action research was and how it might look if we were to undertake something together at the Haida Gwaii Museum, Nika Collison asked “Who is getting this PhD”(February 2006, personal communication)? With this simple question, she posed some fundamental issues that I had not before considered. Most significantly, she was implicitly questioning a methodology that would require significant investment from her and other staff at the HGM at a time when they were consciously thinking about working with others as a way to achieve more with their limited resources. In that question, she laid out her concerns about the amount of time and energy this study would require from her, and what the shared benefits were. I also took her comment as “a gentle push to consider who was really benefiting from whose contribution” (personal journal February, 2007). Her question made me  Figure 26: Standing pole, SGang Gwaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  rethink my approach. First, I asked myself, was my role to relieve the staff of any unnecessary work burden by offering to work on education programmes for the Museum? Or was it that I  76 needed to find ways where I could contribute to their goals, respect other pressing concerns they were tackling but not drive the outcomes? It seemed that the most appropriate for me and the closest to my research interests was to look for ways for Indigenous knowledge to come to the fore in collaborative programme development, and from that experience explore ways that those understandings could be manifest in my professional work in a non-First Nations museum context. I did not want to become a worker who took direction from Museum staff, prepared a roster of programming ideas for their selection, and then set out to realize what I could accomplish during my time in the community. Nathalie Macfarlane asserts “there‟s this new breed of resource extraction. It is consultants and they come here. They get a lot of information. They leave but they really don‟t leave very much behind”(Nathalie Macfarlane, June 28, 2007, personal communication). I did not want to fall into this category either. Whatever project we undertook needed to first be of value to the Museum and contribute to  Figure 27: My bike at the beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  capacity building for them in the future. Since my research interests were in the process, this left the field wide open to the interests of the Museum and its staff. I now know that Nika Collison‟s use of humour to nudge me to think again was the beginning of a trustful and respectful relationship. She said what she needed to, but in a way she felt comfortable that I would understand. If I hadn‟t responded to her rather playful prodding by altering my research method, I am convinced she would have made her concerns more strongly felt that my plan for her full engagement in the research process was both impossible at that moment because of other pressures and not a priority for her in terms of her own intellectual energy. This research project needed to be reciprocal. It needed to meet the interest of those at the HGM and needed to meet my own interests. To pretend that I somehow did not have active interests in the outcome of the research would be dishonest and disrespectful to all involved. Honesty and trust are impossible to establish if individuals involved in the process subsume their own interests.  77 Embedded in Nika Collison‟s question was also a comment on the researcher/researched relationship. From reading the literature on action research, I initially thought it would be the most ethical and responsive methodology since I would not impose an agenda from the outside. The research agenda would open possibilities for my community collaborators to determine the direction of the research. I did not consider the really critical issues for my colleagues at the HGM – the required investment of time and intellectual energy an action research project would demand at a time when they were deeply engaged in expanding the museum. The programming may indeed have proven relevant to the museum staff and the community, but at that time intensive research methodology was neither feasible nor respectful. After some reflection and discussion with colleagues and friends, I reframed my request to the Haida Gwaii Museum. It now focused on codevelopment of education programming at the Museum in collaboration with Museum staff. This reframing of my research agenda is the first of many steps I subsequently took in my research process to reflect on my own interests, consider how my interests were relating to those of my colleagues and collaborators at Museum, and adjust in response to the conditions and relationships of which I found myself a part. Working in any community, but particularly in a First Nations community, the setting up of a research agenda must be informed by the needs of the place and its people (Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996; Hill & Nicks, 1992; Smith, 1999). After reframing my proposal, both Nathalie Macfarlane  Figure 28: Jill Baird, photo K. Jones, Langara Island, Haida Gwaii, 2007  and Nika Collison accepted it, which I then submitted formally to the University. The process took place over the span of just over a year and a half from our initial conversations to the beginning of the research. The choice of methodology then became this adaptive case-study that includes  78 interviews from colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum combined with an autoethnographic component of my own reflections and observations which include photographic documentation. Autoethnography  An autoethnographic account includes descriptions of a researcher‟s understanding of conflicts, differences, and complementarities, simultaneously perceived as insider and outsider. As the researcher, I am in the process, while critically reflecting on what is transpiring and looking deeply at my own and others‟ interactions. In Imperial Eyes Pratt (1992) describes Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala‟s manuscript titled New Chronicle and Good Government and Justice as an autoethnography. This over 1,200 page document (dated 1613) was an extended letter to the Spanish King documenting Incan history and culture in text and images. The texts were in Quechua and in Spanish and were filled with illustrations of daily experience. Pratt argues that Guaman Poma de Ayala‟s manuscript is autoethnographic because he was working within a specific cultural context but undertook “partial collaboration with and appropriation of the idioms of the conqueror”(1992, p. 7). Drawing on the fact that Guaman Poma de Ayala wrote in two languages, Quechua and Spanish, and that he illustrated his text with hundreds of images leads Pratt to assert that autoethnographic works are addressed to both “metropolitan audiences and the speaker‟s own community” (1999, p. para 11). The critical elements in Pratt‟s definition are that autoethnography is a mode of investigation and analysis that resists dominant discourses, includes internal and external forms of knowing, and places the individual writing within the research.42 Pratt asserts “disparate historical trajectories” can be elicited, presented and thereby analyzed and critiqued using autoethnography as a strategy (1992). In her book Auto/ethnography: Rewriting the self and the social Reed-Danahay describes autoethnographers as boundary crossers characterized by a dual identity (2002; 1997). Joel Martineau adds to this that autoethnographers actually explore the borders between themselves and their subject of inquiry (2001). The idea of borderlands and border crossing is a metaphor that works especially well for me as a non-First Nations choosing work that crosses cultural and professional borders. This autoethnography then is about me working in a specific context, sharing and learning rather than knowing the ways of the „other‟. 42  For critiques of Pratt autoethnographic definitions see Buzard (2003) and Martineau (2001).  79 Doing autoethnography in the borderlands does not necessarily mean only studying the self – rather it means filtering experience through the self as an analytic and epistemological choice. Filtering research through oneself “often discloses hidden details of private life and highlights emotional experience. The ebb and flow of relationship experience is depicted in an episodic form that dramatizes the motion of connected lives across the curve of time” (Ellis, 2004, p. 30). Carolyn Ellis, an advocate for alternative ethnographies (1997, 2004; Ellis & Bochner, 2000), declares that autoethnographies also allow for an aesthetic component to the research process, a literary/poetic form of reflection and analysis, as produced in the historic illustrative and textual work of Guama Poma de Ayala. Ellis makes space for visual and textual responses to research and results – space I choose to explore by incorporating photographic documentation, textual asides and conversation excerpts. The definition I have come to for autoethnography is a work of self-writing in a research context that takes into account the dynamic position of the researcher (insider/outsider). It has a political dimension and responsibility to speak to different audiences and include the thoughts and experiences of the researcher/researched. Smith asks “Is her spirit clear? Does he have a good heart? What other baggage are they carrying” (1999, p. 10)? Joe Kincheloe and Peter McLaren advise that “critical researchers enter into an investigation with their assumptions on the table, so no one is confused concerning the epistemological and political baggage they bring with them to the research site” (2008, p. 406). The baggage trolley that accompanies me in this research process is loaded. The colonial legacy of museums and post-colonial challenges put forward by originating communities (Peers & Brown, 2003; Phillips, 2003, 2006), feminist research dilemmas (Behar, 2003; Gannon, 2006; Gore, 1992; Haraway, 1991; Harding, 1987), and the struggle with identities and subjectivities (Butler, 2004, 2005; Williams Crenshaw, 1999; Harding, 1987; Lather, 2001; McCall, 2003) are the major ones. Add to this baggage that I am choosing to study others while also studying myself. I am choosing to reflect on my own professional practice, not in isolation but in a collaborative context. I am choosing to complicate expressions of my own identities and subjectivities as a researcher.  80 Research as conversation  “Research as conversation is characterized as an open-ended interview with the opportunity for both sides to engage in talk rather than only one party doing most of the talking. Research as chat occurs when the researcher is very familiar with the participant(s) and they interact on a frequent basis” (Archibald, 2008, p. 47). Jo-Ann Archibald (2008), Celia Haig-Brown (1992) and Allan Feldman (1999) all in their own way use conversation as a research method. Talking sometimes in a formal situation, other times in the car on the way to somewhere, or on the beach watching a sunset was  I was called to define reflexivity. Jill Baird: What I mean by that is that you‟re thinking about yourself and your interactions; so you‟re aware of language use; you‟re aware of time constraints; you‟re really thinking about things around you; as opposed to just your own needs. You‟re thinking about how you‟re interacting. You have to always be thinking, were you kind of interrupting people, were you talking really fast? Things like that, that you wouldn‟t necessarily think of all the time. But you have to encourage yourself to think about it (With Nika Collison, personal conversation, April, 7, 2008).  critical to my research. Kwiaahwah Jones, my primary collaborator, said as much in an early conversation. “Oh my we‟re just talking and laughing – don‟t you have to do some research soon” (Kwiaahwah Jones, July 3, 2007, personal communication)? My methodology fits well in the tradition that Rosaldo characterizes as a “deep hanging out” (quoted in Clifford, 1997, p. 52). Chat and conversation are different from other ethnographic methods I would argue because they are more organic and fluid rather than interviews guided by questions or observations which seek to look for important interactions. Chats often begin, as many of mine did, with complaint sessions, a discussion of a child‟s behavior, and accounts of the weather – none that necessarily relate directly to the research at hand, but which inform the relationship and build trust and respect. In my experience on Haida Gwaii, our chats in the end circled back to the discussion of museums, Indigenous knowledge, programme planning, and other very relevant topics. The manner of getting there is different than an informal or formal interview, and different from the tradition of participant/observer. Photo documentation  Images are everywhere. They permeate our academic work, everyday lives, conversations, and dreams. They are inextricably interwoven with our personal identities, narratives, lifestyles,  81 cultures and societies, as well as with definitions of history, space, and truth. Ethnographic research is likewise intertwined with visual images and metaphors (Pink, 2001). Prosser, a UK researcher who works on visual representation of institutional culture and is editor of ImageBased Research: A sourcebook for qualitative researchers lays out the traditional criticism of imagebased research: The general message, perhaps unwittingly, is that: films, videos, and photographs are acceptable only as a means to record data or as illustration and subservient to that of the central narrative; they are unacceptable ways of „knowing‟ because they distort that which they claim to illuminate; and images being socially created and mediated are skewed by the social-context of „making‟, „taking‟ and „reading‟; and summatively images are so complex that analysis is untenable. There is little attempt to point to solutions in these issues or identify parallel problems within word-oriented research (1998, p. 99). Prosser goes on to remind us of Bateson and Mead‟s Balinese Character done in 1942 where image-based research or rather photographs and text were brought together in a sound analytical framework (1998, p. 101). Building on this work and the work of others in art education (Grauer, 2001; Irwin & de Cosson, 2004), I use photographs as a companion to the writing and to the textual asides.  Figure 29: (L-R) Billy Bellis, Robert Vogstad; Tyson Brown adzing interior; rough fit of prow; painted bow Taanaay skinxa dii, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  The images that constitute part of my research data have two roles in this work. The first is a documentary one. Many image-based researchers may lament that they do not have a more central or analytical role (Prosser, 1998). My response would be a practical one. I took photographs as a way to document my experience alongside my journals and interviews. My journals, like my images, are subjective. The images are communicative; for example, I could and do use text to explain the state of the HGM when I arrived in May 2007. The HGM was a work-in-progress where everyone was working very hard to install cases, prepare objects, and finalize exhibitions. However, an image of a 19th century Haida pole fragment laying prone on  82 the floor, surrounded by wooden crates, various hardware, wall sections, and equipment adds depth to a textual descriptions while adding another quality that is non-verbal, non-textual. The photograph is a visual statement that doesn‟t rely on my writing abilities. Yes the image is composed, framed, and selected for inclusion from the over three thousand photographs on Kwiaahwah Jones: Yeah that was a huge presence too and it‟s just dropping everything that you‟re working on and go out and take pictures. They‟re flipping the canoe over. They‟re doing this or they‟re at this stage…go and take photos and ask questions. That was a big part of that research and you were there for all of that. You made a difference to me (With Jill Baird, September 28, 2008, personal communication).  my hard drive. No less, I would argue, than what I choose to emphasize in my journals, or the excerpts chosen from  the interviews, and the editing and recomposing required for this dissertation. I do not subject the images in this work to another level of analysis – a limitation perhaps. The second role the images play is not truly a methodological one, but as an act of reciprocity. I took photographs to learn, to document, and to be useful. It was one of the ways I could give back. The Museum has copies of my photographs taken at the Museum. I created CD‟s of the canoe carving images I took over sixteen months and gave a copy to each head carver for their own unrestricted use. I would not argue the images here address the methodological issues of representation, trustworthiness,  Figure 30: Leo Metz, Valdo Rananovic installing case work, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  interpretation, and reflexivity raised by Prosser (1998), rather suggest they are important records of the research process that need representation. I also draw inspiration from the inclusion of images in Pratt‟s analysis of Guaman Poma de Ayala‟s manuscript titled New Chronicle and Good Government and Justice (1999). Pratt calls this historic work an autoethnography is an excellent example of showing how integrated the telling of histories is with the picturing of histories.  83 Interviews, journals and photographs  I have argued for an adaptive methodology because it allows for an exploration of relationships and meaning through a combination of self-reflection, observation and inquiry. The use of the interviews, my journals and photographs allows for this kind of analysis. I am not striving for any reproducible system of analysis here. No one but me has full access to all the data: the audio interviews and full transcriptions, my field journals, and all my photographs. This exercise  Figure 31: Looking toward Rose Spit, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  is not one of model making. It combines analysis of interviews with my personal accounts and photographs. The account includes descriptions of my understanding of conflicts, differences and complementarities simultaneously perceived as insider and outsider in Haida Gwaii generally and at the Haida Gwaii Museum specifically. I am in the process, yet critically reflecting on what was transpiring, looking deeply at self/other interactions and seeing myself as others might. The writing of this dissertation becomes a kind of bricolage – moving between descriptive, analytical, and reflective tones. To begin, a word about the data is necessary. Much of my data collection involved direct observation, discussion, informal audio interviews, and recorded conversations, and brainstorming sessions. I documented many of my experiences photographically as well. Initial images were taken over an intense period of five months in summer and early fall of 2007. Subsequent images were taken on multiple trips to Haida Gwaii during 2007-08 as the research project evolved into a museum education resource and in-house school programme. The images give breadth to the experiences embedded in the interviews and journal entries and provide a visual reckoning that words alone cannot. It is the images which helped conceive the  84 idea of „landed wisdom;‟ the land, the place, and the people all being essential components of the understandings that evolve in this work. I kept detailed descriptive journals recording my observations, informal conversations, and other interactions experienced throughout the research. Subsequent to each interview I wrote my reflections and observations about any relevant details and issues that arose as a result of conversations. In my journals, I focused on my own responses to situations where possible. My journals also comprise sketches, doodles, lists, and phone numbers, sticky notes and diagrams. I did not begin to categorize or organize my data until the end of the research process. The data in this project are both electronic and hand-written. The interviews began as audio recordings which were transcribed into electronic texts. All the photographs are digital, while my journal entries and field notes are handwritten documents. I found it much more useful to develop my analytical strategies and categories after gathering all sources together and spending time reading and re-reading field notes, interview transcripts, and looking at the photographs to see what emerged (LeCompte & Schensul, 1999). Due to the nature of the data being a mix of electronic and handwritten material, I choose to manually review and categorize the data. I first began with the interviews. Each interview was transcribed verbatim, including all the laughing, pauses, and talking over each other. A copy of the interview was reviewed with each interviewee. After the review of the full transcripts, I began the process of analysis. In the end, I choose an inductive and deductive approach to analyzing the data – which is to say I both drew themes and concepts from the data and applied an analytical framework to these data. Drawing on the work of Indigenous scholars (Archibald, 2008; Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Kirkness & Barnhardt, 2001), I use the framework of the 4Rs - respect, reciprocity, relevance and responsibility as an initial analytical framework to interpret my data. To this framework I add the themes of place and relationships. Through the lens of respect, reciprocity, relevance, responsibility, relationship, and place, I build an understanding of my experience in Haida Gwaii and its relevance to respectful and inclusive museum education programming both at the HGM and in mainstream museums like the one in which I work.  85 The process and limits of permission  Interviewing people and providing transcriptions pose dilemmas for researchers. Getting and giving permission requires the researcher to understand the limits of permission. Sometimes institutional procedures, such as making people sign documents and continually asking them to check the written versions for accuracy may create an atmosphere of distrust (Archibald, 2008, p. 44). My process was to record our conversations, prepare verbatim transcripts including the pauses, the laughter, and attending to children or other interruptions. The permission and excerptions was done in two stages. In November 2008, when all my interviews and transcriptions were complete, I returned to Haida Gwaii and arranged dedicated meetings with each interviewee in order to review their transcripts and confirm their consent for use. It was very valuable for me to be able to review their transcripts in  Figure 32: Loo Taas at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  person, to chat with each person and thereby address any concerns or feedback immediately. Sending electronic versions proved to be too impersonal. No doubt due to other commitments and work pressures, electronic versions sometimes got lost, were hard to read on the computer, and often required the printing of lengthy documents. The interviews ranged from eight to twenty pages long. It was too much to expect that they would be printed, read, and commented upon. I recognized that it could also cause annoyance, given the time it takes to do these tasks, and given that the responsibility shifts from understanding the limits of permission, to a somewhat less companionable space where those offering their insights and knowledge must take on work that is not necessarily theirs, nor something that they initially agreed upon when approached to participate (Archibald, 2008, p. 44). For all three participants, the review of the transcripts yielded similar results. All commented on how much fun it was to review these experiences. All three interviewees laughed while reading the  86 transcripts – sometimes because of the dialogue, sometimes because of my transcription errors, or when they came across „ha ha ha‟ in the text. It was clear from all their responses that we had fun talking with each other. “I‟ve had a blast reading them. The rawness of our conversation comes across – even the ha ha ha‟s. It helps in the reading and remembering of the conversation” (Nika Collison, November 2008, personal communication). All commented on how their diction or wording was different in the transcription than it would have been if it had be written not spoken. “I‟m glad I don‟t write like this. I‟d be out of a job” (Nathalie Macfarlane, November 2008, personal communication). After each person consented for me to use the interviews, I began my sorting and analysis. Once that was complete, I compiled new documents for each interview. The excerpts of interviews were organized around the five themes – reciprocity, respect, responsibility, relevance, and place and land. I add the sixth theme of relationship after this process. After conversations with each of my colleagues, I lightly edited the transcripts, making full sentences where there were fragments, and collapsing parts of the commentary to make paragraphs. Each of these edited transcripts was reviewed by each contributor and consent was given to use this edited data. As part of my work to develop education programming around the canoe, I interviewed five Haida artists as they worked on carving three canoes at the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay. They were Guujaaw, Jaalen Edenshaw, Billy Bellis, Garner Moody, and Robert Vogstad. I also interviewed Haida Elder Herb Jones who was one of the foresters who felled the monumental cedar used to carve Bill Reid‟s 1986 canoe Loo Taas,43 and Christian White, a Haida artist/carver from Old Massett. These interviews are not formally part of my research data, but the experiences of listening and learning from their knowledge and wisdom do indeed feed into my understandings. The interviews constitute a part of the legacy of my relationship with the HGM. Audio copies of these interviews and their transcripts were deposited in the Museum‟s archive. The quotes I use from the interviews with carvers are drawn from the publication Gina „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe (Ramsay & Jones, 2010).44 I also undertook to record informal brainstorming conversations Loo Taas was carved by a number of Haida artists under the direction of Bill Reid. The canoe was commissioned for Expo 86 in Vancouver. 