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Shattering glass boxes : museums and Dene resurgence against the colonial politics of recognition Wrightson, Kelsey Radcliffe 2015

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Shattering Glass Boxes: Museums and Dene Resurgence Against the Colonial Politics of Recognition    by  Kelsey Radcliffe Wrightson    B.A., University of Victoria 2007 M.A., University of Victoria 2010       A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in  The Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies  (Political Science)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)  July 2015   © Kelsey Radcliffe Wrightson, 2015   ! ii!Abstract In aiming to dispossess Indigenous peoples from their land and destroy their cultures, settler colonialism increasingly operates by “recognizing” and appropriating Indigenous identities into dominant national narratives. However, Indigenous peoples globally have found numerous ways to unsettle colonial powers, including claiming and reclaiming cultural practices in formerly colonial institutions such as museums. This dissertation examines the role of museums in perpetuating and opposing settler colonialism in Canada. First, I critique museums as forwarding settler colonial narrative and material violence against Indigenous peoples. Second, I examine the ways that Indigenous peoples have been engaging in museum spaces in order to “turn away” from the colonial politics of recognition.  This dissertation engages with literature in political theory, critical museum studies, Indigenous political thought, and the colonial politics of recognition. In the first two chapters I examine three logics of settler colonialism: disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation. I put this theoretical framework in conversation with three case studies. I look at the 1988 exhibition “The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples” to examine the turn towards the settler colonial politics of recognition. The second case study, a multi-sited exhibition called “De T’a Hoti Ts’eeda: We live securely by the land” (Yellowknife and Ottawa) and “Extremes: Life in Subarctic Canada,” (Edinburgh) is used to think through multiple experiences of collaborative exhibition. The third case study is the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” (2000-2003), exemplifying the role of knowledge repatriation projects for supporting Indigenous decolonial resurgence. The final two chapters of the dissertation examine how Indigenous peoples’ relationships with museums counter the logics of settler colonialism. I use the collection of Athabaskan Dene objects at the National Museums Scotland (Edinburgh) and the “nation-to-nation” relationship established between the Tłı̨chǫ Government and the museum as exemplary of relationships exogenous to settler colonial domination. Second, drawing on Hegel’s master/slave dialectic I offer a theory of “labour against recognition,” where the process of making objects is generative of relationships that simultaneously turn away from the colonial politics of recognition and foster a decolonial politics of Indigenous resurgence.   ! iii!Preface  This dissertation is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, K Wrightson.   The fieldwork discussed in Chapters Four through Seven is covered by the UBC Behaviour Research Ethics Board and the NWT Scientific Research Licencing Board (Aurora Research Institute) for the completion of this dissertation.   UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board (H12-01338) NMS Curator Research  (H13-01349) Yellowknife and Tłı̨chǫ Research   NWT Scientific Research Licencing Board  (Licence no 15338) Revisiting the Scottish Project- Tłı̨chǫ and museum exhibition    ! iv!Table of Contents Abstract ------------------------------------------------------------- ii!Preface ------------------------------------------------------------- iii!Table of Contents ------------------------------------------------ iv!List of Figures ---------------------------------------------------- vii!Acknowledgements -------------------------------------------- viii!Dedication ----------------------------------------------------------- x!1 Three Stories: Introduction ---------------------------------- 1!A First Story: The Cultural is Political ----------------------------------------------- 1!Argument: Settler Colonialism, Violence and Memory ----------------------------------- 3 Terrain of Analysis --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 6 A Second Story: It Has Always Been About Relationships -------------------- 12!Webs of Significance ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 14 Methodology -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 16 Position and Intention -------------------------------------------------------------------- 19!Key Contributions ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 20 What I Am Not Doing: The Repatriation Debate --------------------------------- 22!Organization and Summary ------------------------------------------------------------------- 23 A Third Story: It Has Always Been About Work --------------------------------- 28!2 “We Don’t Want Indians”: Three Logics of Settler Colonialism ------------------------------------------------------- 31!Exploitation and Access ---------------------------------------------------------------- 32!Disappearance ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 34 Conclusion ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 42!Appropriation ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 42 Conclusion ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 50!Obfuscation --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 51 Restorying ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 52!Accommodation --------------------------------------------------------------------------- 55!! v!Conclusion ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 58!Conclusions -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 59!3 Smashing the Glass Box: Museums as Political Paradox ------------------------------------------------------------ 61!Unpacking the Paradox ----------------------------------------------------------------- 65!Museum as Domination ---------------------------------------------------------------- 67!The Museum as Resistance ----------------------------------------------------------- 76!Conclusion --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 85!4 “The Spirit Sings”: The Museological Turn to the Colonial Politics of Recognition ----------------------------- 87!The Colonial Politics of Recognition ------------------------------------------------ 94!“The Spirit Sings”: Museum Change as the Colonial Politics of Recognition -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 97!The Colonial Politics of Recognition: Fraser and Taylor in the Museum107!Conclusion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 117!5 “The Scottish Project”: Tłı ̨chǫ Relations with the National Museums Scotland and the Colonial Politics of Recognition ------------------------------------------------------ 122!About the Scottish Project ------------------------------------------------------------- 123!The ‘Scottish Project’: Histories and Practices --------------------------------- 131!Dè T’a Hoti Ts’eeda: We Live Securely by the Land at the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 138 “Extremes” at the NMS ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 142 The Permanent Display ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 147 Scottish Project Innovations and Challenges ------------------------------------ 150!Audience Responses -------------------------------------------------------------------- 157!Theory: The Subjective Politics of Recognition ------------------------------------------ 158 Methods of Audience Research -------------------------------------------------------------- 160 Audience Response ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 162 ! vi!Conclusion ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 166 Conclusion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 167!6 “Being Tłı ̨chǫ”: Objects Exceeding the Colonial Politics of Recognition ---------------------------------------- 170!Pipes: Agentic Histories and Futures ---------------------------------------------- 176!The Willow Bark Net: Collective Labour ----------------------------------------- 184!Conclusion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 191!7 Beading the Nation: Labour Against the Colonial Politics of Recognition ---------------------------------------- 195!Pathways of Indigenous Resurgence ----------------------------------------------- 200!Two Knowledge Repatriation Projects ----------------------------------------------------- 204 Labour against Recognition: Hegel’s triad -------------------------------------- 210!Labour against Recognition: Recentering Land as Relations -------------- 213!Knowledge Repatriation Projects and Resurgence ---------------------------- 216!Conclusion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 222!8 Resurgence: New Directions ------------------------------ 227!Chapter Summaries -------------------------------------------------------------------- 230!Future Directions: To be Continued ----------------------------------------------- 234!Bibliography ----------------------------------------------------- 236!  !vii!List of Figures Figure!1!Sled!with!Canvass!Covering!RMPT.20!©!National!Museums!Scotland!..........................!133!Figure!2!Prince!of!Wales!Northern!Heritage!Centre,!Yellowknife,!Fall!2013©!Kelsey!Wrightson!....................................................................................................................................................................!138!Figure!3!Chantal!Knowles!and!children!in!Rae.!Photo!by!Tom!Andrews!©!GNWT!....................!141!Figure!4“Extremes”!opening!at!the!National!Museums!Scotland!©!National!Museums!Scotland!....................................................................................................................................................................!143!Figure!5!Hunting!Bag,!Dogrib,!1860!Collected!by!Bernard!Rogan!Ross.!A.558.46.!Photo!©!National!Museums!Scotland!..................................................................................................................!145!Figure!6!John!B!Zoe!at!Extremes!Opening,!May!2008!©!National!Museums!Scotland!.................!146!Figure!7!“Living!Lands!Gallery\!permanent!exhibition.!Photo!©!Kelsey!Wrightson!by!kind!permission!of!the!National!Museums!Scotland!..................................................................................!148!Figure!8!\Living!Lands!Gallery\!permanent!exhibition.!Photo!©!Kelsey!Wrightson!by!kind!permission!of!the!National!Museums!Scotland!..................................................................................!149!Figure!9!Pair!of!moosehide!mittens!made!by!Marie!Adele!Football,!collected!in!2007.!V.2007.90!©!National!Museums!Scotland!..................................................................................................................!151!Figure!10!Stone!pipes!A.558.14_18AA.481.13!©!National!Museums!Scotland!...............................!177!Figure!11!Willowbark!net,!collected!in!Fort!Rae!A.558.29,!by!Bernard!Rogan!Ross,!Fort!Simpson!©!National!Museums!Scotland!..............................................................................................................!184!Figure!12!This!is!a!similar!style!to!the!birch!bark!dishes!made!in!Saambe!K’e.!Birchbark!Dish,!Dogrib,!Fort!Rae,!1860!A.558.27.!Collected!by!Bernard!Rogan!Ross,!Fort!Simpson!©!National!Museums!Scotland!..................................................................................................................................!206!Figure!13!Spruce!root!cooking!vessel,!Slavey!1862,!A.848.45.!Collected!by!Bernard!Rogan!Ross,!Fort!Simpson!©!National!Museums!Scotland!!....................................................................................!208!Figure!14!Womenas!Summer!outfit,!Dogrib,!Fort!Rae,!1860,!A.558.39.!Collected!by!Bernard!Rogan!Ross,!Fort!Simpson!©!National!Museums!Scotland!...............................................................!210!   !viii!Acknowledgements  I would like to first thank the unwavering support of my supervisors, Barbara Arneil and Glen Coulthard. Your constant encouragement and feedback has been foundational to my thinking and writing, and I learned far more than I could have hoped. I have been deeply privileged to work with both of you over the last five years, and your mentorship and generosity has been crucial to my growth as a thinker and person. Mahsi cho and thank you. I must also extend a thank you to the constellation of other faculty who supported this research including committee member, Charlotte Townsend-Gault who offered critical insights into new literatures. Thank you to my examining committee Matt James, Laura Janara, Dory Nason and Susan Rowley. I am looking forward to engaging with your thoughtful questions and comments. I am also very grateful for the support and conversations taking place in the faculty of the First Nations Studies Program including Daniel Justice and Sheryl Lightfoot who encouraged me to stretch my work in new directions and continue to be an incredibly supportive mentors and friends.  I owe much of my intellectual and personal development to the two years sharing an office with Matthew Wildcat, Daniel Voth, and David Gaertner. Our office was frequently filled with laughter and some of the most critical and inspirational conversations that I have ever been part of. I cannot thank you enough for your generosity of spirit and friendship. I have also been incredibly lucky to throw a number of events with Matt, and a special thank you to him for encouraging so many big ideas and making them a reality.  I am grateful that this research gave me the opportunity to meet so many inspirational people. Thank you to John B Zoe, Karen Wright-Fraser, and Chantal Knowles who were all incredibly generous with their time and knowledge. I am especially thankful to Tom Andrews and Ingrid Kritsch who were so extraordinarily giving with their time, knowledge, keen attention to typos, and thoughtful and generous corrections. Though I never had the chance to formally interview her, the first conversation that I had with Judy Thompson deeply informed the remainder of my research, though I would have no idea how much so at the time.  I have so much gratitude for the network of friends who created a vital intellectual community and inspired, challenged, and opened my mind. My conversations and the two years spent with Michael Asch at the University of Victoria offered me the foundations to start thinking about this work. Rachel Flowers, Lindsey Lachance, Grace Lore, Mike Krebs, Alison James, Jessica Rosinski, Jeneen Frei Njootli, Anna Stewart, Kaitlin McCormick, Hattie Kennedy, Jessica Hallenbeck, Dawn Hoogeveen, Kristina Hannis, Mo Al Mehairbi, Dylan Robinson and many others. Gloria Bell and Corey Snelgrove generously gave their time reading and editing very early versions of this dissertation. Thank you for your comments and giving me confidence to share this with a wider audience. I’ve shared so many conversations over the years that have been deeply influential to my thinking, and I owe much to the wonderful work of this diverse community. ! ix!Thank you to the Department of Political Science students and faculty who challenged me and offered many opportunities to develop my own work.  My family has always offered absolutely unwavering support and without them, I would not be who or where I am today. My parents Pat and Grant, my brother Brent, and Nic and Mieke, thank you all for your incredible gifts of thoughtfulness, love, humour and generosity. To Cheralyn, Mo, Jayed, Jaslyn, Jayla, Ellian and Lyla, thank you for inviting me to spend time with your beautiful families. I could not have done this without each of you reminding me about the wisdom and kindness of children. Vanessa was the reason I dropped out of art school starting taking political science. I have her to thank and blame for many adventures between that first day of university and where we are today- thank you for your constant support and laughter. Dave, thank you for managing to effortlessly combine inspiring conversations and challenging questions with laughter and good food. You all have always reminded me about the important things in life, and you always believed that I could do this. That made all the difference.  Finally, thank you to my Grandmothers for sharing their stories. You made me brave enough to live mine.    ! x!  Dedication    For my family of chance and choice.   Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 1!1 Three Stories: Introduction  If knowledge is what you create in using, adapting and enacting certain ideas in your daily life, then it is also what you learn by following long established activities encoded in the process of making these ancient forms. The often collaborative process of gathering and preparing materials and repeating (although never exactly) the patterns of making traditional forms, in and of itself teaches and imparts knowledge. As well, these objects continue to form an important part of our sense of ourselves as collective beings, connecting us to other people, past, present and future, and to other beings in the natural world.  Deborah Doxtator, Mohawk  From “Basket Bead and Quill” (1995, 15) There is a danger in allowing colonization to be the only story of Indigenous lives. It must be recognized that colonialism is a narrative in which the Settler’s power is the fundamental reference and assumption, inherently limiting Indigenous freedom and imposing a view of the world that is but an outcome or perspective on that power. Taiaiake Alfred, Mohawk and Jeff Corntassel, Cherokee  From “Being Indigenous” (2005)  A First Story: The Cultural is Political  The exhibition “Sakahán: International Indigenous Art” (2013) has been described as one of the most ambitious modern art exhibitions in the world.1 75 Indigenous2 artists from across the globe displayed works of art, including sculpture, painting and performance, in multiple exhibition sites across Ottawa, the capital city of Canada. While the exhibition was widely supported, it was also contentious. Sponsored by the RBC Foundation and Canadian National Railway (CN), the majority of pieces were displayed at the National !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!1 National Gallery of Canada website http://www.gallery.ca/sakahan/en/. Retrieved, January 26, 2015.  2 Throughout this dissertation I use the term “Indigenous” to refer to the descendants of the peoples and Nations who originally occupied the territories prior to colonization. When specifically referencing the Canadian context I use the term Indigenous peoples to reference those who originally occupied territory in what is now known as Canada. Canadian nomenclature uses the terms “First Nations” “Metis” and “Inuit” to refer to Indigenous peoples in Canada. Where ever possible I use the names of particular nations. I use settler to refer to peoples who do not have ancestral and ongoing connections to the land.  Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 2!Gallery of Canada, one of many institutions charged with preserving and sharing the national culture of Canada, a state whose conditions of possibility are predicated on the foundations of ongoing settler colonial dispossession, racism, capitalist exploitation and patriarchy. Canada remains a state that continues to actively perpetuate violence against Indigenous peoples who have found themselves within its borders.  While there were a number of compelling pieces in the exhibition, I quickly became fascinated by a small square of text posted beside Nadia Myre’s 2013 site specific installation “For those who cannot speak: the land, the water, the animals, the future generations.” The description of the piece included a direct quote from a statement read by a group of Algonquin kokoms (grandmothers) on Parliament Hill during the rise of the Idle No More movement on 11 January 2014. The text read, “We join the voices of all our Relatives who are standing up and speaking for the land, water and future generations… We demand that the Crown and all governments on Turtle Island start to behave in accordance with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, the Royal Proclamation, the Treaties and their own Constitution… we make these demands on behalf of all those who cannot speak… Their very survival depends on our success. This is our responsibility as Grandmothers, kokomisag, Chi-Migwech.” Beside this text, posted in English and French as is the custom of the National Gallery of Canada, were the words “The views expressed in this work are those of the artist and do not reflect the views of the National Gallery of Canada.”  Myre presented her piece beside powerful words for political action, and the gallery responded with a refusal. While the reasons for this disclaimer, and other similar ones posted throughout “Sakahan,” would no doubt be an interesting subject for further research, the point that I am making with this example is clear. The words of Algonquin kokoms, spoken on Parliament Hill during the height of the Idle No More movement and then placed beside Nadia Myre’s installation of a photograph of a Two-Row-Wampum styled belt were so politically potent the National Gallery of Canada needed to explicitly distance itself from the message.     The caveat added by the National Gallery to Nadia Myre’s work suggests the effectiveness of the politics of her piece.  Whether beading, in cyberspace, or on public billboards, the work of Indigenous artists is powerful and effective. The assimilationist Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 3!project of the Canadian settler colonial state has been perpetuated, at least in part, through punishment for continuing cultural practices, including potlatch, sundance, carving and beading. However cultural and artistic resurgence enacts a generative mode of resistance that not only counters settler colonialism, but also creates alternative futures. When Nadia Myre chose the words of Algonquin kokoms to give context for her work, she situated “For those who cannot speak: the land, the water, the animals, the future generations” in relation to the Idle No More movement. This piece, and the refusal issued by the National Gallery, emphasized to a perceptive audience what Indigenous artists and activists have known for generations:  The cultural is political. Argument: Settler Colonialism, Violence and Memory The argument at the core of this dissertation is twofold. Museums specifically, and cultural production more generally, have been implicated in the production and substantiation of settler colonialism in Canada. However, Indigenous peoples’ practices of cultural resurgence have also informed and underpinned resistance to colonialism for generations. I make these arguments by first critiquing the settler colonial politics of recognition as it manifests in contemporary museological practice, and then moving into an analysis of resistance to settler colonialism. I argue that Indigenous peoples are “turning away” from the colonial politics of recognition and conciliatory forms of settler colonialism by connecting to object3 histories and narratives that exceed the history of colonization. Further, I look to the process of making and object creation as a practice of self-recognition and affirmation that challenges the conciliatory colonial politics of recognition. This dissertation in its most general form is both critiquing settler colonialism as it manifests in Canada, and upholding the ways that Indigenous peoples have been practicing transformative resurgence in various ways for centuries.   Thus, this thesis must begin from an assertion: Canada is a settler colonial state.  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!3 It is important to note that the term “object” is not apolitical. The 2015 exhibition c ̓əsnaʔəm; the city before the city at MOA, Museum of Vancouver and Musqueam, intentionally chose the word “belongings” to describe the historic and continuing relationship between Musqeaum people and their material culture. I chose the term “object” as that is the language used by those I worked with.   Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 4!While it seems that the majority of public responses in the public comments section of CBC news stories on Indigenous peoples in Canada are some version of “get over it- it is in the past,” this is not a sufficient response to colonialism in Canada. This is, at least in part, because colonialism is not over. The practices of dispossession that underpin the asymmetric relations of colonial power are informed by acts in the present, and these practices perpetuate colonial violence. Patrick Wolfe is often credited with the description of settler colonialism in the present with his argument that “invasion is a structure, not an event” (1999) but this argument was also made by many others who refuse to accept the “post” of post-colonial studies (Alfred 2005; Johnston & Lawson 2000; Moore, Stanton, & Maley 1997; Pitts 2010; Said 1997; A. Simpson 2011; L. B. Simpson 2008; Smith 2012; Thomas 1999, 2000; Tully 2008a, 2008b; Veracini 2010, 2011; Wolfe 1999, 2006). The implications of seeing colonialism in Canada as a structure rather than an event are numerous, but for the purposes of this dissertation I would like to highlight one key factor. As a structure rather than an event, settler colonialism is oriented towards the ongoing obfuscation of the violence that is at the generative roots of settler colonial relations of power (Tully 2008a). Dene scholar Glen Coulthard argues that this shifting nature of colonial domination means that colonialism in Canada has shifted from “a structure that was once primarily reinforced by policies, techniques, and ideologies explicitly oriented around the genocidal exclusions/assimilation double, to one that is now reproduced through a seemingly more conciliatory set of discourses and institutional practices” (2014, 6). It is the practices that obscure the generative roots of settler colonialism that make it so pervasive.  Throughout this dissertation I have used the term violence to summarize both the conciliatory and explicit forms of domination that Coulthard identifies. The terms “violence” and “violences” reference the dual material and symbolic effects of domination in the context of settler colonialism. Bourdieu uses the term “symbolic violence,” originating in 1960s France, to address inequalities of the French education system, where schools perpetuate the existing unequal social structures which continue to privilege those already benefitting from the capitalist economic and social relations (Bourdieu, 1991). In this framing, the symbolic violence of cultural inequalities is linked to, and reproduces, the structural inequalities of capitalist economic relations. Anti-colonial Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 5!scholar Franz Fanon draws on a similar dichotomy between symbolic and structural violence, where symbolic violence is both influenced by, and influences, structural violence (Fanon 1965, 89, 31; Coulthard 2014).  Articulating a distinction between these practices of violence is not to privilege one over the other, nor do I intend to conflate the two. Material and symbolic violence do have different, and disproportionally felt, effects. Further, by differentiating between the two, I do not want to fall into a false teleology. Foucault argues that state power has moved from control over death to control over life, or from discipline and punishment to governmentality (Foucault 1995). However, this evolutionary view of power has the propensity to obscure the ways in which violence is inflicted on Indigenous lands and bodies in ways that are not only gendered and racialized, but also deeply and problematically both symbolic and very physically violent.4 Through the first chapter of this dissertation, which explicitly links the material violence of colonial dispossession to symbolic forms of violence, I do not want to elide the interrelationship between the two. Symbolic forms of violence are wrought through material means, and both affect different groups and individuals disproportionately.   Thus, while I find the division between symbolic and material forms of violence a useful lens through which to explore the multiple logics of settler colonial violence, there are two caveats. First, this dichotomy is not an either/or choice, nor is there a clear movement from material forms of violence to the symbolic and conciliatory. The intersectional analyses of Indigenous feminists make it clear that while the violence perpetrated by the settler colonial state may vary in intensity, both forms exist simultaneously (Hunt, 2014). Second, material and symbolic forms of violence should not be understood as all encompassing. Critiques of the cyclical and self-perpetuating nature of symbolic/material violence and the ways in which subjectivities are formed by, and then perpetuate both forms of violence, are salient to critiques of settler colonialism. However, I guard against taking up this critical stance such that it over determines the agency of actors to undermine material and symbolic violence. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!4 The argument regarding the dangers of a dichotomy or temporal shift from material/physical to symbolic forms of violence owes much to Sarah Hunt’s October 22, 2014 (Vancouver, BC) intervention on Coulthard’s “Red Skin, White Masks”.   Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 6!Terrain of Analysis  This is a work of political theory, informed, underpinned, and challenged by people who are doing political theory on the ground and in their communities. When writing I asked myself, what if I took the work of the 42 seamstresses who worked on the Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project and countless others who are beading and tanning right now, as seriously as I take the theoretical cannon? To that end, my dissertation makes two key contributions. First, I have put different tracks of thinking in conversation with each other and challenged disciplinary boundaries. I have put political theory in conversation with museum curation, I have put Indigenous artists in conversation with theories of settler colonialism, and I have put Hegel in conversation with women who tan hide and bead. Second, I have also centered histories and contemporary practices resistance and decolonization as the heart of my dissertation. While this is a critique of settler colonialism in Canada, I have focused on the work of Indigenous peoples who have been actively countering settler colonial violence for hundreds of years.  I situate my dissertation in three terrains or fields. The first is the “museum.” Museums have been studied to such an extent that they have gained near mythic status, and many places in this dissertation slip into the usage of “the museum” as a generalizable category of knowledge institutions trusted with the dissemination of authoritative knowledge to the public. Museums have been variously imagined as contact zones, meeting places, morgues, archives and living ceremonial sites. Audiences are similarly diverse. Some enter into these spaces as fieldwork for armchair anthropology, to find information about themselves and others. Others come into museums to connect or reconnect to a past that has been forcibly removed from living memory. Thus, at best, we can imagine museums to be spaces of tension and contentions.   The second geography is the three “case studies:” the 1988 exhibition, “The Spirit Sings” at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary Alberta; the 2002-2008 “Scottish Project” at the National Museums Scotland, Edinburgh, Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre, Yellowknife, and the Carleton University Art Gallery, Ottawa; and the Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project, a collaboration between the Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute, the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre, and the Canadian Museum of Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 7!Civilization (Ottawa). Methodologically these case studies are neither “most similar” nor “most different,” nor do I use a compare and contrast approach to analysis. Though I did extensive literature reviews on each exhibition, the materials and participant interviews available to me were different in each case. As such, I use these case studies as examples and a means to think through, challenge, and develop the theoretical underpinnings of my dissertation.  The first case study is the 1988 exhibition “The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples” which has been cited as a turning point in Canadian, and by extension, international, museum practice (Phillips, 2011). “The Spirit Sings” opened at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary in 1988 to coincide with the Winter Olympics. The stated intention was to celebrate the richness of Aboriginal cultures and educate the public. The exhibition attempted to fulfill this mandate by presenting more than 650 objects from 90 national and international collections. “The Spirit Sings” was highly controversial and created rifts between many colleagues in the museum communities. In addition to the critiques of the content, the exhibition was condemned because of the lack of inclusion of Indigenous people in the curation process, including a lack on consultation with the local First Nations. Most prominently, the Lubicon Cree called for a boycott of the exhibition because of the sponsorship by Shell Oil, a company that had been drilling in Lubicon territory and causing environmental destruction for more than three decades. The controversy resulted in the creation of the 1992 Task Force on Museums and First Peoples,5 which, Ruth B Phillips (2011) cites as a turning point towards the “postcolonial project” of museum reform. Though the legacy of “The Spirit Sings” remains controversial, it is clear that this exhibition deeply influenced Canadian and international museum practice.  The second case study is the “Scottish Project” in Denendeh, or what is now known as the Northwest Territories, Canada. I have examined the relationship between the Tłı̨chǫ, a Dene nation whose territories are located east and north of Yellowknife, the National Museums of Scotland, and the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre. I use !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!5 The Task Force on Museums and First Peoples met between 1988 and 1992, when they published their final report titled Turning the Page: Forging New Partnerships Between Museums and First Peoples. For more detailed analysis please see (Bolton, 2009). This will be shortened to “1992 Task Force” from here forward.  Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 8!this case study as a means to understand nation building and cultural resurgence in the north, and included analysis of the historic context in which the objects in the National Museums of Scotland collection were purchased (1859-1862) as well as the negotiation of the comprehensive claims agreement at the beginning of the 21st Century. This case study provides insight into the role of international museums in preserving material culture, in this case, objects made for trade. In addition, I analyzed the ends of the relationship between the three institutions, the multi-sited exhibition alternatively called “De T’a Hoti Ts’eeda: We live securely by the land” and “Extremes: Life in Subarctic Canada,” as an example of audience perception of exhibitions in comparison to source community6 experiences. The third case study, or case studies, are two knowledge repatriation projects: “Dene Spruce Root Basketry” (1999) and “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” (2000-2003), though I have emphasized the latter in interview and archival research. The “Dene Spruce Root Basketry” was a collaboration between the Canadian Museum of History, including Judy Thompson, and Dene woman Suzan Marie in 1999. The “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” (2000-2003), was a collaboration between the Canadian Museum of History (then the Canadian Museum of Civilization), the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre, and the Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute. Like the collection of objects at the NMS, these items were largely “made for trade” and substantively made up of “everyday” objects that would have been kept outside of the museum collections. Karen Wright-Fraser was hired to work on the Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project as one of forty-two seamstresses who worked together to remake five men’s summer outfits. She had worked with Gwich’in clothing patterns as part of her own project working with Judy Thompson at the CMC in 1999. This separate but related project also involved using the collections to replicate the traditional clothing patterns. In both cases, Judy Thompson was contacted by an individual who was interested in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!6 This is a term that is common in material culture studies and museum studies. While contentious, I use it simply to mean the community from which an object was originally purchased, traded or stolen. Because the definition of these communities has shifted over time within the museum records and after further research into collection origins this could mean a specific townsite or geographic area, or a First Nation, political group or language group. For example, the objects that were exhibited as part of the “Scottish Project” are classified in the NMS collections as Athapaskan (a language group), Dogrib (the pre-2005 term for the Tłı̨chǫ Nation) or Tłı̨chǫ. I have tried to specify where appropriate.  Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 9!accessing the Canadian Museum of History (CMH) collection with the specific intention of relearning how to make objects in the collection.  The third geography is the theoretical field of engagement. When I initially put together my research plan I was planning to engage with the work of Michel Foucault, Edward Said, James Tully (amongst others) in order to build an argument about the importance of material culture studies for critical and post-colonial political theory. Foucault, and later Said, use analytical frameworks that are helpful for understanding the relationship between the construction of subjectivity and the power/knowledge matrix. Further, they both offer a theoretical framework for understanding agency within subject formation, as well as the means to analyze the actions that transgress this framework. A nuanced analysis of their work offers a critical reading of discourse and the nexus of power and knowledge that not only critiques practices of power over but simultaneously leaves spaces for subjective freedom.  When I first started my research, my methodology was to be an archival genealogy, and I had my catchphrase all worked out- I was to study “objects of empire” as opposed to discourses of empire. I was excited. But as things are prone to do during the course of research, the terrain underneath me shifted. In the fall of 2012 four women from Saskatchewan, Jessica Gordon, Sylvia McAdam, Sheelah McLean and Nina Wilson, started a “teach-in” about colonialism in Canada that exploded into the global movement Idle No More. The activism that took place during this movement shifted the terrain of many debates, and reoriented my analysis away from Foucault, Said and Tully to engage more robustly with my case studies and thinkers such as Glen Coulthard, Deborah Doxtator and David Garneau. Further, work by thinkers including Dory Nason, Leanne Simpson, and Audra Simpson, reiterated the importance of situating gender justice at the centre of struggles for decolonization. They argued that the history and present of colonialism was, and remains, gendered violence (Lawrence 2003; Nason 2013; O’Neill 2001; A Smith 2011, 2012). The violent dispossession of Indigenous peoples’ lands are also an attack on Indigenous women, queer and two spirited people (Morgensen 2010; L. B. Simpson 2012). But just as settler colonial violence has been gendered, so too is Indigenous resurgence, and there are a number of important texts that offer critical analyses of the importance of centring gender justice as part of decolonization, including Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 10!The Winter We Danced (Kino-nda-niimi Collective) published early in 2014, Dancing on a Turtles Back (L. B. Simpson) released in 2011, and Mohawk Interruptus (A. Simpson) in 2014. While this dissertation does not explicitly work within a tradition of Indigenous feminism, as the work moves forward this growing body of theory and practice will offer new directions of thinking and research.   My work also seriously engages with the arguments made in Red Skin, White Masks by Dene scholar Glen Coulthard (2014). From the beginning of my research, his critique of the liberal politics of recognition has influenced the way I understand settler colonialism, racism, hetero-patriarchy and privilege in Canada. In particular, the critiques of the contemporary politics of recognition as an extension of settler colonial violence through more conciliatory means have informed much of my analysis of contemporary settler colonialism and museums in Canada. Largely rooted in the Hegelian master/slave dialectic, a politics of recognition seeks to acknowledge but normatively reconcile difference. While there are many different models of recognition- based politics, I am most concerned with what I term the colonial politics of recognition. Following Coulthard I argue that this politics of recognition seeks to reconcile Indigenous peoples political and cultural difference with the ongoing legal and political presence of the Canadian state. In short, Indigenous peoples’ difference is recognized as a means to reconcile with and maintain the Canadian settler colonial aims of Indigenous dispossession. One of the first critiques of the liberal politics of recognition was by Elizabeth Povinelli. In her 2002 book “The Cunning of Recognition: Indigenous Alterities and the Making of Australian Multiculturalism” Povinelli reads the politics of recognition through the Australian liberal multicultural project as both an ideology and practice of governance. She describes Australian state policy towards Aboriginal people as shifting from “assimilation to self-determination and then to reconciliation” in the last half of the 21st Century. Povinelli argues that colonial states will recognize collective rights and identities of Indigenous peoples, but only when this recognition does not undermine or threaten the political, legal and economic status quo of the colonial structure.  Her analysis takes place within a wider context and framing of critiques of liberal multiculturalism through which she illustrates the politics of recognition as limited by the Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 11!tension between a societies willingness to recognize difference and the limits of moral repugnance, or the tension between a persons obligation to their moral sense and to reason (Povinelli, 2002, 5).  Although state courts and public demand evidence of the continuity of traditional beliefs, practice and dispositions as the condition of cultural recognition, and, through this, land title, some features and practices of “customary law” are prohibited by common and statutory law and by a public sense of moral decency (Povinelli, 2002, 3).  She finds that the politics of recognition is one of the means through which this tension can be reconciled in the context of Australian liberal multiculturalism, but only to the extent that it maintains the liberal structure of asymmetric power. Povinelli states that she is interested in the ways that “minority and subaltern subjects creatively elaborate new social imaginaries” (2002, 6). However, these spaces of creativity remain circumscribed by the limits of her comparatively totalizing account of power.    In short, Povinelli’s emphasis on the liberal multicultural project framed through a dialectic of reason and repugnance presents a totalizing view of power and subjugation that forces Indigenous peoples to strive for an “impossible position of authenticity.”  While Povinelli provides as a compelling critique of the operation of liberal politics of recognition, this critique is predicated on an encompassing account of both the “social fact” of late liberalism, and the effect of recognition as threatening the “subject” and “social life” of Aboriginal people. Thus, for Povinelli it seems that the aim of her critique is the aporias and tensions between obligations to recognize moral sense and reason in the context of liberal multiculturalism. However, this framing risks reducing Indigenous peoples struggles to an explanatory foil for the liberal multiculturalism as a politics of domination. Thus, while innovative and condemning in her reading of liberalism, her conception of the field of action and the creation of subjectivities within this field limits of her analysis   In this dissertation I have found that turning to practices of Dene resistance and resurgence offers a means to examine the practices that exceed and fracture the colonial politics of recognition in the Canadian context. While my work is a critique of settler colonialism in Canada, and the colonial politics of recognition specifically, I also aim to trace and emphasize the work done by Indigenous peoples resisting colonialism in their Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 12!territories. Methodologically beginning with the practices of the Dene guards against their work being positioned simply as an explanatory foil to make sense of multiculturalism.  One of the central features of this dissertation has been to bridge between critical museums studies and a critique of the colonial politics of recognition, but by engaging with and talking to people who are actually doing this work in their communities. Through this I aim to reveal the ways in which museum spaces are, through naïve complicity at best and wilful ignorance at worse, implicated in the colonial politics of recognition, a conciliatory iteration of settler colonialism that, while affirming difference, still maintains the colonial power relations.  A Second Story: It Has Always Been About Relationships The first thing that I learned when I arrived in Denendeh in the fall of October 2013 was about the important places around what is now known as Yellowknife. I was shown a spot where the river joins the lake, and the effects that decades of mining have had on the skyline around the city. The second thing I learned about was the mooseskin boat project that took place in August 2013, a culture camp that brought together three generations of Mountain Dene to camp on the Keele River to build a mooseskin boat and take it downriver into Tulita.  In the 1850s the Industrial Museum of Scotland (Edinburgh) was given a mandate to educate the Scottish public about the arts of the world. Scottish men were already well established at the frontline of British colonialism across the globe, and making use of these networks museum Director George Wilson issued a call for Scottish fur traders to purchase examples of objects and send them home to Scotland. Predating “salvage anthropology” when some amateur and professional anthropologists robbed communities of their sacred ceremonial objects, Bernard Rogan Ross, an Irish Chief Trader with the HBC answered this call and purchased hundreds of objects from Dene communities. He sent some to the Smithsonian, but nearly 240 objects were sent to the Industrial Museum of Scotland, which would eventually become the National Museums Scotland in Edinburgh, UK.  These objects were collected during a period of great change in Denendeh. Trade, either with direct contact or utilizing the already existing complex trading networks that Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 13!built on hundreds of years of relationships, meant that the Indigenous Nations increasingly had access to Western manufactured objects, including beads or pots and pans “that eased the difficulty of some land based or subsistence activities. However, this also caused dramatic and rapid changes to the nature of traditional material culture” (Renwick & Andrews 2004, 14). Representatives of the HBC were purchasing furs and communities that had long been self-sufficient, relying on subsistence economics, were starting to reorient themselves around the encroaching fur trade. However, fur trade colonialism manifested differently across what is now known as North America. In Denendeh, the Dene traders often frustrated HBC employees. Rather than becoming reliant on trade goods, many Dene were exploiting the new trading networks. Sometimes this would mean refusing to trade if the price of furs was not sufficient, sometimes that meant selling traders their otherwise unusable furs. “It seems clear that the Northern Indians saw no real need for many of the goods offered by the HBC… Native peoples lived what seemed to them a comfortable and satisfactory life among the caribou and woodland resources” (Abel 1993, 61). While fur trade colonialism was at the cutting edge of what would transform into systemic forms of dispossession predicated on the pillars of settler colonialism, capitalism, patriarchy and racism, in the 1850s, it was the Dene who maintained the balance of power.  When I conducted an interview with John B Zoe, Chief Negotiator of the Tłı̨chǫ Comprehensive Claims Agreement about relationships with the National Museums Scotland (Edinburgh) and the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre (Yellowknife), he began by telling me about the time before man, when the laws of relationships between man and animals were being made. For Zoe, the contemporary relationship between the Tłı̨chǫ and the museums that hold objects made by them in the 1850s and 1860s are not detached from the wider context of political change in the north, culminating in the ratification of the Tłı̨chǫ Comprehensive Claims Agreement in 2005 that signalled the shift back from “dependency to independence.”7  Through interviews and spending time in the north, it rapidly became clear to me when conducting this research that I could not understand the Scottish Project without understanding the wider context, histories and projects that preceded or existed !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!7 Interview with John B Zoe and Kelsey Wrightson. October 15, 2013 in Yellowknife, NWT.  Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 14!simultaneously with that work. Moreover, when conducting this research, I could not detach these practices from other projects, people and histories. A single object was thus not only representative of a particular time and place, but also implicated in other networks and practices, social relationships, and potentiality in the future.  This led me to a new set of questions that informed my research. I began asking: what does the history of a museum collection purchased in the mid-19th century have to do with a mooseskin boat built in the 21st century? What does a mooseskin boat have to do with Gwich’in caribou skin clothing, have to do with Hegel, have to do with decolonization in Canada?  It has always been about relationships- some good, some dangerous.   Webs of Significance  Museum collections have often been understood as dusty rooms filled with dead objects. At best they have been described as “contact zones” (Clifford 1997) but at worst, critiqued for “killing” the objects by removing them from community and place, where they can be used, danced and lived (Clifford 1997; Krmpotich & Peers 2013; Peers & Brown 2003; M. Simpson 2009; “Task Force Report on Museums and First Peoples” 1992; Townsend-Gault 1998). National Museums and National Galleries especially, and many other public spaces are charged with displaying “Canadian national culture and history” and educating the public. They are therefore located as part of both the material and narrative or subjective forms of settler colonialism in Canada. However, these institutions are complicated, paradoxical and sometimes ambivalent spaces. While museum collections are often founded on a history of dispossession and represent narratives that are implicated in continuing violence, museums can and have been used to forward the decolonizing efforts that are generated in communities. Within these institutions, the work of Indigenous peoples, Nations, individuals, groups, allies and organizations, is used in numerous ways with various effects, to forward the aims of decolonization and resistance to settler colonialism. This can take the form of acts of remembering, stories, practice and places, which have a quality of resistance that exceeds the attempts at domination. Remembering and memory refuses to capitulate to the demands of settler colonial conquest that Indigenous peoples should disappear, or, be Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 15!present in ways that are entirely coherent with settler colonial domination (Corntassel, 2009).  My research finds that these objects remain embedded within, and responsive to, “webs of significance” that continue to inform their meaning and relevance for contemporary communities. Late Mohawk curator Deborah Doxtator articulated the complexities of “Basket, Bead and Quill” within contemporary practices of meaning making and community building. Baskets, and the skill sets that have gone into making them, exemplify the important historic connections between generations of makers.  I have been given baskets, and like many other Native women I have relatives who have made these things as part of their economic survival. In many families the knowledge of the processes involved in making baskets, beadwork, quillwork and other “traditional” activities have been passed down from one generation to another. Each object contains memories of the person who made it, the knowledge of how to gather and prepare materials, the prayers and songs, the philosophies and metaphors for making sense of the world (Doxtator 1995, 15). However, and as stated earlier, tradition is also generative. Making baskets is not solely about connections to historic communities and practices, but also the ways through which these practices continue to evoke and create new communities.   If knowledge is what you create in using, adapting and enacting certain ideas in your daily life, then it is also what you learn by following long established activities encoded in the process of making these ancient forms. The often collaborative process of gathering and preparing material and repeating (although never exactly) the patterns of making traditional forms, in and of itself teaches and imparts knowledge (Doxtator 1995, 15). Thus, the webs of significance are not just about the meaning that is made by understanding the history of an object, but also, and perhaps more importantly, about the relationships that went into creating these objects. As Doxtator emphasizes, beading and quilling is a collective practice made possible because of relationships to other makers and to the land. Similarly, the exhibitions that I studied were all made possible through a networks of relationships, both historic and immediate. Moreover, these relationships were prioritized in particular ways, such that the museum and institutions were not privileged, but rather, the needs of grandmothers and school children took precedence over static preservation.   Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 16!Cultural practices are not inert representations of Indigenous difference, but constitutive of Indigenous peoples’ futures, individually, collectively and in relation to others. Valaskakis highlights the dual role of Indigenous narratives by stating: The stories we tell in written and visual narrative have long been recognized as a window on who we are, what we experience, and how we understand and enact ourselves and others. But… stories are more than a window on identity. We actually construct who we are in our identification with the discursive images and cultural narratives that dominate our ways of seeing and representing the world. These narratives are reflexive and reflective. In the stories that move and change in memory and community, we make sense out of history and heritage, producing personal and social meanings and ideological positions (Valaskakis 2005, 45). Memory as resurgence, and acts of remembrance as resurgence, actively counter attempts to create a dichotomy between past and present that would either relegate Indigenous peoples’ cultural practices to an “authentic” but imagined history, or place Indigenous people cultural practices within a teleological understanding of history that would position Indigenous peoples as disappeared by virtue of their exposure to the “modern.” According to Valaskakis, ultimately, “native recovery of collective memory is a transformational process” (Valaskakis 2005, 80). As such, remembering is not an appeal to a “pre-contact” past, but a resurgent move towards decolonial futures. Methodology  Political Science can be methodologically categorized in a number of different ways. Most broadly, some research undertakes an empirical analysis of phenomena with predictive or explanatory aims. Other projects take a normative direction, attempting to intervene into these phenomena and offer new and better analyses and practice. This dissertation is not a political or cultural history or ethnography of “the north” as a geographic and cultural region. Rather, this is a work of political theory, informed and underpinned by interview and archival study. Thus, my dissertation has two methodological goals. First, I have aimed to put disparate tracks of thinking in conversation with each other. For example, I have put political theory in conversation with museum studies and Hegel in conversation with women who bead. Second, I have Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 17!tried to centre histories and contemporary practices of resistance and decolonization, rather than centering a critique on settler colonialism itself.  The “Scottish Project” built on years of Dene activism and leadership, including the “Trails of our Ancestors”8 and numerous other examples of work done in communities. The “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” is part of the large scope of work undertaken by the Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute,9 and the dedication of women to ensure that their culture, politics and histories continue. Thus, the methods of this dissertation are not solely explanatory or offering “ought to” answers of normative social science. Rather, I hope to hold up the practices of Indigenous resurgence that have been actively countering settler colonial violence for nearly 400 years. The aim thus, is not to find new ways of practicing resurgence, but offer new ways of thinking about what is already there to continue the dismantling of settler colonial structures across Canada. As such, my empirical and case study analysis is primarily oriented towards a “tracing” and “unpacking” of three case studies that exemplify some of the nuanced practices of resurgence currently undertaken by Indigenous nations, individuals and communities. In order to achieve these goals I have deployed a few different methods. First, I have sought out sources of political theory in unusual places, including museum literature, but also in exhibition guides and accounts of cultural resurgence and knowledge repatriation projects that have taken place in museums. In Chapter 2 I create a conversation between Indigenous artists and theorists of settler colonialism and critical political theory to offer a means to think through three logics of settler colonialism: disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation. In particular I engage with Lorenzo Veracini, Patrick Wolfe, Taiaiake Alfred, Jeff Corntassel to offer critiques of the ongoing structure of settler colonial domination. While I have used critical and post-colonial theory to frame my analysis of museum spaces, I have also attempted to put political theory in direct conversation with visual methods and analysis. I have emphasized Glen Couthard’s (2014) critiques of the colonial politics of recognition, to re-examine and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!8 Trails of Our Ancestors is a land-based education project in Tłı̨chǫ territory. For more extensive analysis please see (Zoe 2007).  9 The Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute (GSCI) was established in 1993 after the settlement of the Gwich’in Comprehensive Land Claim Agreement. In 1993 the Institute began operation with the mandate to “document, preserve and promote the practice of Gwich’in culture, language, traditional knowledge and values.” Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 18!analyze museum practice. Secondly, I have also used qualitative methods, including interviews with curators, community members and participants in the various projects. I approached these as expert interviews that were largely open ended. I got very different types of information from the interviews, and generally let the interview participants highlight what they found important, whether the multivocality of the exhibition, building the capacity for community collaborations, or the role of the museum in supporting political independence. Third, I did extensive examinations of museum records and displays, and used the museum’s own internal documentation of the successes of exhibitions. This included an extensive analysis of the museum visitor response book records as well as a comparative analysis of exhibition text and presentations.  When first proposed, this research was multi-sited and included case studies from Haida Gwaii, Denendeh and Musqueam. However, it swiftly became clear that the concerns of the Haida Nation are not the same as Musqueam, and the Tłı̨chǫ have different relationships to their material histories than both. Narrowing my analysis to look at the Scottish Project offered the chance to explore an understudied area of material culture and political history, and it also offered the chance to develop a more detailed, in-depth study. However, when narrowing to focus on “The Scottish Project” it became rapidly clear that the Scottish Project must be understood within the wider political context in the North. The Scottish Project built upon decades of relationships between individuals and institutions and was only made possible through these relationships. While “The Scottish Project” hinted at further practices of resurgence and resistance beyond changing the dominant stories being told about Indigenous peoples, it was the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” that offered insights into direct ways that Indigenous peoples are engaging in museum spaces to support cultural resurgence.   Thus, the empirical work in this dissertation is organized around three “case studies”, as detailed above (the 1988 Spirit Sings Exhibition, “The Scottish Project”, and the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project”). Rather than reading and thinking through Hegel’s master/slave dialectic as the starting point of my theory of labour against the colonial politics of recognition, I listened to the work being done in communities, especially by women. By putting these two distinct voices in conversation, it became clear that they not only had much to offer one another, but also that the political theory I was Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 19!engaging with had much to gain from such a conversation. This dissertation covers a large scope of literature, draws on research from multiple disciplines, and attempts to forward the arguments made in political science and museum studies by putting the two, often disparate disciplines, in conversation with one another. The heart of this dissertation, that the political is cultural, and the cultural is political, may seem to be a facetious statement. However, when treated seriously, the power of cultural acts to transform political practices is evident.  Position and Intention I am a non-Indigenous woman. My context, my history, my privilege and my experiences inform the way that I see the world and the way that I conduct my research. I have not intentionally shied away from this during my research process, nor have I abdicated responsibility for my privilege by appealing to a model of value free social science. Much more can be said about my own position in this work, but I will note two principles that inform the way I conduct myself and my research as a visitor on unceded Musqueam territories and a guest to Tłı̨chǫ territory and Denendeh. First, this dissertation is just one part, and not the finite fulfillment of my obligations as guest and visitor. I have not framed this as “community-based work” and my research process is not an example of how community-based research should be conducted, though I am personally informed by the principles (L. T. Smith, 1999; Wilson, 2008). Rather, I see this as the first offering of research, which will, with time and effort, hopefully inform longer research collaborations with interested individuals and communities. The future directions of this work are elaborated on in the conclusion. To this end, or rather beginnings, the second principle is that critique and the opportunity to change are generous gifts, and ones that I welcome.  The intent of this research was to examine the current role, and potential, for museums to serve the decolonizing interests of “source communities.” When I began this work, my position necessarily circumscribed the scope of my research. My initial aim in conducting this research was not to inform Indigenous people of their own cultural practices or histories. Rather, I have always intended this to be a work that traces out the ways that Indigenous peoples are actively contesting settler colonialism in sometimes unanticipated ways. In tracing these acts, I hope to highlight the ways that individuals are Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 20!already engaged in resistance such that those who are privileged can come to more fully listen to these practices of resistance. Some of the intended audiences are museum professionals, including curators, who are interested in developing and understanding the impacts and the roles that museums may have to forward Indigenous peoples’ acts of decolonization.  As a non-Indigenous person living in Canada, I hope to speak to the other non-Indigenous people in Canada who have, and continue to have, a position of privilege as a result of the history and contemporary settler colonialism on these lands. While I believe that it is non-Indigenous peoples that clearly have the most to learn from examining the scope of resistance and transformative resurgence explored throughout this dissertation, I hope that non-Settlers will also recognize their own practices and thoughts within the case studies examined. Specifically, where settler colonialism in Canada has functioned to detach Indigenous peoples’ cultural practices from their radical political critiques, I hope that this dissertation serves as one part of the larger project that traces the connection between the two. To be clear, this is not creating some new or imagined connection between the cultural and political acts of Indigenous peoples, but rather to trace the relationships that are already there. Thus, the goal of this dissertation is an attempt to uncover that connection, and potentially bring it to the attention and interest of the people that need to see it most. Key Contributions When I began this research, I came with a particular critical orientation. I began with development of a theoretical lens of analysis, which was followed by a year of fieldwork in Scotland. However, the second year of my fieldwork was not what I expected. The theories that informed this dissertation when I began research traced out the ways in which colonial violence manifested through narratives that are amplified and authorized by museums. In the context of settler colonialism in Canada, the dangers of the colonial politics of recognition in particular and logics of settler colonialism more widely, were readily apparent. Analysis of the audience response books to the exhibition “Extremes: Life in Subarctic Canada” (Edinburgh, 2008) clearly demonstrated the logics of settler colonial material and symbolic violence that I had researched previously. I expected that the remainder of my research would continue to demonstrate narrative and material Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 21!manifestations of settler colonialism. However, I was swiftly to be proven incorrect in this assumption. Thus, the contributions that I hope to make are not so much a set of definitive recommendations to museum studies or political theory, but an entreaty for those interested to better listen to the agency of Indigenous peoples who are choosing to work within and engage with the museum studies work.  I aim for this work to be relevant to at least three audiences; academics interested in postcolonial studies, academics and practitioners interested in museum and curatorial studies, and communities interested in critical anti-colonial practices located in museums. In political theory I bring together three areas of theory into conversation: politics and aesthetics, colonialism and political theory, and practices of decolonization in the context of settler colonialism. The scope of my research is novel, combining national and domestic museum analysis, and using empirical case studies to think through, and shift, theoretical developments is an innovative approach that grounds political theory in the “real world.” Bringing together post-colonial theory, political aesthetics and the politics of recognition and self-determination in the context of Canadian settler colonialism addresses a noticeable gap in the field of postcolonial theory more broadly. While the field of political theory has taken up questions of “new imperialism,” (Tully 2008a) this mode of inquiry has remained largely focused in the fields of semiotics, history and archival studies, textual analysis and legal studies (Armitage 2004; Arneil 1996; Asch 1999, 2002; Said 1995, 1997; Spivak 1988; Tully 2008a, 2008b). Rather than focusing on discourses of empire, my work looks at the political histories of objects.  In museum studies, while there has been work done looking at the ways in which museums were complicit and instrumental in perpetuating colonial narratives (Mackey 1999; Phillips 2011; M. Simpson, 2009), fewer resources have been spent looking at the ways in and through which museum spaces continue to perpetuate an asymmetrical relationship between source communities and audiences, while simultaneously holding potential for transformative and anticolonial subversive practices. This is especially true when the critiques of museums are reliant on a reading of settler colonialism that privileges the structural over the subversive and occludes the potential for “subaltern agency” in acts of resistance. However, I also offer a critical contribution to museum studies from critiques of settler colonialism. While museum studies has been critical of Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 22!pre-1990 relationships with “source communities,” it has also been comparatively self-congratulatory in the post-1992 Museums Task Force context. By explicitly placing shifts in Canadian museological practice in the theoretical context of Coulthard’s critique of the settler colonial politics of recognition I offer a new critique of contemporary museological practice in Canada as an extension of the colonial politics of recognition.  What I Am Not Doing: The Repatriation Debate One of the most significant, and predominant modes of critique of museum practices is the debate around the repatriation of objects from museums back to source communities (Jacknis 2011; Jenkins 2008; Kramer 2010; Krmpotich & Peers 2013; Krmpotich 2011, 2014; M. Simpson 2009). My dissertation does not deal with this debate for a number of reasons. First, physical repatriation of objects was not the goal of either the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” or “The Scottish Project.”10 Second, there is other work being done around the question of repatriation that is more focused, and pertains to more relevant museum collections. Third, the question of museums amenability to repatriation claims is very interesting in the Canadian/UK context, and worthy of an entirely different dissertation. In the United States NAGPRA legislation gives juridical weight to repatriation requests, in Canada, the 1992 Task Force has specific normative goals and gives moral weight to repatriation claims (though no legal recourse). However, in the UK, the institutional amenability to repatriation claims seems to be determined, at least in part, by the individual curators and institutions that are involved. Scottish museums have a history of repatriating objects that is quite different than large English institutions such as the British Museum (Burnet, 2007). While English museums are notoriously adverse to repatriation claims (a notable exception is the Pitt Rivers work with the Haida Nation), the requests have been relatively more successful in Scotland, where the Kelvingrove Museum (Glasgow) repatriated toi moko to the Maori in Aotearoa (New Zealand) and a ghost dance shirt to the Lakota (1990 and 1998 respectively).11 This different relationship !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!10 Personal communication and Interviews with John B Zoe, Chantal Knowles, and Karen Wright-Fraser as well as cited in (Kritsch, 2001; Kritsch and Wright-Fraser, 2002; Thompson and Kritsch, 2005). 