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Spectacle, spectrality, and the everyday : settler colonialism, Aboriginal alterity, and inclusion in… Baloy, Natalie J. K. 2014

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      SPECTACLE, SPECTRALITY, AND THE EVERYDAY:  SETTLER COLONIALISM, ABORIGINAL ALTERITY,  AND INCLUSION IN VANCOUVER   by   NATALIE J. K. BALOY   B.A. Honours, Eastern Michigan University, 2006 M.A., The University of British Columbia, 2008     A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES  (Anthropology)     THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)    April 2014  © Natalie J. K. Baloy, 2014  ii  Abstract  This dissertation examines everyday social relations in the settler colonial city of Vancouver. Its contemporary ethnographic focus updates and reworks historical and political analyses that currently comprise the growing body of scholarship on settler colonialism as a distinct socio-political phenomenon. I investigate how non-Aboriginal residents construct and relate to Aboriginal alterity. The study is situated in three ethnographic sites, united by their emphasis on “including” the Aboriginal Other: (1) the 2010 Winter Olympics, which featured high-profile forms of Aboriginal participation (and protest); (2) the Mount Pleasant public library branch, which displays a prominent Aboriginal collection and whose staff works closely with the urban Aboriginal community; and (3) BladeRunners, an inner-city construction program that trains and places Aboriginal street youth in the local construction industry. Participants in this research include non-Aboriginal “inclusion workers” as well as non-Aboriginal patrons at the library, construction workers on a BladeRunners construction placement site, and audiences at Aboriginal Olympic events. I explore how my participants’ affective knowledges shape and are shaped by spatial and racializing processes in the emergent settler colonial present. My analysis reveals how everyday encounters with Aboriginal alterity are produced and experienced through spectacular representations and spectral (or haunting) Aboriginal presence, absence, and possibility in the city. In relation to inclusion initiatives, I argue that discourses of Aboriginal inclusion work to manage and circumscribe Aboriginal difference even as they enable interaction across difference. Ultimately, I suggest that social projects aimed at addressing Aboriginal marginality and recognition must actively engage with and critique non-Aboriginal ideologies, discourses, and practices around racialization, meaning-making, and settler privilege, while working within and against a spectacular and spectralized milieu. This research demonstrates how critical ethnography can be leveraged productively to analyse settler participation in the reproduction and transformation of the colonial project.     iii  Preface  This research was approved by the UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board: Certificate Number H09-03044; Principal Investigator: Dr. Jennifer Kramer   iv  Table of Contents  Abstract .................................................................................................................................................. ii Preface ................................................................................................................................................... iii Table of Contents ................................................................................................................................. iv List of Figures ....................................................................................................................................... vi Acknowledgements ............................................................................................................................. vii Dedication ............................................................................................................................................. xi Chapter 1: Introduction ....................................................................................................................... 1 Othering Aboriginality and Including the Aboriginal Other ............................................................... 5 Unsettling Social Locations ............................................................................................................... 10 Spectacle, Spectrality, and the Everyday ........................................................................................... 19 Spectacle ....................................................................................................................................... 20 Spectrality ..................................................................................................................................... 26 The “Everyday” ............................................................................................................................ 32 Chapter 2: Including Encounters – Fieldwork in the Interstices of Settler Colonial Vancouver  .............................................................................................................................................................. 35 Introduction ....................................................................................................................................... 35 Ethnographic Influences: Site Selection and Methodological Practice ............................................. 36 “The World’s Biggest Potlatch”: Spectacular Anthropology ............................................................ 38 Working Relationships: BladeRunners .............................................................................................. 48 Aboriginal Titles: Mount Pleasant Library and Urban Aboriginal Community Development ......... 59 Locally Multi-Sited Ethnography: Encounters and Discursive Practices in Settler Colonial Middle Grounds ............................................................................................................................................. 70 Conclusion ......................................................................................................................................... 74 Chapter 3: Spectacular and Spectral Spaces .................................................................................... 77 Introduction ....................................................................................................................................... 77 Stanley Park ....................................................................................................................................... 80 From Xwayxway to Stanley Park: Indigenous “Squatters” on Park Lands .................................. 86 Stanley Park’s Totem Poles: “Indigeneity Got from Elsewhere” ................................................. 88 From Stanley Park to Xwayxway: Re-Indigenizing the Landscape ............................................. 92 The A/Effects of Renaming vs. “Just Colours” ............................................................................ 94 The Downtown Eastside .................................................................................................................. 100 A “Photogenic Spectacle”: Drive-by Encounters and Mechanisms of Marginalization ............. 103 Haunting Encounters ................................................................................................................... 105 Resisting Representations and Other Processes of Reckoning ................................................... 108 Conclusion ....................................................................................................................................... 112 Chapter 4: Olympic (G)hosts ........................................................................................................... 115 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 115 Setting the Stage: Spectacles of Aboriginality, Spectres of Indigeneity ......................................... 116 Four Host First Nations on Stolen Native Land .............................................................................. 118 Olympic Aboriginalia ...................................................................................................................... 126 Spectacles and Spectres within the Generalized Spectacle: Aboriginal Olympic Performances .... 135 The 2010 Olympics Opening Ceremony: The Same Old Song and Dance? ................................... 140 Conclusion ....................................................................................................................................... 157 Chapter 5: Inclusion at Work .......................................................................................................... 159 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 159 v  Laying the Foundation ..................................................................................................................... 160 Rugged Individuals .......................................................................................................................... 167 Always a BladeRunner and/or Just One of the Guys ....................................................................... 175 Conclusion ....................................................................................................................................... 181 Chapter 6: Aboriginal Alterity and its (Dis)contents..................................................................... 182 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 182 Uncanny Alterity in a Settler Colonial Nation ................................................................................. 183 Defining Relationships .................................................................................................................... 188 Collecting Difference....................................................................................................................... 198 Shelving Aboriginality..................................................................................................................... 205 Conclusion ....................................................................................................................................... 213 Chapter 7: Coffee Table Books, Souvenirs, and a Bit of Guilt ..................................................... 215 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 215 Coffee Table Books ......................................................................................................................... 221 Souvenirs ......................................................................................................................................... 229 A Bit of Guilt ................................................................................................................................... 235 Conclusion ....................................................................................................................................... 245 Chapter 8: Conclusion ...................................................................................................................... 248 Spectacle, Spectrality, and the Everyday: Strengths and Contributions .......................................... 248 Shifting the Gaze: “Them” and/or “Us”? ........................................................................................ 253 “Our Homes on Native Land?” ................................................................................................... 254 “We’re not Aboriginal!” ............................................................................................................. 255 “For some rich white family, or for Aboriginal people themselves?” ........................................ 258 Implications and Taking Turns ........................................................................................................ 263 Bibliography ...................................................................................................................................... 270     vi  List of Figures  Figure 1: Map of Downtown Vancouver,  showing Aboriginal Pavilion location .............................. 41 Figure 2: Map of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside,  showing BladeRunners office .......................... 49 Figure 3: Map of Northeast Burnaby, showing BladeRunners  construction placement site ............ 53 Figure 4: Map of Mount Pleasant, showing Mount Pleasant library branch ..................................... 59 Figure 5: Composite map of my field sites ........................................................................................... 71 Figure 6: Map of Stanley Park, showing totem poles,  Xwayxway/Lumberman's Arch, and Klahowya Village.................................................................................................................................. 83 Figure 7: Stanley Park totem poles ...................................................................................................... 84 Figure 8: Ilanaaq, official emblem of the 2010 Winter Olympics ...................................................... 128 Figure 9: Official mascots of the 2010 Winter Olympics ................................................................... 129 Figure 10: Official silver medal of the 2010 Winter Olympics .......................................................... 132 Figure 11: Designers Stuart Iwasaki and Debra Sparrow with the official jersey of the Canadian Olympic hockey team, featuring Debra Sparrow's design in the maple leaf ................................... 133 Figure 12: Squamish Nation representatives during the  Four Host First Nations welcome at the Opening Ceremony  of Vancouver’s 2010 Winter Olympics .............................................................. 142 Figure 13: Aboriginal dancers performing during  Vancouver's Olympic Opening Ceremony ....... 143 Figure 14: Aboriginal dancers performing with Bryan Adams and Nelly Furtado  during Vancouver’s Olympic Opening Ceremony .......................................................................................... 143 Figure 15: Olympic speedskater and Canadian flagbearer Clara Hughes, Canadian athletes, and Aboriginal dancers in Vancouver's Olympic Opening Ceremony ..................................................... 144   vii  Acknowledgements  When I was eight years old, I wrote an expository essay for a school assignment about how to write and revise a story. After explaining how to prewrite, draft, and revise, I concluded, “Now for your last step – publish. Share your writing with people. Make a neat copy. And now your book is done.” Now, after years of education, researching, and writing, my “book” is done. I have made a neat copy and I am sharing my writing with people. It is exhilarating and a little scary. Thankfully, I have had many people’s support throughout this process of writing and they are here with me now as I take this last step. Thank you for your enduring faith in me and for your patience as I extol your virtues.  My supervisor, Dr. Jennifer Kramer, and my other committee members, Dr. Patrick Moore and Dr. Renisa Mawani, have encouraged me to persevere and think deeper throughout my entire process, from coursework to revisions. I hope they can see how they have helped me to grow as a writer and scholar, and I know I will continue to learn from them and their example after I complete my degree. Jennifer, your steadfast support and unwavering confidence in my work has sustained me over these many years. And your attention to detail is remarkable! Thank you. Renisa, your scholarship inspires me. I am so grateful for the ways you have challenged me to enhance my work. Pat, the important role you’ve played in my graduate education cannot be overstated. You have supported me from the very beginning. Your kindness, patience, and generosity with time and resources are truly awesome. It has been a privilege to have such a superb committee.  Many thanks also to my examining committee for their enthusiasm for my work and for their challenging questions: Dr. Daniel Heath Justice, Dr. Bruce Miller, Dr. Eva Mackey, and defence chair, Dr. Jean Barman. I look forward to future conversations with you. Becoming an anthropologist in the UBC Department of Anthropology has also been a great privilege. Its rich tradition of ethnographic and archaeological work on the Northwest Coast and with Indigenous communities in British Columbia has motivated me to consider the political, ethical, and social implications of my research and teaching. I am especially grateful to Dr. Bruce Granville Miller for his contagious enthusiasm for the discipline and stimulating lunchroom chats. Attending the field school with Dr. Charles Menzies and Dr. Caroline Butler deeply enriched my learning and ethnographic sensibilities. My Masters supervisor, Dr. John Barker, continues to support me as I make my way in the heady world of academia. Thank you for your ongoing encouragement, John. I would also like to thank the department and university for their generous financial support during my graduate degrees. My graduate colleagues… how can I thank you enough? When I moved to Vancouver in 2006, I found myself thrown in with you: a ragtag bunch of the most thoughtful and vibrant people I had ever met. How lucky! Ana Vivaldi, Rafa Wainer, Larry van der Est, Sandra Youssef, Tamar Scoggin McKee, Susan Hicks, Lina Gomez-Isaza (and Freddy), Adam Solomonian, Oralia Gomez-Ramirez, Jennifer Wolowic, Arianne Loranger-Saindon, and many more: thank you for your friendship. Marie-Eve Carrier-Moisan and Billy Flynn, you helped me keep the light at the end of the tunnel in sight; Chad and I really miss you. Marlee McGuire, Sara Komarnisky, and Molly Malone, you’re all brilliant, funny, and so, so loved. And to the ultimate problem solvers, Lainie Schultz, Emily Birky, Tal Nitsan, and viii  Solen Roth: you are each so dear to me. You are tremendous. You are wonderful. You are my family.  Thank you to the graduate and post-graduate students in other programs whose work and friendship have also inspired me: Bonar Buffam (sociology), Tonya K. Davidson (sociology), Stephen Hay (history), Jess Hallenbeck (geography), Dawn Hoogeveen (geography), Amie McLean (sociology), Jeannie Morgan (sociology), Tom Peotto (history), Jeff Schiffer (education), Eva Sierp (geography) among others. You help me to think about how anthropology and ethnography intersect with broader questions and ideas. I have been fortunate enough to work with these students, as well as many amazing educators outside of the UBC Department of Anthropology. A methods class with Dr. Dara Culhane at Simon Fraser University transformed how I think about anthropological research. Attending the Newberry Summer Institute in 2009 provided an early opportunity to examine the politics of spectacle; I am grateful to Dr. Scott M. Stevens, Dr. Jeani O’Brien, and the dynamic, gifted group of students in the Newberry Consortium in American Indian Studies for our time reading and talking together. A chance opportunity to act as a teaching assistant for Dr. Coll Thrush in the UBC Department of History has left lasting impressions; Coll, you are an incredible teacher-scholar.  I want to teach because I have had good teachers: diligent, caring, thought-provoking. From Mrs. Ingram at Russell Elementary to Mr. Grady at Shelby High School to the excellent instructors at UBC, I have learned that being a teacher involves passion, hard work, and courage. It also sometimes involves faith. At Eastern Michigan University, my undergraduate alma mater, Dr. Karen Sinclair saw a spark of anthropologist potential in me and took me under her wing. Her advice and tutelage helped me to prepare for graduate school, both personally and professionally. Thank you, Karen.  My extra-curricular employment during graduate school has also given me insight into the support teachers need to make learning fun and exciting. I am grateful for my colleagues at the UBC Centre for Community Engaged Learning, UBC Mix, and the UBC Centre for Teaching, Learning, and Technology. What great work you all do! I am especially thankful for Amy Perreault, Hanae Tsukada, Sarah Ling, Mali Bain, and Joseph Topornycky at CTLT and Allyson Rayner at CCEL: I look forward to further developing our friendships and professional connections.  Thank you also to my students, at both the University of British Columbia and the University of Fraser Valley, for challenging me to find new ways to foster excitement about anthropology in the classroom. I have learned from you in countless ways.  