44 The publication of Gina „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe is a direct result of the work Kwiaahwah Jones, I and others did documenting the canoe made at the HHC. 43  87 with a variety of Island educators. I also recorded group meetings with teachers as part of the programme development. I used these recordings as a form of note taking and did not seek permission from participants to quote their contributions as part of my research. Instead, I draw upon the breadth of those conversations rather than the particulars. Process of analysis of transcripts  I reviewed the full texts of the interviews and using colour coded sticky notes – orange for relevance, yellow for reciprocity; green for responsibility, blue for respect, pink for relationship, and purple for place and land. The colour of the sticky notes has no relevance; they were just the colours I had in my desk drawer. I read and re-read the transcripts – highlighting, marking up and sticky noting the commentaries into these categories. I cut and pasted text into one document representing all the commentaries I had sorted. From there I created sections where excerpts were re-sorted by theme and by contributor. If an excerpt fell into more than one category it was copied into each relevant category. I followed the same process for my personal journals – coding and highlighting. I did not transcribe my journals into electronic texts. I have transcribed sections into text. After sorting the interviews and my journals, I undertook an initial sort of the over three thousand digital photographs I took over sixteen months. I chose to be systematic about my photographic documentation during the research. I took photographs consistently almost every day. At the end of each day I created a folder for the images and labeled them by date. After reviewing my texts, it was an easier task to then look at the images to see whether they too fell into the categories of respect, reciprocity, relevance, responsibility, relationship, and place and land. It was also useful to connect by date what I visually captured to align with the interviews and my journals. Many of the photographs reflect my coming to know Haida Gwaii, while others more directly documented the museum evolving to completion; others document the carving of the canoes. I took photographs of every stage of the canoe making – almost daily wandering the length of the museum to take photos of the progress of each of the three canoes. I use photographs in this document to enlarge upon experiences and episodes that were revealed in the analysis of my text – interviews and journals. Multiple reviews of the transcripts showed  88 considerable overlap in categories of respect, reciprocity, relevance, responsibility, relationship and place. Our conversations are fluid and often speak to many of the categories simultaneously.  89 CHAPTER 5: LANDED WISDOMS: MY RESEARCH JOURNEY  The „truth‟ not only needs to be placed within larger dimensions of history and power, it must be experienced in actual places on the landscape. Michael Marker 45 This chapter lays out my research journey and addresses two of my research goals. It functions as a personal in-depth documentation of the collaboration between me and my colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum (HGM). It examines the co-development and content of the education programme „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe to see if the goals of fully integrating Haida ways of knowing into a museum-based education programme are met. I begin by articulating what I mean by landed wisdom and then offer a rather linear account of my research journey, incorporating throughout my thoughts and images with those of my colleagues. Following that, I lay the ground work for my landing at the Haida Gwaii Museum and offer two initial programme examples which illustrate my getting to know the place and people, and which helped form a foundation for subsequent work. I  Figure 33: Aerial view west coast Haida Gwaii, 2007.  then proceed to describe the process of developing a school programme on Haida canoes. The focus is primarily on the process because the school programme was only in draft form when my research ended. Inserted stories, journal excerpts, and images help build a deeper web of 45  Marker, 2003, p 370.  90 impressions, actions, and understandings. They assert understandings which are beyond human relationships. They were built through connections with people and with place. Landed wisdoms  „Landed wisdoms‟ is my metaphor for this research journey and for its results. Landed wisdom embodies much; it acknowledges that land and place play a central role in the understanding and sharing of the knowledge learned through this research; it also offers the idea that wisdom, a certain kind of deep knowing can come from place and its relationships; it reflects my journey as one who „landed‟ in a new place. „Landed‟ is also about finding a place, rooting experiences, and establishing connections in an actual place with complex histories and equally complex  Figure 34: Balance Rock, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  contemporary realities. I do not limit place to a physical place like Haida Gwaii and the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay. It includes conceptual places, the places my colleagues and I negotiated through our talks, walks, and shared experiences. May 22, 07 I rode about 7km to Nika‟s house past Balance rock with the ocean on my right. Starting to get a feel for the land and ocean here. Walked back with Nika (I pushed my bike and Nika walked). It took about an hour – we had a good chat. I think this will be a good way to build a relationship with Nika.  To the notion of „Landed‟, I add wisdoms because I feel I have received much wisdom from the places I was in and from the people with whom I undertook research, including those I met, had tea with, and interviewed along the way. „Wisdoms‟ also represents ways of knowing which include a sense of self and a sense of place, and a sense of responsibility to both the process and to the people with  91 whom one works. „Landed‟ and „wisdoms‟ combined suggests that certain amounts of time, patience, and openness are required for any wisdom to land, to settle in, to take root – for a place of understanding to grow. Like situated knowledge or standpoint theory (Benhabib, Butler, Cornell & Fraser, 1995; Britzman, 2000; Haraway, 1988; Harstock, 1998), landed wisdom forms a frame for me to consider the relationships and reciprocities involved in learning with others, in working towards more equitable, responsive, and decolonizing educative practices within museums. „Landed wisdoms‟ resonates with Indigenous scholars‟ understanding of the interconnectedness of knowledge and wisdom with land knowledge and experience. Ray Barnhardt and Oscar Kawagley state that “after  Figure 35: The beach at Kaay Llnagaay outside of HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  100 years this Western system is inadequate on the river banks and ocean shores that Alaska Native people call home, providing for neither the cultural nor the academic well-being of most of the Native students entrusted to its care” (Barnhardt & Kawagley, 2003, p. par 3). I add to this argument that traditional western knowledge systems that exclude physical, experiential and emotional connections to the land do a disservice to those of us who struggle June 16, 2007 Listening to Barb and Nika – the vitality and relevance of oral histories is made clear again – they talk about stories that many NWC communities have about treaties between them. Attended SHIP dinner at community hall tonight.  with decolonizing teaching and learning. My notion of „landed wisdoms‟ is a bridge of sorts. It is evident that Haida Gwaii is important to the Haida people. This is clearly stated in the mandate for the Council of the Haida Nation  92 (CHN). “The Council of the Haida Nation is an unincorporated organization, with authority flowing directly from the land and traditional Haida systems of governance” (quoted from http://www.haidanation.ca). The Haida claim authority for their past, present and future from their land, their home – Xaayda Gwaayaay.  Figure 36: Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Documenting my initial experiences helps to situate me as a researcher and begins to lay out some of my challenges and assumptions. I begin with my reflections as a way to maintain a balance of my experiences with those of my colleagues. It is critical that my understandings form a major pillar in this work if the knowledge gained is to be transferred to my professional practice and that of museum education generally. My assumptions, challenges, and reflections are critical to understanding the dynamics at play in this collaboration. The goal of my research was to co-develop an educational programme with the community and to learn what could be transferred from that development and learning to mainstream museums, particularly my professional practice. Beginning with my position situates me as the researcher and frames subsequent analyses and discussions. It sets up a kind of reflexivity that is productive when one is researching oneself and others. As with many research journeys there are major and minor  93 moments, critical understandings, and quiet teachings. Using the metaphor of „landed wisdoms‟, I tell my research story. Accounting for oneself: arrivals and encounters  I arrived in Haida Gwaii by plane with my friend (and now adopted sister) Irene Mills. It started out humorously as we had to repack our bags at the Vancouver airport because they were overweight. So in an open space at the airport we reorganized four large suitcases (three of the four were mine) so that they weighted exactly fifty pounds each. I brought my computer, my printer, paper, books, clothes, and a bicycle. You might have thought I was moving in! I guess in a way I was. Irene had offered to share her house in Skidegate with me. Irene and I met ten years ago when she undertook a year-long internship at the Museum of  June 4, 2007 Starting to really make some connections do quite a bit of interacting when shopping, walking, visiting, not that much actually at the museum yet.  Anthropology at UBC (MOA). We have been friends since. Throughout this journey Irene Mills has been a sounding board for me. We discussed at length the emotional and social situations in which I found myself living in Skidegate, with people disclosing private information to me, doing so in ways with which I was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Many of these conversations and experiences find their way into my personal journal and some into this work. I have also kept confidences. With knowledge comes responsibility. It might be argued that if this is to be a „true‟ autoethnography, then my emotional and social contexts are as relevant as the professional Figure 37: Entrance the Haida Heritage Centre, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  (Behar, 1996; Ellis, 2004; Fuchs, 1993). Throughout this work, in  94 various ways, I acknowledge my personal struggles – everything from loneliness to uncertainty. However I do not overstep into private conversations which should not become part of my public text. Irene has read this work as it evolved over sixteen months. I have never done field work before. I have lived in the same house for twenty-six years with my partner of thirty-three years. Taking a year‟s leave of absence from my formal position to undertake doctoral studies was a risk for me. Leaving home to live with a friend away from my family was a new experience. The worries and insecurities I recorded in my journal are ones I do not recall ever having had before. I defended my comprehensive exams over the phone at Irene‟s kitchen table. I still remember my nervousness – if I fail I‟ll just have to turn around and go home, another instance of a creeping insecurity that seemed to take hold of me. Was it because I was away from my family and home? Does it matter to the outcomes and understandings offered here? Isolation was part of what drove me to ride my bicycle into town, to accept invitations to community events, to call old friends, and to make new ones. Initial intentions and early lessons learned  My intentions were to spend four months in Haida Gwaii working with the staff of the Haida Gwaii Museum (HGM) to develop some education programming that offered Haida ways of knowing at its core. Instead on my first visit, I spent three months mid May to mid August getting to know the museum, the staff and meeting members of the larger community. In what turned out to be the first phase of the research, I built a relationship with Kwiaahwah Jones, the HGM intern Haida curator, and deepened my relationship with Nika Collison. I had presented a plan to Nika Collison and  Figure 38: Horsetails, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  95 Nathalie Macfarlane upon arriving at the Museum, which entailed weekly meetings, informal interviews, photographic documentation, and the idea of research journals as my primary methods of capturing their contributions and generating data. In my first meeting with them, I reviewed the Ethical Review procedures for UBC and asked them if they consented to participate and then asked them to sign the document Subject Consent Form for Participating Museum Staff (Appendix A). Following the first meeting, I gave everyone working at the museum a journal and asked those formally involved in the research to use the journal to keep notes, to reflect on the process, to record questions or anything else so  Figure 39: Work table in Pole gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  that when we had our weekly meetings we wouldn‟t rely solely on what was top of mind. I requested permission to photo-document the process as well. Nika Collison remarked “I‟m going to have to start wearing make up. You‟re going to be taking pictures. I probably will use the journal when I see it like this. I was saying to Jill that I probably will use the journal, for recording ideas, thoughts, or concerns so I don‟t have to keep them in my head. It is sort of like my work one” (May 29, 2007, personal communication). To my knowledge, the journals did not get used. My desire to have my colleagues not just engaged in programme development but contribute creatively to the documentation of the process was not May 22, 07 I need to get to know this place and the people so I can better understand what I can do here that meets my interests and theirs. Met with Nat and Nika today – first interview – rather first conversations – interview questions seems too stilted – what other approaches are there???? Holy are they busy!  met. It was the wrong time; like the scenario for action research I recount in the chapter four, I asked an overtaxed staff to do something that did not have any relevance to them. The weekly meetings were another aspect of the process that I needed to rethink. Time was very precious to the staff, and finding regular meeting times to  discuss what I was doing, what they were thinking, and to plan programmes proved too difficult. Instead, I adapted and took an opportunistic approach, finding time within their busy schedules to  96 meet both formally and informally. I did not limit myself to working hours. I had many conversations over dinner, walking in the woods, and even beach combing. It was in these formal and informal encounters that I began to conceive of the idea of „landed wisdoms‟. I had to May 22, 07 Reading Carolyn Ellis (2004) last night reminded me that I need to account for my feelings and emotions as I do this. I‟m very anxious that the museum staff won‟t be ready or willing and that my presence will be more of a bother or worse that I am expected to „presto‟ create a programme. At yesterday‟s meeting I felt I had to be prepared, to come with a plan or concrete actions etc. So I drafted some notes in advance. Still feeling unsure, but as I sit in the eating house looking out at Kaay Llnagaay beach I feel privileged to be here.  respond to my real situation; I needed to be literally and figuratively in the place and respond to the rhythms of those I was working with rather than adhere to a process formulated at a distance, idealized and based on methodology readings in the academy. I needed to respond to the shifting context. I needed to „land‟ on Haida Gwaii. This „landing‟ is often what does not happen when one is working in a museum context. Often an established practice gets in the way of developing something specific with people, places, and ideas. Criticism  leveled at museums by Indigenous communities is not just for control over their representation but also concerns the structures of museum projects, such things as timelines, methodologies, and outcomes regularly controlled by the museum (Ames, 2006). Adapting to the needs of others is often limited to what can be accommodated within these established practices. Landing in this place – Haida Gwaii  It was not my first time in Haida Gwaii when I landed in May 2007. My first experience of Haida Gwaii was in 2001. I took a group of Volunteer Associates from MOA to  Figure 40: Irene Mills stripping cedar bark, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  97 Skidegate to witness the raising of six totem poles on the Kaay Llnagaay site.46 The raising of the poles was the first step in building the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay of which the Haida Gwaii Museum is a part. In the intervening years, I visited the island three times, twice for potlatches, once for a wedding, and once for a holiday to visit family. My previous visits helped me to settle when I arrived in May of 2007 to begin my doctoral research. My formal research process took place over sixteen months between May 2007 and September 2008. During this time I was in Haida Gwaii for three consecutive months  Figure 41: Pesuta boat wreck on Naikoon beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  mid May through mid August 2007, for three weeks in October 2007, and five shorter visits in 2008. While on Haida Gwaii I attended many community meetings including a specialized two day conference on Haida education. I was invited to participate in many community events by my friends and colleagues. The events ranged from a headstone moving ceremony to museum-based October 17, 2007 Wow what a beautiful day for me. I took a four hour solo hike from the Tlell River bridge through to East Beach to the Pesuta – boat wreck. It was a combination forest walk, river walk and beach walk in Naikoon Park. The forest was full of beautiful greens and bluesthe young hemlocks were a gorgeous blue-green. I fell in the river mud and got my camera muddy – lucky that was all. I could have spent all day out on the beach and was very, very tempted to try to cross the river – but knew I‟d get soaked and likely hypothermic. I love this place – the wind, the sand, the waves, something so satisfying sitting on this beach alone. events for Skidegate Days (an annual community fair), a dinner celebrating the achievements of the 2007 Skidegate Haida Immersion Programme students, a potlatch hosted by Robert Davidson, Reg Davidson, and Terry-Lynn Williams-Davidson held to honour Haida weavers, plus a  The six poles raised at Kaay Llnagaay in 2001 represented six southern island villages – SGang Gwaay, K‟uuna, Hlkinul (Cumshewa), Ts‟aahl, HlGaagilda (Skidegate) and T‟aanu. 46  98 community dinner where the Council of the Haida Nation made a presentation about the Haida Title Case. 47 Part of my notion of „landed wisdom‟ is that my experiences were not solely academic or formal research-based interactions. I went cedar bark stripping with Irene Mills, including mucking about a logged forest for roots of an important medicinal plant. I rode my bicycle daily along long stretches of the beach side road. I went on a boat trip to Langara Island with Kwiaahwah Jones, her father Roy Jones Jr., and her cousin (a trip we both refer to later). I went for visits and walks on North Beach with a friend. I rode my bicycle to shop at the Co-op in Skidegate and made frequent trips to the library, health food store, and Queen B‟s cafe in Queen Charlotte City. I took a day trip by plane and boat to SGang Gwaay with a colleague. I walked countless miles on the beach at Tlell sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. I took a long solo walk in Naikoon Park. I took my son, who came  Figure 42: Stripped cedar bark, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  for a visit, to the blow hole at Tow Hill; and on a trip to K‟uuna (Skedans), a Haida Heritage site. I walked into the forest where the golden spruce once stood. I visited two sites where large cedar canoes from the nineteenth century were started but lay unfinished in the forest. I visited artists‟ studios and had tea with Haida and non-Haida Elders. I was at the Museum for both the „soft‟ opening on July 21, 2007 and the „grand‟ opening in August 23, 2008. I was at Chief Wiigaanad‟s potlatch for the Naa‟Yuu‟ans Xaaydagaay Clan on September 27, 2008 where I was adopted and where I received the name Dadga Hilga jaad. I do not however want to suggest that I now „know‟ Haida Gwaii; rather, I became more comfortable being in the place – experiencing it at various moments, in various locations, with The Haida Title Case is a writ filed in the Supreme Court, Province of British Columbia which argues for authority and sovereignty over Haida Gwaii within the means of Constitution Act 1982, see www.haidanation.ca for full text of the writ (accessed February 7, 2011). 47  99 a variety of family, friends, colleagues, and strangers, all of which contributed to the understandings offered here. Ruth Behar (1996) and Carolyn Ellis (2004), and Deborah Reed-Danahay (1997, 2002) remind me that to avoid documenting my own experiences in and responses to field work, I run the risk of not situating myself and thereby implicitly suggesting that the location, experiences, and responses of the researcher are somehow irrelevant. In a research project that is about relationship development and finding ethical and culturally relevant ways of teaching and learning, exposing the role of the researcher is critical, particularly in the light of the historically and currently contested relationships between Indigenous peoples and museums (Atalay, 2006; S. Butler, 1999; Clifford, 2003; Lonetree & Cobb, 2008). The details and emotional experiences are important elements in the analysis, but not so important that this analysis becomes only one of self and not one that includes the process. My journals are a combination of long passages recounting my day, short notes and scribbles, and sometimes just an idea or incident jotted down. My photographs have a similar quality – snap shots of what I saw, felt, and experienced. First impressions and initial proposed programming  In May 2007, I arrived in Haida Gwaii and saw the new Haida Heritage Centre (HHC) from the road on the way to the house I would call home for many months. I remember clearly the feeling I had. The centre was stunning. It is beautifully situated facing the beach and the village of Skidegate looking out to Skyaas and Indian Head islands. The HHC is inspired by the historic architecture of four and six beam Haida big houses though interpreted in a contemporary light with spaces for gathering, performing, eating, learning, and  Figure 43: Inside gallery HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  100 collecting and exhibiting. My first experience of the Museum was dramatic. I was toured through the work-in-progress by Haida curator Nika Collison. A pole lying prone in the middle of the gallery awaiting installation, case work ready to be installed, boxes and crates stacked in every available area, three majestic poles had been raised in the new gallery, none of the chaos diminished the spectacular place and thoughtful spaces they had created. The Haida Gwaii Museum redevelopment, like many development projects, had had a schedule change. When I began planning this research, the Museum was to be completed in the summer of 2007 making it an ideal time for me to work with the staff on programming, since the work on the renovation and the exhibitions would be completed. But in May 2007, there was still much work to be done to finish the Museum expansion and the overall Haida Heritage Centre. The staff and exhibition preparators were working full out to install the infrastructure in the main galleries – everything from cases to lighting, to objects in the main exhibition hall. They had a deadline of July 1, 2007 for completion of this phase of the project. Due to unforeseen construction issues the completion of the full museum expansion was delayed and therefore a second phase to the project was added with a completion date  Figure 44: Consultation workshop with the curriculum working group, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  of August 2008. At that point staff were unable to invest much time in programme development as they were busy finishing the main part of the museum and its displays. The fact that the Museum staff needed to first complete this very large expansion project impacted the development of education programmes. At the time of my arrival, the priority was to finish the first phase of the museum exhibitions in time for the soft-opening to be held during Skidegate Days July 21-22, 2007. It was clear that I needed to take an alternate approach that drew on Nathalie Macfarlane‟s  101 and Nika Collison‟s expertise but did not divert them from opening the first phase of the expanded Museum. Seen face is a Maori concept which suggests that being part of the community life helps build an understanding of the community and through participation in activities credibility for a researcher is established and maintained (Smith, 1999). I undertook my own version of Seen Face. For the first six weeks of my field work, I acquainted myself with the whole centre, immersed myself in the exhibit texts, and was introduced to Gwaii Haanas staff, local teachers, day care workers, artists, and elders. I began to meet with teachers and principals from the secondary school in Queen Charlotte (QCSS); the Haida language teacher at Sk‟aadaa Naay (the elementary school in Skidegate);  July 20, 07 Are they asking – what is Jill really doing. Any results yet? What is she focusing on? Or even more scary – are they saying “we‟d hoped to get some education programming we could use right away”?  