11 Glasgow City Council entertained five repatriation requests between 1990 and 2000. The Ghost Dance Shirt was returned after an initial rejection by the Glasgow City Council, and subsequent appeal. The Australian Aboriginal Human Remains were returned upon first request. http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm199900/cmselect/cmcumeds/371/0051808.htm Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 23!to the question of repatriation is clearly exemplified by the NMS curator Chantal Knowles, who entertained the potential Tłı̨chǫ or Dene repatriation requests positively.12 However, those requests did not come during the course of “The Scottish Project,” and indeed, the role of the museum in preservation of objects, and the international presentation of Tłı̨chǫ and Dene culture and nationhood remains an important facet of “The Scottish Project.”   Debates around repatriation often overwrite the complexities of source community relationships to objects. The thrust of the 1992 Task Force recommendations were towards Indigenous control over their own culture and heritage (1992). To over-determine that recommendation to mean only or even primarily repatriation excludes a range of ways that people can engage with their material culture and heritage. Nothing in this dissertation should be read as arguing for “knowledge repatriation” or cultural exchanges at the expense of physical repatriation. I have made a conscious choice not to engage with the debate around repatriation, though this not to the exclusion of that conversation. Organization and Summary   When I began my research my hypothesis was that my case studies would demonstrate that museums are inadequate and ill equipped for dealing with the pervasive structures of settler colonial domination as they manifest through disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation. However, through the case study research I found a more complicated, and indeed, paradoxical understanding of the museum. These institutions are, at one time and even in the same exhibition, both a space for the reproduction of settler colonial narratives of control and domination, and a space where Indigenous peoples are interjecting into, and contesting these practices of domination. In order to work through these concepts and practices, this dissertation is organized in three parts: 1) theoretical grounding and establishing the topography of the dissertation, 2) critique of museological spaces and practices as reproducing the colonial politics of recognition, 3) practices of Indigenous resurgence in museums.  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!12 Interview with Chantal Knowles by Kelsey Wrightson, November 1, 2013 Edinburgh, UK.  Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 24!The first two content chapters of the dissertation are largely theoretical, and map the general intellectual topography of the dissertation. The first chapter looks at three “logics” of settler colonialism: disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation. These three logics are illustrated by examples drawn from material culture studies, art and museum studies. Tracing these logics offers a nuanced intervention into the settler colonial goals of dispossession, capitalist exploitation and maintenance of the status quo colonial governance, and reveals these logics to be mutually constitutive. The goals of Chapter Two are to give a theoretical language to illustrate both the location of my intervention (museums) and the larger structural condition of settler colonialism while using empirical examples to exemplify and illuminate the theoretical concepts. Chapter Two also serves to illustrate the relationship between material and symbolic forms of violence, revealing the inextricable connection between the two. Chapter Three moves to the museum as a site of political analysis. Like the first chapter, this analysis is intended to give a general understanding of the theoretical framework for the remainder of the dissertation. The chapter is organized around one central argument; museums are paradoxical spaces. Echoing Taiaiake Alfred and Jeff Corntassel’s warning not to allow the only story of Indigenous peoples to be a story of colonization (2005, 601), rather than a condemnation or exultation of the work done in and with museums, this dissertation attempts to unpack much of the complexity of politics “on the ground.” Using the theoretical insights of Foucault and Said, and drawing largely on the logic of “obfuscation” developed in the first chapter, I argue that museums exemplify the problematic colonial nexus between power and knowledge. I use Foucault in Chapter 3 to think through the museum as a site of paradoxical power, both domination and resistance. Foucault is particularly useful because his discursive analysis does not fall under the field of semiotics, nor does he take up an explicitly historical, and apolitical analysis. Rather, he uses the analogy of war and conflict in order to understand the field of relations in which he is engaged, placing power at the centre of his analysis.  The goal of Chapter 3 is to reveal the way that museum displays are not just “glass boxes” revealing the “other,” but also mirrors that reflect the ways that power understands itself. Methodologically, rather than describing and understanding Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 25!relationships between source communities and objects as finite and comprehensible to Western epistemological priorities, centering the paradox of museum practice and presentation necessitates a focus on the fractures in these settler colonial practices of domination caused by Indigenous peoples’ own understandings of their relationships to objects and their interjections into museum spaces. Thus, given critiques of the limits of Foucauldian accounts of power as totalizing, between Chapters Three and Four, the dissertation moves from a largely theoretical methodology illustrated by empirical examples, to an analysis that more robustly centres on the three case studies. This focus offers a new means of thinking about the practices of resistance that are challenging understandings of the museum as totalizing space of domination. Methodologically, “The Spirit Sings,” (1988) “The Scottish Project” (2002-2008) and the “Dene Spruce Root Basket” (1999) and “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project” (2000-2003) are illustrative of the theoretical arguments made, and more importantly, offer a means to think through and develop theories around practices of Indigenous resurgence. To tell only one story of either domination or resistance reduces the complexity of both. Thus the following two sections (or four chapters) of the dissertation should be read as a conversation. Chapters Four and Five offer a critique of museological practices as a continuation of settler colonial domination, where Chapters Six and Seven trace the generative modes of Indigenous resistance.   Chapter Four begins with a doubled narrowing in the trajectory of the dissertation. Methodologically, I narrow the scope of empirical analysis to explore the first of three case studies, the 1988 exhibition “The Spirit Sings” held at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary Alberta during the 1988 Winter Olympics. The second narrowing is theoretical in which I turn away from more general critiques of settler colonialism and towards the specificities of critiques of the colonial politics of recognition. In the fourth chapter I argue that the exhibition “The Spirit Sings” was a key event that represents a shift towards the more conciliatory politics of recognition within Canadian museum policy and practice, intending to accommodate Indigenous peoples’ cultural claims within narrative inclusion and “recognition” as critiqued by Coulthard (2007, 2014).  The colonial politics of recognition draws most explicitly upon the second and third logics of settler colonialism domination that I explore in the first chapter. Namely, disappearance of the Indigenous Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 26!“other” is facilitated by the appropriation of Indigenous peoples’ cultural practices and heritage in order to detach the “cultural” from the political claims generated by relations to and on the land. Thus, I argue that the colonial politics of recognition as it plays out in museological practices obfuscates ongoing settler colonial violence by “restorying” and “eventing” which shifts the narratives of the settler colonial state to make the structures of domination difficult to see, critique or further dismantle.  With this turn toward the conciliatory politics of recognition, Chapter Four concludes with an examination of three articles that explicitly take up the politics of recognition within museum studies. Through these I argue that the colonial politics of recognition perpetuates settler colonial control and domination by a) transforming political claims into more conciliatory narratives of cultural accommodation b) maintaining the asymmetric structures of authority and c) privileging narrative change without accounting for structural and economic equality.  My arguments in Chapter Four focus primarily on the structural analysis of Coulthard’s critique of the colonial politics of recognition. In Chapter Five I turn to the psycho-effective and intersubjective critique of recognition, and examine the ways in which colonizer subjects are formed in and through museological spaces. I also turn to the second, and most extensive, case study. Thus, a significant portion of this chapter is a narrative recounting of “The Scottish Project,” a collaborative exhibition that took place in Yellowknife, Ottawa and Edinburgh. However, following from the previous chapter’s examination of the politics of recognition as taken up in museum studies, I examine the limits of the politics of recognition as it has been advocated for in museological practice. Using audience response books to the exhibition in Edinburgh and focusing especially on Canadian responses, I find that the narrative changes are insufficient to effectively transform the nexus of material and narrative violence that underpins colonialism in Canada. In other words, changing the stories told about and by Indigenous peoples in museum spaces was insufficient for changing the minds of many of the Canadian audience members who continued to iterate the narratives that inform and underpin settler colonial subjectivities. However, the deficiency to transform the settler colonizer is not the end of my analysis of “The Scottish Project.” Indeed, recalling Chapter Three, which argues that Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 27!museums are paradoxical spaces, the last two chapters take on a different line of argument. While still deploying a methodologically narrow approach using a case study analysis, rather than critiquing the colonial politics of recognition, the following two chapters argue that Indigenous peoples’ interjections into museum spaces should be read as actively contesting the colonial politics of recognition specifically, and the logics of settler colonial domination more generally. I trace two “modes” of resistance that is exemplified by interjections into museum spaces. Taking up the work of Métis artist David Garneau and his concept of “spaces of Aboriginal irreconcilability,” (2012) the first mode of resistance finds that, rather than being implicated in a dialectic of oppression/resistance that falls into the danger of allowing colonialism to be the only story of Indigenous peoples, there are histories that are exogenous to the narratives of settler colonialism. Thus, Chapter Six argues that though “The Scottish Project” was insufficient to fully transform the narratives of settler colonialism in Canada as exemplified by audience responses, this deficiency was not the only story. Indeed, using interview, historic and discourse analysis, I argue that some Tłı̨chǫ individuals specifically, and Dene more broadly, understand their relationship to museums, and the work being doing within museums, in a manner that exceeds the colonial politics of recognition. Through analysis of the particular object histories of a set of stone pipes and a willow bark net, I argue that the material histories, and the relationship between the Dene and their own material culture histories exemplified in the school outreach program, exceeds settler colonial attempts to narratively and materially disappear, appropriate, and obfuscate Indigenous Nations historic and continued presence. Chapter Seven then turns to the second mode of resistance, which I have termed “labour against recognition.” In contrast to the previous two chapters, which emphasize the narrative forms of the politics of recognition (telling better/more accurate stories about the self and other), this chapter returns to a generative theory of the politics of recognition, the Hegelian master/slave dialectic. I argue that not only did Hegel underestimate the role of labour as an avenue for emancipatory self-recognition, but when put in conversation with the growing body of literature on Indigenous resurgence, labour is generative of social and political relationships formed on, and informed by, relationships to land. These webs of social relations mean that labour, and the process of Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 28!labour is not inherently linked to the colonial politics of recognition. Instead, and against the logics of settler colonial appropriation and obfuscation, labour in the form of making and remaking objects, cannot be appropriated into the colonial logics of domination and thus presents an alternative mode of engagement. This chapter focuses on my final case study, the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project,” and to a lesser extent the “Dene Spruce Root Basketry” project, which are examples of a growing number of collaborative projects that use museum storerooms for “knowledge repatriation” projects. Rather than exceeding the colonial politics, I argue that the colonial politics of recognition has been actively countered through a process of “labour against recognition.”  This leads to the conclusion, which synthesizes some of the disparate threads of this dissertation together. The research underpinning these conclusions clearly demonstrated that the work of many Indigenous women has been integral resistance to colonialism. The work of Indigenous women within and in conversation with museums and in their communities forms the cutting edge of these generative acts of cultural resurgence that are central to Chapter Six and Chapter Seven. The case studies that I examine ultimately have many “faces” or stories, but it is the intimate acts of resistance in the form of sewing circles, exhibition guides discussed around kitchen tables, and children asking grandparents how to say “snowshoe” in Tłı̨chǫ that have been acknowledged as both the most powerful and holding the most potential to form the basis for Indigenous political and cultural resurgence against settler colonial domination.  A Third Story: It Has Always Been About Work I was sitting in front of a sewing machine on April 14th 2014. I remember the date very clearly because it was exactly a year from the day that my Grandmother passed. I am not a particularly good seamstress by any stretch of the imagination. I do not like following rules and I am constantly sewing my pockets inside out, but some of my favourite memories are of sitting in my Grandmother’s dark basement watching her under the light of a single bulb as she put together a new Christmas dress or pair of pajamas. I was sitting in front of a sewing machine that particular day because the sound of the pedal reminded me of her. While I was refusing to follow a pattern and trying to undo my inside-out hem, I realized something that would come to be very important. The product of my work in Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 29!the form of a hole-ridden and lopsided attempt at a dress did not matter; it was the process of making something that brought me comfort.   When beginning my research one of the first interviews I conducted was with Judy Thompson who had spent her professional career at the Canadian Museum of Civilization dedicated to the preservation of northern material culture and supporting the continuation of Dene practices of making in the North. In late summer of 2012 Judy Thompson described working with Karen Wright-Fraser and the Gwich’in Social and Cultural Institute on the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project.” The sound of the sewing machine pedal reminded me of my grandmother, and of my conversation with Judy Thompson, and then of the second thing that I had learned in Yellowknife about the process of making a mooseskin boat. Thinking about these collaborative and creative projects made me realize that they shared a common theme that explicitly situated the creation of objects as part of continuing relationships to land, the past and the future. I recalled Deborah Doxtator’s essay at the beginning of the 1995 exhibition “Basket, Bead and Quill” explaining:  each object contains memories of the person who made it, the knowledge of how to gather and prepare materials, the prayers and songs, the philosophies and metaphors for making sense of the world. If knowledge is what you creating in using, adapting and enacting certain ideas in your daily life, then it is also what you learn by following long established activities encoded in the process of making these ancient forms… these objects continue to form an important part of our sense of ourselves as collective being, connecting us to other people, past present and future, and to other beings in the natural world (1995, 15).  Sitting in front of the sewing machine that day I realized that I had been thinking about women and beading for years, but I finally had the experience to tie everything that I had rolling through my head together. Just as violence has been gendered, so has resurgence. Anishinaabe Indigenous feminist Dory Nason writes about the boundless love that Indigenous women have for their families and nations, which, in spite of being ongoing targets of violence, continue to inspire the sort of political actions that create change within Indigenous and non- Indigenous communities (2013). In addition to these public acts of resurgence, Indigenous women have also been at the front line of the intimate acts of resistance that include the labour of creating and supporting families, holding individuals and communities accountable to their own laws and practices, sharing Chapter!One!Three Stories: Introduction!! 30!language and food around a kitchen table, and passing along generations of knowledge through tanning and beading. The arc of this dissertation narrows to address these different modes of resistance, from large-scale critiques of settler colonial violence, through to the public display of Tłı̨chǫ histories, and finally to the intimate acts of resurgence of women beading together. Serendipitously and without planning, my first interview and my last interview were both about the “Gwich’in Caribou Skin Clothing Project.” Decolonization has always been about the work. And it has always been about women’s work.   This dissertation is guided by three informing theories: the cultural is political, it has always been about relationships, and it as always been about the work. These three themes were both inspired by my research process, and informed the methods that I used when conducting this research. When I started the work, I expected to find that museums were spaces for the active perpetuation of material and symbolic violence. While this was correct, ultimately colonialism is not the only story.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 31!2 “We Don’t Want Indians”: Three Logics of Settler Colonialism   The thing of it is to me, though, is that people don’t want to be Native; they want to remain themselves while pretending to be Native. They don’t want to come live like you or have fights or have drunks around; they don’t want their kids to go to the second-class schools, have third-class health care. They don’t want that. They want to stay themselves but yet they’re you. Then they can disavow any problems they’ve caused, because they’re you. That washes them clean—and I say no.  Hock E Aye Vi Edgar Heap of Birds interview with Lawrence Abbott (1994)  Settler colonialism functions as an oppressive structure operating through discursive and non-discursive practices. This chapter will focus on the particular operations, or logics, of settler colonial domination as they are both exemplified and constituted within the museum. In other words, and in direct contrast to arguments that would see the museum as an “apolitical” space of knowledge dissemination, this chapter traces the explicit ways that settler colonialism is actively perpetuated. While drawing on contextually situated analysis and examples of settler colonialism in museums, this critique of the logics of settler colonialism looks to broad modes of operation. Settler colonialism is not extrahistorical, juridical or totalizing, but abstracting the logics from the practice moves beyond particular temporal and geographic contexts, and, I argue, reveals settler colonial domination to be, at most, partial. Acts of violent and non-violent resistance have always existed alongside and against settler colonial structures, practices and discourses, despite the ‘hegemony’ of settler colonialism. Further this logic level analysis emphasizes the many messy and ultimately paradoxical practices of settler colonialism. I argue that settler colonial practices are oriented towards the key goal of exploitation and access to lands and resources. Though mutually constitutive, I have divided the overlapping operations into three basic “modes” of operation: disappearance, appropriation, and obfuscation. Using key settler colonial thinkers, including Patrick Wolfe, Lorenzo Veracini, Gail Guthrie Valaskasis and Ronald Hawker to frame my analysis, I will analyze these three Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 32!forms of settler colonialism and how they manifest within museum space and practice. The goal of this chapter is to establish the theoretical language that will be used throughout the remainder of the dissertation. This chapter can therefore be understood as a theoretical intervention that uses Indigenous artists, museum exhibitions and material culture histories to illustrate and illuminate theoretical analysis from settler colonial studies. Exploitation and Access “We don’t want Indians,” a 1982 text based work by artist Hock E Aye Vi Edgar Heap of Birds, exemplifies these central paradoxes of settler colonialism. Done in typographic poster style, the painting has the term “Natural” in reverse lettering at the top of the canvas, followed by the text “We don't want Indians Just their names mascots machines cities products buildings living people?” The piece, displayed as part of the 1992 exhibition “Revisions” at the Banff Cultural Centre which was curated as a response to the controversial 1988 exhibition “As the Spirit Sings” at the Glenbow Museum, traces the simultaneous desire to destroy Indians while appropriating their cultural forms and practices into the dominant narrative of settler nation-state building. “We don’t want Indians,” identifies the “tensions between ideological positions that exclude and contain the outsider and those that forcibly remake the Other into an insider” (Valaskakis, 2000, 390).  The driving logic of settler colonialism is distinct from colonialism; rather than exploitation or imperialism, the overarching logic of settler colonialism is settlement (Veracini 2011b; Wolfe 2006). The process of settlement is oriented towards two, mutually implicated, ends: opening up space for the exploitation of land, resources, labour and bodies, and the maintenance and spread of this status quo of domination. Unlike more explicitly exploitative logics of colonization in which land, resources and labour are utilized for the benefit of the geographically separate colonizer, settler colonial Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 33!violence is rooted in dispossession predicated on the material and ideational erasure of the colonized and possession of the land.13  This chapter explores three logics of settler colonialism: disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation. These logics are contradictory at best, and reveal the deeply aporetic operation of settler colonial practices. According to Johnston and Lawson, “the typical settler narrative [has] a double goal. It is concerned to act out the suppression or effacement of the indigene; it is also concerned to perform the concomitant indigenization of the settler” (2000, 369). While the desire to secure land and access to resources is predicated on the “disappearance” of the Indigenous “other,” either through assimilation or genocide, there is a simultaneous need to legitimate and stabilize the operations of power through appropriation. The third logic of obfuscation serves to at least partially reconcile disappearance and appropriation, but the operation of settler colonialism remains contradictory.  These tensions have been readily identified in many examinations of settler colonialism. Some analyses resolve the ideological conflicts through historical “stages or shifts,” where “over a period of actual invasion and dispossession, it proceeded through savagery and terrorism; at other times, indigenous culture could be positively invoked, staged and stimulated” (Thomas, 1999, 48). In addition to Wolfe’s (1994) examination of racial periods, there have been histories of the economic periods exemplifying different stages of domination (Lutz, 2008). Others find that the logics of dispossession through suppression and genocide exist simultaneously with the constitutive aims of “indigenization” of the settler via appropriation of “indigeniety.”  For example Hawker’s analysis of material culture on the Pacific Northwest Coast finds that there are two purposes to Canadian state sanctioned acts of material appropriation.  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!13 To this end, exploitation of land and labour works in conjunction with settler colonial disappearance by eliminating the possibility of healthy living on territories slated for resource extraction (such as the case of the Lubicon Cree in Northern Alberta), and/or by incorporating Indigenous peoples into the capitalist labour market, undercutting Indigenous economies and land based ontologies (Coulthard, 2010). Thus, exploitation works in conjunction with, rather than solely prior to, disappearance. Seeking to secure ongoing access to land and material resources, the ends of settler colonialism are determined by the stabilization of hierarchical relations where “the domination of a majority that has become indigenous… According to these characterisations, colonisers cease being colonisers if and when they become the majority of the population. Conversely, and even more perplexingly, indigenous people only need to become a minority in order to cease being colonised” (Veracini, 2010, 16).   Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 34!The reconfiguration of objects previously associated with the potlatch into objects of antiquity served two purposes: first, it paralleled the overtly repressive strategies of the potlatch ban by suggesting that the objects no longer held a viable role in First Nations societies; second, the objects could be appropriated and presented as part of a mythical Canadian past now useful in symbolizing Canadian identity (Hawker, 2003, 18). Thus rather than temporal “episodes,” the contemporary topography of settler colonialism in Canada can arguably be understood as paradoxical and overlapping. This is not to say that settler colonialism does not operate in a developmental trajectory, but rather, that the logics are not inherently linear and ordered.  Disappearance  The settler colonial logic of disappearance is arguably not the “first” temporally speaking, having been preceded by trade and treaty relations (at least in much of North America). Though varied in form, disappearance has become, arguably, the dominant logic in the historic and contemporary operation of settler colonialism, “settling” lands by imposing and normalizing hierarchical relations through the material and ideational disappearance of the Indigenous occupants.  Disappearance transgresses any constructed material/ideational binary, attacking Indigenous ways of being, including land, bodies and minds (Alfred & Corntassel, 2005; Alfred, 2005; A. Smith, 2011; Wolfe, 2006). Located at the nexus of material and discursive disappearance, museums exemplify the logic of disappearance in the exclusionary knowledge produced within their state sanctioned walls,14 and are also implicated in the material dispossession of land and material culture, especially through the instrumental creation and dissemination of racist tropes and laws that facilitated dispossession and concurrently grew museum collections globally (Brown, 2003; Centre, 1976; Clifford, 1997; Hawker, 2003; P. Hilden & Huhndorf, 1999; Lonetree, 2006; Mackey, 1998, 1999; R. B. Phillips, 2011; Stoler, 2002; Thomas, 1999). Examples of attempts at suppression or disappearance include: material disappearance, terra nullius, constructed inferiority, and acculturation. While I discuss !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!14 This includes both the prioritization of Western scientific paradigms and the ways that the prioritization of this knowledge serves to exclude other perspectives and positions.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 35!these as distinct practices of settler colonial power, in practice they are mutually constitutive and overlapping. The material destruction of Indigenous lives and lands is one of the most deeply felt and effective forms of disappearance. While the history of settler colonization is complex and interpretations range from generous readings of cooperative relations between Indigenous peoples, fur traders, and early colonists, to explicit and premeditated histories of murderous destruction, even the most generous (but historically documented) accounts of post-contact “North America” include the destruction of Indigenous lives and lands (Hall, 2010; A Smith, 2012; 2011). These acts of disappearance use material and ideational tactics, and inflict violence on minds and bodies of Indigenous peoples.  Hawker’s (2003) examination of First Nations art in British Columbia between 1922 and 1961 tells a compelling history of the relationship between museum practice and material disappearance by tracing the causal relationship between the potlatch ban between 1885 and 1951, the 1921 Cranmer “potlatch raid” and the growth of many international museum collections. According to Hawker, the potlatch ban of the late nineteenth and first half of the twentieth century was part of a larger project of disappearance that included residential schools where the repression of traditional rites and cultural practices facilitated destruction of Indigenous peoples’ homes, lives, languages and polities.  In Canada, potlatch ceremony was outlawed between 1885 and 1951, but early attempts at prosecution were limited until the expansion of the definition of potlatch in 1914 and 1918. These amendments facilitated the arrest, conviction and imprisonment of participants in the Dan Cranmer potlatch in 1921. “The Cranmer prosecutions signalled the active participation of state officials in the reconfiguration of First Nations objects. While the national museum had been collecting such objects since its inception, nowhere are the political implications of this reconfiguration so clear or so active” (Hawker, 2003, 29). For the Canadian state, the terms were political, but for those persecuted, survival was at stake. After arrest, participants in the Cranmer potlatch were given a nearly impossible choice; extensive jail time during the fishing season which would cause serious hardship, or give up all ceremonial objects and generations of history to the colonial state. Both disappearance of cultural practices or physical presence would facilitate the Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 36!imposition of the Canadian political-legal order and the settler colonial state. Hawker’s account of the potlatch raid indicate the role of objects in the political and cultural wellbeing of these communities, and reveals the multiple violences that were perpetuated in and through this raid. In this case, though museums did not drive the destructive policies, they were implicated in the results.  This is not to say that museums were always passive recipients of the spoils of material disappearance. Though in the case of potlatch raid, museums were institutional beneficiaries of the settler colonial laws, national and domestic institutions were implicated both material violence in the form of “stealing” objects, and the creation and dissemination of knowledge that facilitates settler colonial domination. The dubious collecting techniques of historic museums have long been documented, and more recently been a subject of critique to varying degrees. While some historicize the collecting practices (Clifford, 1989) by acknowledging that collectors at the time were simply preserving what they saw as dying cultures, at best many of these “preservation” techniques were mutually agreed upon trade transactions. Many were outright robbery (Ames, 1992, 2005; Doxtator, 1988; Frank, 2000). Though these material tactics of disappearance were undoubtedly violent, the redeployment of objects in new discursive constructions amplified the violence as both material and discursive. Indeed, in museums the world over, the knowledge created and disseminated within the sanctioned walls placed “objects of colonialism” in new discursive formations. Thus objects told stories of the imagined disappearance of Indigenous peoples, and were instrumentally implicated in the creation and dissemination of particular knowledge about the Indigenous “other” to facilitate that disappearance.  One of the prime examples of the role of the museum in the creation and dissemination of knowledge facilitating colonial domination is the legal myth of terra nullius. The concept of terra nullius or empty land, an ideological (and legal) justification for settler colonial occupation, is premised on narrative or material disappearance, both contemporaneous to contact, and a retrospective “restorying” of the “original conditions”. Terra nullius as contemporaneous to the first practices of colonial encounter facilitated and encouraged the process of settlement. The retrospective form bases contemporary justifications of colonization on reading terra nullius backwards as an Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 37!historical condition (Asch, 2002). In both forms, in a blatant denial of Indigenous peoples historic and ongoing presence, terra nullius exemplifies Veracini’s formulation of settler colonial domination as first imagined, and then practiced (Veracini 2010, 59, 76).  Artists, and by extension the narratives constructed through the manufacture of knowledge, were key nodes for the creation and perpetuation of terra nullius. For the artists in the early colonial period, landscape paintings of the “new world” were the basis for “aesthetic colonization” (Thomas, 1999, 22-24). Thomas argues that the depiction of “empty land” by 19th and early 20th century artists in New Zealand and Australia both justified colonization and facilitated and encouraged the movement of settlers to Australia. Michael J Shapiro, in Methods and Nations: Cultural Governance and the Indigenous Subject makes a similar argument in which the portrayal of empty land was formative for the colonial process of nation building in North America (2004). The rampant portrayal of the “new world” as terra nullius served both descriptive and normative purposes; describing the land as empty and also justifying physical settlement of the land based upon the imagined absence.  The construction of the land as terra nullius is not restricted to the 15th century “doctrine of discovery” era. The Canadian Group of Seven, painting between 1920 and 1933 created icons of Canadian geographic imaginary in their works of art. Using a style that broke with European traditions of the time, their collective works continue to reflect a distinctly nationalist tradition (Mackey, 1999). The trouble with landscape painting at this time is twofold. Not only are the works devoid of human life and avoid any reference to prior occupation in favour depicting the “wilds” of Canada, but this visual culture was and remains a foundational part of Canadian visual literacy. Though likely not the explicit intention of the artists, the Group of Seven created an imagined space empty, and ready for settlement (Mackey, 1999; 2000). The notion that the Canadian wilderness is empty, or misused, or terra nullius, erases the founding acts of dispossession that precede settlement or resource development. For example, Townsend-Gault (2011) recalls a 2009 CBC newscast where then Premier of Alberta, Ed Stelmach, looked down at the tarsands development in Northern Alberta and remarked consolingly “There is still a lot of empty space down there,” despite the fact that the land is Treaty 8 territory and was, and remains, occupied by the First Nations signatories.