Conducting ethnographic research and analysis is tough and rewarding. I am indebted to the many people who generously participated in this project. I am especially grateful to Rebecca Jules, who introduced me to BladeRunners, and to the staff at the Mount Pleasant Library branch and the BladeRunners program, who were incredibly open-minded and receptive to my research. They opened doors – literally and figuratively – for this study. They talked with me in their offices and over coffee, sharing their time and experiences. They brought in newspaper clippings and noted stories to tell me later. Their good humour and genuine care and interest motivated me to complete this dissertation. I look forward to more conversations with all of you as this process continues!  ix  In the expository essay I penned (well, pencilled) as a child, I wrote, “To revise you need to improve your writing. Read first draft, add more, remove ideas, and substitute. Then get a partner and have a peer conference – praise, question, propose.” I have had many peer conferences over the last two years of writing. I am thankful to all of you who read chapter drafts and fragments: Solen, Lainie, Tal, Sara, Molly, Marlee, Ana, Tonya, Bonar, Dawn, and Maura Pellettieri. Thank you all for praising, questioning, and proposing as you read my work; any errors are of course my own. I am also grateful to Joanne Keinholz and Alice Campbell who each pointed to Lee Maracle’s works at critical times in my writing process.  To focus on writing this dissertation, my husband Chad and I moved from the home we had made in Vancouver to Orcas Island: a beautiful place to live and write! On Orcas, we have made magnificent friends. Kelley and Matty, you’re the best and my time with you, Bruno, and Laurel, has kept me sane and happy while writing. I love you guys. Riana, Eleni, and Maura: you are missed! Cat, you’ve been my work-from-home companion and confidante and I can’t wait to go running and watch movies with you without the dissertation-elephant in the room. You, Wally, and Tom are such great friends and neighbours! Jonathan, I love hanging out and talking with you. Thank you for keeping Chad busy during the day while I write, write, write. Thank you also to Pam and Linda for supporting our family. My friends and colleagues at the Orcas Island Historical Museum and Orcas Island Library: thank you for welcoming me into your community, especially Karen for her kindness and Martin for his cheerful help locating all those interlibrary loans.  When I visit Vancouver from Orcas, many people give me warm shelter and hot meals. Anneli and Alastair, thank you for your generous hospitality and open-hearted friendship. Sandra, Steve, and Scarlet, you have been friends from the beginning and I am so glad our friendship continues beyond those colourful walls of Mainspace. Sarah, Colin, and Cedar, I always look forward to enjoying excellent conversation and terrific salmon tacos with you – thank you. Colleen, though you have not been in Vancouver for some time, I still miss getting cocktails and talking shop with you. To my friends and family from the Midwest: thank you for understanding (or at least accepting) my westward journey. Moving from the lands of Iroquois and Algonquian peoples to Coast Salish territories has been a rewarding, emotional process. Jess and Tim, Kevin and Megan, I’m so glad our friendships have survived the distance and I can’t wait to celebrate with foreign travels! Trisha, I’m grateful for our long-time friendship, your mom’s strawberry pie, and all the fun we’ve shared. My big, wonderful family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins has kept in touch over time and space by phone, Facebook, and email, and I’m grateful for their many forms of support and care. My Aunt Joan and Uncle Joel have been especially encouraging and enthusiastic about my pursuit of higher education: thank you both. Joan, I am glad you are not only my aunt but also my friend. I look forward to many more adventures with you! My in-laws, too, have been my resolute supporters from the get-go. Fred and Chris, thank you for sending Midwestern tomatoes and foxes, and for always asking how things are going. Becki and Perry, thank you for believing in Chad and me and rooting for us as we make a life for ourselves. Thank you also for giving me “Simon”, my computer, at the start of my degree – I type these words to you now on its well-worn keyboard.  x  My Granny and PawPaw have been my cheerleaders, nurturing my curiosity about the world through National Geographic subscriptions and great stories. My Gramps and Carolyn were always delighted to hear about my travels; while I am sad I won’t be able to tell my Gramps about this step in the journey, he always had faith I would meet my destination and I’m saluting him and my Grandma from here.  My parents, Ron and Susan Keiser, raised me in a home full of love and happiness. They indulged my love of reading, drawing, and writing, and knew I would eventually overcome my growing pains and set loose on the world. Thank you for giving me, Cami, and Jake so much – especially your dedicated attention and big-hearted love. Cami, you are gracious and beautiful. Jake, you are witty and thoughtful. It is a privilege to be your sister. I am so happy there are planes, trains, and automobiles to keep me connected to all of you.   Last but not least, thank you to my little family: Chad, Sandie, and Indie. Sandie, my cockatoo, kept me company on long writing days, and Indie, my dog, got me out of the house and into the woods. And my amazing, handsome, smart, creative, supportive husband, Chad… you are fantastic. You sustain me and our life together is a gift. I love you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.   xi  Dedication  For Gramps,  who loved people, family, and me  1  Chapter 1: Introduction  Historian Philip J. Deloria opens his book Indian in Unexpected Places (2004) with the photo “Red Cloud Woman in Beauty Shop, Denver 1941,” which depicts an Aboriginal woman in braids and buckskin sitting under a salon hairdryer, getting her nails done. He questions why this image often triggers a particular affect: a chuckle. He suggests that Red Cloud Woman surprises and elicits a chuckle because she is both marked as an Aboriginal woman – through her clothes and hair – and engaged in an ordinary, “modern” activity. She is an example of “uncanny alterity,” to use anthropologist Elizabeth Povinelli’s (2002) phrase; simultaneously same and different, she stretches non-Aboriginal expectations of Aboriginality. “Even in the wake of decades of stereotype busting,” Deloria observes, “a beaded buckskin dress and a pair of braids continue to evoke a broad set of cultural expectations about Indian people” – expectations that do not jive with the image’s context: the salon, hairdryer, and manicure (2004:3). From there, he builds his argument that Aboriginal people – or Indians in his United States account – are in fact embedded in modernity, not apart from it. “Unexpected” images and stories of modern Aboriginality, he suggests, reveal the continued relevance and force of stereotypic images and racialized expectations.  Like Deloria, I will begin my otherwise serious critical examination of settler colonial relations with a revealing story of a laugh. Midway through my fieldwork at one of my research sites, the Mount Pleasant public library branch in Vancouver, I sat interviewing a white woman close to my own age about her experiences learning about Aboriginality. At one point I asked, “So have you met or seen Aboriginal people?” I paused, then added, looking up from my notebook, “In the library? Or in Mount Pleasant?”  The woman laughed heartily, “I thought you meant ever!” then answered, “Yes. Yes,” still laughing.  Before prompting her to share more, I said, “Actually, where I grew up, I never met an Aboriginal person.”  She paused her laughter and looked at me in surprise. “Where did you grow up?” “Ohio. In the States.” I replied. “Okay!” she said, amused and perhaps a little suspicious.  “Not until I was… probably in college?” I said.  2  “Okay!” she said again, still somewhat disbelieving.  I briefly noted that history of settlement was different there than in British Columbia and Canada more generally, and that I had definitely met more Aboriginal people since moving to Canada. “It’s one of the reasons I’m doing the research I’m doing now,” I told her, abbreviating a longer story about my research process and motivations. Although she found it nearly impossible to imagine never seeing or meeting an Aboriginal person, when the focus of conversation shifted back to her a moment later, she explained that she in fact knew very few Aboriginal people.   “I know some?” she said, “But I think that no, I don’t know many. Personally, within my social group, I would say no.”  “What about growing up?” I asked. “Growing up? Growing up – no.”  For the remainder of our interview, she discussed her limited encounters with Aboriginal people and stories through school field trips, news stories, conversations with her social worker brother, and through her job as a childcare worker in a local elementary school.  While Red Cloud Woman elicited a chuckle because of her unexpected presence in regalia in modernity, it was the idea of total Aboriginal absence that prompted my participant’s laugh. Growing up in British Columbia, seeing Aboriginal people and signs of Aboriginality was and is commonplace for her – expected. However, where I am from, historical epidemics, colonial processes of dispossession and literal removal, and discursive forms of erasure have emptied much of the landscape around my American Midwestern hometown of Aboriginal presence.  Arriving in Vancouver in 2006, I was immediately struck by how very present Aboriginal people and imagery were in the city. The Native Education College, an impressive structure built in a longhouse style with a ceremonial totem pole entrance, stood a block from my apartment in Mount Pleasant. I regularly stood with students from the college as we waited for the #3, #8, and #19 busses at a nearby bus stop. I saw totem poles in public parks and in front of Native Housing buildings in my neighbourhood. Popular sites for visitors – the international wing of the Vancouver International Airport, Stanley Park, and Granville Island – featured poles and other monumental sculptures. By the mid-2000s, the city was preparing for the 2010 Winter Olympics and major news stories detailed the developing partnership between the Vancouver Olympic Committee 3  and local First Nations communities. As a new graduate student at the University of British Columbia, I quickly became aware that I had arrived not only in Vancouver, but also on the unceded territories of Coast Salish peoples; talks and events on campus often opened with a welcome by Musqueam elder Larry Grant or an acknowledgement of Musqueam territory.  Within a year of living in the city, I began to question how my initial impressions of spectacular and ordinary forms of Aboriginal presence intersected with the more complex stories and critical theories of colonialism, race, Canadian multiculturalism, and Indigeneity I was learning about in graduate school. I started to recognize how the same processes I was aware of in the Midwest – epidemics, dispossession and removal, and erasure – were also part of the colonial story of British Columbia and Canada. As I made friends outside of my academic cohort, many of them non-Aboriginal Canadians, I realized that they, like my library research participant who laughed, took Aboriginal presence in the city for granted. Yet, even amidst this normative presence, they had developed little knowledge of or interest in Aboriginal politics, local communities, or colonial processes.  Over time, examples of erasure become more apparent: the swift shift in city history narratives from a generalized pre-contact Native time replaced by European and immigrant settlement; seemingly benign comments that in fact reassert white hegemony and privilege; places significant to local First Nations paved over and renamed or given a Coast Salish name but emptied of other Coast Salish signifiers. Across from the Native Education College, for example, a plaque explains that a stream used to run along the trajectory of present-day Scotia Street, an important site for Coast Salish peoples who lived in the area 3,000 years ago. It is up to the observer to make the connection between this historical marker and the present-day realities of students entering the longhouse across the street: to reconcile physical presence with discursive absence through historicized Aboriginality.  I wanted to understand how non-Aboriginal people in Vancouver engage in making these connections – ultimately, to explore how they relate to Aboriginality while living in a settler colonial place. I developed this study to examine these multiple, complex processes. Although the idea of Aboriginal absence might elicit a disbelieving laugh, the disappearance of Indigeneity was and remains a goal of the settler colonial project in Canada, as anthropologist Patrick Wolfe (1999) and critical theorist Andrea 4  Smith (2012) have argued. In the absence of absence, Aboriginality is managed – circumscribed through policy, racialization, representational practice, and conditions of inequality.  I conceptualize this tension between colonial desires for absence with the realities of contemporary presence as a form of spectrality. Settler colonialism renders Aboriginality a spectre: simultaneously present and absent, Aboriginality haunts. The legacies of historical policies enacted to realize desires of elimination are also spectrally present, manifested in examples of Aboriginal marginality and the traumas of colonial oppression. Aboriginal spectrality is particularly uncanny in a city like Vancouver, where Aboriginal representations are so spectacularly present and celebrated. This dissertation thus examines ethnographically how non-Aboriginal people negotiate spectacular and spectral Aboriginality in their meaning-making processes about Otherness and place. It analyses the affective and structural conditions of everyday life in a settler colonial city. It also reflects on how Aboriginal inclusion, a recent set of discourses and practices designed to “correct” historical and contemporary Aboriginal exclusion, mediates these negotiations and encounters. I ask how inclusion produces new politics of settler coloniality at the same time as it reproduces its older forms.  In the remainder of my introduction, I first introduce Vancouver as a settler colonial place and briefly explain my selection of Aboriginal Olympics performance venues, a library branch, and a construction training program as my three ethnographic field sites (a more thorough methodological discussion is presented in Chapter 2; additional contextual descriptions of Vancouver are shared throughout this dissertation, especially in Chapter 3). I also explain my rationale for focusing on non-Aboriginal people as my primary research participants. I then critically evaluate what is involved in regarding my non-Aboriginal research participants as “settlers” on Indigenous territories, as well as discuss the terminological slippages around nominalizations like Indigeneity and Aboriginality. Finally, I describe how spectrality, spectacle, and the everyday operate conceptually as my tripartite explanatory framework in this dissertation, allowing me to examine contemporary processes that are reproducing and transforming the settler colonial project in Vancouver.     5  Othering Aboriginality and Including the Aboriginal Other  Processes of development and dispossession, migration and management, settlement and growth have produced the city of Vancouver and continue to shape everyday life for its residents. The city is a product of settler colonialism and its attendant political, social, racial, and spatial processes. These processes are ongoing and present: the city is a settler colonial, not a post-colonial, place. Starting from this understanding of the city, I developed a methodological and theoretical approach that examines an eclectic mix of field sites and phenomena to analyse contemporary settler colonial politics as experienced by the city’s non-Aboriginal residents.  Vancouver is situated on Coast Salish traditional territories. The Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples have lived in the region since time immemorial, building their homes and cultural traditions along the Fraser River, False Creek, and Burrard Inlet. Spanish and British explorers arrived in the region in close succession, in 1791 and 1792, sparking further expeditions in the area. The British claimed the territory in 1858, and non-Coast Salish settlement began in earnest when a gold rush in the 1850s brought American and British prospectors to the area. New Westminster served as the colonial capital until 1871, when the province of British Columbia was established and Victoria was named its capital. In the 1880s, the Canadian Pacific Railway company chose the town of Granville (where the Gastown neighbourhood is now located) as its terminus. In 1886 the site was renamed Vancouver, the city was incorporated, and the non-Indigenous population began to grow quickly.  As settlement spread, colonial authorities worked to manage local Indigenous peoples. Municipal, provincial, and federal policies took over this work as the city of Vancouver, the province of British Columbia, and the government of Canada’s Department of Indian Affairs became formalized governing powers (Barman 2007; Harris 2002; McDonald 1996; Stanger-Ross 2008). Management of local Indigenous peoples entailed the establishment of Indian reserves and dispossession of Aboriginal lands; development of the Indian Act, which attempted to define Indian status and regulate Aboriginal lifeways; and the institution of the residential school system, which aimed to separate children from their Aboriginal communities to facilitate their assimilation into mainstream settler society. Unlike other parts of Canada, treaties were not established between Indigenous people and colonial and federal representatives in much of British 6  Columbia, including in the Lower Mainland around Vancouver. The lack of historical treaties has produced modern-day “uncertainty” about First Nations peoples’ rights to territory and resources in the province, as well as the terms of relations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people settling on unceded lands.  These “settlers” are not all white, European, or Euro-Canadians from other parts of Canada. Chinese migrants moved to British Columbia beginning in the 1880s. Nearly a decade late in the 1970s, after a series of federal immigration policy changes, non-European immigration to Vancouver increased rapidly, with the majority of immigrants arriving from Hong Kong and mainland China, followed by the Punjab and other regions of India, the Philippines, and other Asian countries. Today, over 600,000 people live in the city of Vancouver and 2.3 million live in Metro Vancouver. Visible “minorities” have surpassed the white “majority,” reaching 51.8% of Vancouver’s population according to the 2011 census (Statistics Canada 2014). Approximately two percent of Vancouver’s population is Aboriginal, both in the city and its metro region (Metro Vancouver 2014; see also Environics Institute 2010). In addition to three main urban reserves occupied by Coast Salish people and their families (Musqueam, Capilano (Squamish), and Burrard (Tsleil-Waututh)), Aboriginal people have moved to Vancouver from other parts of BC and Canada.1 The urban Aboriginal population thus has diverse cultural origins, with many different culture and language groups now represented in the city.  The reserve, the Indian Act, and the residential school system, among other colonial policies, serve(d) to entrench social and spatial differences between Aboriginal people and the non-Aboriginal population settling in large numbers on their lands. Differences within and between Indigenous communities have been blurred through racialized politics and practices, despite persistent expressions of cultural, linguistic, and political distinctions. Aboriginal people have been excluded and marginalized through mutually constitutive processes of policy, social habits, and spatial development. Local Coast Salish groups have reacted to these processes, exercising and defending their Aboriginal rights, reclaiming their lands and their rights to self-determination, and mobilizing efforts toward landmark court cases, economic development enterprises, and other acts of recognition. At the same time, many urban Aboriginal organizations have                                                             1 The Capilano and Burrard reserves are situated along Burrard Inlet in North Vancouver, and Musqueam reserve is in Vancouver at the mouth of the Fraser River. The Hulitsum, Katzie, Kwantlen, Kwikwetlem, Matsqui, Qayqayt, Semiahmoo, Sto:lo, and Tsawwassen are also recognized as local First Nations and have reserves in the Metro Vancouver area. 7  developed to address the causes and effects of marginalization and inequality, tackling issues related to poverty, education, housing, addiction, employment, childcare, cultural empowerment, and more. Meanwhile, non-Aboriginal settler and migrant people continue to live in and move to Vancouver. How do they relate to Coast Salish land claims, Northwest coast art, Aboriginal inequalities, their Indigenous neighbours? How do they participate in, benefit from, and learn about histories of erasure, separation, dispossession, racialization, and other processes of settler colonialism?  