the principal from Port Clements and Sandspit schools; I spoke with teachers by phone from George M. Dawson (the secondary school in Masset) and Tahayghen (the elementary school in Masset). I met with the language educators at Skidegate Haida Immersion Program (SHIP).48 The connections I made in May and June of 2007 flourished in October 2007 and supported the work Kwiaahwah Jones and I did in 2008. In the early days, I often felt at a loss. The staff was all so busy finalizing the exhibits and installing the objects into cases. My goal of a weekly meeting just was not possible, and when we did meet, I felt the pressure to be quick and not waste their time. I was a little depressed as I noted in my journal on June 2 “What kind of collaboration can  Figure 45: HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  The Skidegate Haida Immersion Program (SHIP) is operated by School District 50. “The concern of the elders is that once the fluent Haida speakers pass away the Haida Language would be lost. They wish to remain true to Haida language, heritage and culture - always. This is why the Skidegate Haida Language House opened”. http://www.sd50.bc.ca/www/index.php/publisher/articleview/action/view/frmArticleID/36/ (accessed February 7, 2011). 48  102 be done – if I‟m working alone?” Despite my desire to develop programming collaboratively, I found myself in a situation where I was able to contribute initial designs for a range of programming that had been suggested at our group meetings and through discussion with community members on my visits to schools, preschools, and community organizations. I worked on a range of programming ideas. A couple were focused on the games of slahal (bone gambling game) and Dii Gway (Haida bingo), others drew from the argillite collection, and still others evolved from conversations with the staff of the daycare and Headstart programmes in Skidegate. Rough outlines were submitted to my colleagues at the Museum. In preparing for the Dii Gway and slahal games for the Museum, I met with the Elders and educators at the SHIP – a longstanding programme that has Haida elders and language speakers and community members working to teach and learn the Haida language. I asked for some insights  Figure 46: Visiting Haida students listening to Haida language exhibit, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  into games they remembered playing – particularly slahal and Dii Gway. In my journal, I noted that my time at SHIP was short. The Elders and educators were preparing for a historic boat trip to the west coast of Haida Gwaii as part of a language and mapping project. Nika Collison and I tested the Dii Gway game once over the summer with a group of visitors to the Museum. Visitors were charged with finding Haida words in the exhibit, filling in their bingo cards, and then gathered together to have the „word‟ calling - the winner receiving a small prize. My task was quite simple: I put all the Haida words from the exhibits into one document in order for the words to be „called‟ as the bingo component of the game and drafted a bingo sheet. During one of our later interviews in 2008, Nika shared:  103 I did it again, and it was during Skidegate Days. So I did it then. I did manage to get 5 people, 3 adults and 2 kids there, and we did it, and the whole thing worked, just so you know. Worked really well, and all of them loved it. So I just wanted to tell you that (April 7, 2008, personal communication). It is a sign of both respect and reciprocity that Nika wanted me to know that what she‟d asked me to do had been useful. The act of compiling words into one document and then looking throughout the exhibits to find Haida words – making sure that they could be found by visitors of any age – turned out to be an extremely useful exercise for me. Looking for and finding Haida words demonstrated the importance of the language to the Haida community and the Museum. The language is profiled in one of the exhibits on the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program where visitors wear headsets and listen to narrations and vocabulary in Haida. Haida words are also found in nearly every section of the exhibitions. Though perhaps on the surface, a bingo game that has young visitors seeking Haida words may seem simple. It is however critical to the Haida community that language acquisition be encouraged at all ages. Who is to say what spark encourages young Haida or others to become aware of the language and its importance? If it can be made fun, who knows who will choose to attend SHIP for  Figure 47: Kwiaahwah Jones and Judith Gould preparing the argillite, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  more. However, the act of compiling the Haida words meant that I needed to read all the written exhibition text, much of which had not yet been installed in the gallery spaces yet. This gave a very good sense of the stories the exhibitions were telling; it also offered me insights into how much community consultation had taken place in the creation of the exhibitions. The Haida community voices were very strong in the texts I read and in the exhibits once they were installed with a range of objects and photographs from the community. This exercise of creating a bingo game was an  104 important first step for me to begin to really learn what was important to the community. As well, doing this relatively simple task demonstrated to my colleagues that I could be of some use. A second programme outline that I drafted and presented was called the Argillite Research Programme (Appendix B) created early in June 2007. It was the direct result of listening to conversations from a local mother and teacher who visited the museum to meet with me and brainstorm ideas and from conversations with Kwiaahwah Jones around her goal of seeking innovative ways of engaging young Haida in the museum. Kwiaahwah Jones was at this point still working in the secondary school alternative programme as a support worker. The idea for Argillite Research Programme also came from watching Haida artists visit the Museum. In late May and early June, all the argillite pieces in the collection were being laid out on tables in the Figure 48: Haida argillite carvings, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  gallery as museum staff, student summer staff, and volunteers prepared to install the objects.  Foam mounts were being created to house each piece either in a drawer or case. The works of important historic and contemporary Haida artist such as Charles Edenshaw, Rufus Moody, Norman Price, Christian White, and others were easily seen and the presence of such important work created a lot of excitement from Haida artists who dropped by. Argillite has been used by the Haida for likely almost 200 years, perhaps even longer. 49 It is a slate-type black stone, a material found only on Haida Gwaii. Other types of argillite are used by other Indigenous people in the Americas, most notably catlinite. Argillite on Haida Gwaii is found in a quarry on Slatechuck Mountain and is used solely by Haida artists. Getting there is quite a journey and removal of all stone is done by hand, not machine. Argillite has been both Knut Fladmark, an archeologist, found argillite labrets and other commonly fashioned argillite material in an archaeological site on Haida Gwaii in 1969 suggesting use by the Haida before the explosion of argillite trade in the 1820s and beyond (Fedje & Mathewes, 2005). 49  105 an important trade commodity and source of artistic expression for the Haida (Barbeau, 1957; Wright, R, 2001). It continues to be unique artistic production of the Haida. 50 Following discussions with a number of people, I proposed an education programme in the form of an argillite research project – which would involve youth working with a mentor. The full experience was to include a trip to the Slatechuck, hand quarrying of a piece of stone, and the making of the appropriate tools under the mentorship of an established artist. The youth were to look to the historic and contemporary works now accessible in the museum for inspiration and for technical insights. The final component would be a small exhibit of the work of both the youth and each mentor. Kwiaahwah and I talked about how rich the experience would be to actually go the Slatechuck, listen and learn from the stories of an experienced artist, then make your own tools, all before beginning to work on a carving. It was a fun programme to dream up, and Kwiaahwah and I talked for over a month about the two of us hiking up to the Slatechuck so we could experience it ourselves. This is a trip we still need to make. Drafting the programme began to deepen my understanding. It became clear that a goal for Kwiaahwah was to find programmes which include wholistic ways of accessing knowledge and  Figure 49: South Moresby Island, aerial view, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  experiences that included the land. She got excited about the prospect of bringing the students she worked with in the alternative programme to the Museum. She said “I think the big downfall I found – and this might be my own bias too … is that they didn‟t do enough art… I‟d love to be able to take 50  See Breathing Stone: Contemporary argillite sculpture (Sheehan, 2008).  106 out an argillite piece and say look at this” (Kwiaahwah Jones, June 28, 2007, personal communication). Clearly, she was eager to consider a programme that connected to her passion for art. The argillite idea was a good first step in bringing different elements together and involving youth in an active process – not the standard walk and talk tour of a museum with which we are all too familiar. The tradition of apprenticeship is very strong today for  “It‟s different having apprentices. I‟m used to working by myself, but it‟s good in a lot of ways. I‟m giving back. I consider the time people put into teaching me – that‟s any time any where along the way, whether it is an hour or two or a week , a month or years of me coming to see them – I consider that is how you pay that forward, is you teach other people in the same way. You give them your time and effort so they will understand too and then they‟ll pass that forward from there” (Billy Bellis quoted in Ramsay & Jones, 2010, p.72).  Haida artists. For example, the lead carvers on the canoes – Guujaaw, Billy Bellis and Garner Moody – all had apprentices working with them. Many were established artists in their own right, but on the canoe project they took instructions from the lead carver. One idea was to build on that and expand beyond the Museum – to the land and active community involvement. I envisioned established artists working with younger ones as I had seen demonstrated in the canoe carving process. I also wanted to see if the programme could include physical education embedded in museum education. I am mindful that museums shape attitudes about what we collectively consider valuable, particularly when it comes to cultural heritage. By going out on the land and working with community Figure 50: Early stages of shaping cedar log into canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  artists, I hoped to extend that valuation past the objects housed in museums and  beyond the physical building of the museum as well. The approach was new for Kwiaahwah. It was an approach that Nathalie Macfarlane thought was important for the museum to pursue (personal communication).  107 Another early experience I had at the HGM is worthy of some attention. I was asked to give a presentation to the Museum Board at the Annual General Meeting as a way of introducing myself and my research project, and to show some examples of my work. My presentation was cancelled because of a death in the Haida community. It is a common occurrence for meetings or other events to be cancelled or postponed because of a death in the community. It was a simple but useful lesson in what constituted being respectful on Haida Gwaii and how I needed to adapt and flow with what was happening locally. What mattered was not the business of the Museum, nor my need to introduce myself, but instead the protocols that  Figure 51: Billy Bellis, Tyson Brown working on canoe hull, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  focused people‟s energies on mourning family members. This experience coupled with working on the Dii Gway and argillite projects provided me with good instruction which I built on during the following months and which set me on a path that demanded I spend time, listen attentively, and wait until the right connections could be made before embarking on any further programme development. That‟s how my Nun-i51 did it. I‟d ask, “how do you say this?” and she‟d say oh well no, you‟ve got to know this and this first so we‟ll go and do it and see it, look at it, and then I‟ll tell you. I think that‟s the magic of you being here last summer was the fact that we did struggle to find a concept and find a comfortable relationship where we could collaborate, rather than having you come in and tell me, “okay, we‟re going to do this!” At the beginning, I looked over your education programmes on the computer and I was like “huh, that‟s cool, that‟s good, I wonder how she came to that, I wonder what ours are going to look like (Kwiaahwah Jones, October, 10, 2007, personal communication).  51  Nun-i is Skidegate Haida for grandmother.  108 Finding focus: Haida canoes  After six weeks at the Museum, I learned that three canoes had been commissioned by the Skidegate Band Council – two for the Haida Heritage Centre and one for Swan Bay Rediscovery52 and that they would be carved at Kaay over the summer. Nathalie Macfarlane, Nika Collison, Kwiaahwah Jones, and I began conversations in earnest around developing education programmes around the Haida canoe. The canoe is a significant form of cultural expression for the Haida. Over the past thirty years a number of canoes have been made by Haida artists. For example, Bill Reid, Guujaaw, and others worked on a 16 foot canoe currently in the MOA collection in 1985-1986; Bill Reid, Jags Brown, and others worked on a 50 foot canoe called Loo Taas (Wave Eater) for Expo 1986, which is now housed at the Haida Heritage Centre alongside a fiberglass copy called Looplex. Christian White with others carved Xuut k‟adjuu (Seal Hunter) in 1995. It and another canoe K‟odday (Eagle‟s Beak), carved by Christian and his father Morris White, are stored at Old Massett in Christian‟s studio Tluu Xaada Naay. Reg Davidson carved Yaalth Tluu (Raven Canoe) in San Francisco in 1990. It now rests at the Haida Heritage Centre. Very quickly we all saw the potential of the canoe  Figure 52: Standing pole, K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  as an entry point for a wholistic approach to sharing Haida values and knowledge. With three canoes being built at Kaay, the potential for a living, dynamic educational programme that included the role of the forest, the making of the canoes, the artists‟/carvers‟ experiences, the historic role of the canoe, and its contemporary uses became possible. At the outset it seemed like a huge challenge designing access points so teachers and students could build connections. The Swan Bay Rediscovery Program is a cultural camp where the youth can learn important Haida cultural skills and knowledge while acquiring new life skills, self-esteem and confidence. With traditional Haida values at its center, youth at the camps participate in a variety of activities designed to challenge, teach and nurture www.swanbayrediscovery.ca (accessed February 7, 2011). 52  109 October 4, 07 The interview with Billy was really great. From sapling to sea He was generous and talked for over an hour. After reviewing the sound files, I‟m I began interviewing the carvers of the canoes reminded to talk less and be more careful interrupting. I get excited and want to as a way to continue thinking about clarify things, but as I transcribe I realize much of what I contribute in unnecessary. programming. I did not seek to become an expert on Haida canoes, but I needed to know more about making canoes and their cultural relevance in order to work alongside Kwiaahwah. Once Kwiaahwah and I began working together in earnest we used the idea from sapling to sea to guide ourselves in the programme development. Along with the interviewing and archival research, Kwiaahwah and I photo-documented the creation of three cedar canoes at Kaay as the large logs arrived in the carving shed of the Haida Heritage Centre and were roughed out. It seemed that things changed daily as large chunks of cedar were carved off to reveal subtler and subtler shapes. I witnessed the change from logs to coarse boat-like shapes to vessels of crafted elegance. By the time I left at the end of October  Figure 53: (L-R) Garner Moody adzing hull, HHC; Matthew Ridley adzing inside, Ridley using level, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007; Launch The Spirit of Rediscovery, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  2007, all three of the canoes were hollowed and shaped. Final shaping and steaming took place over the winter and spring of 2008 and then our photo documentation was less intense and focused on major events like the steaming, then painting, and finally launching. All the canoes were officially launched at the grand opening of the Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay on August 23, 2008.  “We‟ve always heard about ancestors travelling on the great Haida war canoes travelling over to the mainland and down the coast and back and far to the north. It was really something for us to actually do it ourselves and to be part of building the canoe from start to finish” (Christian White quoted in Ramsay &Jones, 2010, p.25).  110 Photographing the canoe making was a means to move about the Haida Heritage Centre, to see what was going on. The Haida Gwaii Museum sits at one end of the Heritage Centre and the Carving House sits at the other. This moving about is something Kwiaahwah and I did frequently. When we were conceiving the school programme we did it by walking inside and outside the center. As we thought about what could be in the programme, we pretended the class was with us. If we thought they needed to stop by a cedar tree, we went looking for the right tree that could be seen and easily accessed. Often Kwiaahwah would tell a story from her childhood about the tree, or a memory that was triggered by walking around. Kwiaahwah‟s family home is on the site of Kaay – the only home remaining on the site now. The following short recollection came when Kwiaahwah and I were walking around the site53. My Nun-i would always drink this tea this licorice tea. I didn‟t know anything about licorice tea. It is this root that grows on alder, in the moss, so it is licorice. I learned how to pick that when I was quite little. We would sit around and drink it. So maybe the first introduction to something like this would be to actually eat it. Once you eat it, you talk about it, learn to identify it, learn what seasons it is gathered. You can get all the knowledge first and then harvest it. Eating is the easy part so you‟re kind of working your way up from eating to learning more to gathering. Experience first – the drinking of the tea and then experience at the end – the experience of gathering the plant. You will need to know when to pick it and where it grows. And depending on what plant or food we are talking about – you need to learn what else it signifies. For example, when Salmon berries come that‟s when sockeyes run the river. With this kind of cycle, the good thing about it, the teacher can start anywhere October 3, 07 (Kwiaahwah Jones, October 10, 2007, Our interview with Guujaaw went personal communication). well. We got some Chinese food and Jaalen joined us. It was a fun and casual gathering but my In Kwiaahwah‟s story she touches on many recorder is not actually very good. characteristics I have come to recognize as So the sound sucked and it was very hard to transcribe. There were components of Haida ways of knowing. First, it is as lots of laughs while we spoke. The Cajete suggests “storied participation with the natural interview was good probably to build some bridges between me, landscape” (2000, p. 2). Kwiaahwah finds a path for Kwi and Guujaaw and to let students to experience the land and build knowledge Guujaaw who is the President of CHN know what the museum and through recounting her experiences with her Nun-i I am doing. and as a result suggests a cycle of experience mixed  A full landscape plan was being implemented in the summer and fall of 2007 which included Indigenous plants even a place for a potato garden which pre-contact was cultivated alongside a kind of tobacco indigenous to Haida Gwaii. 53  111 with story that continues to fold back on itself while developing deeper and deeper understandings. The act of taking pictures, asking questions, or just listening to the banter between carvers and others made me think at there was something of value to local students from the way I was experiencing the canoe making. I wondered how something could be translated into a school programme that embodied the experience I was having – listening to the carvers, watching them at work, making connections to the Museum collection, going for a paddle in Loo Taas, watching the tide at Kaay Llnagaay, watching the grey whales in the inlet, reading the old stories, watching the preschool kids dance in the Museum. The constant question for Kwiaahwah and me became: how could this be done? We constantly wrestled with how to keep things integrated. What would we do if a class from the local secondary or elementary school just wanted to come  Figure 54: Preparing to launch two of the new canoes, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  and draw? How could we help them connect such an activity to stories about place, (remembering that Kaay Llnagaay was a story town), to ideas of stewardship of the land and the sea? Kwiaahwah Jones: it‟s not a linear thing; it doesn‟t start and end, right. Jill Baird: that‟s something that‟s so critical to how we come up with something. That‟s a huge tension there. Because we‟re talking about breaking things up into little units so the schools can have access points. That‟s kind of all counter-intuitive in this situation. Kwiaahwah Jones: yeah. Jill Baird: I think one of our challenges is to try to ensure that we are always aware of Figure 55: Jaalen Edenshaw sketching a Haida canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2008. the tension and don‟t  112 go too far on what I would call “my side” of it. We do not want to cut things up into nice little pieces, and then find those pieces are too hard for you to weave back into a whole. Kwiaahwah Jones: It isn‟t going to be easy. We started with this great concept of the canoe and got so excited, and then almost became paralyzed when it came to “how do I make that work in 45 minutes with a school” (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, October 10, 2007, personal communication)? The interviews with the canoe makers allowed for Kwiaahwah and me to learn from these knowledge holders, though on more than one occasion all confessed they were not sure they knew what they were doing. They all were accomplished artist/carvers, though only one had made canoes before. Even with his experience, he was quick to state that it was an art-form being expressed, not a formula applied. This idea seemed central to communicate, though hard to convey to a new audience. How does one communicate the wealth of knowledge an artist has acquired through experience, study, and reflection? We saw the interviews as opportunities to listen to the wisdom and experience of the artists and the challenges they were facing in transforming four hundred year old logs into elegant sea going canoes. In transcribing the interviews Kwiaahwah and I began to see the value of the texts that were being generated. If school groups couldn‟t speak directly with the artists, then perhaps second best would be to read what they had to say.  Figure 56: (L-R) Full log before shaping; Guujaaw sanding hull, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007; Steaming T'aa; T'aa resting on beach at Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  Kwiaahwah and I began talking about how this could work. What could the process of carving three canoes in 2007 illuminate about Haida history and contemporary culture? How could the canoe be representative of Haida ways of knowing? Over the summer of 2007, I asked everyone I could what questions they had about Haida canoes. The compiled list of questions helped us with our interviews with artists/carvers, elders and other knowledge holders. You went to everyone and you said, “If you had a question to ask about a canoe, and at would it be?” And you wrote it down and you did this to like, I don‟t know how many people, but I thought it was a brilliant way of going about it. If you‟re going to be any more engaged in the community then what better way to go to the community and say, “What do you want to know about canoes? Give me some  113 questions.” I was like, “Wow, that‟s brilliant.” And I still have them all (Kwiaahwah Jones, September 28, 2008, personal communication).  