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 38!These assumptions of terra nullius are not only in the constructed imaginary of Canada, but also foundational to the legal system. Historic validation of settlement in the texts of early political philosophers, especially John Locke’s justifications of English colonial expansion in North America, centre on the role of terra nullius as an imagined and normative condition (Arneil, 1996; Tully 2008b). With lasting implications for contemporary settler colonial governance, Michael Asch examines terra nullius as the foundational assumption predicating and constraining treaty negotiations in British Columbia (Asch, 1999, 2002). While terra nullius is not the juridical justification of settler occupation in treatied parts of Canada (and North America), the historical restorying of the land as improperly used remains an implicit (and sometimes explicit) generative myth of Canadian legal traditions (Borrows, 1999, 2001). Archives are filled with 19th and 20th Century recruiting posters advertising “free land” for settlement across the Canadian interior. The portrayal of land open for settlement and occupation in common landscape painting facilitated Veracini’s imagined colonization, are not apolitical representations, but powerful normative stories to justify and encourage settlement. Through the normative assumption of terra nullius and the imagined construction of land as empty, the active disappearance of Indigenous peoples is perpetuated through retrospective myth memories, as well as historic and contemporary reality.  Carol Pateman argues that the settler contract has both a material (land was unoccupied and uncultivated) and normative dimension (inhabitants were not evolved enough to assert a recognizable form of sovereign power) (2007, 36). The latter modes of terra nullius exemplify a further operation of disappearance through the normative construction of inferiority. Though Indigenous peoples continue to assert that they were non-negotiably present at the time of contact, and remain so today, disappearance is upheld through the constructed inferiority. Indigenous peoples were (and remain) racialized to facilitate disappearance through irreversible change predicated on the weakness of Indigenous peoples cultures and “race” (Lawrence, 2003; Ramirez, 2007; Stasiulis & Yuval-Davis, 1995; Wolfe, 1994, 2011). In other words, disappearance is perpetuated through myths of miscegenation and inferiority, where Indigenous peoples disappeared simply through proximity to whiteness.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 39! Museums and the control of visual and material culture were a location for the creation of myths of “inferiority,” and “development” as well as the dissemination and legitimation of these myths. In the 19th Century, museum “collections were organized and grouped according to what at the time were thought to be universal themes, such as race or evolutionary stage” (Ames 1986, 4). As institutions of public and scientific knowledge, museums authorized the construction of Indigenous peoples as racially or culturally inferior. For example, the 1933 exhibit in the Field Museum of Natural History (Chicago, Illinois) entitled Races of Mankind consisted of 101 life-size bronze sculptures of the human “racial types,” which “reified Western notions of class, culture and race, placing Europeans and white Americans at the peak of racial evolution” (Teslow 1998, 53). The museum space reflected the western notions of racial hierarchy and gave these categories “scientific authority from their location in a science museum and from the anthropologists who sanctioned them as authentic representations” (Teslow 1998, 54). Though the origins of the racial categories may be traced outside of museums, the authority of museums imbued these created categories with greater weight. Disseminated to a public audience, the racialized construction of inferiority was unquestioned and the spatial configurations of difference created deeper temporal and geographic distances between the civilized “self” and the primitive “other.”  These presentations of race were not uncomplicated.  Rather than a binary between two static positions of the colonizer and colonized, museums often displayed racial inferiority as variant, differing over temporal and geographic contexts. The settler colonial logic of disappearance is predicated on the “inferiority” of the colonized as the condition of possibility for “progress.” “These are the dying races, whose fragile bloodlines readily dissolve into the settler stock under post-frontier policies of Native assimilation” (Wolfe, 2011, 274). Disappearance via progress towards the “civilized” culture is a key mode of Canadian settler colonialism both in theory and practice. Whereas “colonialism reproduces cycles of opposition between civility and barbarism… settler colonialism mobilizes peoples in the teleological expectation of irreversible transformation” (Veracini, 2011, 207). Widdowson and Howard serve as one of the more explicit contemporary examples of a pervasive mode of thought in which colonial domination is assumed as the natural end to continued exposure to the culture of those Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 40!deemed “civilized” (2008). This line of thought has been robustly critiqued by Taiaiake Alfred who highlights what is lost in appeals to “civilizing” progress ( 2009). Wolfe describes this form of disappearance as “corpus nullius” where “part-Aboriginal meant non-Aboriginal” (1994, 13). The miscegenic and deeply paternalistic and misogynist logic means that Indigenous women who marry non-Indigenous men give birth to white babies.15 This logic was institutionalized in the gender discrimination of the Canadian Indian Act, which explicitly discriminated against Indigenous women up to the partially successful reform in 1985 (Cannon, 1998; Turpel-Lafond, 1997; Anderson, 2000; Lawrence, 2003).  The placement of material culture in these discursive tropes of inferiority within the museum facilitated the myth of “white by proximity.” Historically, many museum collection models also reflected the notion that preservation of objects was necessary given that inevitable progress and proximity to settler cultures would result in disappearance of Indigenous peoples, so called “salvage ethnography” (Clifford, 1989). However, the perpetuation of disappearance by proximity has not entirely ceased. Hawker argues that up until as late as 1993 museums dictated a constructed dichotomy between authentic and modern that further situated Indigenous peoples and cultures in the past. Modern Aboriginal art was conceived of, and described as “revival art,” implying that something was irretrievably lost in the process of colonization. “The mythic tropes of decline and revival confirmed the authority of state institutions and those individuals who formulated the discourse of Northwest Coast objects from within them” (Hawker, 2003, 12). This constructed binary between the “old and authentic” and the “new and inauthentic” not only relegates Indigeneity to the past, but delegitimizes Indigenous cultures in the present due to their “modernity.” This binary presumes the inferiority of Indigenous peoples’ cultures and affirms the relative inherent strength of the colonized.  More than the construction of disappearance as a function of inevitable inferiority Indigenous peoples and their proximity to the dominant civilized cultures as a passive !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!15 In contrast, non-Indigenous women who married Indigenous men had children who could claim Indian Status. This is a deeply complex and contested issue that cannot be fully developed within the space of this dissertation but has been well explored by writers such as Andrea Smith (2011) and Bonita Lawrence (2003).  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 41!process, museums were also a staging field for the much more active and conscious process of disappearance in the form of acculturation or assimilation. “The imagined communities of Canada and the United States, which have represented Indians as different, inferior and dispensable, have produced not only military operations to eliminate, confine or restrain Indians, but institutional and legal policies to enforce their acculturation” (Valaskakis, 2000, 390). While assimilation does not necessarily physically destroy Indigenous peoples, “as a technique of elimination, assimilation is more effective than either homicide or a spatial device” (Wolfe, 2011b, 34). Assimilation appeals to a teleological notion of cultural evolution that conflated genetic and cultural criteria so that “to become civilised, Indians had to become White” (Wolfe, 2011b, 22). However, rather than the ascription of inferiority, disappearance via assimilation takes an active role in the destruction of Indigenous peoples in order to facilitate integration into settler society.  Wolfe reads the considered efforts to eliminate Indigenous peoples’ political and social communities as a key branch of assimilation, where “detribalised, [Indians] would merge into settler society” (Wolfe, 2011, 23-24). The residential school system in Canada, with a history that includes the Gradual Civilization Act of 1857, the closure of the last school in 1996, and continued institutionalization of Indigenous children through social services, is only one of the most explicit manifestations of this philosophy and practice of assimilation (Regan, 2006). Following Hawker, the intent of banning the potlatch in Canada was to remove material culture and facilitate the assimilation of Indigenous peoples into the settler state cultural and political systems. Thus, the assimilationist agenda is not marked so much by the presence in material culture, but rather, and unsurprisingly, by the absence.  Examination of the potlatch removals reveals the ways that material culture, and the destruction of material culture, was integral to the active attempts to assimilate Indigenous peoples on the Pacific coast. These explicit acts of destruction indicate that the settler colonial state recognized that cultural practices were integral to Indigenous peoples’ political communities. Thus, outlawing the potlatch and the subsequent removal of material culture actively attempted to destroy in order to facilitate the integration of Indigenous peoples into the settler polity. This is only one example of the destructive acts of assimilation that includes the removal of sacred objects and banning Indigenous Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 42!peoples’ languages. Whether the active removal of material culture or the “education” of Indigenous children, the intent to destroy Indigenous peoples’ cultural and political practices facilitated the integration into the settler colonial state and “whether dead, removed or assimilated, Indians would pass into memory” (Wolfe, 2011, 23).  Conclusion The logic of disappearance in setter colonialism is perpetuated in a number of material and ideational ways. Museums as disseminators and creators of public knowledge were instrumental to this, both as active participants in the removal of material culture from communities, and in the discursive redisplay of these objects in ways that furthered (and continue to perpetuate) the settler colonial project. Though the practices are overlapping and mutually reinforcing, the construction of the Indigenous other as inferior, practices of assimilation and the logic of terra nullius are intertwined with the material “disappearance” to facilitate the appropriation of land and exploitation of resources. While these attempts to disappear have been deeply violent, the logic of disappearance has ultimately failed in both forms.  Appropriation  While the first logic of settler colonialism seeks to disappear Indigenous peoples, the second logic of appropriation of Indigeneity as a practice of knowledge, category of identity and/or subjectivity, works in tension with disappearance; first acknowledging the historic or continued presence of Indigenous peoples and then appropriating this presence to serve the ends of settler colonial domination. Paradoxically, while “Indigenous people’s claims to the land are being denied or forgotten, elements of their culture are being prominently displayed and affirmed” (Thomas, 1999, 12). Thus, Indigenous peoples as subalterns are marginalized, not by being ignored or destroyed, but by being appropriated. Linda Tuhiwai Smith sums this logic up, saying, “it appalls us that the West can desire, extract and claim ownership of our ways of knowing, our imagery, and things we create and produce, and then simultaneously reject the people who created and developed those ideas and seek to deny them further opportunities to be creators of their own culture and own nations” (1999, 1). Not only does this “extraction” continue to perpetrate violence against Indigenous peoples, it concomitantly serves to reinforce the Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 43!settler presence, folding the violence onto itself to substantiate the continued hierarchical relationship between settlers and Indigenous peoples.  Examples of the appropriation of Indigenous visual art, material culture and ceremony are rampant, and the detrimental results of appropriation well explored, both within academic and non-academic settings. Activist and scholar “Dr. Adrienne K.” runs the website “nativeappropriations.com” dedicated to detailing acts of appropriation in contemporary popular culture. Adrienne K.’s analysis of Native appropriations within largely American popular culture recalls the connection between practices of settler colonial domination and the strategic deployment of Indigenous images to denigrate and/or assimilate. In this section I will specifically examine appropriation as a means to bolster and substantiate settler colonial nation building. Charlotte Townsend-Gault argues that the acknowledgement of Indigenous presence in museums, either through representation and/or self-representation, is a central ambiguity that often necessitates presentations that conform to a settler state narrative, or “singing the nation” ( 2011). Thus appropriation can reflect, and in some cases bolster, the settler state governance models, both as constitutive of settler nationhood, and justificatory of status quo settler domination. Both Veracini (2011) and Johnston and Lawson (2000) have highlighted that alongside the logic of disappearance a narrative strategy of appropriation aims to indigenize the settler through appropriating and rearticulating the settler created category of Indigenous (often the form of “Aboriginal”). If “the nation-building projects of North America have always involved eliminating, absorbing or containing Indians” (Valaskakis, 2000, 390), then this logic is not just predicated on the removal or disappearance, but the productive redeployment of “Indigenous” as part of settler nation building. In contrast to appropriative acts of assimilation which attempt to disappear (for example, the 1921 Cranmer potlatch raid), appropriation of knowledge, narrative and/or subjectivity imagines a relationship to the land as a means to constitute and legitimate settler nationhood and occupation using “representations of the settler entity as both an ideal society and as truer and uncorrupted version of the original social body” (Veracini, 2010, 81). Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 44!In both the normative dimension of what settler identity should be, and a reflective dimension of what shared national identity is, settler colonial nationalism has come to be at least partially constructed through “imagery of or by historically marginalized groups—especially Aboriginal people and ethnic minorities” (Mackey, 1998, 152). For example, the work of Haida artist Bill Reid includes some of the most circulated images in Canadian public memory. His sculptures “The Raven and the First Men” and “Spirit of Haida Gwaii” graced the 2004-2012, twenty-dollar bank note, and the “Spirit of Haida Gwaii-the Jade Canoe” welcomes visitors to Canada in the Vancouver International Airport. Appropriating material culture as a means to represent the Canadian state refigures the meaning. “Native culture becomes a form of cultural property that is transformed into the inheritance of the nation… The process of transforming Aboriginal culture into “heritage” enables the culture of the colonized to be appropriated by the colonisers and put to service in building national and international identity” (Mackey, 1998, 160). Rather than representing the varied and distinct First Nations or “source communities,” appropriation and public circulation of these re-imagined emblems refigures objects as representations of the settler state.   For example, Hawker connects the state sponsorship of Haida “revival” art with the appropriation and transformation of the meaning of objects. “Canadian ‘cultural’ agencies… undertook a number of important programs that reconfigured the meaning for Northwest Coast objects” (Hawker, 2003, 6). The redisplay and deployment of material culture and motifs, strategically cultivate material culture to fill the perceived void of settler national identity. Director of the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (Cambridge), Nicholas Thomas states,   long ago artists and writers in [Canada, Australia, and New Zealand] presumed that the nation lacked an identity, and that it was their task to invent one. In doing so, producers of culture- such as designers in various media as well as painters and poets- frequently turned to what was locally distinctive, either in the natural environment or in indigenous culture. The deep association between indigenous people and the land provided strong and condensed reference points for a colonial culture that sought both to define itself as native and to create national emblems (1999, 12).  The use of the “native” to create a coherent national identity has both an international face, and domesticating or consolidating function. Ruth B Phillips argues that Canada Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 45!has a long history of using First Nations to visually represent a coherent national culture for an international audience, including Expo ’67 and ’86, and Musqueam sculptures and weavings greeting visitors at the Vancouver International airport. Her critical examination of the Museum of Anthropology as the forum for the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation meetings finds that the staged production of the “Indian” was not only limited to what would be acceptable for the Canadian government and world leaders, but also that the “limited recognition of indigenous sovereignty and of a group’s unique relationship to a particular territory crosses a larger, long-standing and more powerful history in which a totalizing image of a generic ‘Indian’ population has been appropriated to the national identity” (2000, 180). Charlotte Townsend-Gault (2011) examines the 2010 Olympics, and the “Native-art-as-usual” trope as perpetuating similar settler Canadian identity through appropriation. Though ambiguous in the simultaneity of celebration and repression, she argues that appropriation during the 2010 Olympics perpetuated dominant narrative of nationalism.16   While Phillips reads the use of Musqueam and other First Nations representations at the APEC summit within the flows of global capitalism and globalization, and Townsend-Gault (2011) explores the appropriation of Indigenous art for an international audience, there is another, domestic, function of these visual representations. Eva Mackey argues that “nationalist narratives often mobilise images of land—be it homeland, motherland or fatherland—to do the work of constructing a sense of “oneness” from diverse populations which may never meet face-to-face” (1998, 151). Appropriating the uniquely recognizable images of Indigenous peoples simultaneously homogenizes and consolidates national identity and enables the settler state to govern both the land and the population. Rather than signaling the deep difference between settlers and Indigenous peoples, the domestic face of appropriation serves to “create a unified (although hybrid) narrative of national progress. Thus, representations of Indigenous people and their cultural heritage are used to bolster settler nationalist mythology” (Mackey, 1998, 152).  Paradoxical in practice, appropriation not only “incorporates” the visual culture of Indigenous nations to fill the nationalist void of settler-state identity, but also situates !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!16 Townsend-Gault also points to the ways in which specific communities have come to exploit these ambiguities, turning the trope on its head and using nationalist representations for their own, self-determining means, especially through claiming jurisdiction over distinct spaces.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 46!the Indigenous other as the constitutive “outside.” Mark Rifkin argues that “discourses of racial difference and equality as well as of cultural recognition are deployed by the state in ways that reaffirm its geopolitical self-evidence and its authority” (Rifkin, 2009a, 91). Critical museum studies has often and vehemently critiqued museum practices that have placed Indigenous cultures outside of the “civilized” museum space. Rather than placing Indigenous art and artefacts within museums or art galleries, there was a long tradition of placing them in Natural History collections (Ames, 1999, 1986; Teslow, 1998). While these presentations spatially situated Indigenous others as the geographic and temporal outsiders or the exception to the civilized internal, they simultaneously served as a means to define the constitutive inside in negative alterity. In other words, the civilized was made coherent, at least in part, by reciprocal negation of the Indigenous or colonized other. These practices of appropriation are therefore bound up with the consolidation of settler state power. Rifkin’s analysis of colonialism and settler colonialism uses Giorgio Agamben’s “exception” to understand the relationship between Indigenous and settler communities (Rifkin, 2009a). In this framing there is an “acknowledgement of native political identity as a vehicle for consolidating [state] authority” (Rifkin, 2009b, 5). In addition, Morgensen (2011) argues that the settler colonial hegemony also includes an incorporative logic, where bodies and spaces of alterity are redefined and included in settler hierarchy. For Rifkin, defining Native identity as an exception in need of regulation re-enforces the policy apparatus of the settler colonial state. “More than circumscribing or disciplining the autonomy of Native peoples Indian policy recodes their identities, defining and redefining the threshold of political identity and legitimacy and determining how Native peoples will enter that field, including what (kinds of) concepts and categories they will inhabit” (2009, 91). Consequently, unlike disappearance, appropriation seeks to maintain the “Indigenous” as an epistemological and empirical category of exception while deploying the category strategically as a means to construct and consolidate the legitimate statehood and citizen belonging.  In addition to filling an imagined void of Canadian settler-national identity and providing a coherent “self", the deployment of Indigenous images to bolster the visual literacy of Canadian nationalism served an explicitly “settling” role by creating a legitimating origin story that strengthens an imagined connection between settlers and the Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 47!land. In her reading of the sculpture outside of the Canadian Parliament buildings, Mackey argues that by situating the Native as natural, in the past, or as raw material, “Native peoples [provide] a link between the settlers and the land—they help to negotiate the rocky terrain of creating Canada as “Native land” to settlers, when the nation is made up mostly of colonisers and immigrants” (Mackey, 1998, 160). Appropriating distinct Indigenous Nations into “Canada’s Indians,” the unique and prior occupation of Indigenous peoples on the land is reconstructed to justify Canadian state control over land and bodies. Rather than a logic of terra nullius which would justify occupation of land based on the “erasure” of Indigenous peoples prior and continued presence, appropriation acknowledges the prior occupation, but incorporates the presence into a settler colonial national identity, “indigenizing” the settler by providing a direct connection to the land. The legitimating function of appropriation is at the heart of the logical aporias within settler colonialism. “Settler societies have used native cultures, generally with some awkwardness, to express vicariously their own, colonial attachments to place” (Thomas, 1999, 49). However, the appropriation of Indigenous images as a means to legitimate the settler state requires recognizing the prior presence of Indigenous peoples. Moreover, rather than a construction of primitivism, these arts and practices are often remade representatives of the “civilized” culture. These logical aporias are not enough to dismantle or fundamentally disturb settler colonial hegemony, but necessitate an incorporative move to justify and naturalize. As Sean Nixon has argued in his examination of popular culture, “the process of establishing cultural authority by dominant groups is not a simple process of domination. It requires that elements of the subordinate cultures are actively incorporated into the representation of a legitimate way of life” (2000, 256). Thus, the selective inclusion via appropriation is a means through which Indigenous claims to difference can be partially recognized and included without disturbing the status quo.  Deborah Root looks at the “white Indian” acts of appropriation that she found common on the west coast in the 1960s. In her reading, “white folk” would dress in native regalia in order to proclaim both dissatisfaction with their experience in “modern” culture, and attempt to articulate and practice an affinity to their understanding of what Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 48!native culture was meant. Though she reads these attempts as sincere, “sincerity is not enough and can be damaging in its own right” (Root, 1997, 230) largely because it evades complicities in power relations. “Part of the problem lies in how the display of affiliation enables white people to insist on being the centre of attention (Root, 1997, 231). This is not a new phenomenon but a manifestation of a long tradition of political thought that relied on the “noble savage” constructed in negative alterity to settler civil society. For example, Rousseau upheld the “Indian” superior to the corrupting influences of civil society. Not only does this “noble savage” trope flatten the diversity of Indigenous experiences into a singular identity, it also appropriates the “other” in order to tell a story about the particular self. Though this is in direct opposition to an assimilative project that would construct Indigeneity as backward, in both instances the position of the Indigenous other is solely the negative image of the self. Beyond maintaining the asymmetric relations of power and keeping settlers at the centre of the narrative, this appropriation constructs both a false innocence and an idealized connection to the land that does not acknowledge the fundamental acts of dispossession, but is legitimated in and by the “indigenization” of the settler. More than expressing this affiliation between settler and Indigenous peoples, for Mackey, “a narrative of progress links colonisers to the specific topographical space, at the same time producing national innocence regarding the colonial encounter” (Mackey, 1998, 164).  In addition to creating new national histories, appropriation serves to transform the meaning of Indigenous national culture, enrobing objects in different discursive frameworks as a means to neutralize the confrontation that ongoing presence poses for the settler state. Deborah Doxtator’s 1988 exhibition Fluffs and Feathers is a historical and context based analysis of the ways that the Canadian state used Indigenous peoples for strategic identity building purposes, and also how commodification of Indigenous identities changes the meaning of self-representation. Tracing the image of the Indian through text based “histories,” contemporary popular culture, and consumer culture she argues "'Indian' as characters of terror or romance have become types of celebrities, consumer items created for the amusement of a bored public" (Doxtator, 1988, 40). Thus, not only does appropriation produce “Indigeneity” to be reconciled with the presence of the colonizer, appropriation is also entwined with capitalist exploitation, creating Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 49!“Aboriginal” products to sell. "Advertising objectifies. It transforms the image of historical figures such as Tecumseh (Tecumseh Ware pots) and Pontiac into trivial objects that can be possessed, used up and thrown away" (Doxtator, 1988, 46). Thus, the appropriation of these images not only removes the power of self-definition from the community, appropriation also commodifies images, marketing an ideal national product or culture as something to be consumed. This is not a matter of simply redeploying Indigenous visual culture, but transforming the meaning of material culture and representations. The settler state has “marketed native cultures to tourists, and constrained and degraded their art forms in various ways” (Thomas, 1999, 49).  Removing material culture from the purview and control of those it represents often perpetuates or reinforces negative stereotypes of Indigenous peoples. The phrase “the only good Indian is a dead Indian, has been reformulated into “The only good Indian is a saleable Indian” (Monture, 1994).17  Finally, appropriation and commodification neutralizes the deeply transgressive and critical aspects the Indigenous peoples presence poses to the state, where the state appropriated and controlled category of “Indigenous” reinforces the continued hegemony of state practices. Métis scholar Adam Gaudry argues that by situating Louis Riel within a narrative telling of Canadian history Jennifer Reid (and others who use the same framing) assimilates “Riel into the Canadian political consciousness as a Canadian” (Gaudry, 2013). He identifies two discursive patterns; the first is the “oppositional set of values” approach (Gaudry, 2013, 69). This approach figures Riel as exemplary of all the exceptional non-Canadian traits, and thus constitutes a coherent Canadian “belonging” through the negative alterity. “These discourses, paradoxically, situate Riel at the core of Canadian identity by highlighting his non-Canadianness” (Gaudry, 2013, 69). The second discursive model addressing Riel positions him at the heart of, and prime example of, the Canadian multicultural state, thus articulating Riel as a public figure who was a key Canadian nation-builder, neutralizing the radical critique that Louis Riel actually posed !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!17 The appropriation of cultural objects as a means to market and profit, and concomitantly build up the power of the state and those who benefit from settler colonial formulations of power, requires a more careful tracing as the topic of selling Indigenous material culture is complex and requires an examination of not only who benefits from profit, but also the ways in which the imposition of capitalist market values is antithetical or detrimental to Indigenous economic and political practices. (Duffek, 1983; Cole, 1995; Phillips and Steiner, 1998)  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 50!to the Canadian state. The rhetorical and historic appropriation also includes the attachment of Tecumseh and Riel to “Canadian” iconography, forcing Indigenous individuals to represent a dominant settler-nationalist narrative rather than articulating a distinct counter-narrative or critique of settler colonial domination. Conclusion In conclusion, appropriation serves many functions, including both the constitution and the legitimation of settler peoples and states, but also discursively resituating Indigenous objects and images in ways that neutralize the transgressive contestations that ongoing Indigenous cultural practices pose for historic and contemporary settler-state national identity and histories. Mobilizing selective images, narratives and Indigenous motifs, concomitant with the delegitimation of Indigeneity, appropriation serves to restory the settler nation state such that “representations of the settler entity as both an ideal society and as truer and uncorrupted version of the original social body” (Veracini, 2010, 81). In this manner, appropriation is tied to the asymmetric constitution of knowledge about the other, both as a mode to control subjectivities, but also as an attempt to maintain a hegemonic position. "The public has been conditioned to accept anyone as 'Indian' so long as they adhere to a few of the "markers" of "Indianness" (Doxtator, 1988, 41). These markers of the “Indian,” sanctioned by the state, not only remove the practice of self-representation and cultural determination from the purview of Indigenous peoples, but also impose a false understanding of who counts as legitimate occupants of the land. Hawker describes the act of settler colonial appropriation as “displacement through display.”  The government, by constructing a narrative of displacement through locating First Nations objects within museum displays, threatened the traditional roles of the totem poles, masks, coppers, and dance gear… Displacement through display affirmed government authority over the distribution and economic development of land and natural resources and was part of a larger strategy of transforming First Nations peoples into colonial subjects (Hawker, 2003, 171).  While on one hand displacement of material objects from their source communities served to reinforce other acts of disappearance from the land, the nearly simultaneous display of objects within museums as institutions of cultural memory and authority Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 51!reaffirmed particular narratives of nationalism, reinforcing the place of Indigenous peoples in the past, and settler presence within modern subject positions. As such, “the larger dynamic of colonial history can only suggest resonances between invasions of land and of culture” (Thomas, 1999, 144). The appropriation and subsequent redisplay of material culture objects connects the material with acts of dispossession.  When acknowledging the history of Canadian settler colonialism, but appropriating Indigenous difference into the Canadian multicultural narrative, the ongoing systemic levels of oppression that are a direct result of settler colonial occupation are obscured by a narrative that “makes up” for the past with contemporary “non-oppressive” practices. For example, “Riel and the Metis have become a gateway through which political theorists can identify a post-colonial Canada; a project which is, at its core, disingenuous in its erasure of ongoing colonial occupation of Indigenous lands and governments” (Gaudry, 2013, 66). The “good modern” Canadian state can thus legitimate its presence and obscure the ongoing practices of settler colonial occupation by appropriating Indigeneity and reconstituting the state as a multicultural, peaceful and just nation. Thus, appropriation not only erases the founding violence at the root of settler colonial domination but also naturalizes the hierarchical relations of power that continue to structure settler colonial domination in contemporary practice.  