A primary premise of my dissertation is that to study contemporary settler coloniality, it is necessary not only to explore Aboriginal people’s experiences, but also to understand how non-Aboriginal settlers and migrants relate to and construct Aboriginal alterity and participate in the socio-spatial and socio-political dynamics of ongoing settler colonial processes. As I describe below, Aboriginality in Vancouver has been simultaneously spectacularized and spectralized, with Northwest Coast art and culture celebrated and displayed even as Coast Salish connections to land, place, and resources have been systematically erased and displaced. This creates ambivalent conditions of both Indigenous presence and absence, expression and exclusion. I demonstrate through my ethnographic study that examining non-Aboriginal people’s experiences of these dynamics provides crucial insights into the dynamics of contemporary settler colonialism in ways that analyses focused solely on Aboriginal people, and/or the state, cannot. How are difference and relationality constructed in this context? Because of my interest in non-Aboriginal people’s (dis)connections with the complex interplay between Aboriginal presence and absence, I do not locate my research in distinct sites of Aboriginality, such as local reserves. Nor do I position my work in sites of total absence, where dispossession and discourse seem to have removed all vestiges of historical and contemporary Aboriginality. Instead, my research occupies the spaces between: the interstices of settler colonial sociality. I anchor my study in sites of purposeful Aboriginal “inclusion”: projects that aim to recognize and involve Coast Salish and Aboriginal people in various institutions, events, and spaces that have historically excluded or marginalized them.  I have observed a proliferation of Aboriginal inclusion efforts since moving to the city in 2006, though they certainly have a longer history. I understand these projects to be related to increasing consciousness among settler peoples and governments around the persistent presence of Aboriginal people in the city, their ongoing demands for distinct 8  status and recognition (including Coast Salish claims to land and resource rights), and evidence of their unequal social and material conditions. What forms of encounter do inclusion projects enable and disable? At the interstices between government policy, on-the-ground services, and everyday forms of life in the city, how do inclusion initiatives address and broker shifting relations between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people and make new forms of meaning-making possible?  Inclusion sites give me access to non-Aboriginal peoples engaged in or proximal to inclusion work that attempts to bring Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people together in time and space. My first field site, the Aboriginal Pavilion during Vancouver’s 2010 Winter Olympics, relates directly to my interest in the spectacularization of Aboriginality and served as my anchoring point to study Olympic Aboriginal expression and non-Aboriginal responses to it. My other sites, the Mount Pleasant library branch and the BladeRunners construction training program, offered me long-term engagements with “inclusion workers” and the everyday banalities of settler colonial life in these locations.  I conducted participant observation at the Aboriginal Pavilion, the library branch, within the BladeRunners office and training location, and at a BladeRunners placement site. I interviewed non-Aboriginal library staff and patrons, BladeRunners coordinators, and workers on a BladeRunners placement site. These interviews inform my analyses of sociality within these sites, as well as serve as a corpus of qualitative material to comment more broadly on the spectral, spectacular, and everyday conditions of settler colonialism. These inclusion sites are thus both the subject of my study as well as vantage points from which I observed and analysed settler colonial phenomena, such as non-Aboriginal attitudes toward Aboriginal histories, expressions of sovereignty, and responses to colonial policies. I examined how non-Aboriginal people construct Aboriginal alterity and participate in the reproduction and transformation of settler colonial conditions, including racializing discourses, affective knowledge production, and negotiations around reconciliation, recognition, and reckoning. Duncan Campbell Scott, Deputy Superintendent of the Department of Indian Affairs (1923-1932), famously called the conundrum of Aboriginal alterity and persistent Aboriginal efforts toward sovereignty and distinct status, Canada’s “Indian problem.” In some ways, inclusion efforts can be interpreted as yet another set of responses to the seemingly intractable “Indian problem” – how to manage Aboriginal alterity – extermination, assimilation, integration, segregation, preservation, recognition, inclusion? 9  Insightful analyses continue to emerge about the causes, practices, and effects of policies associated with these philosophies, but recently some scholars are questioning the terms of discussion altogether. Instead of the “Indian problem,” historian Roger Epp (2008; 2012) and Paulette Regan (2010) advocate investigation into the “settler problem.” Epp (2012) writes, after locating himself as a Euro-Canadian settler living on Indigenous lands in the Prairies, that by reorienting the inquiry from the “Indian problem” to the “settler problem,” non-Aboriginal people – variously termed the colonizers, migrants, or settlers – “become the subject under scrutiny”:   The question is no longer about what “they” want – land, recognition, compensation – and therefore what “we” can live with. Instead, it is about what Taiaiake Alfred calls the “colonial mentality, moral indifference, and historical ignorance” that stand in the way of a different relationship. It is about the stories we tell ourselves. It is about the fears and emotions so close to the surface. (Epp 2012:121)  My analysis aims to investigate my participants’ settler colonial mentalities, the stories they tell themselves, and their fears and emotions and other affects. It is grounded in the understanding that colonialism affects not only Aboriginal people but structures contemporary realities for all settler state inhabitants, albeit in different ways. It is not intended to substitute or displace Aboriginal voices or stories of colonialism, but rather to complement them.  I am motivated to examine the “settler problem” as a non-Aboriginal person because such an orientation allows me to move from an anthropology of the Other to an anthropology of Othering as a process, as well as to examine settler colonialism as an ever-emergent set of structural conditions and how the role of the “settler” self is situated in these processes. It enables me to locate myself within the processes I analyse and critique, and to point to the ways other “settlers” are implicated – through complicity, complacency, ignorance, and privilege, and a range of practices to counteract these relations – in settler colonialism in Vancouver. In the next section, I explain why, despite my orientation toward the “settler problem” and contributions to settler colonial studies, I ambivalently choose not to label my participants “settlers.”      10  Unsettling Social Locations  When talking with the research participant at the library, the one who laughed, I explained that settlement happened differently in Ohio than in British Columbia. While this is true when one examines the details – the Indigenous communities and cultures involved, the national and regional policies, the contexts and temporalities of settlement and migration, the landscapes – it is also true that the United States and Canada, along with Australia and New Zealand, developed through similar processes and logics of settler colonialism. These four nations are often identified as settler states or white settler societies; their majority white populations outnumber, but do not displace altogether, Indigenous peoples on their own lands.  Recent scholarship by a range of interdisciplinary thinkers is increasingly examining the ways settler colonialism operates as a distinct socio-political formation historically and today. In contrast to franchise and metropolitan colonialism, settler states were formed as (primarily) white settlers moved onto traditional lands of diverse groups of Indigenous peoples and, through colonial policy and nation-building processes, developed legal regimes, land tenure systems, and forms of governance.2 These processes were predicated on displacement and dispossession of Indigenous peoples and territories, which continue to shape contemporary social life, politics, and space as more people immigrate and settle, and as Indigenous communities demand recognition, self-determination, and access to and ownership of their territories.  Racialization and racist ideologies sustained white settlement. In settler states, white settler majorities established political, legal, and social dominance on Indigenous lands and instituted a racial hierarchy that continues to support white supremacy (Smith 2012). As anthropologist Patrick Wolfe explains, “Settler colonies were (are) premised on the elimination of native societies. The split tensing reflects a determinate feature of settler colonization. The colonizers came to stay – invasion is a structure not an event” (1999:2). Critical theorist Andrea Smith further explicates that settler colonial logics necessitate that Indigenous disappearance enables “non-Indigenous peoples’ rightful claim to land” (2012:69). Thus, Indigenous elimination and disappearance simultaneously                                                             2 In other words, franchise and metropolitan colonialism do not generally involve sustained settlement. Rather, franchise colonialism is premised on exploitation of native labour; for example British colonialism in India. Metropolitan colonialism refers to management of distant colonies from metropoles like London or Paris.  11  produce and legitimate white settler society. Settler colonial theorist Lorenzo Veracini argues that settler colonialism is “a resilient formation that rarely ends” (2010), noting also that desires for elimination have been “incomplete” (2008).  I position my dissertation within these emerging debates around structural settler colonialism. I recognize Vancouver as a city built upon and sustained through settler colonial logics, which are contested by Indigenous groups and critical analysts. As I discuss in later chapters, especially Chapter 8, understanding Vancouver as a settler colonial place, versus the product of other colonial formations, also enables a more robust analysis of potential paths to decolonization. To settler colonial studies’ interdisciplinary conversations and critiques, I contribute an ethnographic perspective as well as an explicit analytical emphasis on non-Aboriginal, or “settler,” experiences.  I understand “settler” to refer broadly to non-Indigenous peoples who have migrated from elsewhere to “settle” on Indigenous territories. “Settler” connotes a conscious relation between non-Aboriginal people and Indigenous peoples and lands. Therein lays its heuristic and polemical power, and thus its appeal, I think, for some academic analysts and activists. It is certainly what appealed to me when I first embarked on this research project, and a functional binary between Indigenous/non-Indigenous continues to shape my thinking even as I recognize that it oversimplifies more complex relations. Despite the heuristic attraction of the term “settler,” I am troubled by the term as a descriptor for my non-Aboriginal research participants’ identities and/or political positions. While “non-Aboriginal” is no less awkward and is certainly unspecific, I continue to use it in my analysis because of the greater flexibility it allows when describing my participants’ relations with Aboriginality and because “settler” is not ethnographically resonant. For the remainder of this section, I discuss this uneasy representational decision.  A recent debate crystallizes some of the tensions around the label “settler.” In 2009, critical theorists Nandita Sharma and Cynthia Wright critiqued Bonita Lawrence and Enakshi Dua’s (2005) call to “decolonize antiracisms.” Lawrence and Dua suggest that people of colour are implicated in settler colonialism and that antiracist efforts must be reoriented toward a decolonizing framework that privileges Indigeneity and Indigenous sovereignty. Sharma and Wright ask “whether it is historically accurate or analytically precise to describe as settler colonialism the forced movements of enslaved Africans, the movement of unfree indentured Asians, or the subsequent Third World 12  displacements and migrations of people from across the globe, many of them indigenous peoples themselves” (2009:121). They also contest discourses of nationhood that support Indigenous claims to sovereignty, pointing out how nation-building and claims of autochthony have undermined human rights, supported capitalist exploitation, and deepened and naturalized racisms.   This debate has encouraged me and other settler colonial theorists to critically evaluate the explanatory power and analytic productivity of framing contemporary relations around a settler/Indigenous binary. It has also led some scholars to develop more nuanced labels for settler state peoples. Critical theorist Lorenzo Veracini (2011), for example, develops a triad to describe settler colonial relations: “settlers” (often, but not always, early white and/or European migrants and their descendants), “exogenous others” (racialized migrants and their descendants), and “indigenous others.” In an earlier work, political theorist David Pearson uses a similar triad and relates it to processes of citizenship and identity production. He identifies three identity formation processes in settler and “post-settler” states: “the aboriginalization (of aboriginal minorities), the ethnification (of immigrant minorities), and the indigenization (of settler majorities)” (2002:990). As with Veracini’s account, Pearson’s analysis forms a distinction among settlers between European/white settlers and non-white, non-European migrants.  While these debates have largely revolved around who counts as a settler analytically, there has been little discussion of who identifies as a settler ethnographically.3 Although analytical categories are important for delineating relations of power and structural conditions, an anthropological perspective can help to illuminate to what extent these categories are emically or etically relevant. The term “settler” is fascinating in this regard. Although it is increasingly used to mark a particular subject position within academic analyses, its wider social resonance is highly ambivalent. Who identifies as a settler?  Midway through my fieldwork, my supervisor asked what my non-Aboriginal participants were calling Aboriginal people. Indians? First Nations? Indigenous peoples? Aboriginals? Natives? Coast Salish? We discussed the ways generation, geography, and politics influences participants’ terminological choices and what these choices in turn                                                             3 In the push toward criticality, there is a danger in reifying colonial categories in ways that do not reflect contemporary ethnographic realities and may therefore stymie productive debate, reflection, and social action. 13  might reflect about social relations.4 At the time, neither of us interrogated what my participants called themselves. They never called themselves settlers.  To describe their relations to Aboriginal people, participants referenced their own racial and ethnic heritage, their parents’ and grandparents’ origins, their hometowns, their occupations and class, and other descriptors and narratives to characterize their self-ascribed identities. In more recent, post-fieldwork conversations with some participants, I have brought up the term “settler” to inquire about its resonance and relevance. While there were no objections to the label “non-Aboriginal,” used in my consent form and in interviews, “settler” proved problematic to my interlocutors. One Filipino Canadian participant found the term quite unsettling in fact. She explained that as a person from a colonized place, imagining herself as a settler is troubling. Furthermore, her family has developed close connections with a Sto:lo family and she feels she makes an effort to educate her mixed-race children about the Indigenous and colonial history of the places they live.  A white woman scrunched up her nose at the mention of “settler.” She said it made her think of pioneer days – covered wagons, homesteads. To her, the term is anachronistic. Another white woman suggested that the term is uncomfortable because she was born in Canada and has no other imagined homeland; even though she recognizes that she is on Indigenous territories and participates in ongoing processes of colonialism, she finds it challenging to conceptualize herself (only) as a settler.  These stories could easily be read as reasons to support the heuristic use of “settler” in critical analyses: to demonstrate how these women are implicated in the settler colonial project, even if it is in different ways; or to distinguish between “white settlers” and “exogenous others” or “migrants”; or to point out how naturalization does not absolve individuals of their “settler-ness”; or to emphasize that settler colonialism did not simply occur in the past but continues to structure present-day relations. Indeed, I think the dissonance of the term settler for these participants and other “settlers” can make it heuristically more powerful. Similar to writing with the pronouns “she/her” to contest the common equation of personhood with manhood, or to name whiteness rather than leave it                                                             4 I discuss below my own terminological decisions in regards to naming Indigenous peoples. 14  unmarked and normative, the use of the term “settler” serves as a reminder of the continued conditions of settler colonialism.5  However, I think my participants’ discomfort with the term warrants further attention. The Filipino Canadian woman’s difficulty identifying as a settler when she recognized herself as a racialized, colonized person (and a person engaging in decolonizing practices) links up with the debates and theorizing already mentioned (Lawrence and Dua 2005; Pearson 2002; Sharma and Wright 2009; Smith 2012; Veracini 2010). Her subject position within the power dynamics of empire and race is not fully captured in the label “settler.” The woman who considers herself a “native Canadian” living on Indigenous territories also raises important questions about identity in advanced settler states. Political theorist Pal Ahluwalia (2001), following postcolonial critic Mahmood Mamdani (1996; 2001) asks: “When does a settler become a native?” Pearson (2002) suggests that white settler majorities are indeed in the process of indigenizing, of becoming natives. As Wolfe (1999) and Smith (2012) argue, this is the desired goal of settler colonialism, premised on the elimination of the Aboriginal native to legitimate white settlement. The lived experience of indigenization for settler majorities and the sense of identity it creates can thus produce incongruence with the term “settler.”6 Having no alternative identity and no other homeland, settlers “indigenize” and become normative majorities, thereby moving from “settlers” to “Canadians.”  It is clear that this process is enabled through power dynamics related to racialization and colonialism. This is exemplified by anthropologist Eva Mackey’s (2002) analysis of the nation-building project that sustains “Canadian-Canadian-ness” – unmarked, normative whiteness – through subtle, flexible, and strategic management of minorities. The desire for “native-ness” can also affect racialized and ethnic groups and individuals, some of whom desire to transcend ethnification and other management strategies to become recognized as equal and significant parts of the Canadian nation.                                                             