Kwiaahwah and I understood that the canoe would be a great tool to communicate Haida ways of knowing and their cultural history. Our challenge was to find the way to do this so that Haida knowledge was at the forefront both in ways of sharing and what was being shared. The importance of the interconnectedness of everything was central to all our discussions as we had conversations with Haida and non-Haida community members. In July 2007, after one very fruitful conversation I drafted a sketch that tried to „picture‟ our discussions about the almost infinite ways the canoe could act as an entry point into Haida ways of knowing. The  Figure 57: Canoe study spiral drawing, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  image had a canoe in the center. Spiraling around the canoe, I noted potential entry points for study. It was one way I could represent our animated discussions which ranged from the making of a canoe – now and in the past, the harvesting of seafood, the sea knowledge necessary to navigate across oceans in a canoe, the coastal relations the Haida have had for millennium up and down the NWC of North America, the engineering marvel that is a Haida ocean going canoe to the carved and painted beauty of historic and contemporary Haida canoes. The idea of the spiral was to denote that everything could be linked to everything else.  114 I think it really came together when you drew that image. It helped too that it was visual. That‟s another thing that relates to your drawing structuring our ideas - being a visual person it really helps because sometimes language overwhelms I guess. That drawing really hashed it out like a canoe connects to this and this and this and this (Kwiaahwah Jones, September 28, 2008, personal communication). As we developed our ideas for the school programme, we referred to the image as our Figure 58: (L-R) Billy Bellis, Guujaaw, Tyson Brown review drawings, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  conceptual map because it represented that the cultural,  technological, supernatural, and environmental were all interrelated. Upon reflection, I feel that the spiral was an appropriate symbol because it seemed to incorporate the interconnectedness of all things. The spiral allowed for a sense of a journey starting in one place and ending in another. The notion of journey without a designated end point seemed appropriate because  Figure 59: Steaming of T'aa canoe, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  the canoe was the heart of our work. At that point we didn‟t know where the project would lead us.  Figure 60: Matthew Ridley, Garner Moody, The Spirit of Rediscovery, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  During one working session we used some of the categories from our conceptual map to start  thinking how we could start finding multiple entry points. An important moment came when Kwiaahwah was able to succinctly communicate to a colleague.  115 The elementary class will start with Family and Clan. Say a family or clan wants to commission a canoe. So in order to get a canoe, they need to get a tree. They have to go and choose a tree. You get a tree, and you learn what it takes to choose a good tree. You learn how to cut it down, shape it and steam it. Name it and launch it. So we get to high school, and this is already established. In Haida 8, you want to talk about land use and ownership. The canoe is a perfect entry point. You can come and see the canoe. It‟s a beautiful ship that‟s whatever. But we need to have proper stewardship; we need to have laws and protocols. We have oral stories that connect to the land to village sites. We need a canoe for all of those things. So land and ownership and lineages they‟re connected to the canoe through family and clan, and through choosing a tree, right? Am I losing you? Let‟s say in Foods 11-12, take out the canoe and go food-gathering. You learn the seasons when certain foods are harvested; you learn how to read the tides; you learn how to do all of these things that are all connected to the canoe. The goal is to connect the dots from technology to cosmology of the Haida (Kwiaahwah Jones, March 8, 2008, personal communication). In a couple of minutes, she was able to distill our overarching goal to ensure that the canoe was never severed from its cultural context. ‘Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme  Kwiaahwah and I continued to take many talking and walking trips around the centre to think about how we could bring the land and the sea into a discussion of the making of Haida canoes of the past and present. Kaay faces the sea; it is surrounded by a combination of natural and landscaped terrain. The actual location of the place where we were working constantly reminded us that the  Figure 61: Matthew Ridley knifing interior of canoe, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  land and the sea had to be an intrinsic part of what we were hoping to do. Kwiaahwah spoke about her childhood fishing and harvesting resources from both the land and sea. As we brainstormed ideas, drafted working charts, and shared our ideas with others, the importance of an integrated programme became stronger and stronger. We did not want it to be just an art exercise,  116 or a history lesson or a drafting challenge (but we wanted all this to be a part of whatever we created). Our early ideas for an education programme involved touring the Haida Heritage Centre and the Museum, starting with the cedar tree outside, moving through the centre, visiting the canoes that were in-progress, and planning for when the students could see them completed and stored alongside Loo Taas. We discussed installing a cookie (a slice of the base of a tree) on the wall outside the Canoe House which could act like a time-line. We wanted to use the tree as a witness of the goings-on over the last 400 to 800 years. We would then move into the Museum and make connections between the objects in the collection and the canoe. We were conceiving all this before the Museum was completed. The natural history displays were not yet built. The gallery was subsequently completed in the summer of 2008. Nor was the gallery completed which brings together two ways of knowing Haida Gwaii‟s ancient past – the Haida oral histories and the recent discoveries in geology and archaeology. It was our challenge to conceive of ideas and programmes as the Museum was coming together. As I write this, the final stage of the Haida oral histories and science and archaeology galleries are being completed. I had initially suggested multiple visits to the Museum as a way to address the full potential of the canoe as a focal point or entry point for Haida culture. I thought it would be more productive than trying to squeeze a range of experiences into one field trip. Students could do different activities like spending time with the canoe carvers, going for a paddle in a canoe, exploring the Museum exhibits, and attending workshops with local weavers. The teachers we consulted with in the spring of 2008 had such wide interests it  Figure 62: Guujaaw, Jaalen Edenshaw watching the steaming of T‟aa, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  117 seemed that multiple visits would be a way to meet the range of their subject interests and curriculum responsibilities. The suggestion of a multiple visit programme came from my experience as a museum educator over the past fifteen years. The one or two hour programme that is the staple of most museum education programmes does little to truly advance a postcolonial agenda. When museum programming fits into existing curriculum in predicable and uncomplicated ways, museums are in danger of supporting the status quo. In terms of foregrounding Indigenous knowledge, specifically Haida knowledge, multiple visits seemed to offer more potential for more wholistic view of canoes and are in keeping with a characteristic of revealing knowledge in a gradual manner. Multiple visits also offered the Museum and local educators the possibility to adapt to the needs and interests of the students and incorporate what was happening at the Museum and Heritage Centre. Multi-visits were seen to be too difficult for financial and logistical reasons by the teachers we consulted. The cost of getting classes bussed to the Centre, the costs of negotiating time away from the school, and the potential cost of the workshops with artists were all deemed to be barriers at that point in time. Because of this, Kwiaahwah and I focused on a one-day  Figure 63: The fire for heating the rocks to steam T'aa, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  118 programme that could be adaptable to a range of grade levels and that was flexible enough to incorporate changing exhibitions at the Museum. The resulting school programme outline „Waadluuxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe Programme (Appendix D) consisted of pre-visit activities, on-site activities in the Carving House, the Skajaang Naay (Canoe House), Gina Guuahl Juunaay (the Performance House) and Saahlinda Naay (the Keeping House or museum), and post-visit research projects. It concluded with a return visit to the Kaay where students present poster sessions drawn from their experience and their research. As a way to begin studying the Haida canoe, we recommended that classes first do a forest walk focused on Haida ways of knowing and utilizing the forest, past and present.54 The format draws from my experience at MOA with an education programme developed with Musqueam weaver Debra Sparrow.55 We tried to keep a little of the multiple visit idea by encouraging a forest walk and a return trip to present projects at the Museum.  Figure 64: Painted canoe paddles, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  In the programme, students are introduced to Haida canoes, using the history of the making of Loo Taas56 (Bill Reid, lead carver), and the three new canoes at Kaay: Taanaay skinxa dii 57(Billy Bellis, lead carver), T‟aa58 (Guujaaw, lead carver), and the Spirit of Rediscovery (Garner Moody, lead carver). We intended to build in stories from artist/carvers and local knowledge holders into the experience. For example, one interview I did with Haida Elder Herb Jones 54  There is a plan in progress for an archaeology walk in the forest near Skidegate. This is being developed by the Haida archaeology unit of the Council of Haida Nation (CHN). In our programme outline we recommended a forest walk and planned to incorporate this new development once it was completed. 55 See Baird and Campbell 2004. 56 Wave Eater is the English translation. 57 Bear Awakening is the English translation. 58 Small Black Chiton is the English translation.  119 told of the felling of the monumental cedar used to create Loo Taas. He spoke of hiking the hills looking for the ideal tree and how long it took to find a suitable one. He also spoke about the size as being over two hundred feet long. By including stories of foresters, artist/carvers, and traditional knowledge holders, students could make connections between land, forest, and the cultural expressions of the Haida. Students were to be divided into one of the four following society groups; 1) Canoe Crew, 2) Cultural Historian 3) Artist/Weaver, 4) Forest Guardian. Students research aspects of Haida canoes as part of a group project. Students‟ final projects were to create posters of their research results. The programme concluded with students returning to the Museum and displaying their research with classmates, museum staff, family and friends. Kwiaahwah Jones: One of the biggest things I appreciate is when you came up with the concepts of the programme and being able to split them up into those four society groups, cultural historian, crew, artist/weaver and forest guardian. And I don‟t know where those came from. I don‟t even know how that was conceptualized at all. Jill Baird: I think we just came up with it on the fly. Kwiaahwah Jones: Yeah on the fly but I don‟t remember thinking about it or I think we were just both talking like we are now (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, September 28, 2008, personal communication). It is important to note that conceiving of the society groupings of canoe crew, cultural historian, artist/weaver and forest guardian was not really done on the fly. We came to these categories through watching and listening to colleagues at the HGM, interviewing the artist/carvers, and other  Figure 65: Jaalen Edenshaw painting the bow of T'aa, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  Haida knowledge holders, spending time having tea, and walking the beaches. I would argue this was an example of landed wisdom – a kind of deep knowing. We came to better understand that all aspects of Haida culture were integral to canoes. Those who know the land, those who harvest four hundred year old cedars, those who know medicinal plants, those chiefs and matriarchs who know the clan genealogy, those singers who carry songs from  120 generation to generation, and those makers who craft regalia are all part of knowledge of the canoe. The four groups were meant as a representation of that complexity. October 5, 07 Interviewed Christian in Old Massett. This interview goes much better. I keep quieter and Kwi also talks less. So much of what he says we‟ll be able to use….  We were aware of the potential that the grouping scheme could do what we had resisted doing in the programme development, that is, categorize cultural expression and history into distinct compartments that somehow fix things or feed into stereotypes. For  example Jaalen Edenshaw, one of the canoe carvers, is an artist/carver, a Forest Guardian, a singer and co-writer of the first contemporary play in Haida.59 For him, the categories do not really work, as he would likely see himself in all of them. At the time the categories gave us something to hang our ideas on – dividing what we found to be too complex into some manageable parts. I view the draft school programme outline as a third space – somewhere in-between the Haida traditions and the Euro-Canadian traditions - a provisional attempt to make concrete a range of knowledge and history. If development continued on the school programme, our challenge would be to ensure the parts were combined Figure 66: Haida artist Christian White, Massett, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  back into a whole. Otherwise we would not have met our goal of creating  something wholistic that represented Haida ways of knowing.  Jaalen Edenshaw wrote the play Sinxii‟gangu with his brother Gwaai Edenshaw. It was the first contemporary play written and performed in Haida. It was premiered at the Haida Heritage Centre in 2008. 59  121 The idea of having the Haida perspective or Haida knowledge became a standing joke between Kwiaahwah and me. At the beginning, I continuously spoke about the Haida perspective in order to make a distinction between my ways of knowing and Haida ways of knowing. At one point, Kwiaahwah suggested that maybe part of getting the Haida perspective came from the interviews with two carvers Guujaaw and Billy Bellis where they shared their experience, their understanding October 1, 2007 Arrive at 10 am and Kwi is raring to go – after chatting a bit we go and talk to the HHC manager and discuss her schedule asking whether she can spend at least ½ of each day with me. He agrees and we start mapping out what we want and need to do. We create a calendar and action list. It‟s great already; the energy is better, more focused and she is really keen.  of the art forms, and the carving style and techniques. Kwiaahwah said that if we just listen to their knowledge and their pride we‟d get the Haida perspective (personal communication). It still seems humourous now that I used the term „Haida perspective‟. Although there is really no fixed notion of this, many recurrent themes emerged in discussions I had with Nika Collison, Kwiaahwah Jones, Nathalie  Macfarlane, and the carvers we interviewed. I suggest these themes are characteristic of Haida ways of knowing: the interrelationship between humans and land, the role of family and clan, the sense of being connected to the tangible and intangible world – all emerged in my interactions, discussions, and informal chats. Eventually I abandoned trying to articulate what the Haida perspective might be and refocused on gina „waadluxan gud ad kwaagiidang - everything depends on everything else (Collison, 2006). Here the themes of the interrelationship between humans and land, family and clan, tangible and intangible knowledge sit well. The concept of gina „waadluxan gud ad kwaagiidang  October 9, 07 Starting to get more concrete with the programme development and the grant proposal. Kwi and I talked further about decolonizing education and making the Haida knowledge piece central to the curriculum. The first discussions of my role continuing and its dawning on me that the research likely won‟t be finished at the end of Oct.  that I was coming to better understand linked well to how the Haida Gwaii Museum had designed its exhibitions. Though these galleries had not been finalized while I was in Haida Gwaii, it was important that the programming reflect the exhibition themes. Nathalie Macfarlane offered a rationale for the wholistic approach taken at the HGM. Well, I think you do it by actually when you take away the traditional division between the natural world, the cultural world, and the supernatural world. The way we usually present things in the museum, is you have distinct areas. For example, over here you have the birds and the fossils and then you‟ve got „Indians‟  122 and then you‟ve got white history up to 1950. Here, we mix things up a bit. I think that idea is best expressed in the exhibits destined for the old museum where we truly do weave information about the landscape and biology together with stories of Creek Women and the supernatural beings in the sea, and the story of human uses of the flora and the fauna. We also include what science has sense discovered. We weave it all together and I think that is a holistic experience. The science is richer because of the cultural information and the history is more enlivened because you‟re also communicating about something that happens all the time in this contemporary culture. Instead of isolating it and making these things quaint, using that word loosely, by quaint I mean, not relevant. So that‟s I think how you do it. I think you are doing that in your canoe project, and that‟s why I find it so appealing (Nathalie Macfarlane, October 23, 2007, personal communication). Working through ideas, interviewing artists, and October 16, 07 Still making headway both with the drafting a school programme outline helped all of us programme and the grant for to understand that for an education programme to be Gwaii Forest. We talked with Jaalen about making tools for a successful we needed to work with people from teaching collection. The CHN Gwaii Haanas, the school system, and a range of House of Assembly is at Kaay, so I haven‟t taken many pictures this Haida and non-Haida knowledge holders. week. I don‟t want to pass by the Simultaneous to these discussions, Gwaii Forest Performing House too often as they are doing Nation‟s business. Society was being established as a granting agency that supported educational work related to the forests. Before I left in August, we made plans for me to return in the fall to work on a grant and to finish off the work on the school programme we had started in the summer. Returning to Haida Gwaii  In October 2007, I returned to Haida Gwaii for three weeks. Upon arriving, I had some of the same worries I had experienced when I first arrived in May. This time they were focused on my working arrangements with Kwiaahwah Jones. I wondered if Kwiaahwah was able to focus time and energy for working on  Figure 67: Jaalen Edenshaw adzing the hull of T‟aa, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  123 the programme. I constantly fretted about what my role should be in the process. And perhaps more critical to this context, I questioned whether this was research or if had I become an external programme consultant. These concerns and Nathalie‟s earlier comment that knowledge was a new form of resource extraction here in Haida Gwaii were on my mind. The talks and walks Kwiaahwah and I took over the summer and in early October culminated in the idea of developing an appropriate, culturally sound curriculum that integrates the making of Haida canoes to the forests, the ecosystem, and understanding Haida history and pride of place. The working title „Waadluuxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe was chosen to reflect the understanding that the Haida canoe is an important way to access the breadth and depth of Haida culture – past, present, and future. We decided that “The Everything Canoe” would be the focus of  October 16, 2007. Laughed so hard tonight; it felt good. Over a bottle of wine we created a romance story – Haida Harlequin Romance! The characters were all folks from the Heritage Centre and Museum and the canoe project. We killed people off, choose romantic liaisons for Kwi and laughed and laughed and laughed. What a great way to de-stress…. We‟ve been working hard on the grant.  the Gwaii Forest grant and that we would partner with local schools and Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site. We reasoned then that what got developed would reflect the needs and interests of all involved and would be more likely to reflect a range of Haida ways of knowing. The grant would also provide funds to interview more knowledge holders, fully involve teachers and other educators, and enable the Museum to hire and train staff to deliver educational programming. Kwiaahwah and I worked at drafting the grant and refining the in-house programme. The grant concept drew on the idea of sapling to the sea. The grant needed to address issues around the forest, sustainability, and education. We reconnected with teachers, artists, and school board representatives with a concrete proposal for partnering to create a culturally relevant curriculum  October 19, 07 Final day for grant. Kwi is really pleased with the grant and said so and I was unnecessarily negative. I didn‟t say it was bad, but I did say it could use some work to tighten it, hold the focus and say things with less words (something I always struggle with). Then I thought that I should have accepted her gratitude and her assessment of how good it was. I‟m always afraid that it isn‟t good and with this one it does read unevenly as two of us were doing the writing – nonetheless it is submitted and we‟ll see if it is successful.  124 based around the canoe and using the Museum, its canoes, and its collection as entry points. Teachers, District Principals, and local Haida knowledge holders all agreed to participate. What had begun as free ranging discussions in May through August with these people now focused on a concrete project. A collaborative team was assembled that worked for the museum, the schools, and the community, one that strengthened existing partnerships between the HGM and Gwaii Haanas and the School District 50. The planning, grant writing, and strategizing about how best to meet the grant‟s requirements, while also meeting our goals of an integrated educational programme focusing on the Haida canoe, took most of October. My role and my research changed here. I was acting as mentor for Kwiaahwah in writing the grant, and I let go of my earlier conviction that I needed an educational programme to be developed or I would have nothing to show for my time and for my research. Instead I began to see more fully that the process of getting to know the place and the people was a critical component of being able to develop relationships that enabled a larger working  Figure 68: Kwiaahwah Jones, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  group to be established to work with the Museum on educational programming. Developing the grant  The writing of the GFS grant did a number of important things for the project. Most importantly it focused our project and enabled us to engage local educators to help us realize our goals. Because Kwiaahwah and I had spent a couple of months in advance, chatting, brainstorming, meeting with a wide range of community members – Haida and non-Haida – finding our focus and enlisting local teachers was easier than it might have been.  125 The idea of the Haida canoe as a perfect entry point to accessing Haida knowledge, history, and even contemporary politics and land issues was, needless to say, a bit daunting for me as a non Haida and for Kwiaahwah – there were just too many things the to which the canoe was connected. With the concept of „everything connected to everything else‟ come possibilities that are liberating and frankly overwhelming. Grant applications are not inherently friendly or fluid structures, and it could be argued that if one of our goals was a wholistic approach to knowledge generation and sharing, then articulating our programme by fitting things into categories that address needs of the grant might be counterproductive. However for Kwiaahwah and me, and perhaps because we had very different skills sets and October 22, 07 My last day working with Kwi. We had coffee, now part of our morning routine. She began transcribing Robert‟s interview and I worked on Billy‟s. At 10:45 we went to meet the group of students from Masset grades k-2. It was great, energizing and instructive we started in the eating house, where the kids had their lunches Kwi took them to look at two poles. Kwi was really good at adapting and responding to the kids. From the poles she took them to see the canoes and Billy and his crew said hello. Billy was really good with the kids letting them touch the canoe and answering their questions. The group stopped in the Performing House with the Haida language teacher. They sang a paddle song, the Raven Song and the Eagle Song. From there we went into to the museum. Much harder to manage here. Kwi showed them some drawers and let them wander.  I wonder where this will go. Will Kwi continue to refine an in-house programme? Will she focus on exhibits and leave this? What if the grant is successful?  