Obfuscation These acts of disappearance and appropriation work alongside and reinforce the operation of the third logic of settler colonialism, obfuscation, which in turn involves both restorying and accommodation. According to Veracini, “settler colonial phenomena possess a mimetic character, and that a recurrent need to disavow produces a circumstance where the actual operation of settler colonial practices is concealed behind other occurrences” (2010, 25). The variant operations of obfuscation have been traced by many theorists, including (Alfred, 2005; Coulthard, 2007, 2014; Johnston & Lawson, 2000; Veracini, 2010; Wolfe, 1999). According to Veracini, the most effortlessly analyzed examples of settler colonialism are also the weakest because settler colonial hegemony operates to obscure “the conditions of its own production” (2010, 25). James Tully argues that in Canada, the adaptive practices of colonialism have meant that the Canadian state Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 52!can make the claim to being “postcolonial” because it does not resemble the earlier forms of colonialism, while maintaining a colonial hierarchy through practices such as recognition and accommodation (Tully 2000). Settler colonialism, or, as Tully describes it, “internal colonization” manifests itself along three different axis: historical processes, stable structures of incorporation including displacement and assertion of jurisdiction (Tully 2000, 38-39) The adaptive qualities and the multiple trajectories of settler colonialism are the condition of possibility for ongoing marginalization of indigenous peoples. Thus, functioning in conjunction with disappearance and appropriation, obfuscation reconciles some of the tensions between the disappearance and appropriation by “restorying” the past and positing settler colonialism as non-violent or a finite historical event and practices of accommodation that selectively includes Indigenous peoples within the settler colonial hegemony. Restorying Settler colonial obfuscation attempts to “restory” colonization to either erase the founding violence at the heart of domination, or relegate colonial relations to an event in the past, something that should be “recovered” from or ignored. In both instances, restorying the past reconciles the appropriative inclusion of Indigenous peoples with the desire to erase Indigenous presence. This practice of restorying draws on multiple and interdisciplinary sets of literature. Within material culture studies, there are critical engagements with the erasure of history because “collective displacement entails a partial loss of reality and obstruction of historical memory” (Lutz, 1990, 175). Veracini references psycho-analysis by describing restorying as a “memory shield” that simultaneously guards oneself psychologically from historical reality, and replaces that history with a narrative that can be repurposed for settler colonial redeployment. Using discursive and material means, land is “settled” and legitimated by the creation of myth-memories that are based on denying the founding (and continued) violence of settler colonialism (Veracini, 2010, 16). The rhetorical denial of colonial history, for example, through the “discovery” of the Americas, perpetuating the myth of terra nullius, or framing conquest as peaceful and cooperative settlement, obscures the violence at the foundation of colonization.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 53!In some national museums, the practice of restorying is prominent, where history is “sanitized” for consumption. Nation building narratives such as the “peaceful RCMP” and “cooperative Native” have been critiqued as not only historically inaccurate, but prioritizing building a Canadian identity as stable and homogenous at the expense of recognizing some of the more deeply violent historic realities (Mackey, 1999). Mackey finds that “the celebration of Canadian national “heritage”, made possible by appropriating Aboriginal culture, entails no less than the erasure of the history of conquest” (1998, 161). At heart, the outright denial of the history and violence of domination serves to reinforce contemporary acts of violence and are foundational to nation building. The representation of Canada’s Native peoples as child-like, trusting, and friendly to their Canadian government invaders, was important in the construction of myths about Canadian identity… Canadians still like to believe that they are tolerant and benevolent people…yet by reaffirming the notion that Canada has a long history of benevolent forms of justice and tolerance of Aboriginal people, they erase the more complex brutal and difficult history of dispossession, erasure and cultural genocide (Mackey, 1998, 157-158)  The attempt to envision and implement a more just Canada without a history of colonization creates a shared myth-memory of historic justice and founding cooperation, and makes it possible to imagine a “just” present. Thus, obfuscating the history of violence does not just erase the colonial past, but serves as a “myth-making apparatus hiding a pervasive settler-colonial reality within a mythological post-colonial fantasy” (Gaudry, 2013, 67). Rifkin similarly argues that a retrospective restorying of the history of colonization to erase domination and violence in favour of a non-violent or consensual settlement functions to justify contemporary status quo relations. According to Rifkin, some histories of treaty making in the United States provide an “overdetermined account of Oneida agency in order to foreclose any potential questions about the justice of the court’s actions” ( 2009b, 5). Thus, the restorying of history to create a narrative of peaceful conquest not only obscures that past but also serves to justify contemporary occupation and a mythic post-colonial present.  Doxtator’s Fluffs and Feathers (1988), confronts and contests the operation of this strategic restorying in Canadian settler colonial myth. She writes in her accompanying catalogue,  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 54!interpretations of history can best be understood as a series of stories or myths. My generation grew up with the story of how North America was "discovered" by Christopher Columbus and of how civilization was "started" by the French. There were lots of statements in the textbooks about "virgin land," "uninhabited territories." Then suddenly into the picture came the Indians. Sometimes they were portrayed as tools, sometimes as threats, sometimes as allies. Indians were incidental because the story was not about them. They were just there- in the way (Doxtator, 1988, 56). In her reading, histories that included Indigenous peoples were strategic, deployed largely to tell the history of the settler, using the voice of the settler and thus, oriented to practices of dispossession.  In the face of growing critical scholarship from many disciplines, the social imaginary of settler colonial peaceful domination or the outright erasure of any history of colonialism in Canada has become increasingly untenable and the logic has shifted toward a partial acknowledgement of colonial encounter. As part of a larger critique of Canadian colonial history, Stephen Harper’s 2009 G20 statement that “Canada has no history of colonialism” was confronted by artists in the 2011 exhibition “Decolonize Me” at the Ottawa Art Gallery. Mi’kmaw artist Jordan Bennet challenged the layered history of colonial institutions by, quite literally, layering the legislative operations of colonization during a performance piece titled “Sovereignty Performance”. Using stylized images of Prime Ministers layered over top of an image of the National Aboriginal War Veterans Monument, his performance traced the progress of settler state colonization, and highlighted the manner in which the history is retold to strategic ends. Stressing the violence done in this restorying process, across from this performance, Sonny Assu’s text print work Chief Speaker (2011), had the words of Stephen Harper, “Canada has no history of colonialism” printed in graphic yellow and turquoise.  However, paradoxically, obfuscation can also situate colonization as a historic reality and relegate it to a single event as a means to deny contemporary violence. Patrick Wolfe’s 1994 differentiation between settler colonialism as a structure and colonization as an event highlights the discursive functions of “eventing” settler colonialism, a practice that Doxtator traced into the artistic imaginary. "One of the ways in which Canadian artists and authors have "worked out" the problem of trying to deal with the existence of "indians," the original people of the land, has been to deal with Indians as if they existed Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 55!only in the past" (Doxtator, 1988, 28). Doxtator’s essay accompanying the 1992 exhibition “Revisions” eloquently expresses the violence that occurs when Indigenous peoples are confined to the past. She says “it is very difficult for Indian people to gain access to the interpretation of their own cultures in large part because of the public perception that the essence of "Indianness" is a connection to a distant and disappeared past (1992, 25). Both situating Indigenous peoples and/or colonial violence in the past serves a similar function, colonization becomes something to be “recovered from”, absolving those who continue to benefit from contemporary domination. Again, this eventing of the history of settler colonialism not only displaces history, but justifies contemporary practices. According to Rifkin,  in asserting a de facto right to superintend indigenous territories and populations in perpetuity, though, the decision repeatedly describes the dispossession of the Oneidas as an “ancient” act, displacing and safely sealing it into a long distant past and thereby casting current conflict over the contours of U.S legal geography as instead merely anachronistic Indian longing (Rifkin, 2009b, 4).  Thus, the practices of restorying are dangerous in multiple ways. First, restorying colonization, in outright denial or eventing, reproduces violence against Indigenous peoples, either by denying the connection to history, making history difficult to access, or by outright denying ongoing presence and occupation of land. Second, it serves a contemporaneous purpose as justifying continuing occupation. In this manner, obfuscation through restorying reconciles, at least in part, the tension between the logics of disappearance and appropriation. Placing Indigenous peoples in the past allows for a situated and partial recognition of their realities without calling for substantive rethinking of the legitimacy or justifications of settler occupation.  Accommodation   The last form of obfuscation is the most constrained to a certain time period in the settler colonial project, emerging largely in the later part of the 20th century. Though sharing some of the same techniques as appropriation, accommodation can be seen and traced as a distinct iteration of settler colonial replacement. Where I have examined appropriation as a constitutive act (predicated on the prior dislocation of objects and meaning), accommodation seeks to maintain the status quo of asymmetric settler colonial Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 56!power relations not by creating or justifying a new national identity based on disappearance, but as a means to reconcile difference into the status quo. Rather than creating something new, accommodation as obfuscation attempts to reconcile Indigenous peoples with the settler colonial structure of domination.   Glen Coulthard’s book Red Skin, White Masks (2014), offers a critique of the politics of recognition in the context of settler colonialism, and provides a theoretical foundation of accommodation as obfuscation.  Accommodation functions in a similar way to appropriation in that the Indigenous other is maintained and upheld. Recalling settler colonialism violence as shaping the field in which relations take place, accommodation and practices of recognition are negotiated by and within a language that is profoundly shaped by the settler state power. When recognition is “granted” by the state, it does little to transform the profoundly asymmetric structures of state authority, and can serve to more deeply entrench and embed domination of subjects who are being “recognized.” However, in contrast to appropriation which simultaneously “takes away” the agency from Indigenous peoples and strategically deploys it to constitute state nationalism, (either by removing it materially from Indigenous peoples such as the case of the 1921 Cranmer potlatch raid, or narratively in the case of Louis Riel), accommodation does not have the same explicit aspect of removal. Instead, Indigenous peoples’ agency over objects and cultural representation is maintained (at least as a guise) and then incorporated into the framework of domination. Coulthard argues that one function of accommodation is the transformation of political and material calls for justice into cultural expressions (2014, 19). Not only does this reinforce a posited distinction between the material and cultural claims, but it allows the state to elide responsibility for material redress, especially for land dispossession, in favour of more easily accommodated cultural practices. In effect, this transforms resistances that question and undermine the operation of the settler state into practices that can be more easily accommodated into the status quo operation of power. For example, in alignment with Alfred’s critique of critical but conciliatory academics, Rifkin argues  “while certainly not disregarding the violence of dispossession, this critical fascination with forms of cultural circulation and fusion… tends to draw attention away Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 57!from the political-economy of settler occupation” (2009b, 18). This shift to the depoliticized “cultural” presentation of objects is well exemplified in museum studies.  By displaying an artifact as if it were a beautiful but politically neutral art object, museums hope to skirt such thorny issues as land claims, fishing rights, the legacy of colonialism and the powerful impact that museums have had in shaping the public's perceptions of Indian culture. Museums seem to believe that the presentation of artifacts as art objects elevates the value of Indian cultural objects in the mind of the public and indirectly the value of Indian cultures themselves (Doxtator, 1992, 28) While the 2010 Vancouver Olympics have already been offered as an example of appropriation, the event simultaneously exemplifies accommodation, reconciling the disappearance of the Indigenous peoples as political actors while constituting the Canadian settler state as the legitimate authority and incorporating Indigenous peoples into the international projection of state identity. Many studies have looked both critically and less critically at the inclusion of the First Nations within the Olympic narratives from both institutional and material/discursive stance (Boykoff, 2011; O’Bonsawin, 2010; Silver, Meletis, & Vadi, 2012; Townsend-Gault, 2011). There have been a number of responses to the use of Native art within the context of the Olympics, some taking on an explicitly critical observation of the use of Native art (O’Bonsawin, 2010) and others pointing to the transgressive acts of reclaiming space and naming that existed alongside the hegemonic relations (Townsend-Gault, 2011). In both cases it is clear that the use of Native imagery within the context of the Olympics played a powerful discursive role in representing the Canadian state internationally. Explicitly situating First Nations within the context of settler colonial logics of obfuscation offers a new light on the implications of the use of these narrative forms and the manner in which Indigenous authenticity is defined by the colonial state as a means to accommodate difference.  Townsend-Gault (2011) points to the inherent ambiguity of the relationship between the Vancouver Olympic Committee (VANOC) and the recognition of the “Four Host Nations,” (FHN) who cooperated with VANOC and were institutionally recognized and acknowledged as “hosts” during the Olympic period. Visual metaphors, including seating the Chiefs of the FHN alongside Prime Minister Harper, seemed to set up a narrative of equity, with First Nations co-hosting alongside the Canadian State. While Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 58!this projected an image of “nation-to-nation” relationship, it did little, if anything, to meet the demands of Indigenous peoples who are displaced because of the Olympic machine or otherwise protesting the presence of the Olympics on occupied Indigenous territories. While the verdict on whether or not these acts of accommodation were exclusively disempowering must be left to those who were being “accommodated,” it is clear that, from a settler standpoint, little, if anything in the settler colonial apparatus of dispossession was substantively shifted or changed in order to facilitate the recognition of Indigenous peoples presence as “hosts.” Certainly there was never any question of the possibility of material redress for the generations of dispossession that makes the city of Vancouver possible.   Conclusion As many theorists of settler colonialism have pointed out, the aim of settler colonial replacement necessitates the paradoxical disappearance and appropriation of the Indigenous other. Obfuscation, meaning defining the terms of engagement, restorying history, and accommodating difference functions to, at least in part, resolve some of the tensions within settler colonial domination, such that the ultimate aim of settler colonialism, namely replacement, is structurally upheld. This logic of obfuscation recalls Audre Lorde’s now famous assertion that you cannot dismantle the master’s house using the master’s tools (2003). Indeed, as Alfred (2005), and many other Indigenous theorists have argued, the methods in which one chooses to engage determines who one will become once the fight is over. In the context of settler colonial domination, the logic of obfuscation makes engagement tricky ground. Exemplified by the contemporary art of Sonny Assu and the critical curatorship of Deborah Doxtator, despite the pervasiveness of obfuscation, it is not totalizing. Critical work on the subtle operations of settler colonialism, as exemplified by Coulthard and Alfred, informal imperialism as exemplified by James Tully, and curatorial contestations such as, Fluffs and Feathers (1988), Revivial (1992), and Decolonize Me (2011), highlight the obfuscating operations of settler colonialism and bring the operations to critical light.  Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 59!Conclusions  Settler colonialism is best understood as a hierarchical structural relation, rather than a single event. As such, settler colonialism is not contained to a single finite period, nor is it “over.” Instead, settler colonialism must be understood as longstanding structures and practices perpetuated in material and ideational forms. The mutual implication of the material and non-material violence that has come to define and reinforce settler colonial dispossession makes museums, and by extension, public memory and material culture studies, a particularly potent place in which to analyze and contest settler colonial domination. In both the historic relationship as well as the contemporary configurations, museums are implicated in settler colonial nation building, as well as dispossession. Underpinning the general linear logic of “destroy in order to replace,” or settlement, the three logics are both generative of settler colonialism, and serve to reinforce and perpetuate it. First, is the logic of disappearance, second is the logic of appropriation, and third is the logic of obfuscation.   While the three logics of settler colonialism are overlapping and mutually implicated, they also sometimes work in tension, leading to aporetic spaces within settler colonial domination. Further, these logics are not linear or unidirectional, but are being contested, reformed and transformed as a means to forward practices of self-determination and decolonization. In the face of material and non-material violence that continues to produce settler colonial domination, colonization and settlement is not now, nor has it ever been, totalizing. Despite the many articulations of contemporary Indigenous cultural “revivals,” the loss that a revivalist framing implies has never been completed. Instead, anti-colonial practices are constantly rearticulated in and by Indigenous arts and cultural politics, despite the attempts at the colonial state to over- and re-write the history of colonization. For example, across settler colonial geographies and temporalities, “local signs could be (and have been) reappropriated by natives, to draw attention to their precedence, and to reassert indigenous sovereignty” (Thomas, 1999, 12). Walking through UBC campus totem poles, monuments and works of public art remind visitors that they are on unceded Musqueam territory. While examining the logics and theories of settler colonialism has established multiple lines of critique or lenses of examination, ultimately this story of settler colonialism is also a story about the ongoing Chapter!Two!!“We!Don’t!Want!Indians”:!Three!Logics!of!Settler!Colonialism!!!! 60!acts of resistance against which settler colonial logics have had to compete. “Indian resistance is sometimes confrontational, but more often it is transformational” (Valaskakis, 2000, 391).  I understand Valaskakis “transformative resistance” as aligned with Coulthard’s “resurgent politics of recognition.” In contrast to the colonial politics of recognition, Coulthard describes a resurgent politics as practices of “decolonial, gender-emancipatory, and economically non-exploitative alternative structures of law and sovereign authority” (2014, 179). He argues that this resurgent politics is premised on “self-actualization, direct action and the resurgence of cultural practices” (Coulthard 2014, 24). In Chapters Six and Seven I will develop three case studies to examine what transformative resurgence looks like in a museological context. Drawing on Simpson’s argument that Indigenous peoples’ cultural process of creation are directly antithetical to the consumer culture. She says “creating was the base of our culture. Creating was regenerative and ensured more diversity, more innovation and more life” (L. Simpson, 2011).  In short, these acts of transformative resurgence (as opposed to a revival after a fundamental loss) drive the following research.Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 61!3 Smashing the Glass Box: Museums as Political Paradox  “Mmm. That’s my dinner on display,” I say, as we approach the display case labelled “Technology, Food Quest/Coast, Processing” at the beginning of the “pre-contact” section of the exhibit. The case contains fishing items as well as what appear to be dried, split salmon, dried clams and other traditional foods. “But First Nations people still fish,” I explain to my group, “and they continue even now to process fish in ways similar to those displayed here.”  Gloria Jean Frank, 2000, 164 The move to collaborative curatorial practice in anthropology museums is rooted in two important intellectual and moral developments which have steadily grown in power during the past half century. First, the reflexivity in the humanities and social sciences associated with postmodernism has raised awareness among museum anthropologists of the ways in which earlier, objectifying traditions of material culture display have supported the colonial and neo-colonial power relations. Second, the evolving discourse of human rights has, in the years since its first broad codification in the 1948 UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights, has been vigorously argued to extend to cultural property and the protection of traditional indigenous knowledge.  Ruth B Phillips, 2003, 158   In 2011, in the shadow of the Canadian Parliament buildings and against the backdrop of international celebrations of the colonial state including the 2012 Queen’s Jubilee and the 200-year commemoration of the War of 1812, the Ottawa Art Gallery held an exhibition titled “Decolonize Me.” The work of six artists and two writers contested the settler state nationalist narratives with contemporary interjections of Indigenous self-determination and agency. Against the rampant celebrations of colonial history as normative practice, “Decolonize Me”questioned the narratives of national progress, and the contemporary illusions of a “post-colonial Canada” including the depoliticization of these historical “celebrations.” The work in “Decolonize Me” challenged capitalism, patriarchy, and environmental degradation, while simultaneously confronting and transforming the topography of colonial national celebrations. This Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 62!carefully curated response to contemporary settler colonialism is only one of many examples of artists and activists working through, and with, material culture to contest the ongoing processes of colonization. From the Elders, activists and allies who actively call for the repatriation of stolen objects from foreign museums (both international and Canadian), to contemporary curators and artists who interject into the spaces, museums are a new/old frontier for the confrontation of colonial culture.18 Contemporary artists, including Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun’s “modernist” visual storytelling and Brian Jungen’s paradoxical presentation of traditional motifs in reclaimed modern materials (including hockey masks and bags), continue to assert the ongoing, lasting and vibrant cultural and physical presence of diverse Indigenous peoples. These artists challenge the progressive modernist versions of history, which would place Indigenous peoples as teleologically primitive or no longer present. Other works actively re-make “settled spaces” within and outside museums by drawing attention to the spatial logics of colonialism, and reclaiming these spaces as Indigenous Nations.  As the “staging” ground, the museum has become an increasingly paradoxical geographic and imagined space. Bolstered by a history of collecting that was instrumentally tied to the active material and ideational practices of colonization, the museum carries a legacy of exclusionary Western knowledge that continues to reproduce a normative story of progress and civilization. Yet, alongside the historic legacy and modern practices, many contemporary interjections into the museum space highlight the subtle permutations and manifestations of contemporary colonialism. The material culture within the museum, including collections of objects, stolen or made for trade, tell stories that have the potential to both perform and reproduce colonialism, and to foster and cultivate resistance to it.  In response to growing activist and academic voices, the field of museum studies became (and continues to be) a central location for debates over the role of material and cultural presentations and the perpetuation of domination and hegemony. These debates are often posited as occurring between two crudely distinct camps, an “empirical scientific” view that locates the museum as a repository of scientific knowledge, charged with !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!18 New because it offers a burgeoning field of critical study within academia, old because the extraction of Indigenous peoples’ material culture is not a new tactic of imperialism, and museums have long been at the forefront of this.  Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 63!apolitically keeping and displaying history and contemporary culture, versus a critical “postcolonial” view that acknowledges and seeks to disrupt power relations within museums. In their caricatured forms, both camps reify particular understandings of knowledge, power and the role of material culture within museums, either falling back on proclamations of “universal scientific knowledge” or continuous critiques of power, privilege and cultural incommensurability. In their extreme forms both positions miss the nuanced and paradoxical roles that museums, and those working within these institutional structures, must occupy. Further, they risk over-determining the agency of the artists and curators who choose to engage in these spaces in complex ways.  As Ann Stoler (1989) argues, the categories of colonizer and colonized deployed in uncomplicated manner flattens the complexity of differences within these categories. Similarly, viewing the museum as either a key perpetrator of colonial violence or the central figure in upholding Enlightenment values of scientific knowledge and historical preservation, does not open the conceptual space for understanding the far more complicated relationship between museums, curators and communities. Indeed, located in the liminal space of the operation of state sanctioned power and resistance to that, the museum is “tricky ground,” shifting and dangerous, but nonetheless changeable. The very nature of the museum as an extension of state-sanctioned forms of domination also means that the museum is a powerful space for the transformation of these structures.  Whether repatriating stolen objects, reclaiming physical gallery space, or creating new works of art, work within the museum engages with a long tradition of critical thought that identifies power as operating in pervasive, non-state centred ways. In part due to Edward Said’s Orientalism (1977, 1995), the analysis of imperial power outside of state apparatus became a burgeoning field of study (Foucault, 1982, 1995; Shaprio, 2004; Spivak, 1988; Stoler, 1989; Thomas, 1999; Tully, 2008a, 2008b; Wolfe, 2006). The institutional and historical legacy of the museum as well as the contemporary critical engagements situates museums at a critical nexus of disciplinary and governmental power, knowledge and subject creation, and individual and collective memory making. Indeed the museum is a strategic location of colonial domination, both the field upon which the operations of colonial power take place and at the nexus of many tactics of colonial power, including material dispossession, knowledge and narrative creation, and concomitantly Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 64!the creation of colonial subjectivities. Looking within the museum enables analysis of the multiple lines or trajectories of power; the story of colonial domination can be read alongside stories of resistance. Thus, reading objects of colonization as simultaneously objects of decolonization opens up analysis of the productive fractures within colonial narratives. Against the implicit assumption that the museum serves to primarily reflect and disseminate knowledge, this chapter focuses on the power of the museum to create knowledge.  The previous chapter offered a critical language through which to engage the nexus between theories of settler colonial studies and material culture studies, including the three “logics” of disappearance, appropriation and obfuscation oriented towards the overarching aim of dispossession of Indigenous peoples from their lands and the maintenance of the settler colonial system of domination. The goal of that chapter was to illustrate the nexus between material culture and political theory, provide a broad conceptual framework of settler colonial domination and explore the mutually constituted relationship between material and ideological modes of domination. This chapter takes a similarly theoretical methodology, but rather than focusing on the logics of settler colonialism, I examine the museum as a physical and conceptual space for both perpetuation of and resistance to these settler colonial logics of domination. First, this chapter establishes the museum as a paradoxical space, both a location for settler colonial domination and a space for the enunciation of resistance in a wide range of forms. Second, underpinning this analysis of the paradox of the museum is a theoretical understanding of how power functions, and locating the agency of actors to resist power. Building upon the theoretical insights of Foucault, Tully and Said, this chapter seeks to frame the museum as a political paradox- simultaneously a place of agency and domination, hegemony and resistance. Tracing these paradoxes through theory and example, this chapter draws together poststructuralist theory and contemporary decolonial thinkers to trace the operation of power in museums and the ways in which engagements can confront the logics of settler colonialism as they manifest in museum spaces.  Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 65!Unpacking the Paradox Contemporary analysis of the history of collection and display no longer depoliticizes the history of museums as institutions of apriori knowledge, but highlights the myriad of ways that museums as institutions, and the individuals working within and for them, took an active role in the process of colonization. When museums collected objects to be held in trust for future generations, the ostensible intent was to preserve “vanishing” cultures from the “inevitable” disappearance that history would impose. But this ignored the violence that this “preservation” was itself perpetuating.19 Collecting practices were depoliticized. The curatorial displays were read as reflections of the contemporary known world, offering a platform for the projection of racial categories and evolutionary teleology that congratulated the West for its’ self-proclaimed civilization while condemning the rest to inferior barbarism (Ames, 1992; Teslow, 1998). The physical removal of some objects from still living peoples facilitated the intentional destruction of their lives. The redisplay of the objects in Western, often racist and colonial, presentations, reveals museums as more than apolitical reflections of value neutral knowledge, but a stage on which domination was performed.  While the institutional structure of museums, including curatorial legacy and policies, often seeks to maintain the guise of apolitical knowledge dissemination, it is more difficult to find Indigenous artists or members of a “source community” who believe that their art, and more specifically its representation and display, is not deeply political. When the survival of Indigenous peoples and cultures contests the ongoing process of colonization and attempts at eradication, engagements within the museum that transform colonial practices have disruptive potential that can challenge and change the status quo operation of settler colonialism.  Given the legacy of museums in the performance and reproduction of colonial violence, the choice to engage within this space may seem a strange one. While museums were and remain a source of violence in the form of dispossession of material culture and the constitution and dissemination of racist, imperialist knowledge perpetuating and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!19 The documentary film “Totem: The Return of the G’psgolox Pole”(Cardinal, 2003) illustrates the tensions between preservation and dispossession.  Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 66!justifying conquest, museums also often hold knowledge and material culture that has otherwise been systematically destroyed by the colonial impetus.  For peoples whose way of life has changed dramatically but whose identity rests on historical cultural knowledge, artefacts offer the possibility of recovering a broad range of cultural knowledge for use in the present and future. Some of that knowledge may have been deliberately suppressed by policies of assimilation, or lost as a result of dislocation from familiar landscapes (Peers & Brown, 2003, 5). Museums are not only a space to learn about and reflect upon the legacy of this history, but also a space to actively engage in its transformation. Indeed, museums are deeply paradoxical, a position of power that has long been recognized by Indigenous peoples who have found archives filled with material culture, history and objects that were systematically destroyed outside of these dusty corridors. While the act of preservation in itself may reflect the imposition of Western cultural values, negotiating the tension between historic (and contemporary) epistemological and material violence, epistemological privilege, and shifting obligations to source communities remains central in many debates over the role and responsibilities that museums have towards changing these legacies.  Critical museum studies have not only called for critique of the role played by museums in the construction of marginalized subjectivities, but also the potential of museums to contribute to and create social change (Brown & Peers, 2006; Butler, 2000;  Phillips, 1990, 2011; Sandell, 2007). In these ongoing debates, the museum is located at a critical nexus for understanding and critiquing colonial identity formation and transformation. This double role of the museum as both “reflecting” history as well as creating new knowledge highlights the ways in which the museum does not simply reflect colonial or hegemonic knowledge as Said argues, but also has a constitutive role to play in the perpetuation and internalization of colonial subjectivities (1995). Located at this complex intersection of theoretical domination and practical transformation, the museum reflects the many aporetic, messy and shifting logics of settler colonialism. Revealing the agency of individuals and objects not only counters the formulation of power as a totalizing force, but also widens the space between the discourses and practices of domination and the acts of resistance. This is not to say that Indigenous peoples have not been systematically subjugated. Nor does this presume that settler colonialism does not Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 67!continue to be a pervasively violent process. Rather, this focus on paradox and aporia ensures that the acts of resistance that have been taking place for over 400 years are at the centre of my own analysis of power relations in the museum.  