5 This seems to be the case with recent social movements, such as Idle No More (see Chapter 8), in which non-Indigenous peoples choose to name themselves settlers as a strategy of positioning, alliance, and colonial critique. In discussions on Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media, making the decision to call oneself a “settler” reflects a particular political orientation and acknowledgement of settler colonial processes. 6 Fiona Bateman and Lionel Pilkington write, “Even in the context of a growing awareness of the injustices of the past, there is still a struggle to meet the needs of those most damaged by the process – the indigenous, as well as another population now dealing with the consequences, the descendants of original settlers, who have inherited the blame, and possibly the guilt, but have no alternative identity, no other homeland” (2011: 3). 15  Again, however, we return to a point where “settler” is heuristically powerful but ethnographically dissonant.  The other participant’s complaint that “settler” has a historical connotation also deserves further consideration. As an agent noun, it names those who settle a land and, in the context of colonial settlement, displace or dispossess Indigenous inhabitants. In their recent edited volume on settler colonialism, Fiona Bateman and Lionel Pilkington describe its historical processes and discourses: “fortified by modernizing narratives and ideology, a population from the metropole moves to occupy a territory and fashion a new society in a space conceptualized as vacant and free: as available for the taking” (2011:1). Settler colonial histories have documented this process with nuance and care, discussing how ideas of Canada as terra nullius – or an empty land – underwrote the colonial and capitalist expropriation of Indigenous lands (cf. Blomley 2004; Edmonds 2010; Harris 2002; Harris 2004). Settler states and societies were formed through this process. But to what extent does this description apply to contemporary experiences of life in an “already-settled” place? Does Bateman and Pilkington’s statement describe an ongoing and contemporary process, the event of moving from the metropole and settling a new land?  As stated above, Wolfe emphasizes that settler colonialism is a structure, not an event. The term “settler” however implies events of moving and settling, rather than reflects the more complicated structural conditions that we live with and through today and the identities produced through these processes. I suggest that the historical connotation of the term “settler” is also reified through historical, political, and legal analyses within settler colonial studies that greatly outnumber ethnographic studies. My dissertation is an attempt to augment the academic field of settler colonial studies by bringing observations and analyses from the ethnographic field of a contemporary settler colonial place. My ethnographic lens ultimately makes the unilateral use of the term “settler” as a label for my participants untenable.  I choose to position my analysis in the field of settler colonial studies because I find its theoretical and descriptive frameworks productive and relevant for analysing the contemporary conditions I studied during my fieldwork. I hope that my analysis will demonstrate how non-Aboriginal people living in Vancouver today are participating in and relating to structural forms of settler colonialism and shifting expressions, definitions, and representations of Aboriginality. While pointing out the ways contemporary people 16  are complicit in the ongoing processes of settler colonialism is important, conflating an identity label with these processes is representationally problematic.7  I am therefore more interested in interrogating the tensions and politics that sustain a binary between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples than in labelling my participants “settlers” to make a point about their subjectivity and positionality. My decision to use the terms “non-Aboriginal” and “non-Indigenous” to categorize my participants relates, then, in part to their myriad and non-uniform practices of self-identification and in part to my research emphasis on how they learn about and relate to Aboriginal people within the context of settler colonialism. “Non-Aboriginal,” as clumsy and unspecific as it is, allows me to maintain my emphasis on my participants’ diverse relations to Aboriginality without adopting an ethnographically inappropriate term. Occasionally I use “settler” for emphasis and other times I qualify “non-Aboriginal” with additional descriptors and context.  Despite my representational rejection of “settler,” I maintain the Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal binary. Education scholars Brooke Madden and Heather McGregor state, citing anthropologist Sherry Ortner’s examination of Eurocentric binary constructions, that “one might posit that the construction of an Indigenous/non-Indigenous binary is a political process that seeks to centre Indigeneity in discussions of Indigenous research, education, sovereignty, and so on” (2013:380). This centring of Indigeneity enables a particular (and particularly attractive) political orientation and standpoint to critique colonial processes. But the Indigenous/non-Indigenous binary also silences and flattens. Madden and McGregor, echoing some of Sharma and Wright’s (2009) critiques, suggest that this binary often substitutes and elides the binary Indigenous/white European in ways that can obfuscate attention to white hegemony as well as ignore how peoples of colour are often differently and diversely positioned in relation to the colonial project and white settler supremacy and privilege.  Critical theorist Andrea Smith’s work (cf. 2012) also examines the analytical utility of the Indigenous/non-Indigenous binary. She acknowledges Sharma and Wright’s important interventions, but suggests that settler colonialism operates as one of three                                                             7 Analysts of race, racialization, and racism, for example, describe how the race-privileged participate in racialized hierarchization and white hegemony without labelling participants in this process “racists.” Analysts recognize that racism is a structural process and cannot be reduced to individual identities or behaviours, just as settler colonialism is a structural process that cannot be reduced to the individual identities or set of behaviours associated with “settlers.” 17  mutually-sustaining logics that all support white supremacy in settler states, especially the United States; the other two logics are capitalism and war.8 “Slaveability” and anti-Black racism, she explains, “anchors capitalism,” orientalism “anchors war,” and genocide “anchors colonialism” (2012: 68). As a result, critical analysts must be cognizant of multiple, interpenetrating power relations and build this awareness into their methodological designs and theorizing. Critical Indigenous scholarship must account for the role of race in their analyses toward sovereignty, for example, and critical race theorists must account for colonialism in their anti-racist analyses.9  While it is beyond the scope of my current analysis to fully take up Smith’s charge to examine the triple logics of genocide/colonialism, racism/capitalism, and orientalism/war, her discussion serves as an important reminder of the work that remains to be done to connect these different yet entangled forms of oppression (cf. Young 2000). In this dissertation, I endeavour to contribute to these discussions by ethnographically examining how settler colonial logics function through the spectacularization and spectralization of Aboriginality in Vancouver. I bring a critical race theory sensibility to my analysis by focusing on processes that Other Aboriginal people and their stories through racial or cultural means; I also link this Othering to the marginalized status of many Aboriginal people living in Vancouver and Canada today. Furthermore, I aim to locate my analysis of racialization within a frame that privileges and acknowledges Indigeneity as a distinct socio-political relation to land and place that has been co-opted and managed by the settler state.  In my analysis, I do not claim that all social locations or contemporary relations can be analysed through the lens of settler colonial theorizing alone. Because of Smith’s and Sharma and Wright’s critiques, I recognize that the Indigenous/non-Indigenous                                                             8 While Smith’s analysis focuses on the United States, and she acknowledges its potential limitations when applied in other contexts, I find that her primary interventions in debates about settler colonialism pertain to Canada generally and British Columbia in particular. In her direct analysis of Sharma and Wright’s critique, Smith argues that they do not attend to the fact that it is actually capitalist conceptions of land as property that undergird a reading of migration as displacing and dispossessing. She problematizes the commoditization of land and suggests replacing a temporal framework of Indigenous land claims (based on prior occupancy and ownership) with a spatial framework that privileges a “radical relationality to the land” (2012:82–82). Smith also cites Indigenous scholars like Taiaiake Alfred, Jeffrey Corntassel, Glen Coulthard, and Indigenous organizations at the 2008 World Social Forum who advance decolonizing politics that think beyond Indigenous recognition from the colonial state, addressing Sharma and Wright’s critique of sovereignty as a nationalist project. Following Scott Lyons (2010) and Indigenous organizations at the forum, she also raises the possibility of thinking of Indigeneity as praxis rather than identity, founded on “liberation of all peoples that depends on dismantling the state” (84). 9 These orientations also necessitate attention to the role of the state, capitalist accumulation, and discourses that justify exclusion of and violence against various Others. 18  binary is only one axis of differentiation functioning to produce power imbalances, material inequalities, or differential access to justice and self-determination in Vancouver. By using Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal descriptors in my work, I do not wish to reify this binary, but rather to examine its production and meaning. Moreover, I challenge myself to understand and interpret my non-Aboriginal participants’ experiences in relation to Indigeneity and colonialism as a methodological, theoretical, political, and ethical project. Taking inspiration from education scholar Dwayne Donald (2012), I maintain a distinction between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people not because I think these divides are “natural and necessary,” but because to do so allows for exploration of “ethical relationality”: “an ecological understanding of human relationality that does not deny difference, but rather seeks to understand more deeply how our different histories and experiences position us in relation to each other” (93; 103). I am particularly interested in how settler colonialism has produced and influenced this relation. A final point to make in regards to terminology is the use of the term “Aboriginal.” “Aboriginal” is used in Canada’s Constitution Act (1982) to recognize and acknowledge First Nations, Inuit, and Métis people collectively. The development of the term relates to the different ethnic, cultural, and national affiliations that were misrecognized or erased through the use of the colonial, racial, legal, and policy label “Indian.” While it can be argued that “Aboriginal” is a more inclusive term, Taiaiake Alfred and Jeffrey Corntassel (2005) suggest that its use in fact deflects attention from Indigeneity and Indigenous connections to land and efforts toward self-determination. This is an important critique that I continue to reflect on in my relation to my own work. I self-consciously and purposefully use both terms “Aboriginal” and “Indigenous.” Using “Aboriginal” is an acknowledgement of the intersections of political, racial, and cultural dynamics implied in the term, including the very relationship between Indigenous people and the Canadian nation-state that Alfred and Corntassel aim to critique. I also refer to the local peoples collectively as Coast Salish and specifically as Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh. For Indigenous peoples living in Vancouver who are not from these communities, I occasionally use the term “urban Aboriginal.”  I continue to critically interrogate my representational decision to use “Aboriginal”/“Indigenous” and “non-Aboriginal”/“non-Indigenous” throughout my analysis. By adopting a settler colonial theoretical framework while also electing to use these terms, despite their unspecific and problematic qualities, my hope is that I can 19  advance a more complicated narrative that simultaneously maintains descriptive ethnographic integrity while also building upon and reworking the critiques of terminology, processes of identity formation, and polemical analyses I have outlined above. I turn next to explain how my conceptual triad – spectrality, spectacle, and the everyday – allow me to make these theoretical and ethnographic contributions.    Spectacle, Spectrality, and the Everyday  Spectacle and spectrality share a common root in different iterations of the Latin verb spectare: to look at or to see. My use of these concepts interrogates what is seen, unseen, and remains to be seen in the everyday lived experiences and politics of settler colonial Vancouver. I ask what is made visible by the presence of colonial and Indigenous ghosts and what is concealed by spectacles. My interest in spectacle is in many ways fuelled by my interest in spectrality; I wonder what is hidden from view in the bright light of spectacular events and in the shadows of spectacular sites. Spectacles catch my eye and the ghosts that haunt them catch my attention. I am ultimately curious about how my non-Aboriginal participants experience life in a city where Indigenous peoples, histories, and places are simultaneously spectral and spectacularized, and how they relate to the uncanny feeling of Indigenous presence and absence.  Time is “out of joint” in Vancouver (Derrida 1994): it is no longer simply a colonial place, but neither is it yet postcolonial. Instead, it is a place haunted by an unjust past of dispossession and displacement, an unequal present of marginality and disconnection, and an uncertain future of recognition and reclamation. At the same time, it is a place decorated with totem poles and Northwest Coast art. It is home to a neighbourhood, the Downtown Eastside, where the city’s inequalities are on spectacular display. This is a city where Aboriginality is simultaneously pushed to the margins and front and centre, hidden from view and in plain sight (Gordon 2008; Robertson and Culhane 2005). As Indigenous people, including the local Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations, as well as (urban) Aboriginal social movements like Idle No More, persist in their efforts toward sovereignty and equity, the “over-and-done-with” of colonial history is continually revealed as ever-present, emergent, and shifting.  To speak of spectacle and spectrality in academic circles calls to mind two French philosophers: Guy Debord and Jacques Derrida. Marxist critics and contemporaries, 20  Debord and Derrida rarely engaged in debates with one another. Rather, Debord’s Society of the Spectacle (1994) and Derrida’s Specters of Marx (1994) are both foundational texts that have generated considerable discussion and informed fascinating scholarly analyses, each with its own distinct trajectory. Society of the Spectacle significantly influenced subsequent studies of mass media, consumerism, alienation, and commodity fetishism, as well as inspired political action among Debord’s fellow members of the social movement Situationist International in the Paris Uprising in 1968. Specters of Marx began as a lecture in a symposium in 1991 entitled “Whither Marxism?” It built upon and sparked debates about the direction of Marxist analysis in the wake of the Soviet collapse and the relationship between deconstruction and Marxism.  The divergent paths of these debates, and the different presuppositions and central questions that characterize them, make it challenging to join them together in a meaningful and coherent conversation.10 I do not attempt to achieve this feat, nor do I aim to review each of the expansive bodies of scholarship their work has shaped. Instead, I introduce the concepts of spectacle and spectrality as I characterize them and as they relate to my ethnographic context, drawing in part on Debord and Derrida, but also on anthropological analyses of spectacle (Culhane 2003; MacAloon 1984; Robertson 2005), local scholars’ interpretations of the politics of Indigenous performance and display (Cruikshank 1997; Roy 2002; Townsend-Gault 2004), socio-historical examinations of ghosts and affective haunting (Boyd and Thrush 2011; Gordon 2008; Mawani 2012a), and critical discussions of post-colonial ghost stories (Cameron 2008; Gelder and Jacobs 1998). This entails a theoretical eclecticism that enables a nuanced, critical analysis of settler colonial alterity and space as experienced in Vancouver.   Spectacle  “The spectacle is not a collection of images; rather, it is a social relationship between people that is mediated by images.”  - Guy Debord (1994:13)  When reviewing my interview transcripts, I used a separate code – “mediated encounter” – to identify the many times my participants recounted their experiences with Aboriginality through recollections of powwows, regalia, museums, totem poles and                                                             10 Though philosopher Andrew Hussey (2001) has tried.  21  tourist sites, and other forms of observation and consumption (see Chapter 7). Although I initially understood these occasions as somewhat distinct from their ordinary, day-to-day lives, it became apparent that material culture, art, performance, and media play central roles in their constructions of Aboriginal alterity. As anthropologist Leslie Robertson observed in her ethnography, Legend, Curse, and Spectacle in a Canadian Mining Town (2005:161), “Non-Aboriginal people of every age group discuss their perceptions of Indigenous people through spectacle and ceremony, contexts where they are culturally visible. Spectacle provides a frame through which non-Indigenous people imagine Native Americans.” I argue that spectacular cultural visibility through art, display, and performance is a constitutive feature of settler coloniality in Vancouver. Colourful and monumental Northwest Coast artwork decorates the city, particularly in its most touristic spaces like the international terminal of the airport, Stanley Park (see Chapter 3), and Granville Island. Works by Haida artist Bill Reid and Musqueam artist Susan Point are especially prominent. The Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, a popular destination and site of many fieldtrips for local schoolchildren, displays impressive totem poles in its grand Great Hall and outside on museum grounds. Additionally, Aboriginal performances are increasingly common, attracting broad audiences to popular annual events like the Talking Stick Festival and the Squamish Nation Powwow and other public events that feature Aboriginal singing and dance groups as opening acts. As I discuss in Chapter 4, Aboriginal art and performance were a central component of Vancouver’s 2010 Olympic Games – not only in the Opening Ceremony but also in the Vancouver Olympic bid, marketing, merchandise, and even forms of resistance and protest. Local ethnographer Dara Culhane calls attention to another dynamic of spectacle in Vancouver: the fascinated gaze researchers, journalists, and the public cast on the Downtown Eastside neighbourhood’s poor and marginalized community, including its disproportionate number of Aboriginal residents. She writes, “[n]ational and international media as well as a surfeit of both well-intentioned and/or brashly self-promoting artists, writers, and researchers have been drawn as moths to flames to document, analyse, represent, treat, and market the dramatic and photogenic spectacle of social suffering in this neighbourhood” (2003:594). Their exotic portrayals of “drugs, sex, violence, and crime” reinforce morbid fascination with the neighbourhood, reproducing it as a site of 22  spectacle (594). The Downtown Eastside stands out in the socio-spatial imaginaries of my participants as one of the few parts of the city they easily recognize as a distinctly Aboriginalized space, and their impressions of the neighbourhood are largely shaped by the “spectacle of social suffering” on display there. I return to Culhane’s argument below to connect spectacle and spectrality, but first I examine spectacle and describe its defining features.  