backgrounds, writing the GFS grant did offer the opportunity to focus our previous thinking and to articulate our interests so that we could recruit other educators to participate and so that we could successfully convince a granting committee that the project was innovative and achievable. At the end of three intensive weeks we had achieved some important tangible outcomes. First, there was a finished and submitted grant application requesting funds to further develop the canoe curriculum, and we had finished an outline for a museumbased programme. This was a first  for Kwiaahwah Jones. In terms of reciprocity, we contributed something tangible to the Museum. If the grant was successful, then further development could take place; if the grant wasn‟t successful, the process of writing the grant, compiling the information, drafting a  126 programme outline, and networking with local teachers and educators was valuable nonetheless. Second, we established formal relationships with other local educational institutions. We called this group the curriculum working group. The group included a range of teachers, preschool educators, and others who had been introduced to the idea of the Museum as educational resource and who were keen to work with the Museum to take advantage of what it had to offer. The third, a combination of tangible and intangible outcomes, was a solid relationship between Kwiaahwah and me. It was the relationship I was looking for when I landed in Haida Gwaii in May 2007. During this month Kwiaahwah and I truly got to know each other. Achieving this gave us freedom to express ideas no matter what they were. There was now a critical bond that I needed to continue the work. I did not feel like I was working alone, as I had in Figure 69: Kwiaahwah Jones touring visiting students, Kaay, Haida Gwaii, 2007  June and early July.  Adapting my research and my timetable  The grant was successful. As a result, I extended my research. I could have stopped my research at that point and focused my analysis on relationship building rather than curriculum development. We had come up with so many great ideas over the four months, but had not yet done the work to realize any of them. I wanted to include the implementation of the plan we put forward in the grant in my research. I wanted to keep working with Kwiaahwah and the HGM, and I felt some  127 sense of ownership of this project. The fact that the canoes weren‟t finished yet and that I wanted to follow their making through to the end also factored into my decision to extend my research time frame. In 2008, I made five trips up to Haida Gwaii and Kwiaahwah made one trip to Vancouver so we could work on the project. Our work focused on two aspects. The first was to continue to refine the in-house programme and the second was to work with local educators to determine how the Museum might  Figure 70: Carving tools, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  support their teaching – keeping the canoe central in both aspects was our goal. In order to continue the in-house programme, we needed to learn more about Haida canoes and consider how this knowledge could be shared at the Museum. Kwiaahwah and I had done book-based research. On our agenda then were more interviews with carvers working on the canoes, artists, and singers who were bringing out CDs of Haida songs, foresters who had spent their lives logging, forest guardians who were looking wholistically at the forest as a living resource, and Haida elders and others who had specialized archeological and plant knowledge. Thanks to the grant there were funds for travel, honoraria for knowledge holders and  March 27, 08 It‟s been five months! Kwi was at the ferry terminal when I arrived. I was thrilled. We hugged and were happy to see each other. We immediately went to see Billy Bellis‟ canoe in the carving shed in the village. He had moved it there so he could continue to work on it through the winter. The boat is beautiful. It‟s been steamed and has really beautiful lines. We stopped at Kaay before she dropped me at Irene‟s.  It felt really good to reconnect, to feel like it mattered that I came up. Kwi is totally taking to the project – organizing the teachers for the workshops. My role is less and less important – a great sign. I may not be able to come up for all the teacher workshops which is too bad for me, but of no real consequence as Kwiaahwah is steering the ship now.  128 educators, transcription assistance, and training for Haida staff to deliver in-house programmes. Teacher consultations  While refining the programme outline, we hosted three sessions with the curriculum working group – which consisted of Museum staff, Gwaii Haanas staff, local teachers from Skidegate, Queen Charlotte City, Old Massett and Masset, and the Principal of Aboriginal Education from School District 50. The ideas this group generated covered all areas of the curriculum. There seemed to be no lack of enthusiasm for both working with the museum and using the canoe as an entry point for a range of curriculum objectives. The teachers we consulted were from different grades and had a varying expertise and experience. At our consultation sessions we had elementary and secondary teachers, Haida language teachers, teachers who specialized in literature and science, and because of the size of the school district almost all the teachers taught many different courses. It is worth detailing some of the ideas these educators came up with because it showed  Figure 71: Curriculum working group meeting, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  Kwiaahwah and I that the Haida canoe could indeed be a portal to Haida ways of knowing and because the ideas were wonderful and diverse. In most cases the ideas were relevant to the various  129 curricula and to our larger goals of integrating Haida knowledge into the Museum education programming and into schools. At the outset all those we consulted thought that bringing Haida vocabulary into the process was critical. From simple ideas like labeling the parts of a canoe in Haida, to more complex ones such as naming the different winds and waves that a canoe would encounter on a journey. Teachers got excited about linking to the work of ethno-botanists and using Haida words for the local fauna and flora. Mapping exercises were proposed focusing on the site of Kaay. An overall map of Kaay was suggested that could be filled in by students as they gained knowledge – such as the location and importance of certain plants, the movements of the tide, and the storing and launching locations for canoes. Identifying crests on a range of material was also considered to be an important exercise. Teachers we consulted were clear that many teachers needed this kind of practical and visual introduction to Haida history. The ideas went well beyond what we might have expected. Teachers envisioned intergenerational activities with older students teaching younger students water safety in advance of actually paddling a canoe. One teacher got very excited about the possibility of an entire physical education programme focused on the canoe – swimming, paddling, and portaging. Math and numeracy was a big topic.  Figure 72: Pole fragment, K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Ideas ranged from measuring canoes to calculating the displacement of large versus small canoes, to calculating the speed of a canoe based upon its being full of people and supplies, and then again when relatively empty. Teachers  130 requested relevant stories like the first canoe story – naagkingiiyeuns60 – to be transcribed or maybe listened to in the classroom if it was available on audio. These ideas generated more about creative writing, poetry, and visual art. As well, teachers asked for relevant songs that they would be permitted to use. In 2008, the Haida Gwaii Museum had put out a series of audio CDs of Haida songs compiled by Terri-Lynn Williams Davidson, Reg Davidson and Robert Davidson. The teachers all thought resources like that had great potential as classroom resources.61 There were tremendous primary and secondary resources available  Figure 73: Cover of Gina 'Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe book, 2010.  through the Museum and through SHIP and other institutions on Haida Gwaii and beyond, but they were deemed inaccessible for schools by the teachers we consulted. The issue of relevant classroom-ready resources emerged as a critical issue for all those participating in the curriculum working group. There were few classroom ready resources available to teachers on the Haida canoe. There was knowledge in the community, but getting it to the classroom was often difficult. This is the name and the spelling Kwiaahwah Jones gave for the first canoe story. Meeting notes with all the teachers‟ ideas were circulated to participants with the goal of inspiring a range of lessons around the canoe. 60 61  131 These concerns were raised in all the workshops we hosted for teachers. As a result, Kwiaahwah and I decided that the development of some kind of interdisciplinary source book including perspectives of Haida artists and other Haida knowledge holders would be an important contribution. We had always conceived of the edited carver/artist interviews and the photographs as being a resource but had not begun to consider how these could be made available. Source books62 – small, inexpensive in-house publications – seemed an ideal way to incorporate the interviews, the images and an overview on the Haida canoe. It was in June 2008, when Kwiaahwah came to Vancouver to spend three days working with me at MOA that an idea of a classroom-based resource really began in earnest. We drew inspiration from two of the outreach teaching kits that I had developed at MOA with First Nations artists and educators – My ancestors are still dancing which focused on Chilkat weaving from the perspective of Tsimshian weaver William White and Researching Residential Schools a set of resources designed for secondary students.63 After Kwiaahwah and I developed an index for a sourcebook, we began to organize the interviews and images we had into an outline. In September 2008, I ended my research and the resource book took on a life of its own. Kwiaahwah Jones began working with Heather Ramsay at the HGM to create a resource. As the „canoe book‟, as we fondly called the resource book, started to take shape, I offered suggestions. I did so as a supporter, not one of the co-developers. Kwiaahwah and Heather finished the transcripts, and organized the content of the book. Gina „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe was published by the Haida Gwaii Museum Press in 2010. Looking back  So my research story is not only about the collaborative development of an education programme and educational resource. The research story is about getting to know a place, and developing meaningful relationships that allow for knowledge sharing and knowledge development. It is a I use the term source book because it is one that Curator Pam Brown at MOA has used productively for fifteen years. They are small inexpensive in-house publications. MOA source book examples can be found online http://www.moa.ubc.ca/exhibits/online_sourcebooks.php (accessed February 7, 2011). 63 Outreach teaching kits are curricula based teaching materials generated by MOA for use outside of the Museum. They are a combination of relevant objects, resources such as films, books and a teaching guide. 62  132 research story about mentorship. I mentored Kwiaahwah Jones. Kwiaahwah Jones, Nika Collison, and Nathalie Macfarlane mentored me in working in their community and in their Museum. I was focused when I started this project on ways Haida epistemology could be front and centre in the development of educational programming in a Haida museum. Where I landed was somewhere a little different. I learned that trying to identify or qualify Haida knowledge or epistemologies is a fool‟s errand. It was all around me the whole time I worked in Haida Gwaii. Working with Haida curators, artists, and other knowledge holders to bring forward their own stories in their own ways became the goal – in reality not an easy task. I became part of something that had its roots in the local, in Haida Gwaii, and which was driven by a member of the Haida community – Kwiaahwah Jones. I had a role in the process, but was not in control of the outcomes – though Kwiaahwah still claimed she didn‟t really know what she was doing. “At the beginning of this I couldn‟t visualize anything other than we‟re going to get some really great content and integrate it into schools or curriculum, whatever curriculum means. I see it in curriculum vitae. I see like the Haida curriculum but it didn‟t really mean anything to me. That‟s just added to my vocabulary. I was like, “Sure, I can make curriculum or programmes. That‟s great, yeah, yeah.” I was willing to do it but it got to a point where we write a grant application and we get funds from Gwaii Forest and all these partners with these huge goals, like really high goals…There was just so much. I‟m like, “Okay, I can do this but at the same time I was worried” (Kwiaahwah Jones, September 28, 2008, personal communication). I started this chapter with my notion of landed wisdom. I end it with an excerpt from the last interview between Kwiaahwah Jones and myself where we talk about the importance of our trip to Langara Island. I call it a side journey.  133  Side Journey  Kwiaahwah Jones: When we went on my dad‟s boat  with my dad and my cousin and we went to Langara Island, I thought it was cool for you to be flexible and open enough and comfortable enough to come. There‟s not a lot of people that can do that, just to get on a boat. I think the fact that you were able to see a lot of what my life is, was, or has been. I don‟t know it was a big deal for me. But not only that just being flexible I guess having such a strong connection to the place, especially there, was pretty cool.  Jill Baird: That was a really good experience. When we  hiked to the west coast of the island and it was kind of hilarious like we were soaked right to the bone. We were making jokes all the way along and saw like moss mound that looked like a frog. I still have the picture of the mound. I want to include it in my dissertation. By the end we were just like ridiculously goofy. You were both teaching me about yourself, but also without any words physically and emotionally about the importance of place. On the way home, you and your cousin decided to hop off and go to Kiusta to join the rediscovery project. We just pulled up on the beach. You and your cousin jumped off and said, “Bye” and you were gone. I had about two minutes of anxiety and then had a lovely ride home with your dad. It was really a lesson for me in letting go and just actually being and kind of responding to what was there as opposed to my plan. I thought it is kind of a signature moment for me. If I‟m actually going to be in a place I have to kind of let go of having things just so. So it‟s funny you‟re bringing up Langara Island because I don‟t think I would have ever thought about integrating it into my field journals and notes for my dissertation because I might have thought of it as a side trip (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, September 28, 2008, personal communication).  Figure 74: (Top – Bottom) Jill Baird and Kwiaahwah Jones, Langara Island, photo; unknown; A moss mound, Langara Island; Old dock, Langara Island, Setting sun, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  134 CHAPTER 6: INTERACTIONS AND UNDERSTANDINGS  “The interpretive practice of making sense of one‟s findings is both artistic and political.” Denzin & Lincoln64 “those unassimiliable fragments of experience that refuse to be woven into a neat tale.” Elizabeth St. Pierre65 Adapting to local constraints and possibilities is a constant theme in this research. It is therefore no different as I undertake the analysis of my work. In this chapter I use an analytical framework drawn from Kirkness‟ and Barnhardt‟s principles of respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility (1991), and apply it to my own autoethnographic accounts and the interviews that I undertook with colleagues from the Haida Gwaii Museum (HGM) over a sixteen month period of May 2007 to September 2008. I begin by reiterating the rationale for the analytic framework that I established in Chapter Two, then characterize the data I analyzed. At the beginning of each section of analysis, I explain my use of the terms before I proceed to make sense of the data in terms of how its interpretation contributes to or inhibits the creation of a third space, a space that I argue is necessary to advance towards post- colonial museological practices – a space for local options. Rationale for framework  The notions of respect, reciprocity, relevance, and responsibility have been thematic companions throughout this journey. Many Indigenous researchers draw on the work of Kirkness and Barnhardt and apply it to their studies (Archibald, 2008; Battiste, 2000; Battiste, Bell & Findlay, 2002; Battiste & Henderson, 2000b; Bowechop & Erikson, 2005; Carjuzaa & Fenimore-Smith 2010; Haig-Brown & Archibald, 1996; Marker, 2004a; Menzies, 2004; Mithlo, 2004b; Pidgeon, 2008; Sefa Dei, Hall, Rosenberg, 2000). There is considerable overlap in the four themes. Useful to tease out, but in the final analysis, it is difficult to have reciprocity without respect. It is also difficult to be responsible and undertake projects that have relevance to the community and individuals with whom you work without developing relationships and trust. It is equally difficult to truly consider reciprocity without also developing roles and 64 65  Denzin & Lincoln, 2005, p 26. St. Pierre, 2000, p. 272.  135 responsibilities that are meaningful and appropriate to those involved. This fluidity nicely reflects the research context and the drive for wholism that the education programme development sought, and is a way to honour the Haida concept of gina „waadluxan gud ad kwaagiidang – everything depends on everything else (Collison, 2006; Ramsay & Jones, 2010). In addition to applying the themes of reciprocity, respect, relevance, and responsibility, I drew two final themes from the data – relationship plus place and land. The importance of relationship has been articulated by many Indigenous scholars (Carjuzaa & Fenimore-Smith, 2010; Iseke-Barnes, 2008; Barnhardt & Kawagley, 1999; Marker, 2000, 2006; Thompson Edosdi, 2008; Wilson, 2003) and others like Susanne Gannon (2009). 66 In my research, the themes of relationship and place were very strong in our conversations, in my journal entries, and finally, the photo-documentation. Characteristics of the data  The data analyzed here are of two types. First, my journals, which range from handwritten, reflective personal journals including everything from contact lists, scribbles, and sketches, to meeting notes and daily reflections. The second type involves audio interviews. All of the interviews share some characteristics. They were informal conversations, back and forth discussions, often with overlapping voices. There was much laughter, and many, many yeahs and uhuhs. Occasionally, there were long passages by one speaker, but more often there were short commentaries back and forth between speakers. In four of the interviews there were three participants. Some interviews were only fifteen minutes long while others lasted two hours. On two occasions the interviews and subsequent transcripts were very poor. One was due to the fact that we were sitting on the beach at Kaay Llnagaay, where the wind drowned out our voices. The other occurred when we were travelling in a car and the ambient sounds were stronger than our voices. There is something to learn from the uneven quality of the audio interviews. Better audio would have been possible if I had organized the interviews in a quiet place and paid more attention to the audio environment. That would no doubt have generated clearer sound and 66  Gannon‟s work is particularly relevant here as her study on place-based education involves highschool students representing what they thought about where they live in images and text (2009).  136 thereby better transcripts. However, subscribing to the notion of research as conversation (Archibald, 2008), I sacrificed great audio for great conversations when the opportunities arose, not when I could organize an appropriate place and time. I carried my mp3 recorder with me everywhere. It was small and unobtrusive and easy to use. This allowed me to choose moments when and where my colleagues were available. Sometimes at home, sometimes in the car, and sometimes in the middle of conversations it would dawn on me that I should record our discussions. This felt more natural and more responsive to the place I was in and the people I was with. The first interview set a tone both humorous and congenial that was sustained throughout the sixteen months. The interactions in our first recorded meeting began the building of a rapport between me and my colleagues at the Haida Gwaii Museum at Kaay Llnagaay. Rachel Gouin notes in her accounts of research with women and social action the critical role humour plays in the process (2004). Kwiaahwah Jones shares this perspective stating that “[w]hoever is researching anybody, should be able to tap into the humour, the human side of things, not only the business side” (March 8, 2008, personal communication). That interview was also the moment when I started to think about reciprocity in new ways. None of the three women, to my knowledge, used the journals in ways that I had hoped might translate into another  Figure 75: Nika Collison, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  form of data. It became clear that these were my interests, not theirs, and that the journal was another form of work. Pressures to finish the Museum made this kind of feedback burdensome. After a few weeks I did not ask about the journals or encourage their use. This changed my idea of reciprocity. Initially I thought that my colleagues could contribute to the research and data collection in ways that might have been more meaningful to them, and thereby set up a reciprocal process at the outset. I thought that using material drawn from their journals would generate more relevant and unfiltered data. These data then would provide  137 further insights into the process of collaboration that the informal interviews and the autoethnographic process might not necessarily capture. It may not have worked anyway because my colleagues might have been reluctant to share their journals in the end. Regardless, I did not pursue this idea for reasons outlined above. Having my colleagues participate in data generation aligns with Lather‟s notion of (post)feminist methodology – where the act of not knowing can open up spaces for new knowledge and experience (2008). I conceived of the journals as a space of not knowing for me, a space where their thoughts and ideas were recorded, not filtered through interviews with me. This is a study I believe still worth doing. However, acknowledging that it was not the time or place to undertake such a process helped reformulate my understanding of reciprocity within the research process. I began to think about reciprocity beyond involvement in the research process (I guess I was still carrying some desires  Figure 76: Entrance to HGM, pole by Bill Reid, HGM, Haida Gwaii 2007.  around an action research process) and expand my thinking to what I could bring to their Museum programming. I began to see reciprocity in terms of what I could do that would be useful and sustainable for them. Alongside thinking what I could bring, I saw that being a guest on their land and being introduced to their community as important acts of reciprocity that they offered to me. Respect  The most critical component of any research or relationship is respect. The principle is deeply embedded in any expression of reciprocity, responsibility, relevance, relationships, and place. You know, it‟s funny, we were kind of tired of other people coming from somewhere else and telling us what to do and how to do it or how better to do it. We‟ve never felt that way with your relationship that you were coming to tell us something to do. You know what? The Haida have forever been  138 interacting with others. Forever. So this isn‟t new, this idea that you can interact with others without sacrificing oneself and I guess that‟s, you know, that there‟s an interaction without the sacrificing could be a definition of respect (Nika Collison, March 9, 2008, personal communication). The idea of not sacrificing oneself in any interaction should be a given, but as many Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars have documented, that has not always been the case in research relationships (Golding, 2009; hooks, 1994; Minh-ha, 1989; Mithlo, 2004b; Smith, 2005a). Marker goes so far as calling it “epistemic violence” (2003, p. 361). By acknowledging at the outset that interaction must be without personal or community sacrifice, a respectful relationship can begin. Smith asks: “What is respect and how do we know when researchers are behaving respectfully? What does respect entail at a day-to-day level of interaction” (2005b, p. 97)? In Haida Gwaii, I developed a deeper understanding of and respect for responsibilities that Clan members had for their Clan, the role of community in governance and identity formation, and the impact social structures had on individuals, families, and clans. This meant that I needed to respect the differences between an individual and those who spoke for the community, and those who spoke with authority as Clan Chiefs and Matriarchs. This was clear to me when Nika  Figure 77: Kwiaahwah Jones, installing the bird collection, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Collison reminded me that even though she was knowledgeable and experienced in exhibition development, she needed to consult with Chiefs, Clan Matriarchs, and Haida language speakers in order to develop the exhibits. She informed me at the outset that Kwiaahwah and I too would need to consult with these knowledge holders as we moved ahead on educational programmes. Whereas I had been more accustomed to ensuring that the rights of the individual were respected, Nika stated that the Elders, Chiefs, and Matriarch needed to vet information and be involved in how and what knowledge were to be made public. Respect in this case extends to respecting the right to control how knowledge is used and circulated. Respect also meant that information shared by  139 members of the community, depending on what information it was, might need to be vetted by Elders, Chiefs, and Matriarchs to ensure that the larger responsibilities of Clan, family, and nation were respected. In April of 2008, Nika Collison and I shared the keynote address at the Canadian Art Gallery Educators conference. In one of our planning discussions we talked about the pressure of timelines and of collaborating with communities – our own and others. Our dialogue resonates with Michelle Pidgeon‟s assertion that it takes more than good intentions to develop respectful, accountable and productive relationships (2008). Nika began our discussion recounting an experience that she had just had working with an outside cultural institution where timelines and consultation processes were very tight making her role in her community challenging. Jill Baird: It‟s funny because I felt exactly the same way and then when I wrote that quick blurb for the conference programme. I was disappointed after I sent it, because that‟s not really what I wanted to do, or how I envisioned this process happening. You know, you smash something out, the whole time I‟m saying to myself “this isn‟t the way to do this”. Nika Collison: yeah ha ha, but we had coffee on Wednesday, and she wanted it by Friday. Jill Baird: and you have this brand new baby and this whole life here that you need to deal with Nika Collison: and post-partum depression that I didn‟t know about! Jill Baird: and so then I sent it, and I thought, “that‟s so wrong!” Wrong in that the idea was that you and I were going to bring something together. That‟s what we‟re offering these folks, not something just I wrote. Nika Collison: That‟s what we‟re doing now, but I never felt that. I felt like, “oh thank god”! because my process takes so long. Jill Baird: I was just like, “Jeez, you know if you want to really change the way things get done, this is part of what needs to change too”. Nika Collison: well, the timeline was tight. Jill Baird: timelines have to change too. Nika Collison: I love talking with you because I get all riled up and agitated (Nika Collison, Jill Baird, March 9, 2008, personal communication)! This passage from our planning discussions for the conference speaks to the issue of good intentions raised by Pigeon. Despite our best intentions of collaborating throughout the whole process of preparing our keynote presentation, I felt we got caught up for a moment doing what was expedient. Thankfully, Nika appreciated my stepping in to write the presentation description, but it was important to me that we took a step back and did the work necessary to ensure that the development and the delivery of the presentation were done together. Sometimes those moments are not caught, and the pressure of doing the work drives the process instead. When these moments are caught, however, they can often be defining  140  Figure 78: Paddlers Loo Taas, Haida Gwaii, August 2007.  