While discussions of the individual practices highlight particular experiences of museums, I argue that these are collectively political spaces, whether or not curatorial objectives are ostensibly “apolitical.” The forcible collection, confinement and redeployment of objects within particular spatial and temporal frameworks, in certain museums, at particular times, are all implicated in and constitutive of the material and ideational manifestations of colonial power. Simultaneously, interjections into these spaces also have power. The inclusion of Indigenous voices, and the often forcible interjection of Indigenous bodies and perspectives into colonial spaces, not only resonate within the museum, but also outside. Whether reclaiming occupied territories with street art or occupying museums that have a long history of perpetuating colonial practices or narratives, “Indian resistance is sometimes confrontational, but more often it is transformational” (Valaskakis, 2000, 391). The Museum as Domination This section will look at the museum as both a field for the operation of colonial power and the specific tactics of power, highlighting both the operation of power/knowledge and the creation of colonial subjectivities. This analysis is prefaced on the politicization of the physical and ideational space of the museum, by placing objects within a Foucauldian discursive analysis. Patricia Hill Collins has argued, “a choice of language transcends mere selection of words – it is inherently a political choice” (Collins, 1998, xxi), but these political choices exceed the linguistic focus of many post-colonial scholars. While many have narratives and discourses of colonialism, I centre analysis in the material and narrative production of colonial power. Recentring objects counters a division between material and figurative or narrative power. Objects redeployed within museum contexts created knowledge about the other, but were also an instance of the physical control. Kept behind glass walls to be observed and known, categorized and tamed, objects not only represented the literal and figurative incarceration of colonized bodies, but also reinforced colonial regimes of power through the material constraint.  Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 68!Histories of museums often trace their origins to “cabinets of curiosity,” where the private collections of personal “grand tours” were displayed in parlours for family and friends. However, in the late 19th century, museums were increasingly charged to be institutions of public knowledge. Rather than a representation of a private collectors’ individuality, the museum became a space where the public was asked to invest themselves in relation to the collection, learning about the “other” while simultaneously taking on narratives of themselves. In granting public access to museums, the role of the museum collection shifted. “Thus, gradually, the public—or more correctly, the educated classes—came to believe that they had the right to expect that the collections would present and interpret the world in some way consistent with the values they held to be good, with the collective representations they held to be appropriate, and with the view of social reality they held to be true” (Ames 1986, 7). Though tasked with public education, the museum did not seek to challenge the commonly held views. Indeed, Ames argues that the museum not only adopted the predominant colonial ideology of the time but also had the authority to both impose and educate through these categories. Thus, the museum not only reflected social conventions and structures, it also served to educate, disseminate and embed the socially constructed knowledge as authoritative.  Located at this important nexus between the public dissemination, discipline of knowledge and the production of particular forms and categories of analysis, museums should continue to be understood in the productive power/knowledge matrix. By imposing academic classifications, the museum authorizes the hegemonic discourses of science while further disqualifying subjugated knowledges. “Since displays typically do not draw attention to the partiality of the picture they present, they reveal these distorted versions of others as if they were objective truths” (Eaton & Gaskell, 2009, 245). Rather than assuming the public space of the museum is value neutral, knowledge is not only produced about objects in collections but through the control of objects. Collecting—customs and clothes; images, memories and idioms; spoons, songs and spirits—removes or redefines the lived significations of identity and power that are enacted and acted upon in Indian experience. Museums display glass-cased artefacts and carved canoes, totem poles and berry baskets, all removed from the discursive exchange of daily life and labeled with meanings that are fixed in the culturally coherent narratives of Others. Indian objects for which Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 69!meanings emerge in the power they invoke or the community they involve are redefined as historical representations and ethnographic artifacts (Valaskakis 2005, 72). Careful observation, preservation and categorization are prioritized over physical engagements with the objects. Performance, ritual and indeed, practical context are largely removed from the object in favour of knowledge that can be retrieved “through the looking glass.” “The space of representation constituted in the relations between the disciplinary knowledges deployed within the exhibitionary complex thus permitted the construction of a temporally organized order of things and peoples” (Bennet, 1995, 81). Thus, the problem in many institutional frames is not the lack of knowledge about an object, but the manner in which the subalternized knowledge has been actively excluded from the formal and public histories. “Through the practices of collection and public exhibition, museums have developed a discipline of looking – a way of retrieving meaning from objects” (Bolton, 2003, 43). Knowledge is “extracted” from objects, filtered through the legitimating complex of value neutrality and empiricist priorities, and presented as universal. Not only does this functionally serve to exclude different knowledges from within the legitimating “science” of the museum, but also the exclusionary silence is filled with institutionalized knowledge. Thus, a doubled violence occurs, both the violence of exclusion and obscuring that the exclusion took place through the imposition of other forms of knowledge.  Placed in glass box museum displays, objects are presumed unable to “speak for themselves.” They are blank narrative slates through which meaning can be made. For example, a drum displayed in a museum is accompanied with text, offering stories of history, creation and display to “interpret” the assumed silence of the object. Counter to this view of the object as silent and agentless, Chippewa scholar Gail Guthrie Valaskakis recounts the complications of her family’s relationship to a water drum associated with Midéwiwin, or Grand Medicine Society (2005, 175). For her, the waterdrum was always already implicated in a network of meaning made in and through relationships to the objects individually and collectively. Deciding the fate of the drum was a complex and difficult process that involved both community and individual interactions with the object. Even when viewed as silent and in need of interpretation, objects “are discursive, and their power is constructed in relation to those who invoke the information they express, Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 70!which relationships they enact, and the personal experience they engender” (Valaskakis 2005, 181-182). Thus, Valaskaskis does not understand objects as passive, but embedded in webs of meaning, and further, active in the creation of that meaning.  Despite the robust critiques of objects as discursively active themselves, they are still subject to interpretation and interpellation within the museum, where meaning is made in and by the contexts in which the object is presented. “Museums provide one of the major means by which that relationship of cultural perception is defined, and, for the most part, they do so wholly on the terms of the dominant culture” (Eaton & Gaskell, 2009, 243). The placement of objects within these institutional frameworks dislocates them. Objects are both physically removed from the original place, and discursively removed from where meaning was originally made. Decontextualized display of material culture often elides both the history of collection, and the fact that “objects are collected and displayed in specific political and intellectual environments” (Bolton, 2003, 43). In relation to the logics of colonialism, the spatial dispossession and relocation of material culture is a double violence, at once removing objects and the meaning and cultural practices from the land, and redisplaying these objects in a new context. Removal erases the history and present of Indigenous occupation of place, while the redisplay solidifies this violence through the museum sanctioned ethnographic categories, or “glass box” gaze.  When Indigenous peoples’ material culture is presented within a colonial space, the meaning of those objects is dislocated and remade into a narrative that not only reinforces the temporal distance between the civilized centre and the primitive other, but also the geographic distance as well.  Museum exhibition techniques continue to impose academic classifications—our ‘glass boxes’ of interpretation—upon diverse cultures… They always remain anthropological boxes, however, ‘freezing’ others into academic categories and to that mythical anthropological notion of time called the ‘ethnographic present’ (Ames 1992, 140).  The “savage over there” reinforces the colonial present, where distance performs a story of teleological evolution that often enables or reproduces the settlement of space; the museum is a central node in the power/knowledge, spatial and temporal logics of colonial domination. Creating authoritative knowledge about the colonized is thus instrumentally Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 71!related to the operation of colonial practices. “The dynamic of naming becomes a primary colonizing process because it appropriates, defines, captures the place in language” (Ashcroft, 2001, 134). What can be named can be known- what can be known- can then be controlled. The category of “culture” ascribed by the anthropological knowledge regime was not merely political in its representational implications, but served as a “governmental and disciplinary possession of bodies and territories, and in this were included existent forms of philosophy, history and social life that Empire sought to speak of and speak for” (A. Simpson, 2011, 67). More than perpetuating violence through the already constructed meaning about an object, these knowledge creation practices also perpetuated violence through what was missing, or what was considered irrelevant in the creation of knowledge about objects. When a census of the collections at the NMAI was completed, it was found that much of the catalogue records were missing vital information, where a ring would still be on a human finger bone but the presence of human remains would not be recorded. “These early cataloguing practices indicate that human remains at that time were considered less important than their associated artefacts” (Rosoff, 2003, 73).  Finding museums located at the nexus of power/knowledge reflexively acknowledges that the museum space is not value neutral but upholds implicit and explicit power relations. Rather than trying to neutralize the power of knowledge production, this critical position attempts to reflexively and explicitly acknowledge power in order to address and mitigate these political contexts. Within this framework, exhibitions “do not, in fact, erase Western traditions of discourse and display, but rather intervene in them to a greater or lesser extent” (Phillips, 2003, 165). However, the intentions of collaboration are constrained and potentially also shaped by the institutional framework. In other words, there is tension between the curatorial and even institutional aims and the structures of constraints of that museum. “Museums’ attempt to reinvent themselves as socially engaged places of memory are hindered by an embedded desire to catalogue, conserve and display objects” (Ouzman, 2006, 269).  For example, the narratives and practices of repatriation, variously intentioned, are arguably constrained by the institutional and epistemological framework of the museum itself. Starting from the mid-1980s, for a variety of reasons, hundreds of objects Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 72!have been repatriated to First Nations communities in Canada. Jennifer Kramer argues that this wave of physical repatriation aimed to redeem anthropology and museums from their colonial histories, acknowledge that physical repatriation of objects may foster community rejuvenation, and/or that self-representation by these communities will provide proof of sovereign control over territory and population (2010). However, as Deborah Doxtator argued, these acts of repatriation remain under the control of the museum, and by extension the juridical and legal hegemony of the (often still colonial) state (1992). Working under, rather than against, the established power hierarchy of settler colonialism, physical repatriation is truncated by the dominance of the state imperative. While serving positive ends for communities who feel empowered through the repatriation of objects, both by the process as well as the reconnection to material objects and forcibly suppressed skills, repatriation does not always significantly transform the settler colonial hegemony that is cyclically linked to the conditions of dispossession.  Conversations about repatriation are largely situated within a Western empirical analysis. Indigenous peoples who argue for the repatriation of objects must become conversant in the Western discourses in which they are framed. Once objects are wrapped in the languages of commodity, preservation and cultural property, it is difficult to disentangle them and resituate the objects within traditional frames of collective property, sacred ritual, or kinship relations. Jennifer Kramer’s analysis of the repatriation of the Echo mask to the Nuxalk nation in Bella Coola exemplifies the complicated “enrobing” of material culture with Western norms (2010). When repatriated to the community, a sacred mask traditionally danced only in winter ceremonials and potlatches and hidden from the eyes of the general public was displayed in the public bank 24 hours a day. Doxtator argues that using Western notions of commodification and preservation to argue for repatriation does more harm than good, reifying the codes of knowledge imposed by the colonizer (Doxtator, 1996), and arguably reproducing the subaltern silence.  The museum as a field and instrumental location for the deployment of a colonial power and knowledge not only perpetuates violence by dislocating, disciplining and changing meaning, but is also implicated in the “tactical” creation and control of colonial subjectivities, both the imagined colonized and colonizers. Anthony Bennet argues in the Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 73!19th century museums were one of many institutions that were charged with cultural governance, to “help form and shape the moral, mental and behavioural characteristics of a population” (Bennet, 1995, 21). He identifies these practices as juridico-discursive, stemming from a sovereign source with a clear purpose to exact obedience from a population. Drawing off poststructuralist theory, the museum was (and continues to be) placed alongside the prison and clinic as a central location of disciplinary and governmental power. According to Foucault,  “the ‘mind’ as a surface of inscription for power, with semiology as its tool; the submission of bodies through the control of ideas” (Foucault, 1995, 102). The creation of knowledge about objects, and the deployment of this knowledge through museums as spaces of authority thus formalizes subjectivities. The subject is created, enabled and simultaneously constrained in the categorical relations of knowledge creation. If “politics as a technique of internal peace and order, sought to implement the mechanism of the perfect army, of the disciplined mass” (Foucault, 1995, 168), collecting and categorizing knowledge about the savage “other” has a domesticating power, defining and controlling the subjects that are created in and through this power/knowledge nexus.  These articulations of particular societal history congeals a grouping of people together not by territorial bond, but by a shared history and shared imagination of the collective self. “The nation is by no means something that is defined by its territorial unity… The nation has no frontiers, no definite system of power, and no State” (Foucault & Ewald, 2003, 134). Thus, cohesion must be created through something else, a shared collection of knowledge and information through which social cohesion can be constructed. “Public displays of any cultural sort, whether by the government, the cultural elite, or activists and resistors to the establishment, are inescapably based on the constructed ideology intended to promote a shared vision of history, identity and heritage” (Thompson, 2002, 38). Indeed, as knowledge is made by and for power, the creation of knowledge is less a reflection of truth than a reflection of whom the truth serves. To that end, museums are not only a location for housing, holding and preserving knowledge, but also a locus of the authority with “a power to ‘show and tell’ which, in being deployed in a newly constituted open and public space, sought rhetorically to incorporate the people within the processes of the state” (Bennet, 1995, 87). Through the museums’ cabinets of Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 74!curiosity, the public was asked to construct knowledge about the self. Thus, instead of a unilateral perception-reception knowledge transmission, museums can better be understood as a node in the complex governmental tactics of population and subject creation.  For Foucault, the question is not only about how knowledge is imposed as a means to subjugate the other, but also “the way a human being turns himself into a subject” (Foucault, 1982, 789).  When audiences enter museum spaces, they are asked to not only create knowledge about the other, but also locate themselves both individually and collectively within this relational matrix. Thus, subjects come to not only recognize knowledge about alterity, but also distinguish themselves by what they are not. The glass boxes act as mirrors, where the subject is asked to place themselves in meaningful relation to the contents of the museum. The evident distortions in museum images and imaginary “reveal more about the interests and motivations of observers than they do about whoever is notionally represented” (Thomas, 1994, 22). Thus, when individuals engage within the museum space, they are not only asked to take up this knowledge, but also to use that as a means to generate self-reflexivity, to varying degrees of criticality.  A question remains behind both a reading of objects within a discursive field of knowledge creation, and the creation of collective and individual subjectivities in and through the field of power/knowledge relations; agency, or finding the spaces where the seemingly totalizing control of colonialism are fractured. Judith Butler has taken up a Foucauldian analysis of the internalization of subjectivity where “power not only acts on a subject but, in a transitive sense, enacts the subject into being. As a condition, power precedes the subject” (1997, 130). This formulation places power and knowledge, prior to subjective experience, or indeed, subject as “being,” reducing subjectivity to the constitutive relations of power on or about the subject. Said argues that “ideas, cultures and histories cannot seriously be understood or studied without their force, or more precisely their configuration of power, also being studied” (Said 1995, 5). In this framework, asymmetric power between the West and Orient is the condition of possibility for Orientalism as a system of relations in which subjectivities are constructed both materially and discursively. In emphasizing the importance of discursive power, Said explores “the degree to which the West’s systems of scholarship, and its canons of Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 75!aesthetic representation, have been implicated in the long history of the West’s material and political domination of the non-Western world” (Moore-Gilbert, Stanton, and Maley 1997, 22). Said’s Orientalism shifted analysis of representations as “image” and reflections, to a discourse, deployed as a means to construct the world, where the other is constituted through a “created consistency, and that regular constellation of ideas” (Said 1995, 5). While politicizing presentations, Said later clarified his analysis to leave room for a qualified agency, where subjects being represented were not wholly products of the study. Thus, the Orient is not “essentially an idea, or a creation with no corresponding reality” (Said 1995, 5).  While there may be a material and substantive existence beyond hegemonic construction of the Orient, the asymmetry of constitutive power and the proliferation of specified knowledge, makes it difficult to imagine the Orient beyond the West’s construction. Though the inclusion of the poststructuralist theory offered a critique of what was being presented in museums, as well as the ways in which these presentations both reflected and reinforced the practices of Western imperial and colonial projects, placing power as prior to both subjects, and objects, flattened the field of relations to hegemony of domination. Though difficult to imagine, the logics of colonial domination are always partial; varied, pervasive, but nonetheless, fractured. According to Stoler and Stassler, students of colonial history want two stories, “a story of hegemonic colonial state, saturating both the cultural frame and the cracks in which the colonized live, and a story in which deft evasion leaves the memories of these same actors unscathed by those state intrusions” (2012, 8). However, the story of colonial power as it plays out in the museum is far more complicated than a binary between pervasive constructions of the subaltern as imagined by the powerful, and the “untouched.” This location as holding and disseminating knowledge and creator of the disciplinary norm reveals the importance of museums, not only in the creation of colonial knowledge, but also in the resistance to that. Where knowledge about the nation is created, it can also be destroyed, subverted or changed when museums are read as reflecting the colonizer rather than creating knowledge about the colonized. Though Spivak (1985), Tully (2008a, 2008b) and many others rightly argue that the very possibility of articulating alternative histories is obscured by dominant narratives of progress, evolution, and Western liberal teleology, the resistant Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 76!power of counter-histories provides alternative perspectives and fracturing a totalized narrative of the present.  As Nicholas Thomas identifies in his analysis of colonial texts, there are gaps between the projection and performance of colonial domination (1994, 16). Indeed, these gaps are the very condition of possibility for the transformation of colonial politics. Gyan Prakesh (1992) argues that subaltern colonized peoples have a “third sight” by virtue of their exclusion from the hegemonic communities of colonizers and colonial elites. The illiterate peasantry of colonial India was not able to understand through the western hegemonic development discourse, but the “third sight” “represented the limits of colonial discourse” (Prakesh, 1992, 173). These limits in the hegemony of the discourse can be widened by those who are subjected to colonial power, and shatter the otherwise often too coherent “mirror” of display that reflects the image of the colonizer back to themselves. This places the onus on those privileged by colonial power to question the otherwise prominent myths about themselves. Despite the historic (and sometimes contemporary) attempts to depoliticize the museum in favour of universal histories and knowledge, it is clear that curators and source communities understand the politics of display, and the importance of contexts. Increasingly, many curators and people who work within museums understand their work to intersect directly with political practices, both within the institution as well as within the communities. Just as Foucault found that “it would not be possible for power relations to exist without points of insubordination which, by definition, are means of escape” (1982, 794), alongside the operation of the museum as a space of power and domination, they were also spaces for practices resistance.  The Museum as Resistance   Whereas many theories of imperial power tend to see the position of the ‘powerless’ colonial subject as one of the most passive victimage, it is clear that individuals are almost always able to operate within the framework of the dominant discourse to their own advantage.  Bill Ashcroft, 2001, 42  Despite the pervasiveness of the structures of invasion and ongoing attempts to destroy and/or displace Indigenous peoples who have been forcibly incorporated into Canada, Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 77!these structures and relations of colonial domination are not totalizing. Not only have Indigenous peoples been actively resisting colonialism, some for more than 400 years, the discourses and practices of colonization are fractured along multiple lines, often internally aporetic and with evident paradoxes between narrative and material forms. Both causing and widening these fractures, museums are a platform where the control of the power/knowledge and construction of colonial subjectivities is actively contested.  Tully’s examination of engagements between Indigenous peoples and Western thinkers in his chapter “The Struggles of Indigenous Peoples for and of Freedom” finds that while Western and Indigenous political theories are not incommensurate, they “are massively unequal in their effective discursive power in the present. One is the dominant language that presents itself as a universal vocabulary of understanding and reflection; the other a subaltern language” (2008b, 258). Though resistance to colonialism occurs, when the terms of the discourse, or the terrain of engagement, is determined by the hegemonic power, the vocabulary of contestation is prone to naturalizing the asymmetric relations of power. Tully finds that “while subalterns are constrained to act ‘tactically’ in these ways, because of the unequal and subordinate position, hegemons act ‘strategically.’ Hegemons try to structure the field of possible responses” (2008a, 160). As evidenced by repatriation claims that are primarily communicated in the languages of commodification and value, and/or source community- museum relationships that privilege the importance of preservation, interjections into the museum are often confined to this “strategic” terrain20.  However, the interjections into the dominant discursive constructions of the museum have the potential to break out of these essentially strategic operations by a) interjecting subalternized knowledge to trace dominant but subtle operations of power structuring museum based knowledge, and b) becoming a space for “self” presentation, turning away from strategic processes and indeed hegemonic power more generally. This turning away or refusal calls to the fore the third mode of fracture, c) demanding a response from power that recognizes the challenges of colonial subjectivities, most especially of the colonizers.  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!20 Jennifer Kramer (2004) discusses the ways in which pieces once removed from communities become “wrapped” in the language of commodification. The repatriation claims that follow from are also in the language most comprehensible to museum practice. For example, the use of NAGPRA legislation to request repatration of museum held remains uses the US legal system in order to induce change rather than articulating it through the law and languages of those requesting the return.   Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 78!Continuing (and in some respects challenging) the critical history of subaltern studies, museums have become a space for the presentation of subaltern knowledges, troubling the authorization of Western knowledge once exclusively deployed in the museum and recognizing subaltern knowledges having counter-authority; deconstructing dominant narratives through direct confrontation. “Within museums, source community research with collections and consultation for exhibition developments provides opportunities to articulate perspective and narratives denied by the dominant society” (Peers & Brown, 2003, 1). This interjection of subalternized knowledge actively fractures the otherwise often homogenous representations, revealing agency against a long history of attempted assimilation and domination, and the limits of the presumed universal western knowledge paradigm.  This is not to say that there are not dangers in critical interjections of subaltern knowledge into the museum space. In “On Law Democracy and Imperialism,” Tully argues that “our dominant languages of disclosure and research conceal and overlook the imperialism of the present” (2008a, 127). Thus, even though critics are ostensibly attempting to work against asymmetric relations, when the languages and institutional frameworks of engagement remain dictated by and for the powerful, (for example, when English property law is used to adjudicate land claims) the operations of domination are not supplanted or changed. This subtle but pervasive reliance on the underpinning assumptions of colonialism manifest through the languages of engagement, as well as in the methodological assumptions, ontological presuppositions or implicit (and explicit) moral and ethical drives. In museums, the superficial recognition of the importance of source community engagement does not necessarily change or transform particular institutional constraints that curators must negotiate in community partnerships.  Any community relationship must not only recognize the particularity of the needs of that source community, including the complex politics within that community, but must also recognize that there are very different epistemological and even ontological considerations and obligations. Negotiating community relations within the “dominant languages” of museum studies can reproduce subtle operations of the still colonial contexts. The subilty of power and privilege are no less damaging, and can inflict another, Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 79!perhaps more dangerous, operation colonial dominance in the refusal to acknowledge the embedded conditions of systemic asymmetry. For example:  The [left-wing intellectuals] who refuse to acknowledge their privilege and inheritance of wrongs are practicing another form of selfishness and hypocrisy—they claim the right and privilege of indignation and the power to judge those cruder colonizers among them and attempt to use this rhetorical posture to release themselves of their own responsibility for the colonial enterprise (Alfred, 2005, 105).  Though Alfred locates this refusal of colonial privilege in the individual, the same logic of refusal perpetuates violence at a systemic level, where the attempt to abdicate both individual and collective responsibility for colonial pasts and presents “restories” truths, perpetuating violence. Whether denying the power of knowledge formation or deflecting critiques, “museums typically exhibit the objects in their collections in a way that appears completely neutral on two levels: first, in the sense that the choices (and the assumptions and values guiding them) regarding presentation of the objects are erased; and second, in the sense of appearing apolitical” (Eaton & Gaskell, 2009, 241). In the case of the museum, falling back on the “apolitical” presentation of knowledge not only obscures violence caused by the active denial of other ways of knowing that could interrupt the unilateral hegemony, but overwrites the possibility of those interjections under the guise of apolitical presentations. These depoliticized discursive presentations can be read alongside, or as part of, the Foucauldian matrix of power and knowledge where interjections of various (subalterned) knowledges disentangles the hardened relationship between power and knowledge, revealing the ways in which knowledge forms are actually contingent, and related to functions of power. By revealing the manner in and through which knowledge is created through power relations, knowledge cannot be assumed as value neutral. Rather, “knowledge is not made for understanding; it is made for cutting” (Foucault, 1994, 360). In direct contestation of a positivist perspective that would see knowledge in general, and empirical “reality” as value neutral, Foucault understands the construction of truth as central to the exercise of power regimes. “Truth isn’t outside power or lacking in power” (1994b, 316), but rather, truth plays an important role in the practice and perpetuation of power relations, especially when truth is produced in conjunction with already structured practices of hegemony. If “history had never been anything more than Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 80!the history of power as told by power itself, or the history of power that power had made people tell” (Foucault & Ewald, 2003, 133), then these formulations of counter knowledge are not only contestation through contrast, but also by highlighting the stories that power tells itself as exactly that, a single story amongst others.  To this end, interjections into the museum space are not solely about the critical potential of presenting alternative knowledges that contest the hegemony of a truth regime, but also about disentangling these knowledge projections from the regimes of discipline and power that they bolster. “It’s not a matter of emancipating truth from every system of power (which would be a chimera, for truth is already power) but of detaching the power of truth from the forms of hegemony, social, economic and cultural, within which it operates at the present time” (Foucault, 1994b, 318). Foucault widens the field of analysis to focus on the underpinning conditions of possibility that enable a juridical assumption of knowledge or truth. Debates which seek to locate the “truest” of truths, the image of the other that is most authentic, either produced in and by the knowledge located in the museum or from source communities, not only has the propensity to reproduce a constructed homogeneity between colonizers and colonized, the privileged and subalterned, but also obscures the function of the “truth.” The task at hand should not be so much about the tracing the production of truth, but to source the effects of those particular truths. These knowledge effects and the productive function of both colonial discourses and the resistance to them, is where political action lies. Making the most of these aporetic logics, interjections into the museum serve as a mode to contest both the historic and contemporary operation of colonialism. Ashcroft describes these aporetic operations as “ambivalences,” where the desire to reproduce and perpetuate colonial discourses and subjects is the condition of failure. These reproductions are never perfect, nor totalizing, thus leaving room for the colonized to transformatively “imitate,”  to take the image of the colonial mode and use it in the process of resistance, the process of self-empowerment. Ambivalence is not merely the sign of the failure of the colonial discourse to make the colonial subject conform, it is the sign of the agency of the colonized—the two way gaze, the dual orientation, the ability to appropriate colonial technology without being absorbed by it—which disrupts the monologic impetus of the colonizing process (Ashcroft, 2001, 22-23) Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 81!The museum offers a space for tracing these colonial ambivalences and analytically situating agency against disciplinary knowledge alongside the concomitant creation of colonial subjectivities. In this colonial ambivalence, Indigenous interjections into the museum can be read as “turning away” from the colonial story to focus on community resilience. This refusal to engage is not ignoring the history and presence of colonial domination, but not constraining that as the single story of Indigenous peoples.  Engagements within the museum are often framed as a practice of “reclamation,” where connections to stolen objects, ceremony, ritual and song are made possible because of the “preservation” within the museums. While at the time this conservationist operation was an instrumental violent arm of the colonial state, the archives often hold dusty material that have otherwise been actively destroyed by colonial operations. “Artefacts prompt the re-learning of forgotten knowledge and skills, provide opportunities to piece together fragmented historical narratives, and are material evidence of cultural identity and historical struggles” (Peers & Brown, 2003, 6). For example, one of the handbags in National Museums Scotland collection of Athapaskan objects is unique to that collection, and the pattern was no longer part of the skillset of the current makers. Part of the community consultation included allowing members to have physical access to the bag, learn the pattern and the skills that went into making it, and reproduce new bags from the original techniques, effectively reclaiming a “lost” set of skills into the present.  