First, spectacles privilege sight above all other senses. Spectacles are sites and events that attract spectators who gather to watch, observe, and look. As anthropologist John MacAloon puts it, “they are things to be seen” (1984:243).11 Although other senses and affects may be activated by spectacle, visuality is primary and essential. Furthermore, sites and events must achieve a particular scale or visually impressive quality to be characterized as spectacles. As MacAloon points out, neither orchestral performances nor films are typically categorized as spectacles, unless they reach some kind of large-scale proportion and catch the viewer’s eye. This in part explains why totem poles are deemed spectacular by many while other examples of Northwest Coast material culture, such as baskets or spoons, are not (though the baskets and spoons may be ornate and beautiful). Similarly, powwow dancers in brightly coloured and expressive regalia are spectacular in a way that a storyteller in jeans and a t-shirt is not (though he or she may still captivate audiences).  Second, spectacles are mediated moments that must involve an audience of some kind. A large-scale site or event only becomes a spectacle if it attracts spectators. Because sight is such a critical dimension of spectacle, it logically follows that there must be viewers who see, watch, and look.12 The positioning of spectators in relation to spectacle implies a somewhat passive form of participation for audiences. Spectacles enable audience members to watch without getting otherwise involved, and a shift in positionality occurs when an audience member becomes an active part of the spectacle, participating as an actor or performer rather than an observer. The relationship between                                                             11 MacAloon is one of anthropology’s primary theorists of spectacle, along with Don Handelman (Beeman 1993). In contrast to Debord’s materialist perspective, both MacAloon and Handelmann focus on ritual, semiotics, and performance theory in their analyses of the symbolisms of spectacle. MacAloon’s anthropologies of spectacle and Olympic Games have analysed the philosophies of the modern Olympic movement’s founder, Pierre Coubertin; examined spectacle in relation to other forms of performance (e.g., festival, ritual, and games); and explored the methodological potential and limits of Olympic ethnographic study ( MacAloon 1984; MacAloon 1999; MacAloon 2009). 12 The presence of spectators is more important than the size of the crowd, though crowd size may contribute to the scale and experience of spectacle. 23  spectacle and spectators produces many a/effects, and important social relations are constructed through spectacle and spectatorship. As Debord observes, “The spectacle is not a collection of images; rather, it is a social relationship between people that is mediated by images” (1994:13). Many of my non-Aboriginal research participants’ experiences with Aboriginality are with images of Aboriginal art, culture, and performance more than with Aboriginal people directly. This has profound effects on their expectations of Aboriginal alterity and their affective knowledges about their relations to Aboriginality (as I discuss below and in other chapters, especially Chapter 7).  Third, spectacles are often observed by spectators as cultural rather than political occasions, which in part explains spectators’ self-perceived role as observers rather than actors in spectacle. Cultural qualities of Indigenous spectacles – art, performance, display, and even social suffering, as Culhane has observed – are privileged by spectators over their political or social characteristics and effects. Debord argues that spectacle “bur[ies] history in culture” (1994:137). However, as anthropologists Julie Cruikshank (1997), Bruce Miller (2006), and historian Susan Roy (2002), and others (cf. Raibmon 2000; 2005; Townsend-Gault 2004; Stanley 1998) have argued, Aboriginal art and performance often cannot be isolated from historical context and socio-political issues related to land, decolonization, and sovereignty. Such performances regularly communicate political messages, even if non-Aboriginal audiences do not always understand them as such. As Roy suggests, “cultural performances directed to multi-ethnic audiences [should be treated as] ‘tangible forms of social action’ embedded in the larger fields of political, economic, and cultural production” (2002:62).13 Furthermore, in Northwest Coast communities, audiences at potlatches and other public events are directly involved with the political work of such performances and activities: audience members are witnesses, not merely spectators, which changes their role and responsibilities from passive viewers to active participants. My categorization of Aboriginal art and performance as cultural spectacles is thus meant to draw attention to the ways that non-Aboriginal audiences often perceive them, rather than to reflect the intentions and goals of the artists and performers                                                             13 Roy uses examples of Musqueam performances in the 1960s to demonstrate how Musqueam dancers played off of non-Aboriginal audience’s expectations of Indigenous performance and repurposed these opportunities to articulate their own political attachments to land and history. She writes, “although non-Aboriginal audiences, who were steeped in a tradition that distinguishes between Aboriginal or folk cultural tradition and political activity, likely viewed Aboriginal performances as non-confrontational, even nostalgic, [the Musqueam’s] displays contained elements of promotion and protests that were only possible within such celebratory intercultural settings” (2002:67). 24  themselves. There are certainly politics involved in spectacle, as I hope my analysis will illustrate. However, readings of spectacle that privilege cultural interpretations and gloss over the political and social commentary embedded within them are pervasive, especially in relation to Aboriginal performance and display. Such readings reproduce non-Aboriginal people as spectators rather than actors and/or witnesses in socio-political processes that affect Aboriginal people. This brings me to my fourth observation about spectacle: spectacles are inherently representational, and racial and cultural Others are often spectacularized in popular representations. The spectacularized Other is thus a common and significant part of viewers’ affective knowledges. As critical theorist Stuart Hall notes, “Representation is a complex business and, especially when dealing with ‘difference,’ it engages feelings, attitudes, and emotions and it mobilizes fears and anxieties in the viewer” (1997:226). While Hall’s analysis deals mostly with representations of blackness, including black athletes and criminals and binary constructions of black and white, representations of Indigenous Otherness have certainly been spectacularized in common national narratives (the frontier and the Wild West), epic films (especially westerns), museums and ethnographic displays (such as World’s Fairs and expositions), and contemporary media and journalism. This long history of spectacular representation forms a considerable archive of images and imaginaries that non-Aboriginal people can and do access in their constructions of Aboriginal alterity. Debord argues in the opening paragraph of Society of the Spectacle that “all that once was directly lived has become mere representation” (1994:12). Representations of Aboriginal alterity in art, display, performance, and media spectacles come to constitute experiences and knowledges about Aboriginality in general. Spectacular representations of Aboriginality in Vancouver often stand in for and shape direct, personal encounters with Aboriginal people in the city. From totem poles to Indigenous social suffering on the Downtown Eastside to powwow performances, Aboriginal spectacles are both eye-catching and expected in the city – both extraordinary and ordinary parts of Vancouver’s aesthetics and the lived experiences of its non-Aboriginal residents.  Finally, and on a related note, spectacles are often understood by spectators as distinct from everyday life even as they inform and constitute it. Spectacular sites and events offer discreet moments to see, watch, and observe something apart from the ordinary. Spectacles are eye-catching. Yet an accumulation of spectacles can also come to 25  comprise the ordinary and populate the everyday.  Thus, the totem poles in Stanley Park, for example, remain distinct from everyday life – they are colourful, grand, and memorable, they represent a spectacularized Otherness, and they are a site to be visited on occasion – but they are also a familiar site/sight for city residents. Their familiarity does not cancel out their distinction or separation. They remain Other, outside of the everyday, just as other forms Indigenous art and performance are recognized and marked as distinct and different, outside the ordinary. The Downtown Eastside continues to fascinate and disturb passersby, even though its poverty, violence, and marginalization have become normalized features of the neighbourhood and city. While the neighbourhood’s residents are not performers, their lives lived outside on the street attract attention and spectators. This is what I aim to demonstrate in my analyses of spectacle that follow: that Indigenous spectacles and spectacularized Indigeneity, in both their distinction and ubiquity, significantly shape non-Aboriginal expectations and affective knowledges about Aboriginal alterity and encounter. These spectacles reproduce looking relations (Chapter 7), influence representations of place and nation (Chapter 4), and inform practices of inclusion (Chapters 4, 5, and 6). As I discuss below, spectacle has a considerable effect on how non-Aboriginal people experience space, sociality, and alterity in Vancouver.  Analysing spectacle opens opportunities to interrogate the politics of visibility and representation. Spectacles as distinctive features of city life variously reflect, distort, obscure, and occasionally transform everyday social processes. As anthropologist Don Handelman (1990)  has observed, spectacles can function as either models or mirrors – they are sites and events that allow analysts and audiences to examine and sometimes critique ordinary conditions through comparison and contrast with spectacular representations. In Vancouver, paying critical attention to Indigenous spectacles allows me to ask questions like: How do spectacles distract from and/or illuminate historical injustices and material inequalities? How do non-Aboriginal audiences integrate Aboriginal art and display into their own sense of place and belonging in the city? How does familiarity with Aboriginal spectacle become synonymous with or different from familiarity with Indigenous history, culture, and social life? How do Aboriginal spectacles reproduce and intervene in processes and politics of settler colonialism? How does the banality of spectacle in the city limit or make possible Indigenous recognition and colonial reckoning?    26  Spectrality  “What is the time and what is the history of the spectre? Is there a present of the spectre? Are its comings and goings ordered according to the linear succession of a before and an after, between a present-past, a present-present, and present-future, between a ‘real time’ and a ‘deferred time’?”  - Jacques Derrida (1994:39)  Among settlers in contemporary Vancouver, there is much that goes unseen, unheard, and unsaid in relation to the ongoing colonial project. Open dialogue about race and racism is rare, for example, and anxieties about historical Coast Salish dispossession and future repossession of unceded territories are only occasionally expressed. Always present but often hidden or repressed, concerns about an unjust past, unequal present, and an uncertain future haunt the everyday. Spectrality is a state or condition of haunting; spectre is another word for ghost or apparition. I argue that Aboriginal alterity and the unfinished and ever-emergent business of settler colonialism produce spectral effects that influence non-Aboriginal residents’ experiences, affective knowledges, and spatio-temporal imaginaries of their city. I also suggest that analytically attending to ghosts and hauntings opens opportunities to make visible what is often hidden from view, silenced, and/or revenant: disappearing and returning.  As geographer Emilie Cameron observes, spectrality has emerged as a “compelling metaphor” for critical scholars who “aim to trouble, uncover, and interrogate the play of the colonial past in this ongoing colonial present” (2008:383–384). Although Cameron critiques the spectral turn, she acknowledges that stories of ghosts enable analysts to unsettle and critique colonial conceptions of time and space, and to interrogate the “mismatch between the ideal and the real, the present and the absent” (383). Attention to ghosts allows critical scholars and social actors to consider and convey the traces, impacts, and a/effects of systemic processes and systems of power that are not always immediately tangible or blatantly visible. In her influential book Ghostly Matters (2008), sociologist Avery Gordon persuasively argues that attending to ghosts is a critical political project. She suggests that ghosts are part of material and social reality and have socio-political effects. For my analytical purposes, spectrality provides a critical frame to investigate how my non-Aboriginal research participants affectively relate to the spatio-temporalities of Indigenous visibility/erasure, presence/absence, and marginality/reinscription.  27  Theorizing Indigeneity as spectral also enables me to explain how Aboriginal alterity and Indigeneity function almost holographically: apparent and visible in some contexts, but erased or minimized in others.14 I am interested in how and why Aboriginal alterity – cultural, racial, and social difference – is sometimes emphasized and other times is ignored or mitigated. As well, I suggest that Indigeneity is revenant: it seems to disappear and return, thereby haunting contemporary social relations. For example, sometimes attention to Aboriginal racial alterity eclipses Indigenous political distinction, rendering Indigeneity invisible. Other times, efforts toward universalized, liberal forms of equality erase Aboriginal alterities and Indigenous distinctions. Sometimes Indigeneity is called forth and summoned – through spectacles of recognition, for instance – and then retreats from view as the event continues or attention switches to other concerns. Narratives of city history offer another example: local Coast Salish people appear at the start of the story, then disappear as the focus turns to stories of the railways and ports and other processes of city development, only to return again in descriptions of the multicultural, colourful cultures represented in the city today. This revenant form of Indigenous spectrality is the enabling force fuelling both Aboriginal spectacle and marginality in Vancouver, thereby shaping the conditions of encounter for non-Aboriginal residents.  It is important to note that I evoke and articulate a very specific interpretation of spectrality in ways that sometimes do and sometimes do not correspond with beliefs about ghosts in local and regional Indigenous communities. For example, Musqueam people believe their ancestors are real, not ghosts; they have a contemporary presence that requires certain protocols. Maintaining the metaphor of “ghosts,” I also suggest that people and processes from the past are present in spaces of the city today, but I do not use the language or conception of ancestors, nor do I directly discuss protocols. I do, however, contend that we should acknowledge ghostliness in the city and, using Gordon’s language, be “hospitable” to spectres that haunt city spaces rather than exorcise or ignore them. I specifically draw on Gordon’s analysis of spectres to develop my own theorizing about the spectral qualities of settler colonial life in the city. In doing so, I do not significantly engage with other versions of spectrality and ghostliness as imagined, for example, in Indigenous communities on the Northwest Coast or in the “ghost stories” told                                                             14 I am grateful to Renisa Mawani for suggesting this imagery. 28  about “Indian graveyards” and other forms of North American haunting, as collected and discussed in Colleen Boyd and Coll Thrush’s recent edited volume (2011). Instead, I develop a distinct conceptual and critical analysis of haunting, not to repeat or interpret others’ ghost stories but to consider how the city is haunted by the unfinished business of colonialism and the ongoing production and management of alterity.15  Like spectacle, I suggest that spectrality involves sight and seeing; yet spectres play tricks on sight and also activate other senses. I agree with Gordon when she explains that “haunting is not about invisibility or unknowability per se”; instead, she argues, haunting “refers us to what’s living and breathing in the place hidden from view: people, places, histories, knowledge, memories, ways of life, ideas” (2011:3). To conjure up and acknowledge ghosts involves making visible what has been repressed or concealed but never fully banished or disappeared. It also involves examining the processes that repress and conceal. For example, in 2012 a construction project in the Marpole neighbourhood of Vancouver uncovered a Coast Salish burial site, part of the vast Marpole Midden, a National Heritage Site on the Fraser River (see Chapter 8). The Musqueam community mobilized to protest the construction project, reclaim the property, and lay their ancestors to rest. It is not the dead and buried I consider as ghosts here, but the ways that Musqueam claims to place and history were covered up (quite literally, by concrete and tar) through colonial processes and urban development only to be made visible again through the Musqueam community’s contemporary acts of resistance and remembering. In my conceptual schema, the space became haunted not by the spirits of ancestors, but by buried histories forgotten and unknown among the broader public.  Gordon argues that ghosts take up space. Exploring their spatialized existence is a form of unmapping, which Sherene Razack (2002) advocates as a strategy to dislodge naturalized racialization and spatialization processes to reveal the settler mythologies that underpin them. This spatial project involves interrogating and contesting discursive erasures and refusing to take absence for granted. As the Musqueam example above and the case of Stanley Park in Chapter 3 illustrate, I understand Vancouver’s spaces to be haunted, not necessarily by supernatural beings, but by processes of dispossession that have displaced local Coast Salish peoples and their histories from common urban narratives and imaginaries. When familiar places become haunted by unfamiliar stories,                                                             15 In future analyses, I hope to explore how Coast Salish interpretations of ghosts and people and things “hidden from view” intersect with the analysis of spectrality I present here. 29  spectrality can operate as a potentially generative or transformative process, creating new meanings and senses of place. In this way, spectrality can produce uncanny feelings, as Ken Gelder and Jane M. Jacobs argue: a strange sensation of seeing something or being somewhere familiar and unfamiliar at once (1998:23). The revenant quality of Indigenous spectrality can enhance this feeling of uncanniness. Unmapping familiar terrain to make space for the erased and marginalized – the ghosted – opens opportunities to experience the uncanny. Same spaces are made different, and sameness and difference are felt simultaneously. Spectrality also enables insights into the spatial production of marginality and disconnection. Ghosts occupy spaces “hidden from view,” in some ways similar to what sociologist Rob Shields calls “places on the margins” (1991). Perceptions of these marginal spaces and their ghostly inhabitants can reveal how such spaces haunt those who occupy the centre. For example, many of my non-Aboriginal research participants in Mount Pleasant identified the Downtown Eastside as a distinctive site of Aboriginality in the city and simultaneously labelled the neighbourhood a space of danger and inequality – a marginalized space in the city that engenders fear and inspires avoidance – perceptions that reproduce spatial marginalization. Shields argues, “The manner in which spatialization is most visible is in spatial practices and in the connotations people associate with places and regions in everyday talk” (1991:47). As I explore in my extended discussion of the Downtown Eastside (Chapter 3), outsiders’ associations of crime, violence, and drug use in the neighbourhood can have a spectral effect, ghosting its residents and concealing structural processes that shape their experiences (Culhane 2003). To attend to this ghosting, then, is to make visible marginalization as an ever-emergent and constructed process.  