moments for making change in process to get back on a respectful track. In this instance, I was the one who felt we were getting off track and as a result worked harder to ensure that Nika and I were truly co-presenting. Kwiaahwah Jones and I spent a good deal of time talking – whether we were driving up island to interview an artist, or heading into town to shop, or turning our chairs around in the office at the HGM that I shared with her. We talked about establishing relationships and trust and humour, respecting the need to talk sometimes about things, which appeared completely unrelated. You need to sit there and then once you become part of the moment, rather then waiting for your answers to come they start to come. I think the magic with you coming up last summer and seeing the chaos and the new intern is that you got to sit and have some tea and figure out what it feels like to be in the moment before you focused on getting the answers that you might be seeking. I think that was important - from my own personal experience and from what I‟ve read and from what I understand from other researchers going into communities. It can be a big downfall for researchers. They just want to come roaring in, get all the answers and then go back to school and get all their papers done, or you know what I mean (Kwiaahwah Jones, March 8, 2008, personal communication)?  141 Listening intently, paying attention to the situation, and to people‟s comfort are all important gestures of respect that I consciously attended to throughout my research. These are not necessarily new forms of respect for me although I was more conscious of my behaviour and my responses during this time. Reciprocity  Reciprocity is an important principle and analytic tool. Reciprocity requires a mutual give and take and responsiveness to the needs of the community, the organization, or individuals involved in the research. Many have documented the uneven and at times unethical research  Figure 79: Jaalen Edenshaw speaking to visiting students, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  interactions between Indigenous peoples and researchers (Iseke-Barnes, 2008; Pidgeon & Hardy Cox, 2002; Thompson Edosdi, 2008; Wilson, 2003). Establishing reciprocal relationships requires respect for each position and openness to answering critical questions such as: who benefits from this research? what are the roles and responsibilities? who owns the outcomes? and what are both sides giving and taking as part of the research? In this research, these questions were not explicitly asked at the outset, nor were they referred to directly in the process. Reciprocity did however, play a major role in the research process.  142 Reciprocity was not a word that conveniently or repeatedly appeared in the interview data or in my personal journals. When specifically used, it was most often in my own journals or transcripts. Instead of just looking for the word, I identified phrasing and situations, which spoke to the principle. It is impossible, I contend, to undertake mutually beneficial research if one does not begin with the idea of reciprocity. Smith uses the term tricky ground in referring to potential disconnects between research methodologies, ethical principles, institutional regulations, and human subjects as individuals and as socially organized actors and communities (2005b, p. 85). Negotiating that tricky ground meant establishing, fostering, and maintaining relationships with my colleagues at the HGM. Haida curator Nika Collison captures the idea of reciprocity nicely: Nika Collison: I guess from a community perspective, I want, on behalf of my community and the museum, to give to the person what they need within reason. Because if it‟s a good project and it‟s going to benefit our community by keeping the Haida name out there and it is going to benefit the museum, then it is worth it. It is also those nice little episodes – when outsiders are generous and thoughtful that really means something. It is also nice that you and me get to spend time together. Jill Baird: I think for me that would be my idealized notion of reciprocity. For it to be reciprocal you kind of have to give in the same way you‟re benefiting. Right? Nika Collison: Yeah. Absolutely, but you know it‟s hard too. I was thinking to qualify or quantify it? There is often nothing really tangible… The key word is developing understanding (Nika Collison, Jill Baird, April 7, 2008, personal communication). Reciprocity as a fundamental component of a research process can mitigate the exploitative potential of research. It demands an accountability of the research. I am accountable as I lay out my thinking and my colleagues from Haida Gwaii read it, question it, and in some cases ask me to explain it better. As others have written, establishing formal research protocols for Indigenous communities has become necessary in order for communities to control research agendas and benefit directly from ongoing research (Carjuzaa & Fenimore-Smith, 2010; Marker, 2004b; Smith, 2005a). In this situation the research agenda was informed by Nika Collison and Kwiaahwah Jones though not by a formal process. In the following passage I describe my research interests in terms of its reciprocal potential. Jill Baird: Part of what I'm interested is how in a public venue, how do we find ways to bridge those different ways of knowing, without one ruling the other, and the tradition has been Western knowledge has ruled other knowledges. Kwiaahwah Jones: So you're coming to learn.  143 Jill Baird: I am coming to learn, but I think I'm also coming to give. So, I'm not just here for myself. Hopefully, something reciprocal -- I'm getting something from this, absolutely, but hopefully there's a reciprocal relationship…. Kwiaahwah Jones: (Laughter) Not bringing beads? Instead here to create education programme for the entire district (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, October 19, 2007, personal communication)! Kwiaahwah‟s reference to beads was a humourous way to comment on the inequities of past relationships between Aboriginal and nonAboriginal relations. It also demonstrates that an environment of respect and trust was being developed. What is equally critical is the shift from humour to practicalities. Though Kwiaahwah was new to museums and to the research world, she quickly saw the reciprocal possibilities. I would be learning and the Museum would be gaining something it valued – an education programme. Reciprocity must include such crucial considerations as how best to share the research  Figure 80: Aerial view on route to K'uuna, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  findings and to ensure copies of outcomes are given to participants – whether individuals or organizations. In this research, each participant has received copies of their personal transcripts and will receive a final copy of this dissertation. As well, the school programme outline is the property of the HGM. As detailed earlier, copies of all the photographs I took have been given to the HGM to use without restriction. Nika Collison: This is something totally different from what you‟re just saying and I‟ve wanted to say it but there‟s no place to put it yet. But part of what I think why it is really great that you‟re working in our community, is that you come with an open mind. And patience and an understanding of the time and energy needed – and probably an even greater understanding of the time now that you‟ve spent what is it now more than a year at this - but you‟re also not a pushover! There‟s nothing worse than that. The ones that come in and they just want to say yes to everything and they find a primary source, and it‟s their only source.  August 5, 2007 Trip to Skedans - K‟uuna Llnagaay with my son Carson. Reciprocity – Janine, a young Haida working at Kaay had never been and since I had already paid the cost of the plane, I invited her…Girl and James were the Watchmen – breathing life, history and their own experience into the land and into us.  144 That‟s harms everyone as much as the authoritative outsider does. Jill Baird: so not being a pushover, is a way of asserting that I need thing too. I just have to respect that so long as my needs don‟t override everything. Nika Collison: yeah, you come willing to do things and you need things too, right (Nika Collison, Jill Baird, March 9, 2008, personal communication)? By asking that researchers not rely on one source, and not become authoritative outsiders, Collison in her own way is calling for the same kind of empirical research as Spivak who asks that “we wrestle with data and value how it helps us not homogenize or marginalize the actual” (quoted in Lather, 2008, p. 58). Nika‟s assertion that spending time and truly investing in the research is an important facet of reciprocity. The research must mean something to those involved, but it still requires a rigorous investment so the outcomes prove useful. I have struggled with this in a small way as both Nika Collison and Kwiaahwah Jones are reading this dissertation as it evolves and at times I worry about  Figure 81: Nathalie Macfarlane giving tour to MOA volunteers, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  how I am characterizing them and the situation. I get a bit nervous about my interpretation of events and particularly my assessment of the school programme outline. I have not checked to see if they share my insights because part of what I am giving in this process is my perspective.67 In order to do that there must be honesty and for there to be honesty, there must be trust and respect. Reciprocity can only be built on these foundations. Once this is built spaces should open up that generate new experiences and new ideas for all involved. Reciprocity is also about the intangible aspects of relationships. The willingness of my colleagues to introduce me to their community I saw as both an act of reciprocity and a gesture of respect. I had not yet produced anything of value for the Museum; nonetheless, Nika,  The school programme outline draft was only completed at the end of the research period. It would be a useful follow up project to have my collaborators at the Haida Gwaii Museum to critically evaluate the programme outline. 67  145 Nathalie, and Kwiaahwah showed generosity and trust by introducing me to people thereby creating connections for me to pursue. I think, and maybe this is kind of obvious, but I think when somebody like you, of your caliber comes to work with us in the museum we try to show you how things work here culturally because it influences so much of how we do work at the museum. We introduce you to the protocols, the relationships between families, people, the differences in the political between the Skidegate Band Council members and the Council of the Haida Nation. I think we all kind of participate in teaching those lessons, so that people who come here are given sort of an overview of what we think are the essential things they need to know if they want to be successful here. I think that making sure outsiders who come here to work are clear on how to do things is part of what we give to you. You are taking something back, taking something away. But the expression of your being here is very much giving to the community (Nathalie Macfarlane , October 23, 2007, personal communication). The introductions proved to be more than a who‟s who; it was a grounding in the relationships important to this place and these people. The introductions helped me conceive of the notion of landed wisdom because my interaction became much more than talking to people and asking them about educational programming at the Museum. It was going places together whether to the community hall, Spirit Lake trail, the west coast, or  Figure 82: Spirit Lake trail, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Langara Island to meet people, to walk the beaches. The introduction to people, protocols and relevant relationships also functioned as a kind of declaration of where the power, authority and privilege resided. It resided in Elders, local Haida knowledge holders, people who knew the land and the stories - not with me, an external researcher.  146 As a result of these introductions, I met with over thirty community members – Haida and non-Haida ranging from artists, politicians, elders, scholars, weavers, carvers, teachers, loggers, daycare workers, and parents. This networking helped me to make connections, to learn more about the interactions between various community interests, and proved to be valuable to the Museum. I saw reciprocity in terms of what my experience could bring. Although the Director and Haida Curator had a tremendous amount of museum experience, particularly working with their community, my experience of networking, making links between the schools, the community at large, and the museum helped start a process where conversations about how the museum could be more actively used as a resource began. This role was deemed useful. I think it's great what you're learning and all of the groundwork you've done. Making connections with school boards and school districts, and classrooms and getting all that ground work done, in terms of connecting and opening up the possibilities for teachers and other culture educators to use Kaay. When you first came, I said, "Okay, well let's see what she does." You know I have to say, I don't know where that's coming from, but I had this kind of block, or just a lack of understanding of how we can really get the schools in here (Nathalie Macfarlane, October 23, 2007, personal communication). I was informed by Nika Collison while writing this dissertation that the process had borne fruit with a professional development day being hosted at the Museum, and an educational programme offered to local schools developed well after my departure as a researcher (personal communication, October, 2010). An unexpected outcome, but the most rewarding for me personally and professionally, was the role I had as mentor to Kwiaahwah Jones. It included offering advice, discussing vigorously a range of ideas, and helping craft a grant proposal. The other thing I really didn't expect was that you would be mentoring our Haida intern Kwiaahwah. I think that's an incredibly valuable contribution that you've made to our institution, and involving yourself in that mentoring. You know you came at a time of great flux and you've laid the groundwork for us to develop that educational programme (Nathalie Macfarlane, October 23, 2007, personal communication). Considering this, it seems a little one-sided and perhaps arrogant to suggest that I was the only one doing any mentoring. Kwiaahwah mentored me in important ways – as described in the last chapter. Our walks and talks, and the visit to Langara Island gave me insights into what  147 was important in her life and how she saw the land, family, and history all intertwined and how she struggled with her position, not knowing what to do, but willing to experiment for a while. Kwiaahwah Jones: You were so willing to jump in and say “Hey, we could do it on this or you can do it on that.” I was still kind of like “You want to what?” I think that‟s from my own personal experiences like going to high school and not having a relationship with a teacher or anyone. I sort of glazed over a little. I think that‟s pretty common for myself and a lot of my peers because if we didn‟t have relationships fostered with any teacher, which was pretty common because teachers didn‟t take the time to do that, we just kind of glaze over. Everything was so new for me too and you knew that I felt kind of bad thinking about me being so green and so new and you‟re just like this „museum professional‟. I think that‟s an admirable trait on your part. It shows a lot of respect, and openness to be able or willing to take this on. I think about that all the time actually. So I thought that a lot, your willingness to just jump in, really showed a lot of kind of faith in me Jill Baird: Well, thank you. I‟ll take it as a compliment but I don‟t think it was a plan. I think I felt just as awash as you did. Everyone was working full out trying to finish the centre when I arrived. My hugest fear until you and I started connecting was there would be nobody there for me to co-develop anything with. I was really worried going forward...It was fortuitous for both of us that you slid into your job and I slid into you (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, September 28, 2008, personal communication). The relationship continues as I finish this writing. Kwiaahwah and Nika are reading much of this text. This takes time which I appreciate and I believe is one way they are giving back to me. This form of reciprocity is productive for us all. I continue to gain insights and support from my colleagues and my colleagues gain some insights  Figure 83: View of Contact & Conflict gallery, HGM, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  into the issues and dilemmas facing a non-Indigenous museum educator. Responsibility  Responsibility encompasses accountability, trustworthiness, and reliability and requires an acknowledgement of the shifting and changing nature of the responsibilities each participant accepts. In my research process, the area of responsibility resonates in a few ways. First,  148 Kwiaahwah offers a critical perspective about sharing knowledge and protecting knowledge that must be part of the responsibilities researchers assume. The way I see it, is everyone has a house, everyone has a life inside the house that‟s separate from their life outside the house. If you have a houseful of things that are beautiful, and they‟re useful and they‟re lovely, and everyone likes them, then you have more value in that house. It kind of tells the world who you are and where you come from. People enjoy it as much as you do, but you take more pride in it. Being able to say “this is mine and this is how it makes me feel.” When I respond this way, it instills pride. I see being Haida and being from Haida Gwaii as being from this massive house, full of things we can use in a functional everyday way. It has a purpose, whatever it may be. I‟m not sure how I‟m trying to paint this, but if someone comes in your house, and takes ideas from your house, and puts them in their house, sometimes it is okay because you still have your original idea anyway. And it can be good because you want people to take on new technologies and ideas. But if someone just takes and takes from your house, then it‟s not good (Kwiaahwah Jones, October 10, 2007, personal communication). Kwiaahwah reminds us that sharing knowledge is how we come to know the world, but that there are times when knowledge is not there for the taking. There are responsible ways to participate in learning new things and there are limits to what outsiders are permitted to take. In an email from Kwiaahwah on September 27, 2010, after sending her my first rough draft of chapter two, she responded to this idea by saying: This is such an interesting grapple- I am a bit of a slow reader but as I read I am more enticed into what you have to say.... in this dissertation. I had an idea of the relationship of a researcher and researchee---- and the reciprocity etc. My Chinaay Sol68 was heavily researched and its a shame because some of the outcomes were rather disgusting on the researchers' part- its in the book Fire in the Raven's Nest... anyway I never really realized 68  Chinaay Sol is Kwiaahwah’s grandfather Sol.  Figure 84: Visiting student looking out to Skyaas Island, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  149 or fully realized the delicate balance you need to achieve this... you are my friend so trust between u and I are through and through... its so interesting now to read this and consider our time together.. lol (excerpted with permission from email, Kwiaahwah Jones, September 27, 2010 ) Being aware of and sensitive to challenges and responsibilities that come with working with other‟s knowledge is difficult sometimes. Trust and open communication is of the utmost importance. There is no list of rights and wrongs on which to check. For example, when Nika and Nathalie were telling me stories about Kaay Llnagaay they did not preface it by saying “Jill do not repeat this, or Jill turn off the recorder.” It was however, both implicit and explicit over many interactions that Clan Chiefs and Matriarchs were to be consulted on all issues relating to their clans, and that too much information had left their community to be owned and interpreted by others. Nika Collison stated that her “responsibility is to go to the elders, and the other people who hold knowledge, make sure they want to share, and that they‟re comfortable, and then bring it back” (March 9, 2008, personal communication). Although some First Nations communities demand researchers sign community research protocols. I needed to accept this responsibility without any formal process. The area of responsibility is a challenging category for me. Since  Figure 85: Culturally modified cedar tree, Spirit Lake Trail, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  the outset of my research, it has been an area of concern because I never asked my colleagues outright what my responsibilities were, nor did I ask them what responsibilities were theirs in  150 the development of educational programming. Why did I not ask? Even two years later, I felt it was something I could not ask. I felt that my research proposal was accepted partly because I was an experienced museum educator and because the Museum Director and the Curator saw potential benefit to my being there and developing something for their institution. I do not know whether they truly considered the collaborative component the same way I was considering it. They may well have seen collaboration more in terms of a process where they were consulted as I pitched ideas and then gave me the okay to go ahead, or possibly where they had an approving and editing role. This process would likely have worked just fine for the Haida Gwaii Museum, but would not have been useful for me because it would not have helped me answer my larger research question of how to integrate different ways of knowing into mainstream museum education practices. Instead, I would have felt like an educational consultant – a valuable role overall, but not a transformative one. Early on I noted in my journals that I felt as if I were working alone. I admit that I was afraid that the time and energy required for any collaborative project was not there at that time; and if I had asked outright, both the Curator and the Director would have declared the limits of their interests and willingness to work with me on developing school programming. Early on, Nika Collison said she didn‟t want to work with school groups and in an interview in October Nathalie Macfarlane stated: when you first came, I though, Okay, well let's see what she does. <laughter> You know…And actually, I do remember telling you that in the past what we've done is just focused in on interested teachers and worked with them, rather than trying to broach the whole educational organizations on how to get them here (October 10, 2007, personal communication). In addition to their seeming lack of interest in education programming, they had a massive job of completing the Museum exhibits. The schedule of the HGM expansion project had been changed and there were setbacks on construction - all contributing to the situation in which I found myself in May 2007. The situation and their sentiments led me to be a bit uneasy and therefore not ask directly what they thought my and their responsibilities were. I did ask Kwiaahwah about her role. Jill Baird: What role do you see yourself playing in this collaboration? Kwiaahwah Jones: um, I hope I can