The active reclamation of knowledge and skills are distinctly political acts. First, because the division between cultural and political is neither salient, nor relevant, especially when cultural practices have been actively suppressed as part of the attempt to solidify colonial power. When Ann Fienup-Riordan described the visit of the Yup’ik Elders to Berlin, she highlights how Elder Wassilie Berlin held a child’s bowl and recited the inerquutet (rules) of what could be placed in the bowl. “Again and again I heard the traditional rules for living I had recorded in Boundaries and Passages (1994), but in this context they were organized dramatically around real objects and activities, rather than didactically around ideas of what it meant to be a ‘real person’” (Fienup-Riordan, 2003 32). More than connecting these “culturally” framed objects to Indigenous political practices in the form of laws, ethics and governance, the engagements with these objects are also situated at the centre of political engagements with colonial state and political Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 82!structures. Some curators and museum officials have come to see Indigenous peoples’ engagements within the specific museum structures as speaking to the wider political topography within settler colonial states. Ruth B Phillips’ comparative analysis of the NMAI and the CMC highlights the very different political contexts in Canada and the United States (2006). Further, the 1992 Museums Task Force, both implicitly and explicitly recognized the ways in and through which engagements with museums could be political, either as a form of “empowerment,” but also as an institutional engagement which prioritizes the words and wishes of the First Nations (Task Force Report,1992). In Australia, “museum collections have become one of the loci of Aboriginal reclamation of a traditionally derived identity and, more specifically, of the reclamation of cultural autonomy” (Bolton, 2003, 46). Cultural autonomy as a practice of self-determination directly confronts the apparatus of colonial control where the discursive operation of knowledge about the colonial subject can be inverted. In this manner, the museum becomes a platform that not only highlights the interconnections between objects framed as “cultural” and terrain of the political, but also a space for the active practice of politics.   Viewing the museum as an ambivalent space and foregrounding subjective agency, rather than positioning discursive power as prior and totalizing, shifts the analysis to take note, not only of reclamation as political, but the ways in which engagements are transformational, both of the subjective experiences and the larger systemic operations of colonialism. Ashcroft reads these practices as taking advantage of “cultural capital,” where “the concept of cultural capital exposes a process whereby colonized subjects of all races and classes appropriate, or ‘consume’, the dominant, ‘hegemonic’, culture, discourses, technologies, for purposes which may be very different from those of the disseminators of that culture” (2001, 44). Understanding objects as only implicated within the discursive and material operations of power exerted by the dominant culture in the process of historic and ongoing colonization problematically elides the ways that objects are multivocal, sharing different stories, and offering these variant stories to different people. Where an object might reveal to one viewer a history of colonial contact, it may also tell a story of cultural resilience in the face of increasingly intense violence. Rejecting the unilateral or scientific narratives that often accompany objects in favour of reading Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 83!objects through subjective and political narratives resituates museums as a space of power, not only of the dominant forces, but also of those subalternized through its practices.   In practice, the cultures apparently ‘silenced’ by this process nevertheless continue to exist, and not only develop their own operations and revisions but develop coherent strategies of self-determination with the new discursive tools at their disposal (Ashcroft, 2001, 46). Thus, the active practices of engagements “play” with the colonial legacy within the museum, consuming the culture of the colonized, and turning it back again. The glass boxes thus, are not just mirrors reflecting the subjectivity of the colonizers, but a two-way gaze. Objects under glass are active, and so too are the engagements within the museum space. The engagements within the museum offer more than what is encapsulated by the experiences of Indigenous peoples reconnecting to cultural heritage and stolen history.  Not only are critical interjections retelling the hegemonic stories of the colonized, the glass boxes are also serving as mirrors, demanding a more critical response from those who are privileged in the museum. Though knowledge “about” the colonized concomitantly attempts to construct and constrain subjectivity, the museum speaks to the subjectivity of the colonizers or those privileged in the discursive construction of subjectivity more than it speaks to, or about, those colonized. Flipped in this way, the “glass boxes” of museums become mirrors. Rather than looking through the glass to seek the constructed authenticity of the object within, it is the display cases themselves, the context and the constructed meanings, that become the subjects of study. “Colonial objects” thus have a doubled life, both implicated in narrative and creation of domination, but also embodying of the ambivalence of colonialism; a representation of the ongoing agency of the colonized subject, and widening the fractures and paradoxes of colonial operations. Focusing on the fractures, and the glass boxes as mirrors, not only offers a means to critically engage with the creation of colonial subjects (both the colonized and the colonizer), but understand how the centring of agency serves as a means to transform the stories colonizers tell to themselves, demanding more than passive subjective affirmation from those privileged by colonization.  Transforming the power of the museum through the figurative inversion of the space, and bringing to light the operations of power does not turn away from the Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 84!“silencing effects” of colonial representations, but confronts them. These interjections recognize the inherent power and agency of the subalterned interveners, against the danger of colonial discourse theory of the “insistence on the totality and absolute efficacy of the ‘silencing’ effects of colonialist representation, which… envelops and predetermines even the conscious acts of resistance which seek to oppose and dismantle it” (Ashcroft, 2001, 46). For Valaskakis, museums are not solely seats of colonial power, but liminal zones of transformation.  In the borderzones that reclaim, transform, and create heritage, Native people are asserting their cultural ownership of art and artifacts in expressions of transmutable form, undeclared context, and concealed knowledge. This challenge to the power and privilege of outsiders who claim and name Native art and artifacts is unsettling to the institutions that display or sell representations of non-Native history and Indian heritage (Valaskakis 2005, 84). Where and how the “unsettling” of institutions occurs, and the implications both for communities who are engaging in these practices and those within museums who take the time and care to listen, is unfolding. Viewing the museum as a shifting zone, tricky, but nonetheless flexible, not only opens the possibility for reading productive paradoxes within colonial logics, but also centres the agency of those who have been actively “subalternized” by the power/knowledge matrix within the museum space. Thus, engagements within the museum take place there not despite the legacy of colonial operations of power, but because of that legacy. Where once the museum was understood as an apolitical space of scientific knowledge, where colonizers (and those privileged by the colonial systems of power) entered to be taught about themselves, these spaces are changing. When the glass boxes also become mirrors, other ways of knowing and seeing may enter the museum to fracture the colonial power/knowledge matrix. This is not to say that the museum is not a violent place, but that, if listened to well, and indeed more fully than has taken place, the museum can serve as a means for actively contesting colonial legacy and contemporary practices.  Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 85!Conclusion The museum is “dangerous ground,” not only contoured with legacy of colonial regimes of power and authority, but, to varying degrees and in varying ways, continuing to manifest and perpetuate contemporary practices of colonial power, both in the dissemination and creation of knowledge, but also through the creation of colonial subjectivities. There have been shifts within the academic discipline of museum studies to critically examine some of the ways that museum practices can challenge the assumed hegemony of particular kinds of knowledge. Changes in museum curation to reflect the multivocality and multiple meanings of objects, increasing recognition of the complexities of museum object acquisition, storage and conservation and relationships to source communities have also challenged the ways that objects and communities engage with, and move through the institutional structures of the museum.   But these shifts within museum structures and relations are perhaps some of the most dangerous. When read against the background of power/knowledge as normalizing and subject forming, the challenges posed through interjections into museum spaces do not necessarily or inherently challenge the colonial legacies. Given the obfuscating impetus of settler colonialism that seeks to erase and re-enclose any potential contestation, the museum can be read as another location for the perpetuation of violence. Foucault reminds us that despite the guise of the “normal” or “peaceful,” battles over and through power continue. “In this central and centralized humanity, the effect and instrument of complex power relations, bodies and forces subjected by multiple mechanisms of ‘incarceration’, objects for discourses that are in themselves elements for this strategy, we must hear the distant roar of battle” (Foucault, 1995, 308). The battlegrounds of museums are habitually quiet, conflicts often hidden in the back rooms of the archives, the fighters are curators, museum professionals and community members who frequently come up against institutional structures as much as they are in conflict with each other. But the hushed tones of battle do not negate violence.  Museums are complex “tricky” spaces, where reconnections are made to material and immaterial culture that have been “preserved” for the imagination of the colonizer, but still resonate with other stories. The museum speaks in multiple tones; there are stories of historic and continued domination, where the seizure and redisplay of objects of Chapter!Three!Smashing!the!Glass!Box:!Museums!as!Political!Paradox!!! 86!colonialism are not only implicated in, but also instrumentally related to the perpetuation of colonial processes. There are stories of colonial subjects, the colonized and the colonizers, told through the perspective of the powerful. But against this, in varying degrees and in different forms, are stories of fracture, where the museum space is being redeployed as a means to counter and contest formerly hegemonic knowledge. Communities turning away from the single story of colonization not only directly confront logics which seek to incorporate and perpetuate settler colonial domination, often in much more dangerous and subtle permutations, but also turn away from the “educative” purpose of the museum to prioritize their own interests and values. This turning away refuses the discursive presentations made by power, throwing into sharp relief that how the glass boxes set up to disseminate knowledge about the “other” tell more about the colonizers than the colonized. If power is seen as telling stories primarily about the powerful, rather than creating knowledge about the other, then the glass boxes become mirrors. Interjections into the space of the museum may reframe, contest and actively confront the creation of colonized subjectivities, but they also offer a moment of rupture where the coherent narratives of and about the colonized speaks to those privileged in these narratives. Engagements between source communities and museums are not solely “cultural” practices, but political. Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 87!4 “The Spirit Sings”: The Museological Turn to the Colonial Politics of Recognition   The present museological management of aboriginal collections by non-aboriginal peoples in Canada has been heavily influenced by the changing expressions of Canadian nationalism. In the nineteenth century, when most of the native collections in museums were brought together, the act of building Canada involved asserting a nation literally over top of native cultures. There was no room in Canadian nineteenth century nationalism for separate survivals of aboriginal peoples. Just as Canada asserted sovereignty over aboriginal lands, Canada was to assert sovereignty over native peoples’ separate identities and cultures. Deborah Doxtator, 1996, 61 Although primitive accumulation no longer appears to require the openly violent dispossession of Indigenous communities and their entire land and resource base, it does demand that both remain open for exploitation and capitalist development. Glen Coulthard, 2014, 77  Prominent scholar and museum curator Ruth B Phillips argues that museums and public monuments are reflective of political ideologies beyond their walls. “Museums and public monuments, it seems, have come to serve as primary barometers of the manner in which public institutions − and, by association, their governmental sponsors − interpret laws and policies related to cultural diversity” (Phillips, 2011, 4). This continuity with the external political environment is especially relevant in the context of settler colonialism. Despite some critiques of the museum as a national institution21, there have been few sustained examinations of the ways in which museums as authoritative spaces not only reflect, but are also active hubs in a matrix of power/knowledge and thus, implicated in the perpetuation of explicitly settler colonial regimes of power.22  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!21 In museum studies literature, the “nation” as a set of shared cultural ideas and beliefs and the state as a set of institutions are often conflated. In this chapter I follow with this and discuss the nation as the state sanctioned narratives of shared history and belonging.  22 Exceptions include Charlotte Townsend-Gault (2006), Paul Chaat Smith (2013, 2009) and Karen Duffek (2013) Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 88!Foucault argues, “history has never been anything more than the history of power as told by power itself, or the history of power that power had made people tell” (Foucault, 1994, 133). Through this reading of power, engagement in museums is a double-edged sword, and “public displays of any cultural sort, whether by the government, the cultural elite, or activists and resistors to the establishment, are inescapably based on the constructed ideology intended to promote a shared vision of history, identity and heritage” (Thompson 2002, 38). The authority of museums thus helps to shape a range of identities and national narratives (Bennet, 1995; Mackey, 1999; McKean, 2000; Witcomb, 2003). Despite a strong intellectual legacy critiquing asymmetric power relations and the problems of representing the “other,” explicit critiques of the settler colonial politics of recognition, or how the “politics of recognition” work within and as part of settler colonialism, have not been readily taken up within museum studies. However, two lines of critical thought within museums studies reveal the absolute necessity of this analysis. The first argument posits that museums can and should be apolitical disseminators of knowledge, and the second suggests that museums are implicated in the state-sanctioned production of national identity and history.  My analysis speaks to both political theory and critical museum studies. To political theory, following on the first chapter, I argue that the museum is an important site for thinking through the very political iterations of state that continue the project of settler colonial domination through both material and symbolic violence (Bourdieu, 1991). To those who work within critical museum studies I make the explicit connection between two lines of argument in that field. The first posits that museums are “apolitical” in the exercise of a multivocal curatorial mandate (Phillips, 2006, 77; Eaton and Gaskell, 2009). The second argues that museums remain implicated in the creation of state- sanctioned national narratives and discourses. The “apolitical” and multivocal claim made by some museums, especially national and state-funded museums, compliments the colonial politics of recognition when the institutions serve as an authoritative extension of the settler state drive to disenfranchise and marginalize. By locating my critique of the colonial politics of recognition at the nexus of these arguments, I find that aspirations to being an “apolitical” space within a broader context of the colonial politics of recognition actively perpetuates the very power relations that “multivocality” is attempting to disrupt.  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 89!This claim to being an “apolitical” space has two roots – one modern and one post-modern. The first line of argument appeals to Enlightenment ideals of single truth and relies on the authority of the museum to produce and maintain an unchallenged claim to knowledge about an object. McLoughlin articulates this line of thought as a stabilization of meaning through the removal of disruptive contexts and the appeal to “objective” knowledge and on claims to authority of expertise, rationality, neutrality and singularity of meaning (McLoughlin, 1999; Shelton, 2006, 2001). “In making an object one’s own, through its acquisition into a collection, the object is removed from a potentially threatening environment and provided a safe, and seemingly comprehensible meaning” (McLoughlin, 1999, 5).  The second source of the “apolitical” position of the museum has moved away from the claim of a singular “objective” understanding to the presentation of “multivocality.” This second line of argument presumes that the museum is a “blank slate” where audiences can be presented with multiple viewpoints and find their own conclusions. Therefore the museum presents itself as a public “neutral arbiter” of identity claims and the “democratization” of the museum space through the inclusion of multiple voices into a value-neutral space of (re)presentation (Sandell, 2007). The onus is then on audiences to understand and arbitrate the information offered. Shelly Butler anecdotally explains how “viewers will be viewers” and interpret exhibitions according to their own values and positions rather than reflecting impartially on the display of objects at the museum. She asks, “is there a point to critical curating and pedagogy if this is the case? My response is yes, for I think it useful to acknowledge that curating, like teaching, should never be an authoritative exercise that imposes views on others” (Butler, 2000, 82). Thus, those taking up multivocal curation and apolitical museum space advocate for a non-authoratitive practice, where audiences can learn and unlearn according to their own subject positions.  However, the appeal to apolitical multivocality is an underestimation of the legacy of museums as spaces of authoritative knowledge, since the individual subjective power to create, disseminate and transform meaning through inclusion of multiple voices “needs to be held in tension with the symbolic and institutional power of the museum to tell ‘authoritative’ stories of the nation” (McLean & Cooke, 2000, 150). The relationships of Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 90!multivocal viewing and learning take place within and through the particular and historically grounded epistemological authority of museums to discursively and tangibly frame and organize meaning. “National museums, funded by national governments and directed by their appointees, have no choice but to navigate official ideologies and politics” (Phillips, 2011, 213). Apologetically acknowledging the institutional constraints of funding and legislative authority nevertheless severs critical museology from a broader political critique. In museums that hold objects made by Indigenous peoples, the relationship between museum mandate and government financial resources adds another dimension of this authority, both constraining the narratives and permissive of certain kinds of voice. Many critical museum studies highlight that, while curators operate with goals of implementing transgressive and multivocal exhibitions, they are constrained within institutional limits, including procedures, taxonomic legacies, and funding demands. “Museum exhibitions begin with abstract conceptual plans, but they are realized by individuals who must negotiate particular institutional histories, who bring to the table their prior experiences of exhibition development, and who are ultimately answerable to external sponsors and government agencies” (Phillips, 2011, 207).  Recognizing the tension between an argument for “apolitical” spaces and the museum as disseminating state-centred (and funded) histories, some maintain the position that museums simply act as impartial display cabinets for objects, but others argue that “the apolitical-political divide is becoming less certain. This confusion is sustained by a longing for objectivity on the one hand and the realisation that topics and their interpretation are contingent and subjective on the other” (Cameron, 2008, 7). Rather than shying away from the power held by museums by appealing to value neutrality, some have come to embrace the power in museums and take a view of the museum as far more active in the political interests of source communities. However, this is often expressed in terms of a politics of recognition, where the political role of the museum is to better present narratives or histories such that “source communities” may make other claims, such as those to sovereignty and self-determination (Phillips, 2006; Smith, 2007). In the last ten years in museum studies, scholars such as Phillips and Laurajane Smith have come to use the politics of recognition as articulated by Charles Taylor and Nancy Fraser to situate the museums within the broader fields of liberal democratic Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 91!theory and practice. However, these analyses do not offer a critique of the relationship between the politics of recognition and the settler colonial structures that determine the relationship between Indigenous peoples and the state today. Phillips (2006) argues that the “multivocal” approach to the First Peoples Hall at the recently renamed Canadian Museum of History is intended to reflect the “equivalent authorities” of Indigenous and non-Indigenous ways of knowing (77). Phillips and many others advocate for multivocal museum spaces as exemplary of the politics of recognition. However, they do not go on to elucidate the ways that the “equivalent authorities,” while ostensibly value-neutral and upholding a multivocal rhetorical practices, may serve to reproduce the already asymmetric relations of power. This is especially relevant with settler colonial relations of power between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples.  This chapter seeks to fill this analytic void by critiquing the colonial politics of recognition in relation to museological practice. Building on Dene scholar Glen Coulthard’s analysis of the colonial politics of recognition in Canada, I claim that institutional changes in Canadian museums exemplify the move to affirmative and conciliatory forms of domination, or shifting from “wards of the state” to “subjects of recognition” (Coulthard, 2007). I argue the colonial politics of recognition within Canadian museums is part of ongoing settler colonialism in Canada. As such, current museological practice, particularly as it relates to Indigenous objects within museums, must include a critique of the politics of recognition. In forwarding this argument I draw heavily on Coulthard’s book, Red Skin, White Masks (2014). However, I parallel this history of the colonial politics of recognition in Canada with the shifts within museums’ institutional practice and normative orientation. I analyze the shift towards the colonial politics of recognition through the controversial “The Spirit Sings” exhibition in 1988 and the boycott led by the Lubicon Cree that ultimately impelled the creation of the Task Force on Museums and First Peoples.  Beginning from a specific reading of the colonial politics of recognition I argue that by examining the normative shifts in museum practice post 1988, key events (or exhibitions as events) in Canadian museum practice are exemplary of institutionalized shifts towards the colonial politics of recognition. I find that while Indigenous peoples’ land-based actions, specifically that of the Lubicon, inspired major changes within museums in Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 92!Canada, this dissent was incorporated into the nascent but growing turn to the politics of recognition which Coulthard argues has come to define Indigenous-settler relations since the 1996 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (2014). Further, if, as I have argued in the previous chapters, museums are not just reflective of the outside political context, but also constitutive of national narratives and identities and therefore instrumentally related to the political ideologies outside the museum, the absence of this critique of the colonial politics of recognition within museum studies means museum practice may be implicated in the reproduction of these “new” colonial relations. Despite Phillips reading of the “indigenization” of the museum, I find that museums are not only illustrative of the settler colonial politics of recognition but also, through naïve complicity at best and active iteration of settler state interests at worst, play an active role in the settler colonial politics of recognition.  The previous two chapters were primarily theoretical interventions into settler colonialism, providing the language and narratives necessary for understanding the theoretical topography of the following four chapters. In Chapter Two I examined three logics of settler colonialism, arguing that material and symbolic forms of violence are not only mutually implicated, but that these logics operate both in conjunction and contrast with each other, leading to logical aporias within settler colonial logics and practices. Chapter Three argued that museums should be understood as paradoxical spaces. To understand these spaces as solely either reproducing colonial violence or emancipatory reclamation of history and self-recognition is not only unnecessarily reductionist, it also problematically elides the complexity of all practices taking place in and through museum spaces. These first two chapters provide a robust theoretical basis for the remainder of this dissertation, which can be understood as developing case studies that not only exemplify the museum as a paradoxical space, but also work through some of the fractures and aporetic spaces created through the paradoxes in the operation of settler colonialism.  Chapter Four marks a methodological shift away from theoretical engagements with the three logics of settler colonialism and the paradox of museum spaces illustrated by case studies. Instead, I use case study analysis to think through and illuminate the theoretical insights. Chapter Four also marks a theoretical narrowing. Though the Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 93!previous two chapters were a general intervention into settler colonialism, this chapter narrows to a particular contemporary instantiation of settler colonialism, namely the colonial politics of recognition. The colonial politics of recognition operates with both material and psycho-effective modes of domination. Indigenous peoples’ cultural practices, bodies and representations are appropriated into the service of the settler colonial state, maintaining the asymmetric relationships through restorying and eventing of both history and contemporary relationships to Indigenous peoples. The theoretical narrowing to the colonial politics of recognition hones down on the connection between material violence of dispossession and exploitation and symbolic violence inflicted through psychologizing effects. Further, the colonial politics of recognition is related to, and indeed generated by, the logics of appropriation, dispossession and obfuscation. In short, I read the colonial politics of recognition as the most contemporary distillation and iteration of the three logics of settler colonialism, attaining primacy after the 1996 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (Coulthard, 2014). As such, focusing on the colonial politics of recognition as a tactic or practice of settler colonial violence intersects with the  “logic level” practices of colonial domination. Though the colonial politics of recognition most explicitly relates to obfuscation and appropriation, the ends of the relationship is still informed by a fundamental drive towards disappearance of Indigenous peoples.  This chapter makes two key arguments. First, I argue through analysis of “The Spirit Sings,” that shifts in museum policy, and the normative changes that followed from the controversy surrounding the exhibition, are exemplary of the turn towards tactics of accommodation that Coulthard argues underpins the colonial politics of recognition in Canada. Second, I argue that museum studies scholars have begun to uncritically take up this politics of recognition explicitly within their museological analysis. Taken together, this chapter thus finds that not only are museums telling examples of the colonial politics of recognition, but that museologists and curators are seizing on the language of recognition as advocated by Charles Taylor and Nancy Fraser to further implicate museum institutional practice within the accommodating and conciliatory practices of a colonial politics of recognition.  The following portion of the chapter is divided into three sections. The first section provides a brief examination of Coulthard’s critique of a politics of recognition in Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 94!the context of settler colonialism, highlighting the predominance of the colonial politics of recognition post-1996, and the ways that the colonial politics of recognition both perpetuates settler colonial relations of power and actively undermines resistance. In the second section I examine the 1988 “The Spirit Sings: The Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples” exhibition and 1992 Task Force on Museums and First Peoples recommendations as exemplary of a nascent colonial politics of recognition. In the third section I look at three articles in critical museum studies that draw explicitly on the politics of recognition as theorized by political theorists, Nancy Fraser and Charles Taylor. This section is a contiguous critique with case study analysis, substantiating three salient arguments; returning to the Lubicon boycott, I argue that the colonial politics of recognition functions in and through museum spaces by transforming political and land-generated resistance into more easily accommodated cultural forms. Through Laurajane Smith (2007, 2010), Kalliopi Fouseki (2011), and Emma Waterton (2010), I argue that the colonial politics of recognition appeals to the status quo institutions of the state to arbitrate these identity claims. Using Ruth B Phillips (2003, 2013), I argue that narrative change will enhance the position of Indigenous peoples in relation to material inequalities.  Overall in this section I argue that the uptake of the politics of recognition within museum studies is insufficient to address the political and cultural claims being made by Indigenous peoples in and through their interjections into museum spaces and contestation of museological practices. Thus, the uptake of the politics of recognition within museum studies a) works to transform the political claims into more conciliatory narratives of cultural accommodation b) maintains the structures of colonial authority, despite this ostensible shift away from unilateral or “top down” knowledge dissemination c) privileges narrative change without accounting for structural and economic equality. The Colonial Politics of Recognition In order to build my critique of museum practice in Canada as exemplifying the colonial politics of recognition, the first section of this chapter will be an overview of  Coulthard’s 2014 critique of the politics of recognition. Following the protests that condemned the disastrous 1969 White Paper in Canada and in direct response to Indigenous peoples’ actions in the decades following, it has become untenable for settler Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 95!colonial government policies to be explicitly assimilationist, even if policies maintain the aim of settler colonial domination. Replacing the “White Paper” style attempts at disappearance through cultural and legal assimilation policies, Coulthard argues that since at least 1996, recognition has emerged as the “hegemonic expression of self determination within the Indigenous rights movement in Canada” (Coulthard, 2007, 438). This shift towards accommodation is exemplified most clearly through the legal and political recognition of Aboriginal rights and title, and Treaty rights. Beginning from the landmark Calder Case (1973)23 rather than denying Indigenous peoples rights and title in order to maintain the status quo of settler colonial statehood, limited recognition and accommodation of rights reconciles Indigenous peoples’ presence with the presumed status quo of Canadian state sovereignty.  This shift towards a politics of recognition within government policy and practice has a genesis in the discipline of political theory. According to Coulthard, much of the intellectual labour around the politics of recognition has focused on the relationship between the institutional accommodation of collective difference, and the freedom and autonomy of individuals. Key theorists of the politics of recognition are united by their adherence to the relational or intersubjective understanding of identity formation. Jakeet Singh (2014) describes two approaches to recognition and self-determination, either from “above” or “below,” where the “top down” approach is largely through state-centred means, and the “bottom up” is through counter-hegemonic social movement practice. The strategies for this reconciliation range from narrative or symbolic shifts in understandings of both self and other, changes in economic goods or “redistribution” and/or shifts in institutional practices that recognize and accommodate group differences.  Though theorists of recognition offer different means and strategies for intersubjective recognition, they are dedicated to the diagnosis of social conflict caused by “misrecognition” and the normative aim of recognition as the solution. This teleology has been taken up in the field of political theory as a means to both recognize and articulate subjective and societal difference without giving up on the individual rights and state sovereignty at the root of the liberal democracy. For example, Charles Taylor thinks through the shift in Canadian politics from a “bi-cultural” French and English national !