In addition to spatial insights, spectral analysis also opens opportunities to explore time and temporality. In Spectres of Marx, Derrida regularly repeats a line from Hamlet to convey the ways ghosts affect our perception of time: “time is out of joint.” Sociologist Renisa Mawani writes, “specters, as apparitions, phantoms, ghosts, Derrida (1994:39) contends, are always of time and its interruption” (2012a:374). In her analysis of Indian migration in the 1910s, Mawani demonstrates how the spectral figure of Indigeneity emerged in surprising, sometimes contradictory ways in Indian satire, legal arguments, 30  and public debates at the time.16 By tracking the ghosts, Mawani contests colonial histories that suggest successive linearity of colonial time:  Indigeneity then European settlement then non-European migration. Her discussion conveys much messier and more complex spatio-temporalities, with Indigenous spectral figures variously “shift[ing] across past, present, and future” (374). She draws on Derridean philosophy to consider the spectre as a revenant figure that arrives even as it returns, calling into question its temporal location.  Derrida asks, “Is there a present of the spectre? Are its comings and goings ordered according to the linear succession of a before and an after… between a ‘real time’ and a deferred time’?” (1994:39). Or, put another way, are ghosts of the past, present, or future? Is Indigeneity of the past, present, or future? Following Mawani and Gordon, I suggest all three. Spectrality can function to bring these temporal terms into alignment, making the past alive in the present and animating a yet-unseen future, or switch time around (“time is out of joint”). Indigeneity, when conceptualized through a frame of spectrality, can be understood as a political and social location that emerged in the colonial past, continues to persist in the present and take new shape, and engenders uncertainty around its expression and manifestation in the future. Indigeneity can be uncanny: simultaneously visible and invisible, as Gelder and Jacobs argue. It can also be revenant: minimized through colonial coercion, managed through policy, Indigeneity re-presents in the present and its oppression in the past haunts the future.  Although Gordon distances herself from Derrida’s formulations of spectrality, she too addresses the temporalities of haunting and suggests that ghosts are not simply of the past but rather constitute the present and even evoke a sense of “something-to-be-done” in the future: “one can say that futurity is imbricated or interwoven into the very scene of haunting itself” (2011: 3). Haunting is “at its core a contest over the future” (3). While the Indigenous spectral figures in Mawani’s account are circumscribed and instrumentalized, Gordon thinks that ghosts can serve a more hopeful and emancipatory purpose if they are given a hospitable welcome by social analysts and actors.17 By directly attending to                                                             16 These commentaries addressed issues of legitimacy, access, authority, and racial superiority in contests over British-Indian migration and the Komagata Maru. She suggests that Indigenous spectral figures in these accounts function to reveal and critique British colonial “temporal logics.” 17 Mawani explains, “The political and legal work performed by indigeneity, as well as its deployment as a temporal logic and as a form of spectral governance, becomes palpable only when it is allowed to (re)emerge and return as a persistent presence that can interrupt colonial legal histories of subalternity” (2012a:400). 31  ghosts and the “trouble they represent and symptomize,” we can work to avoid a haunted future: “in the gracious but careful reckoning with the ghost… we [can] locate some elements of a practice for moving towards eliminating the conditions the produce the haunting in the first place” (2011:2, 17).  To further consider the temporalities of haunting, it is useful to compare spectrality to spectacle. While spectators recognize spectacles as discreet and distinct temporal moments and spatial sites (even if sites of spectacle become mundane), spectrality as a condition or state of haunting is difficult to delimit temporally. Although a feeling of haunting can be fleeting, ghosts often linger and can continue to haunt even after they have been acknowledged or exorcised. If their presence is a reminder or signal of something amiss or previously repressed, even if this is righted or otherwise addressed, ghosts can leave a mark – traces and residues of injustice and trauma. Seemingly apart and even otherworldly, spectres populate the spaces of the quotidian present. Spectrality is thus a constitutive feature of everyday life in the settler colonial city. It produces a “structure of feeling” in Vancouver, to borrow from Raymond Williams (1977). Processes and policies of colonialism, for example, leave tangible traces on the built environment and contemporary materialities but also haunt in more subtle ways, shaping affective knowledges and personal encounters and disrupting illusions of post-coloniality: “the over and done with comes alive” (Gordon 2011:2). Haunting, writes Gordon, “alters the experience of being in linear time, alters the way we normally separate and sequence the past, the present, and the future” (2). Long histories and embodied practices of silencing, management, erasure, and marginality can be illuminated and made visible through analyses that recognize these processes as spectrally present. Similarly, affects and emotions that influence action and perception but are “hidden from view” and seldom expressed can be brought into the open for discussion when understood as ghostly dimensions of everyday life. This can be especially useful when addressing issues of race, racialization, and racism, which continue to shape everyday encounters and material conditions even as historical and biological conceptions of race are increasingly recognized as defunct, inaccurate, and scientifically and morally wrong. Reflecting on the potentialities of affective analyses to enhance critical geographies and race studies, geographer Anoop Nayak writes, with spectral connotations, “Although race may be a ‘floating signifier,’ we must ask under what conditions it is summoned-to-life and allowed to materialise within time and place” 32  (2010:554). Race effects a spectral force on contemporary social relations in ways that only occasionally come into full view. Attention to haunting thus offers a theoretical and methodological tool to give voice, shape, and animacy to affects and other immaterialities that shape everyday conditions (see Chapter 7).   The “Everyday”  My analysis asks what kinds of knowledges and conditions of everyday life and encounter are produced in the tensions and gaps between Indigenous spectrality and spectacle. I am especially concerned with the linkages between these two processes and how they mutually constitute and define settler colonial relations in contemporary Vancouver.18  As discussed above, I locate my analysis in three sites of Aboriginal inclusion. My fieldwork at the Mount Pleasant library and with the BladeRunners program provides long-term analysis of quotidian sites of purposeful proximity, complementing my ethnographic examination of the Olympic spectacle. My fieldwork explores how the “real” is produced and experienced in the interstices of the surreal of spectrality and the hyper-real of spectacle. It is an ethnographic examination that accounts for the ways the ordinary and banal are shaped in the dialectic of structure and event (Koester 2005; Das 1995; Sahlins 1991).  I suggest that Aboriginal inclusion initiatives are mediating the ordinary of settler coloniality. They offer a set of discursive and conceptual sites of possibility for settlers to navigate their relations to Aboriginality because they enable encounter. These encounters are animated by the dynamics of spectrality and spectacle I describe, but they also offer alternative ways of being-together with Aboriginal people that are banal: building a housing frame at a construction site, reading beside one another at a library in a community centre. Because of their emphasis on Aboriginal inclusion, however, these banalities cannot be read simply as examples of a life in a diverse place. This form of the “everyday” is produced, engineered, and negotiated because conditions of settler colonialism otherwise make such encounters extraordinary or unavailable.                                                              18 My thinking about these questions has been significantly influenced by local critical scholars, especially sociologist Renisa Mawani and anthropologist Dara Culhane, as well as historian Susan Roy, geographer Nicholas Blomley, and historian Jean Barman. Throughout my analysis, I combine their careful analyses with my own ethnographic materials and theoretical insights from scholars further afield.  33  These conditions are embedded in my analysis through participants’ reflections on their experiences and expectations of Aboriginality within and beyond my field sites. In Chapter 2, I describe my methodology in more detail; I introduce each field site with a narrative of arrival and conclude by discussing how my multi-sited approach is greater than the sum of its parts. Chapter 3 then takes a wider scope to provide contextual details about two distinctly Aboriginalized places in Vancouver: Stanley Park’s totem poles and the Downtown Eastside neighbourhood. I use these sites to further explain how Aboriginal spectacle and spectrality shape structures of feeling in the city, influencing everyday socio-spatial imaginaries of Aboriginality. The interpenetration of spectacularized and spectral Aboriginality is examined in my Chapter 4 analysis of the ultimate spectacle: Vancouver’s 2010 Winter Olympics. I describe the saturation of Aboriginal imagery – Olympic “Aboriginalia” and performance – during the Games, asking what the spectacle illuminated and what was hidden from view in regards to the ongoing everyday realities of settler colonialism for Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal residents of the city.   Chapters 5 and 6 focus on respectively on my long-term field sites – the Mount Pleasant library and the BladeRunners program – and the discourse and practices of Aboriginal inclusion that operate within them. In Chapter 5, I examine how BladeRunners participants are discursively positioned in ways that highlight and minimize their alterities. I explore how a common saying around the office, “Once a BladeRunner, always a BladeRunner,” is transformed through the BladeRunner process that situates the new workers as “just one of the guys” on their construction placement sites. The deployment of these discourses reveals when, how, and why Aboriginal alterities are made visible and invisible, and how this shape-shifting influences non-Aboriginal impressions of their new coworkers and Indigeneity in the city and nation more generally. In Chapter 6, I chronicle the development of the library’s Working Together Project and Aboriginal collection. I suggest that different perspectives on managing the Aboriginal collection align with different approaches to addressing the “Indian problem” that are embedded in colonial history and contemporary policy, revealing the longstanding tensions around how best to recognize, resolve, or mitigate Aboriginal alterity. The holographic quality of Indigeneity is “on display,” enacted through library decisions about how to select Aboriginal materials, where to shelve them, and how to identify them for different uses by Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal patrons.  34  In Chapter 7, I adopt a participant’s description of non-Aboriginal encounters with Aboriginality – “coffee table books, souvenirs, and a bit of guilt” – to analyse how looking relations, consumption and collection, and affective responses to Aboriginal alterity (marginality and Indigenous politics) form an archive of knowledges that shape their ideas about the unjust past, unequal present, and uncertain future of settler colonial relations. This chapter draws out participants’ varied forms of knowing and experiencing Aboriginality in a context of spectacle and spectrality.   In Chapter 8, I conclude that spectacular Aboriginality and Aboriginal inclusion can both function to deflect attention from non-Aboriginal people’s relationality to Aboriginal people and settler colonial processes. Spectral forms of Indigeneity – now you see it, now you don’t – perpetuate this deflection, enabling non-Aboriginal people to maintain distance from Aboriginal people and the colonial project. As efforts are made to include Aboriginal people in the city, non-Aboriginal people are not invited or encouraged to include themselves as active agents in decolonization. A focus on including the Aboriginal Other can thus entail excusing non-Aboriginal people from the important work of transforming settler colonial conditions in the city. Using stories from my three field sites, as well as recent events involving local Indigenous peoples, I demonstrate that an emphasis on Aboriginal issues can undermine public confrontation and transformation of settler colonial issues. This situation may ultimately reproduce settler logics and hegemony unless Aboriginal inclusion is more critically and creatively paired with active forms of settler decolonization.  I began this project with many questions, and I end it with many new ones. Settler colonialism is a structure, inherited and reproduced. The processes that sustain this complex structure are not self-evident, inevitable, simple, or unidirectional, and neither will be processes toward dismantling it. My dissertation aims to understand the spectacular, spectral, and everyday conditions of settler colonialism in Vancouver in order to better understand how these conditions can be reimagined.      35  Chapter 2: Including Encounters – Fieldwork in the Interstices of Settler Colonial Vancouver  Introduction  To understand the construction of difference in Western… thought requires an adjustable lens that can take a wide angle on the historical processes that have systematically sorted the world’s people according to differential categories that fit with imperial, colonial, and capitalist expansion at a global scale, as well as zoom in on the everyday practices through which difference is constituted among people in direct contact with one another. (De Leeuw, Kobayashi, and Cameron 2011:18)   Social analysts studying points of contact across difference explore how new and sustained encounters produce (new) knowledges and anxieties, (re)define alterities and power dynamics, and (re)configure relations between people and spaces. To speak of encounters across difference in contemporary times may seem anachronistic, given the historical time-depths of colonialism, human migration, and settlement.19 Furthermore, growing attention to hybridity and the slippery nature of human distinction suggest that we increasingly occupy diverse shared spaces and move in “flows,” even as differences continue to persist. At the same time, new encounters between strangers can happen daily, sometimes multiple times a day, especially in cities. Encounters are also impeded by spatial segregation and social distance.  In this chapter, I present my three field sites as sites of encounter and explain how together they allow me to simultaneously take a “wide angle” on settler colonial processes and “zoom in on the everyday practices” of contact and the construction of difference, to borrow a metaphor from human geographers Sarah de Leeuw, Audrey Kobayashi, and Emilie Cameron (2011: 18). Each site offers me a distinct vantage point to study the circulation and practices of discourses that sustain and redefine non-Aboriginal conceptions of Aboriginal alterity. While Vancouver’s Olympics presented a temporally and spatially condensed opportunity to study the production of spectacular Aboriginality, for example, my long-term fieldwork at the library and with BladeRunners enabled me to compare spectacular discourses and practices with the banalities, tensions,                                                             19 Indeed, analyses of encounter constitute a wide range of social science projects today including, but not limited to, studies on migration, war, urban planning, globalization, production and consumption, and social movements.  36  and socio-politics of inclusion on a less spectacular scale. The library provided opportunities to examine the processes and challenges of emphasizing Aboriginal difference and community development, while BladeRunners gave me insights into what happens when Aboriginal marginality is acknowledged but minimized to facilitate integration and equality. Moving between these sites supports an analysis that accounts for broader discursive tropes and social patterns of settler colonial life, as well as attends to nuances between different approaches to Aboriginal inclusion. This three-sited approach made visible the complex interplay between the spectacular, spectral, and ordinary qualities of settler coloniality in Vancouver.  I begin by briefly describing the methodological and theoretical antecedents of this project as an ethnography of settler colonial encounters and discourses. I then narrate my own initial encounters in each site to reflect on ethical considerations of my research, my site selection rationale, participant profiles, interview techniques, and other methodological concerns. I conclude by considering my three sites together, highlighting the challenges and advantages of a locally multi-sited ethnography designed to allow for “wide-angle” and “zoomed-in” analyses of settler colonialism today.   Ethnographic Influences: Site Selection and Methodological Practice  Before, during, and after entering “the field,” my thinking about difference and encounter across difference has been influenced in countless ways by a diverse, interdisciplinary set of critical theorists, colonial historians, anthropologists in/of settler states, and human geographers of space and race. Rather than present an exhaustive review of the works that inform my own thinking, I discuss below some primary sources of inspiration for my methodological design. It is important to note, however, that many others, including scholars like feminist theorist bell hooks, anticolonial writer Frantz Fanon, and literary critic Edward Said, have over the years been present at strategic points of research to push me to think more deeply and sensitively about how difference is socially and discursively constructed, materially and spatially manifested, and potentially transformed through new ethical relations, social justice movements, and critical theory.20                                                              20 Furthermore, conceptual metaphors from postcolonial and critical scholarship have enabled me to reflect on how my field sites compare and contrast with different temporal and spatial social landscapes of empire, colonialism, and contemporary encounters across difference: middle ground (White 1991), contact zone 37  Most directly, my methodological design was inspired by anthropologist Eva Mackey’s House of Difference (2002) and political scientist Allaine Cerwonka’s ethnographic methodological and theoretical journey toward her dissertation and book Native to the Nation (2004), as discussed through a series of email exchanges with her committee member anthropologist Liisa Malkki published in their book Improvising Theory (2007).  