contribute whatever I can. Right. So, and hopefully learn things along the way, because I know I don‟t know anything, you know! Ha ha. You know what I mean. To  151 learn the process on the way too, ways to develop programmes for the future (Jill Baird, Kwiaahwah Jones, June 28, 2007, personal communication). Perhaps out of self-interest I chose to wait and see what emerged and not make it an issue. In my view, what did emerge was a much more valuable process for me – a process that required that I slow down, get to know a place and its people on a deeper level, listen more attentively to what was going on, and wait for ideas to land. Responsibility does not only revolve around roles and accountability, it must also speak to commitments. I wanted to extend my research period beyond October 2007 because I felt responsible for contributing something tangible as a research result such as a school programme. At the time I did not yet see the relationships I was developing, the support I was giving for the Gwaii Forest grant, or my role as a mentor as tangible contributions. My desire to contribute something meaningful often conflicted with the need to wait and see what emerged from those with whom I worked. Part of my responsibility as a researcher was to  Figure 86: View to Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  152 make a time commitment and to see what might result. Too often in the day-to-day operations of museums, inadequate time is allotted for working alongside communities in order to see what emerges. I was fortunate, for I was able to extend my fieldwork and commit more time to the project. The meaning and implication of responsibility goes deeper. I changed my methodology from my original action research model to what I consider an adaptive autoethnography/case study because I wanted to take responsibility for my role in the research in response to the history of unequal research practices between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. I also wanted the research to have implications for my museum education practice. My purpose in undertaking doctoral research at the mid to late period in my professional career was to take time to read, study, and reflect on what the possibilities might be in changing my museum education practices. After being a museum educator for twenty years, I saw this research as an act of taking responsibility to change my professional practice. I believe that museums are important social institutions and as such need to develop more responsive ways to engage their larger audiences, while adapting and changing their ways of working with originating communities. As I stated at the beginning of this study, much work has been done in evaluating and adjusting museum practices from collaboration on collections work (Fienup-Riordan, 2003); to exhibition development (Ames, 1999), yet little is documented on the process of interpretative or education programming changes in response to diverse communities‟ ways of knowing. I saw again, as Butler suggests, great possibilities in a scene of constraints (2004). Relevance  My research in Haida Gwaii is founded on the idea that research questions should matter to all those involved. The search for more appropriate ways of collaborating between mainstream museums and First Nations museums, and between Indigenous and non-Indigenous  Figure 87: Beach stones, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  153 museum professionals is relevant for us all. The topic was not a new one for the staff of the Museum, but because they were a mix of Haida and non-Haida, Indigenous and nonIndigenous museum professionals, the research question was and continues to be relevant to their professional practice. What was new for the experienced Museum staff was exploring my research questions through looking at educational programming, not exhibits. The interaction between the Museum and the school community in the past had focused mainly on interested teachers rather than development of programming that would advance the Museum and the Haida community‟s interest. Nathalie Macfarlane was interested in having programming developed that took advantage of all that the Museum had to offer, but this did not set up unrealistic expectations. By having you here, my learning process on the potential of education programmes, has broadened considerably just through discussions with you and seeing what you've been doing. I have found that your approach is really actually, really exciting because of that- that holistic approach of taking the canoe as the point of departure and the point of return and threading it through the entire museum resources, whether it's collections or information resources. I think it's the way to learn (Nathalie Macfarlane, October 23, 2007, personal communication). It was critical that my research question feed into the interests of the organization that opened its doors to me, but also critical that outcomes were relevant. Nathalie Macfarlane and I had a number of conversations about the role of a museum educator at the HGM. She was clear that there were no plans to have an education programmer, therefore what was developed as a result of my research needed to be sustainable and include local educators in ways that didn‟t unduly draw on the Museum staff. In other words, the best programme would be one that teachers could do on their own or with minimal contribution from Museum staff. Hence the topic of many of my discussions with community educators revolved around how they could use the Museum in their  “Many canoes were left unfinished in the forest during the small pox era. The story is tragic, but it is a gift from our ancestors to be able to learn from them. Making canoes is a skill that probably wouldn‟t have been brought back if it wasn‟t for these canoes out here. So our ability to learn from ancestors goes well beyond just looking in museum and books. This is where you learn. When they started making canoes again they came out and they spent time out in the forest with the old canoes” (Jaalen Edenshaw quoted in Ramsay & Jones, 2010, p.2).  teaching, not how the Museum could develop something to support their teaching.  154 The teachers we consulted were clear that the ideas generated in our consultations would need to be further developed, and that they saw a critical role of the Museum here. I was particularly keen on actually using the canoes and working with the whole island community to have student-run canoe journeys. To extend this district wide could mean creating canoe teams, practicing paddling, perhaps even a year-end canoe gathering that could link to Tribal Journeys. 69 A project like this could include everything from learning paddling songs, learning to swim, reading tides, reading charts, and even perhaps fishing from the canoe for a feast at the end. Many of the ideas that the teachers generated would require minor support from the Museum – for example the math and numeracy ideas of measuring, graphing, and calculating displacement would need access to a canoe. Those with a more obvious cultural focus would require more work on behalf of the teacher and the museum. To follow through on the idea of sharing the first canoe story, Museum staff would need to source an audio or textual version of the story, and undertake the relevant consultation with the Clans to determine who owns the story and whether a version of it could be translated. Once that work was done, teachers could integrate it into their curriculum knowing that all the proper protocols were followed. They could also teach the protocols followed as part of the process. There are many great ideas and worthy projects, but what became clear to me was that in order to take advantage of even a few the Museum had to decide on its priorities. The scope of possibilities was not necessarily liberating but overwhelming. Kwiaahwah Jones: I think it is the same issue for schools. I think it‟s a sobering lesson for people to realize that Haida doesn‟t fit into one classroom of Haida culture and Haida language. It‟s an entire culture with its own scholars, artists and ways of doing things. Jill Baird: I think it relieves the pressure on you. There isn‟t one education programme here. It‟s going to be a constantly evolving, changing, and adapting thing. Because if it isn‟t, then it‟s back to my transgression, of course I know there‟s no such thing as the Haida perspective, but um in the business of trying to get something done, I lose something really central. It‟s going to be one of your challenges here, in the business of trying to provide curriculum for teachers, who need stuff, it‟s real, their needs are important and yes they are kind of concrete for the moment. Not to get too stuck in that, so you can evolve, and adapt. So when the technology teacher comes in and has all these great ideas, you can flow Tribal Journeys is the name of a yearly First Nations canoe gathering on the Northwest Coast often involving communities from northern Washington State all the way to Alaska. Each year groups paddle to the destination village/city and celebrate the journey and a sense of community. For more information see http://tribaljourneys.wordpress.com/ (accessed February 4, 2011). 69  155 with that just as easy as you can do home economics and a sewing project (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, March 8, 2008, personal communication). The curricular interests of the teachers were so broad, that developing specialized programming to meet even a fraction of them would have required more than one educational programmer working full time. At the time of my research the Museum had three permanent staff, with temporary summer and project contract staff. Developing education programming that required a large time commitment for the staff would have doomed that programming. I suggested to Nathalie Macfarlane the Museum commit two half days a week dedicated to supporting schools. This, I rationalized, would allow for outreach to schools on a small but ongoing level and would permit a dedicated time and day for schools to visit the Museum knowing that a resource person would be available to them. It would not restrict schools from coming to the Museum whenever it suited them; instead it would make available a knowledgeable resource that teachers could take advantage of if required. Taking into consideration the actual constraints on the Museum and proposing options, I saw it as a relevant part of my research as well as part of what my experience as a museum educator could provide for my colleagues at the HGM. Throughout this process I needed to consider questions of relevancy in many ways. Relevancy takes many forms such as using visuals to communicate what I was hearing and learning from sessions with Kwiaahwah and others. The spiral image I drew after one such session functioned in this way. Jill Baird: Maybe one of the things that can be a result of this process is that when there‟s enough generosity, it is possible to bring some structure to something you know nothing about. If I can use the illustration, my kind of goofy spiral canoe with all the files circulating around it was an attempt at trying to not demonstrate something to you, but to show you what I thought we and others had been talking about. I‟m glad that it worked, that you saw the possibilities we had discussed in the image as well (Kwiaahwah Jones, Jill Baird, September 28, 2008, personal communication). Relevancy is not limited to a way of responding. My enthusiasm for the canoe programme was partly a result of listening to Kwiaahwah get excited about the programme and by the way she thought everything could be intertwined for the students from kindergarten to grade twelve. She was able to  August 6, 2007 Food and land interconnected here – sea asparagus for dinner with friend – hand-picked by river‟s mouth…  156 articulate at each stage why the focus on the canoes was relevant today to students on Haida Gwaii and beyond. Kwiaahwah Jones: I can see that by grade one we start with seed to sapling. There‟s a little tree; it grows big; we cut it down we make into the canoe; we steam it; we shape it; we throw it in the water and then we use it. Starting in grade one; we‟re going to learn how to choose a tree. We‟re going to learn about the forest. We‟re going to go in and see different plants and maybe some different animals. And we‟re going to investigate physical intellectual spiritual attributes. The forest is the most important because that‟s where it starts. Not that it‟s not connected to the ocean. They‟ll come visit us. They will see berry baskets. They‟ll see things made out of cedar. Just making the connections that they‟re all there. It will be establishing the ground work for high school when we say “ok we‟ve got Red Cedar Archaeology70; we‟ve got language, song and dance.” They‟re all interconnected. It will be a more indepth process of identifying everything in this circle and how they all fit together. A central part is food. Everyone needs food every day to do any of these things. Food comes from land and sea, and the land and sea provide for canoes. You‟re learning how they‟re connected to each other. So by Grade 12, they‟ll get a sense of that (March 8, 2008, personal communication). In another description Kwiaahwah speaks to the wholistic nature of the project and the vision to ensure that everything is connected with everything else. What is harder to convey in an excerpted text is Kwiaahwah‟s enthusiasm for and mastery of the topic. To choose a tree you need to learn about the ecosystem. What kind of tree? How is it Figure 88: Spirit Lake, Haida Gwaii, 2007. connected to the watershed, what‟s its location. You would acknowledge the cedar tree itself because it‟s going to provide so much. It‟s being readied for transformation. Thank the tree. It needs to be felled; then it would be shaped; then we can do things from here like design. We can look at its shape. Ask why does the bow look like that and why the stern looks like that? You could also Red Cedar Archaeology is a term I believe unique to Haida Gwaii. The Haida archaeology department has undertaken an inventory of culturally modified trees on the islands and uses the term red cedar archaeology to characterize the ancient history and traditions of use that these ancient trees communicate. 70  157 include Red Cedar Archaeology. The forest shows the history of use of trees, of land use. It shows technology – test holes, stripped bark, planks removed from living trees. Then you shape the thing. Then you steam it. Well, I‟m thinking something like cellular knowledge in terms of a science. What will the wood do? Not every wood can be steamed. Then it‟s also the rocks. You have to know something about what kinds of rocks to use in your fire, another example of technology. So we‟ve drawn a circle for food gathering. It‟s a simple circle. There‟s not a whole lot to it, but it‟s a valuable and useful experience that those kids will take away. It can start anywhere on the circle. You can go with harvest or you can identify. You could include navigation on the water or travel on the land – what season spring or summer. And then so that makes sense because we‟ll have different teachers using the canoe curriculum it doesn‟t matter where they start. They can always come back to where they started because of the canoe. It starts in the forest. The tree gets cut down, gets harvested, gets shaped and then it‟s shaped and then it‟s brought closer to be steamed and finished. And then it‟s named, put out into the water and that‟s it. Ready for use to gather food (March 8, 2008, personal communication). Kwiaahwah used the circle to communicate the diversity and wholistic potential of studying the canoe. By using this structure, she continuously brought things in and out of the circle. I chose the spiral as a visual metaphor for its potential to represent a journey; for her the circle allowed for entry at any point. She spoke about how relevant the circle was in terms of communicating Haida knowledge because it spoke of a wholeness and a completeness that she felt made Haida culture so resilient – particularly in light of the history of colonialism (July 3, 2007, personal communication). On another front, initiating the interviews with the canoe makers allowed Kwiaahwah and me to learn from these knowledge holders. It was from this discussion that the idea of pride of place became part of the outcomes of the  Figure 89: Stone sculpture, Tow Hill, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  158 Everything Canoe Curriculum grant project. Pride of place, a term Kwiaahwah described as something much more than an attitude that Haida Gwaii is a wonderful place. It is deeper; it is about the ancestral relationships connected to so many places on the land; it is about stories where families came from; it is about stories from fishing trips and stories of catching gnaw (octopus) at low tide by moonlight and then sharing your harvest. These stories and others were shared with us as we interviewed the canoe makers and others. Robert Vogstad, who worked on Billy Bellis‟ canoe, used the term Nun‟i Gwaii – Grandmother land – for Haida Gwaii. Through the interviews I came to understand the true relevance of the land and am reminded of the lead political body – the Council of Haida Nation as an organization states that its authority flows directly from the land and traditional Haida systems of governance. Relationships  For my research at the Haida Gwaii Museum, relationship building was a combination of getting to know one and another, building trust and developing a personal rapport with my colleagues, and making new friends and strengthening my relationship with old friends. Relationality is one more „R‟ that has been added to the Indigenous research paradigm (Carjuzaa & Fenimore-Smith, 2010; Thompson Edosdi, 2008; Wilson, 2008). It was a strong theme that emerged from my research. Most obvious perhaps were my personal and professional relationships with the women I worked with at the Haida Gwaii Museum that grew and deepened.  Figure 90: Jill Baird's and Kwiaahwah Jones' feet, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Nika Collison‟s and my sharing the keynote speaker‟s podium at the Canadian Art Educators 2008 conference is an example – not just of Nika and me working together, but of an interdependent relationship where we needed to combine our expertise in order raise critical issues with our art museum colleagues. I do not think that I would have suggested her to the conference organizers, nor her suggestion that we should do this conference presentation  159 together, unless there was a combination of respect, trust, and an interest in each others‟ ideas and points of view. In our preparation for the conference presentation Nika and I discussed a whole range of issues from the role of an outsider‟s research, to the importance of knowing when to be forceful on a topic and when to sit back and let things evolve. We did this in her home, with her two year old playing and a newborn in her arms. We did this over many cups of coffee. Our conversations moved from critical issues facing museums and First Nations communities to chats about house renovations, our partners, our family, and our friends. This was only possible because of the relationship we had built over time, and because we were  Figure 91: Hiking trail signs Langara Island, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  both comfortable mixing and merging professional contexts with personal contexts. In the end not all collaborative relationships need to include the personal, but the building of a strong professional relationship must in some ways account for our social relationships in some way. Kwiaahwah Jones and I developed a friendship and a professional relationship. A humourous example of a mix of the professional and the personal was on our trip to Langara Island. While on the island we hiked to the west coast. On the two hour hike in the pouring rain we stopped at every sign and took pictures – laughing all the time that we were going to do a study on effective signage. While laughing at wooden signs and arrows pointing the way to ocean, we actually had thoughtful discussions about intuition versus instruction and how important signs and other forms of orientation are for Museum visitors. Our walking discussion on Langara Island fed into our planning for the school programme. After our amusing signage chat, we made sure that in planning the school programme, we got out of the Museum office and looked around to see what kind of orientation was offered – and only then did we discuss what we thought teachers and students needed. If our interactions had been more formal, if for example, I had met my colleagues only at the Museum, our relationships would have been diminished and the fruits of our conversations much less rich. It is here that Archibald‟s notion of research as conversation (2008) meets my  160 feminist poststructural self (St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000). Meeting the women where it mattered, integrating diaper changing, beach and forest walks, and dinner parties resulted in a methodology that yields new sets of insights and sets of possibilities. Qualitative methodological questions disappeared and a more productive and fluid space emerged – in many ways a third space, like the one I argue would be productive for museum educational programming to inhabit.  Figure 92: Canoes in progress, HHC, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  This space, which has at its roots respectful relationships, allowed for creative ideas to flow and in the end helped create a framework for the school programme. Kwiaahwah Jones and I integrated our experiences on Langara Island, visiting various artists‟ studios, and having tea with Chiefs and Matriarchs into the school programme development. After visiting informally and formally with knowledgeable Haida plant specialists, foresters, artists and historians we knew that we had to build something like that into the school programme. The outcome was to incorporate a variety of perspectives. This led to the inclusion of carvers/weavers, cultural historians, canoe crews, and forest guardians as categories of local knowledge holders and as  161 areas for student-led research focused on Haida canoes. In an ideal programme, we envisioned students having tea with Elders, interviewing artists, using field journals to describe fishing trips, and other related adventures – all in pursuit of learning the intrinsic relationship of the canoe to Haida history and culture. We would then be successful in achieving Kwiaahwah‟s goal of „pride of place‟. Pride of place was one of the goals articulated in the „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe Curriculum Project. Relationships also extend beyond Nika Collison, Nathalie Macfarlane and Kwiaahwah Jones. For example, as a result of visiting, interviewing, photographing the canoe carvers, I was able to develop a rapport with Billy Bellis. Once I returned to work in January 2008, after my study leave, I invited him to Vancouver to talk to the MOA Education volunteers about canoe making. I commissioned two stages of a model canoe for the MOA teaching collection. One model was unfinished, showing the shape of a canoe before the steaming process, and the other finished and painted. It was getting to know Billy Bellis on Haida Gwaii that led to the commissioning of the model canoes. Through conversations we agreed that showing students the two stages would help those who had never seen a canoe steamed better understand this process. While doing research in Haida Gwaii, my network of relationships expanded as did  Figure 93: My bike at the beach, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  my colleagues‟ at the HGM. As a result of reaching out to the educator community on the Island, Kwiaahwah Jones and I connected with a Numeracy Research Group led by Cynthia Nicol of UBC.71 The results were the involvement of the Numeracy group in contributing to the curriculum working group, Dr. Cynthia Nicol worked with teachers on Haida Gwaii. In 2008, the group visited with Kwiaahwah at the Museum and offered a range of ideas for lessons on math and numeracy that focused on the canoe. 71  162 assisting the canoe project with funds and lesson ideas. The relationship did not stop there. A successful proposal was submitted by UBC Department of Curriculum and Pedagogy for a Master‟s in Museum Education that involved Haida Gwaii students and the Haida Gwaii Museum. In the summer of 2011, I will co-teach a course in the programme with Nathalie Macfarlane and Nika Collison partly at the HGM and partly at MOA. This opportunity is a direct result of building our relationships over the past two years. Place and land  “Our culture, our heritage, is the child of respect and intimacy with the land and the sea. Like the forest, the roots of our people are intertwined such that the greatest troubles cannot overcome us” Council of Haida Nation. 72 In this section I describe the impact of the place on me and the importance of place to my colleagues. From the beginning of the research until the end, place and land were constant themes. My relationship to the land started in a very physical way. I began riding a bicycle for first time in forty years while I was up in Haida Gwaii. I rode and walked my bike countless miles almost always alone. I rode to work at the Museum from Irene‟s home in Skidegate Heights. (I am not sure if that is its official name but it sure felt like „the heights‟ to me.) I rode my bike to shop at the Co-op, to go into town, and to the ocean all the time. One‟s relationship to the land is different when on a bike. I noticed more, heard more, and was able to stop and go in ways I never seem to do when in a car. One also experiences weather differently when on a bike. Riding in the rain, in the sun, in the wind made me aware of my body and its relationship to the physical world around me in new ways. Bicycling led to solo beach walks, rock collecting, and bird watching. Watching ravens feed off the tidal life and eagles doing extraordinary dives into the ocean to capture fish gave me more than an appreciation of nature, it helped me to understand the Haida belief that culture comes from the land, that art comes from the land, and that without the land, culture dies (Guujaaw, July 3, 2007, personal communication).  