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!23 Calder v British Columbia (AG) (1973) S.C.R 313, (1973) 4 W.W.R 1 Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 96!identity to a more robustly multicultural nation. When advocating a multicultural political and social imaginary, it is both possible and necessary to reconcile group difference with individual claims to freedom. Difference, when upheld as a cultural right, can be reconciled with the effective functioning of liberal democracies predicated on the assumption of state sovereignty and the legitimate authority of state institutions. Thus, for Taylor, the politics of recognition is the means to navigate this reconciliation. Coulthard (2014) argues that the politics of recognition maintains the founding and continued violence of settler colonialism through the elimination of Indigenous peoples and exploitation and access to their land and resources. He goes on to illustrate the risks that engaging within the colonial politics of recognition have, including by drawing on Fanon, the threat that the colonized may come to identify with the conditions and structures of their own domination.  The politics of recognition do not perpetuate settler colonial relations of domination because of an incorrect diagnosis of the “problem.” The unilaterally imposed creation of “colonial subjectivities” through narrative misrecognition, asymmetric locations in structures of domination, and material inequalities, does cause social and individual psychological and material damages. However, when reading the politics of recognition in the context of settler colonialism, the variant solutions to misrecognition maintain the founding violence of Canada’s sovereignty and continue the project of land appropriation and “elimination.” Conceptualizing recognition as something to be “granted” by the dominant group (in this case the Canadian state) Coulthard argues, “prefigures its failure to significantly modify, let alone transcend, the breadth of power at play in colonial relationships” (Coulthard, 2014, 31). Thus, recognition is implicated in the settler colonial drive to stabilize the status quo of hierarchical relations of power between settler and Indigenous peoples.  Following Fanon’s critique of Hegelian master/slave dialectic, Coulthard argues that the politics of recognition, through intersubjective relationships of domination, produces and maintains colonial domination. He locates the colonial politics of recognition in a shift from the “unconcealed structure of domination to a mode of colonial governmentality that works through limited freedoms afforded by state recognition” (Coulthard, 2014, 16). Settler colonial power relations have shifted away from violence of Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 97!domination and force (though this still demonstrably occurs), and manifests more frequently through the affirmative relationship between recognition and freedom which produces “colonized subjects” and “the production of the specific modes of colonial thought, desire and behaviour that implicitly or explicitly commit the colonized to the types of practices and subject positions that are required for their continued domination” (Coulthard, 2014, 16). In other words, there is a significant shift from the explicit forms of violence against Indigenous Nations to the more subtle operations of power in and through the shift from state policies, techniques and ideologies “explicitly oriented around the genocidal exclusion/assimilation double, to one that is reproduced through a seemingly more conciliatory set of discourses and institutional practices and institutional practices that emphasize our recognition and accommodation” (Coulthard, 2014, 6). The intended ends of the politics of recognition is to establish just relations, but instead, these conciliatory discourses are actually the condition of possibility for settler colonial injustices and violences that extend far beyond Taylor’s diagnosis of poor “self-esteem.”24 The dispossession of land and continued extraction of resources is not predicated on problems of “misrecognition,” but rather, the colonial politics of recognition serves the ends of “elimination.” “Instead of ushering in an era of peaceful coexistence grounded on the ideal of reciprocity or mutual recognition, the politics of recognition in its contemporary liberal form promises to reproduce the very configurations of colonialist, racist, patriarchal state power that Indigenous peoples’ demands for recognition have historically sought to transcend” (Coulthard, 2014, 3).  “The Spirit Sings”: Museum Change as the Colonial Politics of Recognition I trace this shift to the “conciliatory” configurations of settler colonial power in the form of the colonial politics of recognition through a genealogy of museum practice. “The !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!24 Elizabeth Povinelli argues that a similar shift occurred in Australia, moving from “assimilation to self-determination to reconciliation” (2002, 2). She states “the generative power of liberal forms of recognition derives not merely from the performative difficulties of recognition but also from something that sociologists and philosophers have called moral sensibility” (2002, 4). Povinelli goes on to make a cutting critique of liberal multiculturalism and Australian collective nationalism in the way that multicultural domination works by “inspiring subaltern and minority subjects to identify with the impossible object of an authentic self-identity” (2002, 6).  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 98!Spirit Sings”(1988) exhibition is a critical moment of reform in the history of Canadian museum practice, marked in the living memory and intellectual history of most who study Canadian museums. According to Phillips, “virtually all writers on museums and Indigenous peoples have positioned The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples as the point of departure for the postcolonial project of museum reform” (2006, 48). Cherokee museologist Karen Coody Cooper states “the exhibition was a watershed for North American Indian/museum relationships. Had it not been for the Lubicon boycott which drew worldwide attention and created a call for action to which Canada responded in an enlightening fashion while the world watched, positive changes in policy and practice regarding First Nations (and, quite likely, indigenous people throughout the world) would have been, I believe, slower to come and not as extensive” (2007, 27).  The exhibition itself has been critiqued extensively from numerous angles, including curatorial content, use of sacred objects, presentation style and lack of consultation with source communities. But it has also been defended as expanding knowledge about previously under-researched museum collections, upholding the academic and intellectual freedom of the museum and reopening the museum institution as a site of research rather than solely of display (Harrison, 1993). Phillips argues that the extensive focus on “The Spirit Sings” has transformed it into an “event” rather than an exhibition, and it is analyzed without the background necessary for understanding the depth and complexity of a museum exhibit (2006). Rather than shying away from the “event” that was “The Spirit Sings,” the following section analyses this exhibition as a key moment that instigated a number of other changes in Canadian museum practices. Through this reading I argue that, rather than signaling the “postcolonial project” of museums, “The Spirit Sings” exhibition and the institutional responses can be read as the nascent colonial politics of recognition in Canada. “The Spirit Sings” opened at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary in 1988 to coincide with the Winter Olympics. The stated intention was to celebrate the richness of Aboriginal cultures and educate the public. The exhibition attempted to fulfill this mandate by presenting more than 650 objects from ninety national and international collections. Collection materials, the bulk of which are held by museums outside of Canada, included items from First Nations across Canada, including the now “extinct” Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!! 99!Beothuk.25 As such, the aim of “The Spirit Sings” was framed as inviting “travellers” to return home after 300 years away. “As early as 1668, they had left to tell the “Old” World of another, to act as witness to the expanding dominion of these explorers they travelled with” (McLoughlin, 1999, 3). While many welcomed the temporary return of objects from museums around the world and the exhibition funded unprecedented research into international museum collections, the exhibition was deeply critiqued and questioned for narratives presented and the institutional choices that preceded the exhibition display.  The exhibition controversy began in 1986, three years after research had started and two years before its intended opening. While the cultural objects ostensibly declared “the continuity, and the adaptability and resilience of the Indian and Inuit cultures of Canada” (Harrison, 1988a, 7) the exhibition was critiqued for the homogenizing presentation of diverse nations that ultimately placed Indigenous peoples as part of a historic community rather than contemporary presence, and the glaring absence of any mention of colonialism in Canada.   Within their narrative were painful silences, powerful absences. They were not asked to speak of the disruption and extinction, the change or the loss, that was evident on their return. Their invitation specified public homecoming stories of a culture that flourished centuries ago, but demanded silence on their subsequent travels and the circumstances that had led to their leaving (McLoughlin, 1999, 3).  The deep dissent aimed towards the exhibition made these “painful silences” impossible to ignore. Especially effective was the international boycott sponsored by the Lubicon Cree First Nation. The boycott struck a rift within the museum community, with many colleagues falling on opposite sides of the debate. The Canadian Ethnology Society (now the Canadian Anthropological Society), organizations such as the World Council of Churches, and the European Parliament supported the boycott. Twelve of the lending institutions out of 110 rescinded their loan agreements. The key reason behind this boycott was the Glenbow’s decision to have Shell Oil, which has been drilling since the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!25 One reviewer in the Edmonton Journal described this painful inclusion by asking “What manner of pride can be taken from this? It is as though the Berlin Olympics had put on a display of Jewish religious objects to celebrate the diversity and pluralism of German culture” (Hume, 1988, p B1 cited in McLoughlin, 1999, 9).  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!100!1950s in Lubicon territory as the sole corporate sponsors of the exhibition. Shell Canada Limited contributed $1.1 million to the $2.6 million budget, the rest of the funding coming from non-corporate sponsorship, including the Canadian Government. The Lubicon- sponsored protests capitalized on the international audience focused on Calgary during the Olympics, leading to a wider uptake of the call to action lead by the Lubicon.26 Indeed, the difference in the events in 1988 was not that the exhibition reiterated the tropes of disappearance that had been definitive of museum curatorial practice for many years, but that dissent inspired by these land-based actions actually seemed to instigate some change within the museum communities, both inside and outside of the Glenbow Museum itself. In response to the numerous and pointed critiques, the Glenbow placed the following statement at the entrance to “The Spirit Sings”: The importance and the reality of continuity in the cultures of Canada’s Native Peoples is integral to the exhibition, The Spirit Sings. Consistent with that principle, the participants in the exhibition, listed below, express their hope for an expeditious and just resolution of all Canadian Native land claims, and the related issues of compensation, self-determination and self-government (Quoted in Harrison, 1993, 342)  Though this was a small concession to acknowledge contemporary political contexts, only thirty-five of the lending institutions decided to put their names on the statement.  Outside the Glenbow Museum, Bruce Trigger resigned from his honourary position as curator of ethnology at the McCord Museum (Montreal) when the institution did not join the boycott, reasoning that it was an “obscenity for a company to do this to a living people.” Despite the Glenbow’s director advising the National Museum of Denmark that a refusal to lend would be interpreted as “interference in the internal affairs of Canada” (McLoughlin, 1999, 11), the National Museum of Denmark withdrew support, citing tense political situations and concern for the safety of the loan material (JD Harrison, 1993, 326). The International Council of Museums responded by passing a resolution calling on museums to not exhibit cultural material without the consent of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!26 Iroquoian Nations also rallied to have a sacred mask removed from display after they filed an injunction to the Queens Bench against the Glenbow. However, the mask was only removed from display during the two-week injunction. The precedent to display this mask was based on prior negotiations with the Iroquois False Face Society Faith Keepers which indicated the display of the mask would not be breaking any protocol or causing offense (Harrison, 1993, 340). Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!101!source communities involved. The resolution stated: “Museums, which are engaged in activities relating to living ethnic groups, should whenever possible, consult with the appropriate members of those groups.”27 Though The International Committee for Museums of Ethnography, and the International Council of Museums denied that the resolution was in reference to the Lubicon boycott, the Lubicon and several institutions used the resolution to justify rescinding or not participating in the loan program. While this was a normative move that was not implemented by all member museums, the acknowledgement of contemporary source community interests in “historic” collections was unprecedented.  There were two lines of defense for the exhibition: the first was to divide between “social responsibility” and “political action” and the second to claim the modern idea of the museum as an apolitical institution of knowledge production and dissemination as discussed earlier. For the former, Harrison stated, “in its organization of the Spirit Sings Glenbow undertook to be socially responsible rather than be politically active, to advocate a better and wider understanding of a solution of a situation rather than one particular solution to it” (1988c, 19). Rather than denying the ways in which museums are implicated in the politics outside of their walls, Harrison focused on the social rather than the political to guard against “pressure group” interests in museum curation. “While it may be legitimate to mount political action around any activity of a public institution, it would destroy the credibility of those institutions if they were forced to espouse the political causes of one pressure group after another” (Harrison, 1993, 343). Thus, defenders of the Glenbow acknowledged that the institution had “social responsibility” but stopped short of articulating that responsibility as advocacy or political action. Further to this appeal to the “social” rather than the political was a call to recognize the authority of the museum in apolitical knowledge generation. “It was argued by the Glenbow, and many supporters within the museum community, that the boycott amounted to an attempted suppression of academic freedoms of speech and representation” (McLoughlin, 1999, 10). Michael Ames, in defense of the exhibition, stated that the Lubicon boycott “was an act of political repression disguised as political advocacy and it displaced the responsibility for the Lubicon situation upon those who !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!27 Resolution 11, International Council of Museums 15th Annual Conference Proceedings, 1986 Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!102!were not empowered to change it” (1988, 16). Like the dichotomy between socially responsible versus politically active, the defense of “academic freedoms of speech and representation” appealed to the perception of a museum as a value neutral institution in which audiences enter to form their own opinions and identities. While Harrison and those who advocated the modern “neutrality” of the museum to present multiple viewpoints were attempting to distinguish the museum as an institution of objective knowledge from a role of political advocacy, in effect this reinforced a status quo production of hegemonic knowledge. In the structural relationship of settler colonialism, the current operation of power/knowledge is not neutral, but actively displaces Indigenous peoples from their lands.    In response to the protests and Lubicon boycott, in 1988 The Canadian Museums Association and the Assembly of First Nations held a colloquium at Carleton University in Ottawa titled “Preserving Our Heritage: A Working Conference Between Museums and First Peoples.” From this the Task Force on Museums and First Peoples was established in 1989, which consisted of more than twenty-five museum professionals as well as members of Indigenous communities across Canada.28 The Task Force Report (1992) contains a set of recommendations that were not “statutory” but provided a moral and ethical guideline for change within the institutions. “In many cases the report summarizes the current best practices of individual museums and their relationships with First Peoples. However, some of the recommendations represent a major challenge to current museological practice” (Herle, 1994, 41). There were three key areas for targeted improvements identified by the Task Force: increased involvement of Aboriginal people in the interpretation of their cultures, repatriation of artefacts and human remains, and improved access to museum collections. The Task Force Report acknowledged historical roots of inequality, urged cooperation to remedy the current situation, and emphasized the skill and necessity for Indigenous peoples to speak for themselves. Unlike NAGPRA, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!28 List of Task Force Members are: Tom Hill (co-chair), Trudy Nicks (co-chair), Henri Dorion, Joanna Bedard, Andrea LaForet, Gloria Canmer Webster, Michael Ames, Miriam Clavir, Robert Janes, Carol Geddes, Katharine Pettipas, Donna Augustine, Bob McGhee, Gerald McMaster, Nicholas Deleary, Dorothy Daniels, Bill Byrne, Cathy Martin, Alex Greyeyes, Marie Routledge, Ruth Phillips, Linda Jules, Chuck Arnold, David Miller, Nancy Hall, Lize Thunder, Karen Issacs, John McAvity, Lance Belanger, Lee Ann Martin (1992).  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!103!an US Federal Act to provide for the protection of Native American graves,29 the Task Force recommendations were primarily normative rather than legislative or judicial. Adherence to the Task Force recommendations remains fairly widespread but ad hoc and without the support of a legal act, leaving communities in Canada to rely on normative influences to enforce adhesion to the Task Force recommendations. Despite this, the Task Force recommendations have been upheld as a high standard for relations between museums and source communities. “The task force process and its report thus excited widespread interest and proved to have enduring value. It has provided a model both as a process of response and a set of recommended practices that have influenced the work of museums in Australia, Europe and elsewhere in important ways” (Phillips, 2006, 13).   Following the Task Force findings and recommendations, there were clear changes within museum communities and practices. Many museums not only responded to requests from source communities but have also begun actively seeking out “source community” voices to integrate into display texts and exhibition curation, iterating the postmodern shift in museological practice towards multivocality within display and curation. “Most curatorial staff now view the incorporation of alternative viewpoints in the display and management of museum collections as a learning opportunity with significant benefits. In some instances a multi-vocal approach has been used as a practical way of incorporating differing viewpoints” (Herle, 1994, 46). Listening to communities of origin, their requests and understandings of objects, and the active integration of community voice into new curation has certainly been an important part of post-1988 norm changes. Thus, the Task Force can be located as the moment where there was a significant shift towards to a new “normative” benchmark where community consultation and guidance would be at the foundation of source community/museum relationships.  The 1994 Symposium in International Indigenous Curatorship at the University of Victoria responded to the Task Force Recommendations and the resultant shifts away from the exclusion of Indigenous voices and ownership towards the more conciliatory multivocality in museum practice. Emmanuel Arinze and Alissandra Cummins stated, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!29 Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), Pub. L. 101-601, 25 U.S.C. 3001 et seq., 104 Stat. 3048, enacted the 16th November 1990. This act requires institutions that receive federal funding to return cultural and heritage materials to lineal descendants, culturally affiliated tribes and Native Hawaiian organizations. See King (2011), Archuleta (2005), Bruning (2006) and Collins (2004).   Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!104!“the salt of this symposium should be our acceptance of the loud testimony of the worth, intelligence and superiority of our indigenous people in handling their affairs and presenting their heritage in their own perspective (Cummins & Arinze, 1996, 5). Tom Hill, Onkwehon:weh director from the Conadah Seneca Band and Director of the Woodland Indian Cultural Education Centre responded to the panel on the first day by stating “here in Canada, we have made some significant advances in trying to lay the foundations of accommodating indigenous perspectives” (Hill, 1996, 25)  However, the limitations of this notion of “co-ownership” and “accommodation” were critiqued from the outset, with Mohawk curator and scholar Deborah Doxtator underscoring what I argue to be the nascent shift towards a critique of the colonial politics of recognition.  The Task Force calls for a new and equal partnership between museums and native peoples. The recommendations, however, generally re-ascribe most of the responsibility—and position of power—to non-native museums, who must out of moral compunction involve aboriginal people by allowing them access to museum collections. Aboriginal peoples are given a somewhat passive role in these recommendations (Doxtator, 1994, 63). Lee-Ann Martin, then interim curator at the Canadian Museum of Civilization, remarked on her discomfort in the title of one of the presentations:  “Aboriginal People Need to Be in Control of Their Own Culture” still indicates the deep power imbalances that preclude Indigenous peoples from being at the forefront of their own heritage control and presentation. “To me, it should be, “Our Own Culture.” I feel that non-aboriginal people hear us say something and then they borrow it and use it (1994, 27).  Both Doxtator and Martin highlighted some of the more subtle operations of asymmetric power, which were smuggled into the ostensible reforms inspired by the Task Force recommendations. Doxtator pointed to both the passive role that Aboriginal peoples were given as consultants, and the rather toothless moral compunction that was meant to regulate the interactions between source communities and museums. Martin located this subtlety within the conference itself, asking to be re-centered in a more substantive way in conversations about ownership and control.  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!105!While the Task Force recommendations attempted to address and redress the decentering of Indigenous peoples from their own histories, Doxtator’s analysis only two years after the release of the documents already gestures towards the growing colonial politics of recognition in museums. She highlighted the way that limited and non-transformative incorporation of Indigenous voice and presence in museums maintains the status quo of the state monopoly on “symbolic power” (Bourdieu, 1989, 23). For Doxtator, this idea of partnership has not resolved the basic issues of access to and control over cultural objects, because it is a partnership directed by Canadian museums assuming responsibility… This is borne out by the fact that most major Canadian museums for the past twenty years have publically committed themselves to the idea of involving native peoples as consultants, have made serious attempts to honour the culturally prescribed ways of caring for religious artifacts and have removed skeletal remains and culturally sensitive materials from display, but native people still do not have the objects or information they need (1994, 64). Thus, I argue that the Task Force recommendations are part of a normative shift to the politics of recognition that moves away from the modern idea of the museum as a space of apolitical knowledge but retains the asymmetric relationship between museums and Indigenous communities. The shift articulated by the Task Force Report in answer to the Lubicon Boycott found that the problem within Canadian museological practice was that misrecognition and misrepresentation was underpinned by the exclusion of Indigenous peoples from exhibitions and museums more broadly in terms of internships, board membership and curation. Echoing the framing of the relationship between Indigenous peoples and the Canadian state as articulated by Dale Turner (2007), the response to this exclusion was to more effectively include Indigenous peoples’ voices and perspectives. In short, the Task Force Report focused on increasing Indigenous peoples’ voices and agency within the institutions. However, as Coulthard (45, 2014) clearly argues in his response to Turner, the effective inclusion of Indigenous peoples’ voice and presences into institutions that substantively undercut the sovereignty of Indigenous peoples does not transform the colonial relations, but reiterates the structural relations of settler colonial power.  Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!106!Given the institutional response to the radical critiques of the Lubicon in the form of cultural accommodation, the Task Force can be read as the pivotal moment in the shift from the confrontational suppression to the more conciliatory forms of accommodation and recognition. However, the conciliatory forms of recognition undercut the radical critiques being made in and through museums. The Lubicon boycott was not solely about objects being held in museums without consultation with the Indigenous communities they represented, but against the complicit relationship between the Glenbow museum and Shell Oil, which was actively dispossessing the Lubicon from their traditional territories. The Task Force response, limited though it was in the eyes of Doxtator and Martin, also served to partially recognize the Indigenous peoples’ cultural claims for inclusion and recognition at the expense of their political claims. Coulthard argues that the 40 years of political change in the Denendeh have resulted in “a partial decoupling of Indigenous “cultural” claims from radical aspirations for social, political and economic change that once underpinned them” (2014, 19). He argues that this decoupling should be understood as an effect of primitive accumulation, not a deficiency in Indigenous cultural politics (2014, 20). I would argue that the same effect occurs with the partial recognition of cultural claims through this museological transformation. When recognizing and accommodating the cultural claims to recognition through the Task Force and shifts in museum policy, the effect was to decouple the Lubicon’s political and cultural claims. When the Lubicon originally protested against the exhibition it was directed at the connection between this exhibition and the continued exploitation of their lands by settler corporate interests, in particular Shell Oil. The Lubicon were connecting their cultural claims to their dispossession from territory. Though it is possible to argue that the Lubicon where using the 1988 Olympics to strategically bring more attention to their strictly legal and political claims against the Canadian state, they did so through the confrontation of museological norms and practice, linking the two together. It was the partial recognition and accommodation in the form of shifts in Canadian museological practice that caused the detachment of the political and cultural claims, not an insufficiency in the Lubicon’s protest.   Thus, to reiterate, though the operating norms of Canadian museums changed in response to the boycott, these shifts were limited, not only in terms of the museological Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!107!practice, but also limited in terms of redressing the political claims of the Lubicon. As Doxtator argued in 1994, the shift in the inclusion of Indigenous voices into museum display does not significantly change the power relations within museums where museological standards of preservation and ownership maintain precedent. Moreover, this limited accommodation detached the Lubicon’s cultural claims from their political claims. In other words, the cultural problems of inclusion and access to heritage were redressed while the political claims of sovereignty and access to land remain unacknowledged. When placed within the context of wider cultural politics, such decoupling serves to neutralize more radical political and transformative claims in favour of cultural recognition and accommodation. In other words, settler colonialism, driven by the aims of dispossession and elimination, results in the decoupling of political and cultural politics in order to privilege the cultural in such a way as to neutralize the deeply transformative political claims of Indigenous nationhood. Situating Indigenous peoples’ claims for recognition within the project of liberal multicultural recognition then entrenches the position of the Canadian state as legitimate sovereign entity and the institutional forms as the valid modes of collective identity arbitration and regulation. This prefiguring effectively undercuts meaningful transformative recognition in favour of maintaining the status quo of state and institutional forms and practices. The following section will make the theoretical connection between the uptake of the politics of recognition within museum theory and practice and the practice of settler colonialism more explicit.  The Colonial Politics of Recognition: Fraser and Taylor in the Museum As examined at the opening of this chapter, museological practices in Canada have shifted away from value neutrality and the apolitical dissemination of knowledge to being viewed as active hubs in the power/knowledge matrix (Bennett, 1990, 1994; Brown & Davis-Brown, 1998). More than just recognizing power and authority to share and disseminate information, some curators are highlighting the ways that museums can play an active role in the explicitly political interests of source communities. Metaphorically, this shift would be akin to changing the Glenbow’s institutional response to the 1986 Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!108!Lubicon boycott from rebuttal to actively seeking to situate the museum as a platform for Lubicon political actions. For example, Laurajane Smith connects control over culture and heritage to other “equity based” claims.  She says “conflicts over the control of heritage objects and places may be understood to occur in an arena where the symbolic recognition of the legitimacy of indigenous identity claims diffuses out to inform and validate other claims to equity based on claims to cultural identity, cultural knowledge and experiences” (Smith, 2007, 160, emphasis added). This explicitly politicized view remains rooted in a politics of recognition that gives authority to museums to advocate for political transformation of knowledge, and acknowledge and represent diversity in order to meet the ends of source community interests (Sandell, 2002, 2007; Watson, 2007; Witcomb, 2003). Thus, it is through the politicization of the museum that an explicitly articulated “politics of recognition” has been taken up within museum studies in recent years. Though many obliquely reference the potential role of museums in forwarding the interests of source communities, the following section will analyze three explicit examples of the use of the “politics of recognition” within museum studies. Two articles by Laurajane Smith and Emma Waterton, and Smith and Kalliopi Fouseki, “The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage,” and “The Role of Museums as “Places of Social Justice” respectively, explicitly take up Nancy Fraser’s iteration of the politics of recognition in museum spaces in order to fulfill responsibilities to source communities and resolve “status inequality.” Comparably, Phillips situates much of her recent work in alignment with Charles Taylor. Thus, Phillips, Smith, Waterton and Foeseki position the museum as site and institution which can address the problem of misrecognition, without fully considering if such politics might be substantiating settler colonial structures of power. The following section looks at the implications of this oversight in continuing the colonial politics of recognition in museum spaces.  First are two articles by Waterton and Smith, and Smith and Fouseki who take up the “politics of recognition” via Nancy Fraser as a means to critique the authority of elites to define access to heritage resources (Waterton & Smith, 2010), and illustrate the relationship between symbolic misrecognition and material inequalities (Smith & Fouseki, 2011). However, I argue that in both articles the use of Fraser ultimately limits their critical and normative goals for museological practice because the substantive theories of Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!109!recognition that Fraser herself offers are unable to adequately address the structures of settler colonialism (Coulthard, 2014). Smith and Waterton argue that, following Fraser, “the heritage sector is dominated by a particular notion of community, one that overlooks the fact that representations of reality can have powerful effects on any group under construction (Waterton & Smith, 2010, 9). To this end they find that ‘status inequality’ results in communities and individuals being included in control over heritage resources. They go on to argue that “Western Authorized Heritage Discourses” mean that “real life communities are not only misrecognized but misrepresentations of identity become institutionalized in the heritage process” (Waterton & Smith, 2010, 12). They read “parity of participation” as being hindered by economic maldistribution, misrecognition and political misrepresentation, but focus on the “cultural” ways in which “status inequality” hinders access to heritage resources. They argue that “community or group identity becomes the object of regulation through heritage management processes” (Waterton & Smith, 2010, 12). Resultantly, a range of people suffer from status inequality and are unable to intervene in their own heritage narratives or resources. Waterton and Smith attempt to solve the problem of the asymmetric and unilateral definition of “community” which excludes some groups from participating in the display of their own heritage. In short, they are critiquing British heritage institutions for caring only, or at least primarily, about the heritage of white middle-class British symbols. However, by appealing to Fraser’s status model they are underestimating the strength of their own critique. They argue for the confrontation and redress of the ways that “communities of expertise have been placed in a position that regulates and assesses the relative worth of other communities of interest… ‘other’ communities, therefore, have endured a less than equal footing from which to make claims about their past, their heritage and their self-image” (Waterton & Smith, 2010, 13). Though ostensibly critiquing the colonized “other” as one of the communities who have endured a less than equal footing, they have missed the ways that the politics of recognition, as articulated by Fraser, reproduces the practices of settler colonial asymmetry by appealing to an ostensibly neutral arbiter (such as the court system) to determine and remedy status equality. While critically unpacking the definition of “community” as it comes to exclude certain individuals and groups, appealing to Fraser concurrently calls for the same Chapter!Four!“The!Spirit!Sings”:!The!Museological!Turn!to!the!Colonial!Politics!of!Recognition!!!110!institutions (namely the state) that are causing “status inequality” to then moderate the outcome. In short, while they use Fraser to critique the inequality of access that some communities have to defining their own culture and heritage, Fraser’s solution of better integration into the institutions that structurally impede this participation is inadequate in the context of settler colonialism. A