Mackey’s book critically examines how discourses of tolerance and inclusion inform Canadian national identity and sustain white settler hegemony. She considers how “power and dominance function through more liberal, inclusionary, pluralistic, multiple and fragmented formulations and practices concerning culture and difference” (2002:5). Her ethnographic project, examining the subtleties of everyday forms of meaning-making and alterity production, was also multi-sited, “account[ing] for the fact that national identity is produced both in face-to-face encounters in multiple sites, as well as through representations, institutions, and policies” (6). Her study, like mine, began as event-centred; while I examine the Olympics and tensions around Olympic forms of Aboriginality, her study explores race, nationalism, and representation in relation to “Canada 125” celebrations in 1992. She conducted participant observation and interviews in small, mostly white, towns in Ontario in relation to festivals convened for the Canada 125 occasion. I hope my urban-based analysis of inclusion discourses and settler colonial relations will provide interesting complements and contrasts with her work on multiculturalism, nationalism, and “dominant society” in Canada. In my research, I combine Mackey’s event-centred approach with Cerwonka’s long-term ethnography in Melbourne, Australia. Like Mackey, Cerwonka sought to examine nation-building, considering in particular the spatial construction of the Australian nation and settler imaginaries about migrants and Aboriginality. In Improvising Theory, her email exchanges with Liisa Malkki reveal how and why she decided to locate her ethnography in a police station and a gardening club in Melbourne. Cerwonka and Malkki reflect on the partial nature of ethnographic knowledge production when situated in such specific sites, as well as the productive potential such an approach allows. Cerwonka comments, “In [one] exchange, Liisa challenged me to recognize that                                                                                                                                                                                      (Pratt 2008), the Black Atlantic (Gilroy 1993), the edge of empire (Jacobs 1996), thirdspace (Bhabha 1994; Bruyneel 2007), fort (Donald 2012), friction (Tsing 2005), orientalism (Said 1979), frontier (Furniss 1999), cosmopolitan canopy (Elijah Anderson 2011), and more. My engagement with these theoretical interventions forms the subtext of my methodological approach. 38  the only way to make defensible knowledge claims about my topic was to speak out of detailed, rich and, as she phrased it then, ‘sometimes ridiculously deep’ knowledge of a particular social location” (27). My ethnography of Olympic Aboriginality, the Mount Pleasant Library branch, and the BladeRunners program aims for this kind of located, deep knowledge and argumentation.  Cerwonka’s attention to race, space, affect, and informant and researcher positionality in both Improvising Theory (2007) and Native to the Nation (2004) greatly influenced my desire to choose somewhat disparate long-term field sites that would similarly provide me with rich, distinct (yet conversant), and nuanced insights into the everyday mechanisms of settler colonial sociality, knowledge production, and affective encounter in Vancouver.21  My research raised a number of interesting methodological challenges, such as the practice of conducting anthropology “at home” and in the city, ethics and responsibilities of studying colonialism as a white settler woman, overlaps between academic scholarship and activism, challenges of ethnography of spectacle, relationships with key “informants,” and the dialectical and emergent relationship between theory and method. Rather than address these issues one by one, I fold them into my discussion of my three sites here and in the chapters that follow. I turn next to describe how I constructed my field of study, beginning with the Aboriginal Pavilion and other sites of Olympic Aboriginality.   “The World’s Biggest Potlatch”: Spectacular Anthropology  Tewanee Joseph, chief executive officer of the Four Host First Nations Society and member of the Squamish Nation, called Vancouver’s Olympic Games the “world’s biggest potlatch.”22 Potlatches are ceremonies of social and material exchange and performance that communicate important messages to participants about the status and                                                             21 After selecting the Mount Pleasant library branch and the construction training program and work site, my supervisor wryly noted that the library was my garden club, the construction workers my policemen, mirroring Cerwonka’s field site selection. Indeed, there are interesting parallels to be drawn, though it is beyond my scope here to consider them fully. 22 When referring to public figures, I use their full, real names. For my participants, I use first names only and all names are pseudonyms. Some participants gave me permission to use their real names, but I decided to use pseudonyms for consistency. I have, however, identified staff people in my field sites by their positions, a representational decision I discussed with them when they signed their consent forms.  39  interests of their hosts. They are sites of intense encounter and interaction, and witnesses play an important role; their presence and acknowledgement of the event’s happenings provide legitimacy and recognition to the hosts.  The spectacular quality of potlatches and their complex social dynamics have attracted and fascinated anthropologists since the early days of the discipline. The art and material culture that emerged from the Northwest Coast potlatch tradition provided a unique and memorable aesthetic that now adorns Vancouver and British Columbia, captivating non-Indigenous locals and tourists alike. Vancouver’s Olympics were hosted by local Coast Salish nations – the Four Host First Nations – and prominently featured Aboriginal and Aboriginal-inspired art and performance.  The Olympics were a time of performance, self-conscious representations, and choreographed and curated expressions of identity, nationhood, and culture. My study was not designed as an ethnography of the Olympics per se. Rather, my ethnographic research during the Games informs my analysis of non-Aboriginal knowledge production, Aboriginal alterities, and spatial dynamics of Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal relations in Vancouver. One of my organizing arguments in this dissertation is that spectacle plays a significant role in shaping non-Aboriginal experiences of Aboriginality in the city.  As I describe in Chapter 4, Olympic Aboriginality – from front-and-centre performances and commodified culture to anti-colonial protests – saturated the representational landscape of Vancouver’s Games. This enabled spectacularized encounters between non-Aboriginal spectators and Aboriginal performers, dignitaries, artists, entrepreneurs, demonstrators, and Aboriginal art, display, and material culture. The Olympic spectacle recycled and produced new images of the Aboriginal Other that non-Aboriginal spectators could use to support or refresh their ideas of Aboriginal alterity. As I explain in Chapter 4, Aboriginal involvement in the Olympics also demonstrated how the spectacular present remains haunted by an unjust past and uncertain future. It also reproduced erasures and circumscriptions of Aboriginal identities and politics in ways that may further sustain non-Aboriginal experiences of Indigeneity as spectral: simultaneously of the past and present, of the here and not-here.      Anthropologist John MacAloon (1999) explains that mega-events like the Olympics challenge conventional definitions of anthropological fieldwork and that ethnographers can face great difficulty addressing the scale and complexity of mega-events. He states, “Nearly every person, and certainly every researcher, attending an 40  Olympic Games for the first time is a little awe-struck by how much more vast is the terrain of goings-on than had been imagined in advance” (1999:14).23 This definitely resonates with my experiences. During the Games, spectators attended sports and cultural events across the city and region and thousands gathered in downtown streets all day and into the night. As an ethnographer, decisions about where to be, for how long, and for what purpose, were magnified while immersed in the spectacle.  Focusing specifically on possible sites of encounter between non-Aboriginal spectators and Olympic forms of Aboriginality helped to establish some focus, but the Olympics offered a dizzying array of such sites. Tourist and locals could experience Aboriginal performance, resistance, and Aboriginalia at the Pan Pacific’s Klahowya Village, the carving shed at the Vancouver Art Gallery, the Canamade show at Woodward’s, the Hudson’s Bay Company, noon dance performances at Robson Square and the Square’s multiple daily Mascots on Ice show, the Talking Stick Festival (sponsored in part by the Cultural Olympiad), and protest events and occupation of a temporary tent city in the Downtown Eastside, among other places throughout the city. (See Chapter 4 for more descriptions of Olympic sites featuring Aboriginal performance and products.) The Four Host First Nations’ Aboriginal Pavilion was arguably the Games’ primary (and certainly official) site of non-Aboriginal encounter with Aboriginal performance and representation, a locus of knowledge production in the midst of the Olympic spectacle. At the near-centre of Vancouver’s downtown, the Aboriginal Pavilion was erected on Queen Elizabeth Plaza, sharing an intersection at Hamilton and Georgia with the city’s largest post office, the Vancouver Public Library’s Central branch, and the CBC’s Broadcast Centre (see Figure 1). I visited the Pavilion daily – sometimes multiple times a day – during the Games to participate in and observe the myriad forms of representation designed for public knowledge production about Aboriginality. The Pavilion thus served as my ethnographic headquarters. I anchored my Olympic fieldwork there and moved from there out to other sites of interest, including the Aboriginal Artisan Village and Business Showcase, also managed by the Four Host First Nations and located a block north of the Pavilion. The Aboriginal Pavilion was one of many pavilions open to visitors during the Games. Other pavilions included BC Pavilion (located in the                                                             23 Incidentally, urban anthropologists also face methodological challenges related to scale, complexity, and intensity that have required methodological innovation (cf. Bourgois 2003; Hannerz 1980; Low 1996). 41  Vancouver Art Gallery), Canada’s Northern House, and PRIDE House; several of these pavilions also featured Aboriginal materials and information in their displays and events.    Figure 1: Map of Downtown Vancouver,  showing Aboriginal Pavilion location  (Google Maps 2014a, reprinted with permission)  The Aboriginal Pavilion was a dynamic performance space. Over the two weeks of the Olympics, over 14,000 visitors lined up daily at the Pavilion to watch performances and presentations by Aboriginal singers, dancers, storytellers, and political leaders from across Canada. Attending these performances allowed me to observe in a relatively short time many different forms of Aboriginal self-representation specifically designed for public audiences. Through music, dance, film, stories, and speeches, I observed how Aboriginal participants chose to share with Pavilion visitors their histories and stories, their attachments to place, their cultural traditions, and their contemporary social and political concerns. Beginning in the late morning each day, Aboriginal nations and organizations across Canada guest-hosted four one-hour shows related to the day’s cultural focus (for example, Métis, Yukon First Nations, Abenaki). In the late afternoon, the Pavilion screened the made-for-the-Olympics film We Are Here, which introduced the territories and traditions of the four host First Nations and contested erasures of 42  Indigenous presence in the region. Each evening featured musical concerts with a range of Aboriginal artists and genres, from hip hop to country to blues.  As I discuss in Chapter 4, Olympic Aboriginality and Aboriginalia raised a number of tensions related to the “celebration” and commodification of Aboriginal cultures, appropriation of Aboriginal art and material culture, the politics of display and performance, the relationship between Aboriginality and performing the Canadian nation, persistent inequalities exacerbated by the Olympic spectacle, questions about land ownership and environmental stewardship (raised especially during construction of Olympic venues), and Olympic legacies for Aboriginal communities. By focusing my ethnographic attention at the Aboriginal Pavilion, I consciously located myself in the midst of “official” expressions of Olympic Aboriginality rather than in sites of anti-colonial protest. Yet, as I argue in Chapter 4, dichotomies between discourses of celebrated inclusion and appropriative window dressing were challenged regularly at the Pavilion, where individuals and groups used their performances and presentations to (re)define collective and national identities and to (re)position themselves in relation to the city and state.  I offer the following narrative to further introduce the Olympics as the setting, Olympic Aboriginality as the subject, and the Aboriginal Pavilion as the headquarters, of my ethnographic study during the Games. This brief story describes the first day of the Olympics, February 12, 2010, and provides insight into the hectic quality of ethnography in the zone of the spectacular and at home, as well as the high profile of Aboriginal participation and representation in Games celebration and protest.      On the morning of the Opening Ceremony of the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, I took a bus from my apartment in Mount Pleasant to the University of British Columbia to attend a lecture as part of my teaching assistantship responsibilities. I returned home and took the elevator to the fifth floor of my apartment building, just in time to look down at the torch relay passing along the street. While at university, I had missed the torch relay that morning through Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside and past the Vancouver Aboriginal Friendship Centre at Hastings and Commercial. I wrote in my fieldnotes, “First lesson of the Olympics: one can be in only one place at one time.”  I gathered my recorder, umbrella, and notebook and took the Skytrain to the Chinatown station. Yellow caution tape cordoned off the intersection of Georgia and Hamilton and its nearby blocks, and dozens of police and security guards kept watch. Thousands of spectators gathered in the light rain to see the final 43  torchbearer light the Olympic cauldron in advance of that evening’s official torchlighting at the Opening Ceremony; they climbed on planters and lightposts for a better view and faces looked down on the crowd from office windows above. The dome of the Aboriginal Pavilion at the Queen Elizabeth Plaza glowed white above the busy scene.  Below a large screen set up on Hamilton Street, Tewanee Joseph stood in regalia at a podium, bills of money pinned to his tunic. Dignitaries from the Four Host First Nations – the Lil’wat, Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh – lined the stage, also wearing regalia. Speakers amplified Joseph’s speech. “The Games are taking place within our traditional territories,” he said. “And we are proud partners and we’re here to welcome the world!” He beamed: “For the first time in history, Indigenous peoples are full partners in the Olympics and Paralympic Games!” He prepared the crowd for the last torchbearer, recalling the 106-day torch relay that traversed Canada’s vast territories, with torch celebrations in many Aboriginal communities.24 “We believe Canada is at a time of transformation. And that the 21st century is a new time for all Canadians. A time where we focus on what we have in common, and celebrate and respect our unique differences.”   He pointed down the block to BC Place, where the official opening ceremony would take place hours later. “In our culture, we call this the world’s biggest potlatch! We’re sharing our cultures – First Nations, Inuit, Métis, and other cultures in this country – in Canada – with the world! We did it!” The Queen Elizabeth Plaza, where many Aboriginal people had gathered, erupted in cheers.   Joseph pointed behind him to the Aboriginal Pavilion. “We just came from a witnessing ceremony. Since time immemorial, our cultures have always passed on our celebrations and our teachings by calling witnesses and making sure that we practice our protocols and traditions… It’s our responsibility – all of our people that were in the Chief’s House [the Aboriginal Pavilion dome],” he peered out at the crowd, “And your responsibility is to remember all of these words that are shared, and the celebration that takes place. And when you go back home… share these stories, pass them onto your children and your families.” He again emphasized that the Games mark a new era of partnership, “We don’t want it to be the end here with these Games, but a very beginning of the new relationships that we have, the new partnerships that we’ve been making.” He acknowledged partnerships with Canada, the province of British Columbia, the city of Vancouver, the Vancouver Olympic Organizing Committee, and partners in Richmond and Whistler. “This is the spirit of partnership,” he said, looking around him. “This is the spirit of working together.”  The penultimate torchbearer came into view up the block on Georgia Street, touching his flame to the torch held by Malcolm Crawford, a young athlete from the Musqueam Nation. Drums beat out a tempo, and men and women on stage in                                                             24 Torch relay events were also sites of protest, which Joseph did not mention.  44  the plaza started singing. Joseph narrated Crawford’s biography as he jogged through the crowd, emphasizing Crawford’s athletics, recent high school graduation with honours, and drug- and alcohol-free lifestyle. “Loud and proud everybody!” Joseph yelled as Crawford took the stage, and the crowd obliged. Crawford bounded up to the stage, standing beside celebrated Cree folk singer Buffy St. Marie. After a couple of false tries, they lit a small cauldron with the torch and the crowd cheered and whistled.  As a woman began a prayer on stage, people standing near me spoke in English, Spanish, Punjabi, and Mandarin, making their next set of plans and filing out of the intersection. This spectacle, for them, was over. I walked through the thinning crowd to the Pavilion at Queen Elizabeth Plaza. Performances had begun. I watched and listened to Métis jiggers, an Inuit breakdancing troupe, the Gitxsan Nation’s Dancers of Damelahamid, Lil’wat Nation hoop dancer Alex Wells, the Whitefish Bay Singers, a mixed-Nation a cappella group called Mahgirl, and barefoot cellist and electronica artist Cris Derksen. The small crowd was amazed by Alex Wells’ impressive performance. Mahgirl invited the crowd to sing along to a Canadian version of “This Land is My Land.”   I checked the time: almost 3pm, the start time for the No Olympics on Stolen Native Land protest at the Vancouver Art Gallery. I hurried up five blocks along Georgia Street. I passed the Hudson’s Bay Company, where Olympic Aboriginalia lined the shelves: inuksuit (Inuit rock sculptures) on keychains and hats and shirts, stuffed mascots, Cowichan and Cowichan-like sweaters, official Olympic gear bearing designs by Squamish artist Xwa Lack Tun. I passed a carving shed, where Musqueam carver Susan Point and her collaborators worked in public on a totem pole, and the Pacific Centre shopping mall, whose domed entrance had been reconfigured to resemble an igloo. Across the street, a 12-story tall Canadian flag adorned the façade of the boutique Hotel Georgia.   The protesters gathered in the art gallery’s plaza, then marched onto Georgia Street, a sea of green and black, carrying banners, flags, drums, and megaphones. A brass band played as protesters handed out fliers to a mix of confused and curious passers-by and chanted “No! Olympics! On Stolen Native Land!” I walked with them for a block and then stood on the sidewalk to watch their procession and gather handouts: “Why We Resist the 2010 Winter Olympics,” “No to the Militarization of Vancouver! Statement of the Community Party of Canada,” “Olympic Resistance Network,” “A Declaration of Rights of the People of British Columbia.”  Unsure of the protesters’ planned route and getting short on time, I left to secure my place at one of the many sites set up for live-streaming video of the Opening Ceremony. This decision cost me a potentially rich fieldwork moment: I later learned the protesters had marched along Georgia Street to BC Place, passing the Aboriginal Pavilion on the way.   45  Standing on a concrete barrier in Robson Square with fellow Olympics researcher Solen Roth and my partner Chad, I watched the CTV’s broadcast of the Opening Ceremony and the crowd, huddled under umbrellas for hours in the rain. (See Chapter 4 for further discussion and analysis of the ceremony.)  