72  http://www.haidanation.ca/Pages/Haida_Nation/History.html (accessed February 7, 2011).  163 I am not alone in feeling that the land is a constant presence. Nathalie Macfarlane brings the importance of place and land forward as part of her philosophy and focus at the Haida Gwaii Museum. The whole idea of place has been part of the philosophy that I‟ve worked with, not only here but in my previous museum experience because I felt that the museum, especially a museum that‟s rooted in a specific place, telling a story about the place is important. Part of the message in the exhibits and the programmes is the interrelationship between people, history and the place - the place that they live in, that they have developed and that they built communities in. I‟ve always felt that the particular place was also what gave every community its special character. I think here that was given new meaning at Kaay and I think partly because I was really struck when I came here at how the Haida saw the landscape of Haida Gwaii.…every point and every little geographical feature not only has a name but has an event, and usually a supernatural event of some kind attached to it so that every place is a story.…When all of those layers can be communicated, it becomes a very magic place - if you can touch on the supernatural, and you can touch on history in every place in the landscape, it‟s such an enriching voyage for those visiting the museum (Nathalie Macfarlane, July 30, 2007, personal communication).  Figure 94: Sea gull and fish, Haida Gwaii, 2008.  As Nathalie Macfarlane attested when she arrived in Haida Gwaii over seventeen years ago, she was struck by the importance of the land, of the place and how it is layered into so many aspects of life in Haida Gwaii. It is also layered into the representations at the Museum. It was a similar experience for me. At our first meeting, Nika Collison and Nathalie Macfarlane told stories of Kaay Llnagaay, of supernatural encounters in the place where the Museum sits and where we were sitting when they were telling the stories.  164  These and other experiences lead me to assert that it is critical to add place and land to the other themes of respect, responsibility, relevance, reciprocity, and relationship because so much of what I experienced had direct relationship to the land. These experiences also brought me to the overall theme of this work – landed wisdoms. For example, the Argillite Research Programme first got me excited  June 7, 2007 LANDED AGAIN Kaay described as home past & present, fresh water, ocean good fish and food resources, good parking for canoes, a pharmacy Spiritual supernatural connections „we take our direction from the land‟  because it was tied to the land. The stone is of this place and extracted by hand. It is uniquely connected to the islands. For argillite an artist has to go to the Slatechuck– or have someone else quarry the stone on their behalf. It cannot be bought at an art supply store. One does not need to go to the Slatechuck to appreciate the meaning and beauty of argillite, but the fact that it is part of this land, and has come to be known as an art form born of this place, is meaningful. The land cannot be separated from the argillite. The circular movement Kwiaahwah articulated so well in her description of the interconnectedness of the canoe is  Figure 95: View from Skidegate, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  165 here as well. One can learn by looking at the works of past and present master artists, but you learn different things when you go out on the land to acquire your materials, where you are responsible to only extract what you need, thereby ensuring its sustainability. In my first month in Haida Gwaii, Irene Mills and I went harvesting cedar bark. There is something special about hiking through a dense forest, finding the perfect tree, offering a prayer of thanks and then peeling off a forty foot strip of cedar bark. Being a part of the harvesting and the preparation of the bark gave me a deeper appreciation for the cedar hats or cedar baskets that I have seen so many times at MOA and at the HGM. Being on the land was more than the physical nature of the harvesting cedar bark – though this indeed is part of it. It was much more. It was witnessing the knowledge of where to look and what kind of trees to look for, offering a prayer of thanks to the tree for its gift, taking only one strip of bark from the tree so it does not harm the tree, and the companionship of two women. While I was in the forest with Irene, I felt as though I could hear the laughter of past groups of women doing the same. The understanding of the ongoing importance of the land and the knowledge holders who know where and how to harvest and who know how to transform these materials into everything from tools to food came to me not just as a result of being told, or of walking the beaches or hiking the forests, or attending feasts in the community hall, but because of all these things combined. I began to really understand how the intellectual, physical, spiritual and emotional realms need to be accounted for. I came to understand this through repeated experiences on the land and through conversations that circled around usually ending with the land in some respect. I think that‟s a good approach, because time is different for everybody. If you‟re going to rural communities, if you‟re going to there it‟s like “no, let‟s go fishing first.” You‟ll have a week before you have any answers! Most of those answers are already there, and they‟re just showing you other things first, showing you the lay of the land (Kwiaahwah Jones, March 8, 2008, personal communication). Many of my conversations revolved around the land – from wind names and place names to stories of childhood to stories of supernatural origins. Everyone made connections to the land.  166 With regard to the „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme, it too started with the land. My first interview was with Chin-i Herb (Herb Jones).73 He was a logger in the 1980s and one of the men responsible for felling the tree for the first big canoe carved in the late 20th century - Loo Taas. Chin-i Herb talked about hiking through the woods looking for a suitable tree and became very animated when he spoke about its length – over two hundred feet tall (July 23, personal communication). You could still hear in his voice as he told his story twenty years later about the grandeur of the tree and what a special place the forest was. When a group was visiting from the Skidegate daycare, it was because of his story that we had students hold hands and in a circle to emulate the circumference of the tree. In the school programme, the idea of a timeline that would reflect the age and height of the whole tree, interspersed with significant dates, also came as a result of his story. More than two decades later Chin-i Herb still expressed amazement at seeing a two hundred foot red cedar transformed into a fifty foot canoe. The land (which includes the sea) is impossible to separate from the canoe. From sapling to sea was an idea Kwiaahwah and I generated to represent the beginnings of a tree in the forest that would grow and then be transformed into a great Haida ocean going canoe. We incorporated this continuum into the „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme outline. It was critical that before students even began to think about the past, present and future importance of the Haida canoe, they go out on the land. The school programme outline encouraged teachers to take students on a forest walk. We recommended visiting one of the well-known and easily accessible unfinished 19th century canoes in the forest or, as an alternative, do a ten square meter study in a local forest – investigating what is there and relating it to what would be needed if this section of forest were to grow a two hundred foot cedar. The final draft of the school programme outline makes connections to the land, and tries for fuller integration but falls short. This is partially because a Museum visit is often seen to be a side trip not usually fully integrated into teachers‟ lessons and curricula. Because of this reality, I recommend that the Museum work with teachers to support and extend what they are doing Herb Jones is always called Chin-i. Herb – Chin-i is grandfather in Skidegate dialect. He teaches Haida language to the children at the Skidegate Head Start and Day Care programme. 73  167 in creative and innovative ways, rather than try to develop something to suit only a few. This would move the Museum from being a place to take a „field trip‟ to an important community and cultural resource. The Museum has a unique role. The staff and their many connections to community resource people is an important aspect of what they can offer local schools. Some educators will have their own connections and resources, but for those who do not, drawing on the Museum‟s relationships with Haida knowledge holders is one practical way of integrating Haida ways of knowing into local schools. For the Museum to integrate these ways of knowing into its museum-based educational programming is one way to bridge the work that was done for exhibition development. Programming, unlike exhibitions, has the potential to take place in various locations and make connections that can only be alluded to in temporary or permanent exhibitions. I stated earlier that this research study is really a study of establishing, enriching, and honouring relationships. Those relationships are to people and to place. I cannot separate my experiences of flying into Rose Harbour and getting onto a small boat to visit SGang Gwaay from sitting in one of the classrooms at the Haida Heritage Centre with Kwiaahwah Jones while she sketched out on flip chart paper her ideas of how to integrate the canoe into every part of schooling. They are productively entangled. What it means for museum education programming is perhaps oddly simple. Our task and challenge is to make these interconnections, to render implicit the relationships objects have to people, to place, to the past, the present and the future – relationships that cannot be communicated solely from within the walls of an institution, or solely by those designated as museum or educational professionals. "Every society needs educated people, but the primary responsibility of educated people is to bring wisdom back into the community and make it available to others so that the lives they are leading make sense." Vine Deloria, Jr. 74  74  Deloria, Red Earth White Lies, 1995, p.4.  168 CHAPTER 7: RAPPROCHEMENT 75  How to master those devilries, those moving phantoms of the unconscious, when a long history has taught you to seek out and desire only clarity, the clear perceptions of (fixed) ideas? Perhaps this is the time to stress technique again…A detour into strategy, tactics, and practice is called for, at least as long as it takes to gain vision, selfknowledge, self-possession, even in one's decenteredness. Luce Irigaray 76 In this chapter I bring together the main contributions of this research. First, I discuss the value of this research that explores place, relationships, reciprocities, and responsibilities involving Indigenous and non-Indigenous museum professionals. I return to my research questions and ask – What has been learned from this collaboration and what possibilities open up for non-First Nations museum professionals to develop museum education programming foregrounding Indigenous ways of knowing? Does this enable an inclusive and responsive process thereby changing the relations between museums and First Nations? I conclude by returning to the proposition of a liminal museological practice and put forward this collaborative research project as an example. My research focuses on one set of relationships in a particular place and at a particular time. Many of the outcomes relate specifically to working with colleagues on Haida Gwaii during the time when the Museum at Kaay Llnagaay was a work-in-progress. Regardless of the specificity, there is still much to learn for museum educators who want to work with communities, and expand their professional practice while moving toward a post-colonial museum - towards local options (Baird, 2007). Returning to place, relationship and the 4Rs  I used the themes of respect, responsibility, relevance, reciprocity, relationship and place as an analytical framework to bring some meaning to my data and by extension my experience working with colleagues at the HGM. These themes are extensions of the themes Kirkness and Barnhardt posited nearly two decades ago (1991). All these themes address current and relevant issues in this  Rapprochement is a term from the French word rapprocher meaning to bring together. It is used here as a concept to bring together the understandings of this research. Thanks to Hasebe-Ludt, Chambers and Leggo (2009) for introducing me to the concept. 76 (Irigaray, 1985, p. 136). 75  169 research. The themes of relationship, reciprocity and place are particularly important to bring forward in relation to collaborative work in museums. One major finding of my research was the central role of relationship building. I built relationships through this research in formal and informal ways, and in professional and personal contexts. The blending of the professional and personal in this research situation proved very productive. If I had depended upon meeting people only at the Museum and only within working hours many of my conversations and discussions would not have happened. Adjusting to this was a part of my learning in this process; otherwise, I might have seen travelling by boat to Langara Island only as a social visit instead of intrinsic in the process of relationship building and I might have considered beach walks as purely as personal pleasures. Adjusting one‟s expectations and adapting to the local rhythms proved important in this research. Colleagues developing museum programming can learn two relevant things here. When working with community-based colleagues you need to get to know the community and you need to get outside of the institution to do this. Too often however, this is not the process for museum educators – more often it is in the purview of exhibit curators and designers to travel in order to research and design projects. For effective collaborative programming, museum educators must also move beyond the walls of their institutions. I acknowledge that not everyone can take a study leave from work to develop these relationships and to make time for the unique travel opportunities I enjoyed. However, there are ways for these understandings to be translated to the work in museums. It can and should be part of regular museum education work to plan for the time necessary to build relationships and to put in the effort necessary to sustain relationships once they are established. Time should be seen as an investment not a cost. Museum educators are quite good at building short-term relationships because they are project-centered and find the time, energy and funding to support projects. Sustaining relationships is where Museums fail most often. Beginning by giving more time to develop programming is a start which can be followed up by establishing funding and planning for community77 residencies. As an example, three to four month residencies for Indigenous artists, educators or community representatives can be opportunities for museum educators to work alongside these resource people to develop new ideas and new approaches. This work should take I use the term community to designate broad groups of either First Nations or other communities of interest. I acknowledge the word can be problematic in terms of conflating the complexity and differences found within any group. I have found no other way of designating groups broadly. 77  170 place in a variety of places – the museum, the home community, a local cafe – the beach if you‟ve got one. The point here is to meet people where they are and to give enough time for fruitful conversation and even productive tensions to emerge. An invitation only into the museum – spaces that are often seen as imposing in both structure and content limits possibilities. Stepping away from your comfort zone and into the comfort zone of a colleague is a first critical step towards changing relations. I argue the Museums must make this first step – Indigenous communities and other source communities have been stepping into to Museums for generations.  Figure 96: Butter cups, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  Once this step was taken in my research my colleagues also took steps away from their comfort zones – hence the productive third space. Another major finding in this research was the importance of reciprocity. Reciprocity in this research took a number of forms. Both Kwiaahwah and I interviewed Haida artists about the canoe on behalf of the Museum and provided transcripts and audio files for the Museum to use in the future. I took photographs documenting the Museum as it changed over sixteen months, and  171 captured many moments of carving a canoe. All the photographs were given to the Museum for their unrestricted use. These are tangible examples of me reciprocating for all that was offered me. The most important thing I did and the one of which I am most proud was mentor Kwiaahwah Jones. In reflection Kwiaahwah remarks “I think it is interesting because when you came to the museum you kind of got me with my training wheels on, coming in on my little tricycle into the museum. “Oh, Jill wants to work in education programmes. Do you want to do that?” “Sure, yeah, what do I do” (Kwiaahwah Jones, September 28, 2008, personal communication)? I was able support her grant writing and assist her in organizing teachers for the curriculum working group. I was then able to step back from generating ideas and play a more consultative and supportive role. The „Canoe‟ project took on a life of its own, ending in the publication of Gina „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe (Ramsay & Jones 2010), which I know Kwiaahwah is extremely proud. This mentorship role, however, is not a one way process. What I offered as a mentor was in direct relation to what Kwiaahwah, Nika and Nathalie offered me in terms of their own knowledge and experience, access to their communities and ongoing dialogues. For museum educators, reciprocity needs to be seen in this light – a mixture of different skills, knowledge and experiences shared between collaborators ensures that everyone is contributing to the process. This notion of reciprocity fits well into the calls by Indigenous and feminist scholars alike for fundamental changes in research relationship to counter the hegemonic practices that continue to marginalize Indigenous ways of knowing in museums. Lessons learned  “It is easy enough to criticize museums for being what they are or for failing to be what one thinks they should be, and to judge from one‟s own moral perspective the action and inactions of others. It is more difficult to propose changes that are feasible, and to ground both criticism and reform in an understanding of the situation, economic foundations, and social-political formation of the museum to be gauged” Michael Ames.78 If mainstream museums are to change and address their colonial roots and their practices of privileging western knowledge systems over Indigenous knowledge system then processes like collaboration and mentorship are critical. What this means, for museums and for those communities with whom they work, is a commitment to processes that on many levels challenge established practices. Invitations to collaborate with mainstream museums can feed 78  Ames, 1992, p. 4.  172 into a decolonizing process if there is a willingness to go beyond inclusion to actually looking for ways to foreground community knowledge and ways of knowing into the project. I do not think you can establish shared visions and shared goals without spending time developing relationships, learning the critical local issues and negotiating roles and responsibilities. Based upon my experience in Haida Gwaii, I would state that the time necessary to develop relationships, to understand the people and the place is always underestimated. Despite this, time pressures still too frequently drive museum processes. If the pressures of time are released new possibilities emerge. This issue of developing relationships is central for nonFirst Nations museum educators making space for Indigenous knowledge. Coming to understand what Indigenous knowledge systems are and how they are uniquely applied or represented in the particular place is not something that can be found in the index of a  Figure 97: Jill Baird, photo Carson Baird, Haida Gwaii, 2007.  handbook entitled „Working with First Nations‟. My experience in Haida Gwaii confirms that coming to understand Haida ways of knowing took time, and repeated interactions with the place and with colleagues, artists, Elders, and other community knowledge holders. These interactions were sometimes subtle and sometimes severe, often humourous and always instructive. For the „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe School Programme outline to take the form it did – regardless of how provisional both Kwiaahwah and I may see the document – it needed to reflect Kwiaahwah‟s experiences and understandings as a Haida woman, and it needed to reflect my experiences working with school groups in a museum but not in such as way as to override or undermine the perspectives Kwiaahwah brought forward. In the end, through  173 collaborating, I learned the limits of my role. It took sixteen months for that understanding to „land‟. There are many who claim to be able to say what is needed for successful museum collaborations (Ames, 1999; Conaty & Carter, 2005; Golding, 2009; Karp, Kreamer, & Lavine, 1992; Weil, 1999). The literature abounds with rules or guidelines. Establishing a shared vision, setting clear goals, determining clear time frames, and defining outcomes are common to the list of recommendations for successful collaborations. From my experience on Haida Gwaii with my colleagues at the HGM, my list would look like this: •  embrace competing knowledges and understandings;  •  create respectful spaces for debate and contestation;  •  constantly interrogate the forms of expressions and representations used;  •  implicate oneself in one‟s own practices;  •  seek ways to support not control; and  •  listen, wait, and listen some more.  Based upon a coming together of different people, different experiences and different cultural traditions, Haida and non-Haida, in the end we did not create something that had Haida knowledge at the forefront (though elements of that are indeed in the programming materials and the resource book). Instead we created a third space, an interstitial space where the knowledge and experiences of my HGM colleagues mixed with others from the Haida and non-Haida community met my knowledge, interests, and experiences. The creation of an inhouse programme is tangible evidence of this coming together as is Gina „Waadluxan Tluu: The Everything Canoe (Ramsay & Jones, 2010). The third space we created was the respectful relationship that museum professionals and community members need to spend more time cultivating. The space is not uniquely Haida nor predictably mainstream museum-centric; instead it is a productive blending that is responsive to the issues, the people, and the place where these interactions occur and where they matter most. This space is postcolonial – if I use my earlier word play – a place where local options emerge and take root. This understanding brings me full circle to the concept of a liminal museology.  174 The third space – a liminal practice of museology  Literary scholar Judith Leggatt suggests that the greatest opportunities for “creativity and growth” through cross-cultural encounters happen when work is conducted in borderlands, “liminal spaces between cultures, not only the ones it describes but also the ones in which it participates” (2003, p. 122). My participation in the development of education programmes for the Haida Gwaii Museum is such a liminal space. The interactions between myself and my colleagues, the encounters I had on the land and in the community all in different ways reflect the different possibilities that open up when researchers consciously choose to work in the third space. Michael Ames calls for those who work in museum to question the very notion of what constitutes a museum and thereby opening up for unexpected and even unknown possibilities (2005). I argue the space my Haida Gwaii Museum colleagues and I created, at least temporarily, was more than the dialogic spaces well established in western museums and something different than what might have been created by the HGM alone. The school programme outline, the resulting published resource together with the solid relationship we established were only possible through respectful collaboration. Yahgudangang. I end as I began paying my respects to those who have accompanied me on this journey. 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International Journal of Qualitative Research, 7(4), 295-308. Derrida, J. (1970). Structure, sign and play in the discourse of human sciences. In R. Macksey & E. Donato (Eds.), The structuralist controversy (pp. 247-272). Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University. Lather, P. (1993). Fertile obsession: Validity after poststructuralism. Sociological Quarterly, 34(4), 673-693. Linden, R. (1993). Making stories, making selves: Feminist reflections on the holocaust. Columbus: Ohio State University Press. Spivak, G. C. (1974). Translator's preface (G. C. Spivak, Trans.). In J. Derrida, Of grammatology. Baltimore: John Hopkins University. Tuan, Y.-F. (1977). Space and place: The perspective of experience. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.  188 APPENDIX B: SUBJECT CONSENT FORM  189  190 APPENDIX C: ARGILLITE RESEARCH PROGRAMME  191  192 APPENDIX D: „WAADLUUXAN TLUU: THE EVERYTHING CANOE SCHOOL PROGRAMME  193  194  195  196  197  

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