As this narrative demonstrates, in one day, I moved on foot and on transit between multiple locations: between Mount Pleasant and the university, to my rooftop, to the torch relay event downtown, up and down Georgia Street, to Robson Square, before finally arriving back home, exhausted, in Mount Pleasant. My senses were overloaded: I listened to speeches and music, overheard conversations, and amplified sound; I watched dance performances and crowd behaviour; I felt drum beats and bodies passing on the sidewalk; I held damp fliers and my notebook; I had to remind myself to stop and eat. I witnessed the sheer abundance and density of representations of Olympic Aboriginality and consumption of Aboriginalia. I saw and heard: Aboriginal dancers and singers at the Pavilion and on the opening ceremony broadcast; a Squamish man making a speech to greet a Musqueam torchbearer; protesters (Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal) chanting anti-Olympics slogans and songs related to Aboriginal claims and colonial oppression; consumers shopping for souvenirs with Aboriginal and Aboriginal-inspired designs at the HBC; and local First Nations dignitaries sitting with Canadian heads of state during the televised opening ceremony.  And the Games had only just begun.  Initially, I acted as a spectator: a participant in the spectacle and an observer of its (re)presentations. It took several days to get acclimated to the pace of the Olympics, to get used to the crowds, lines, big screens, and noise. Over time, I began to pay closer attention to other spectators, to become an observer not just of the spectacle but of the spectators, too. Anthropologist Catherine Palmer argues that anthropologists can contribute to studies of mega-events through their attention to local responses to spectacle. Chronicling ethnographically the ways locals – in addition to or instead of tourists and performers – respond to content, display, and performance can add richness and nuance to spectacular analyses, going beyond textual accounts that describe and analyse the content of, for example, opening ceremonies (cf. Hogan 2003; Kalman-Lamb 2012). Anthropologists, Palmer suggests, can tap into the ways that audiences and agents mediate and negotiate their own meanings in and through spectacle.   Meaning-making in, through, and after spectacle is particularly slippery and ephemeral, always moving and taking new shape in response to new stimuli and formed 46  against a backdrop of accumulated knowledges. During the Games, my primary methodological approach was participant-observation of and amidst spectacle and Olympic Aboriginality. I did not interview Pavilion visitors or other spectators during the Games for both methodological and ethical reasons. I had tried without success to contact Pavilion organizers prior to the Games to secure permission to conduct interviews at the site during the Games. As soon as the Games began, however, I realized how difficult it would have been to systematize recruiting interview participants. The audience at the Pavilion was constantly changing, with many spectators coming for only one performance or even leaving before performances if the line took too long.25  None of the performances I attended provided an opportunity for visitors to engage directly with Aboriginal people, other than occasionally participating in sing-alongs or dance demonstrations.26 There were no question-and-answer periods or opportunities for dialogue. The Pavilion, as a performance space, offered spectators mini-spectacles to be consumed visually and audibly: musical performances, traditional dances in regalia, speeches, and stories. Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal visitors to the Pavilion were situated as audience members, sitting in folded chairs in front of a low stage, where Aboriginal people spoke, danced, sang, and played music. Instead of formal interviews with visitors, I engaged in casual conversation with people next to me in line or seated beside me in the Pavilion. I carefully observed performances and presentations, noting audience attendance, attention, and forms of engagement with the performers (e.g., clapping, use of cameras, facial expressions).  After the Olympics, I interviewed three Pavilion participants: host and emcee Wade Grant, a Musqueam Band councillor; communications manager Dallas Squire; and a Japanese-Dutch Canadian volunteer who I had spoken with a number of times during the Games. Speaking with these participants gave me insights into the hopes, expectations, and inner workings of the Aboriginal Pavilion. I also asked participants in my other two field sites, the Mount Pleasant library and the BladeRunners program – which I turn to next, about their engagement with the Olympics and its forms of Aboriginal participation, resistance, and display. While none of these participants visited                                                             25 Furthermore, it was difficult to distinguish international and national visitors from locals, with whom I was most interested in talking. 26 Visitors did engage with staff and volunteers, some of whom were Aboriginal, while standing in line or visiting the Trading Post, a shop where Four Host First Nations merchandise, Olympic merchandise, and hand-made goods were sold.  47  the Aboriginal Pavilion during the Games, many shared their perspectives on Olympic Aboriginality and Aboriginalia more generally. I include some of their observations and experiences in Chapter 4, and occasionally interweave their commentaries on the Games into other chapters as well.  Although studying spectacle is an inherently incomplete project, it is also productive and illuminating. The Olympics condensed, distorted, and amplified Aboriginal representations, creating a sometimes bewildering number of discourses and imagery to follow, track, and deconstruct, and offered a dynamic social landscape to explore contemporary settler colonial relations in the city and the nation. I chose to begin my ethnographic project in the zone of the spectacular in part because Aboriginal performance and display have been a significant, constitutive dimension of non-Aboriginal meaning-making about the Aboriginal Other (Stanley 1998). In my introduction, I situated my analysis in a conceptual triad of spectacle, spectrality, and the everyday and considered how this triad informs and shapes settler colonial knowledge production. The Olympics and the Aboriginal Pavilion helped me to experience and theorize spectacle: to discuss how it builds upon a history of spectacle in Vancouver, BC, and Canada, and how it both produces new knowledge and reproduces older forms of being-together in a settler colonial place.  I also chose to start my ethnography with the Olympics because Vancouver’s Games organizers emphasized Aboriginal “inclusion” as one of its defining characteristics. Aboriginal inclusion in the Games revealed and activated productive tensions (Simon-Kumar and Kingfisher 2011) – the extent and politics of Aboriginal alterity, representation, recognition, and participation, and how these relate to exclusions stemming from historical injustices and contemporary inequalities. On the first day of the Games, Tewanee Joseph emphasized the role of non-Aboriginal spectators as “witnesses” and called relationships between the Four Host First Nations and Vancouver, British Columbia, and Canada “partnerships.” The discourses, practices, processes, values, and tensions of inclusion – what Joseph calls “the spirit of working together” – is the thread that links my three field sites.  I turn next to introduce BladeRunners, where Aboriginal street youth are trained to “work together” with non-Aboriginal coworkers on construction sites. After that, I introduce the Mount Pleasant library and its “Working Together” project, an initiative developed to address how social exclusion operates within the library and more broadly 48  affects communities the library seeks to serve, including urban Aboriginal communities. My ethnographic research at the Aboriginal Pavilion provides a strong contextual foundation to position and critically analyse spectacular forms of Aboriginal inclusion and non-Aboriginal meaning-making. I build upon this foundation in my other two field sites to examine everyday, mundane forms of knowledge production, encounter, and sociality in settler colonial Vancouver.   Working Relationships: BladeRunners  The BladeRunners program trains street youth – more than 90% of them Aboriginal – to work in the city’s construction industry. Three staff coordinators – Bobby, Stephen, and Andy – place BladeRunners participants on construction sites and then regularly check in with them and their supervisors, offering 24/7 support to new and veteran BladeRunners working across the Lower Mainland. In a context of ongoing dispossession and contemporary treaty-making, persistent employment inequalities, and lingering “lazy Indian” stereotypes denigrating the work ethic and ability of Aboriginal people, the BladeRunners program and its placement sites work to mitigate the distinct challenges facing the Downtown Eastside’s street youth. The program facilitates mostly Aboriginal employment on mostly non-Aboriginal construction sites (located on unceded Coast Salish territories), creating conditions for encounter between peoples and between people and land. As such, it offers an ideal site, or set of sites, to examine how settler colonialism has historically shaped Aboriginal opportunities in a white settler place and how inclusion operates in the present to imagine a different future. In this section, I describe the program’s development, philosophies and practices, and funding structure, and explain how my BladeRunners fieldwork enables analysis of everyday settler coloniality produced in the tensions between spectacle and spectrality. I also narrate my entry onto a BladeRunners placement site to highlight some methodological concerns related to this fieldwork.  The BladeRunners main office is located at the corner of Main and Hastings, the epicentre of the Downtown Eastside, sometimes casually referred to as the “urban res(erve)” because Aboriginal people are over-represented there (see Figure 2; see also Chapters 3 and 5). Many BladeRunners live in the area; others commute to the program from Commercial Drive and other city neighbourhoods, or from Metro Vancouver’s 49  suburbs.27 As discussed in my introduction and Chapter 3, the Downtown Eastside is often imagined by non-residents as a site of spectacular suffering, a place where the haunting consequences of exclusion are made visible on the streets and sidewalks through residents’ experiences with survival sex work, addiction, lack of affordable housing, and poverty.   Figure 2: Map of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside,  showing BladeRunners office (Google Maps 2014a, reprinted with permission)  In 1994 a group of local activists and community members founded BladeRunners. Many in the Downtown Eastside felt they had been displaced, evicted, and otherwise excluded by the World Exposition held along Vancouver’s False Creek in 1986 (Expo ’86). When plans for a new hockey stadium in the area emerged in the early 1990s (General Motors Place, now Rogers Arena), local residents demanded to be involved in its development. Controversial community advocate Jim Green led the effort, identifying labour needs in the construction industry and securing job placements for disadvantaged youth on the GM Place site.28 Early program participants received basic construction and                                                           27 Some are recent arrivals in Vancouver, moving from their Prairie communities or BC reserves with friends or joining cousins and other family who moved to the city before them. 28 Jim Green (1943-2012) was a city councillor in the early 2000s and helped to form Vision Vancouver, one of Vancouver’s current municipal political parties. He ran unsuccessfully for mayor in 2005. In 2012, 50  safety training. Many struggled with poverty, addiction, and other problems related to their marginalized social location. Coordinators developed the program’s trademark system of 24/7 support.29 “There are three sides to the BladeRunners program,” one staff member explained in an interview, “Job training, job placement, and ongoing support. You’ll find many programs that are one of the three. I’ve yet to hear any other program that does all of the three… That is how BladeRunners manages to work well within this community. It understands that it is a fluid situation.” The program has used this model to expand to serve other places in the province and sectors other than construction, such as media arts and building maintenance. The program’s funding has come from a number of sources. Since 2008, the Canada-British Columbia Labour Market Agreement has funded the program. Through this agreement, the federal government provides the provincial government with $65.7 million annually (through March 31, 2014). These funds are then divided to support programs that target unemployed individuals, who are not receiving employment insurance, and low-skilled employed individuals, many of whom have low literacy, education, training, and essential skills levels (ACCESS 2012). The Agreement supports training initiatives in a number of categories that correspond with the BladeRunners program mission, and Agreement funds provide its primary form of support.  The Aboriginal Community Career Employment Services Society (ACCESS) is BladeRunners’ delivery agent. The agency acknowledges the distinct needs of off-reserve urban Aboriginal people and advocates for increasing funding and service provision to support this growing population. It coordinates training, counselling, and financial services – support mechanisms that are designed to “assist urban Aboriginal people to gain access to meaningful opportunities and employment. Programs and services are carefully positioned to empower Metro Vancouver urban Aboriginal people to achieve their individual aspirations of self-reliance” (ACCESS 2012:13). ACCESS links                                                                                                                                                                                      days before his death, he was awarded the Freedom of the City Award by Mayor Gregor Robertson. The press release reads, “Jim Green has made a profound impact on the city of Vancouver and he continues to be a passionate advocate for social justice, democracy, the arts and the shaping of an inclusive city for all residents… Through his work, Jim empowered the marginalized… Countless units of social and affordable housing are just part of his legacy. As a teacher, Jim Green brought the university to street level. Through the BladeRunners program and Humanities 101, he demonstrated the tremendous gains possible through investing in people, nurturing their humanity and affirming their ability to change both their own lives and the wider community” (City of Vancouver 2012). 29 Today coordinators share their cellphone numbers with each new cohort of participants, who are encouraged to get in touch if they experience problems that interfere with their ability to participate in training or to show up on their work placement sites. 51  employment with Aboriginal self-determination and capacity-building. Recently, the Metro Vancouver Urban Aboriginal Strategy (MVUAS) has also provided program funding.30 MVUAS administers funding locally with monies from the Government of Canada’s Urban Aboriginal Strategy, “a community-based initiative developed… to improve social and economic opportunities for Aboriginal people living in urban centres” (Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada 2013).31 Through these connections, the program has developed a reputation as an Aboriginal program; its demographics also reinforce this perception. Yet, as I discuss in Chapter 5, BladeRunners staff insist that BladeRunners is not in fact an Aboriginal program, choosing instead to emphasize its focus on street-involved youth more generally. Individuals sign up for the program by calling or stopping into the office in person to sign up for the next cohort training cycle, called an “intake.” Each intake is comprised of twelve individuals. Coordinators interview potential participants, determining whether an interested individual is appropriate and eligible. They inquire about the candidate’s housing situation, criminal record, addiction and substance use/abuse, work experience, and mental and physical health.32 In the program’s early years, there were only a few intakes per year. Recently, there has been pressure on staff to increase the number of intakes, and intake numbers are rising to more than one intake per month. The increasing numbers also indicate the popularity and good reputation of the program, which does not actively recruit its participants and is instead promoted through word-of-mouth.  Each intake receives two weeks of training in the Downtown Eastside office. They meet for breakfast at the Potluck Café and training begins at the office at 8:30am. They receive work safety and first aid training, as well as basic math lessons. For cohorts funded by MVUAS, participants also receive cultural and self-esteem workshops with Aboriginal facilitators (see Chapter 5). Participants also receive one additional week of hands-on carpentry training at the Squamish Nation Trades Centre; Aboriginal instructors supervise their carpentry practice in a large workroom filled with construction materials                                                             30 Additionally, BladeRunners is supported through matched funding from the Vancouver Foundation and other local organizations. 31 For a critical review of the Urban Aboriginal Strategy, see Walker (2005). 32 Sometimes individuals are referred to other programs, employment agencies, Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal service organizations, and occasionally drug rehabilitation and detox centres.  52  and tools. An additional week of forklift or traffic control training is occasionally offered to individuals who express interest in these lines of work.33  Each BladeRunners coordinator has a network of contractors and foremen they contact when trying to find work for each participant. Putting a BladeRunner to work gives them a “stat”: a statistic is entered into their worksheets to convey the program’s efficacy in employing their participants.34 According to ACCESS’s website (2014), “Employers have discovered these at-risk youth ages 15-30 will succeed if given the opportunity. After two years, 80% remain in the construction trades with 30% continuing on to journeyperson status or entrepreneurship.” Coordinators also work with many past BladeRunners participants, conducting site visits to check in with them and their supervisors. The coordinator helps to support BladeRunners in keeping their jobs if their home lives destabilize or other issues impede their ability to maintain their work hours.35  Initially, in my original methodological design, I intended to conduct long-term ethnographic research primarily on one or two BladeRunners placement sites, examining social and professional relationships between Aboriginal BladeRunners and their non-Aboriginal coworkers. Most site placements are composed of professional and temporary labourers, the majority of whom are non-Aboriginal workers with limited to no familiarity with BladeRunners and similar programs.36 I was interested to learn how BladeRunners’ non-Aboriginal coworkers and foremen experience the introduction of Aboriginal street youth into their work sites, as well as how construction workers relate to the Coast Salish territories they live and work on. Due to challenges related to site access and safety, and the movement of crews within and between construction sites, I ultimately gained access to a single construction site, a short-term BC Housing renovation project in northwest Burnaby (see Figure 3). I interviewed workers there and conducted participant-observation during lunch breaks from July to September 2010.                                                               33 In the summer of 2011, BladeRunners trainees also practiced their newly developed carpentry skills at the UBC Farm, supporting an urban Aboriginal gardening initiative. 34 For a critical review of record keeping in diversity initiatives, see Ahmed (2012). 35 Coordinators call on their networks in the Downtown Eastside to support BladeRunners in times of duress, and occasionally use discretionary funds if a BladeRunner is in need. During my fieldwork in the office, coordinators regularly helped find shelter beds or housing alternatives; one coordinator took a BladeRunner grocery shopping, for example. 36 Occasionally new BladeRunners are placed on sites with veteran BladeRunners or individuals from other Aboriginal construction training programs.  53   Figure 3: Map of Northeast Burnaby, showing BladeRunners  construction placement site (Google Maps 2014a, reprinted with permission)  To supplement this fieldwork, I also regularly visited the BladeRunners office at the corner of Main and Hastings Streets and its satellite training locations. I interviewed BladeRunners staff and trainees and observed two BladeRunners cohorts in their training (May 2010 and July 2011). BladeRunners staff, including three main coordinators and office manager, were helpful, accommodating, and encouraging throughout my research. They facilitated my interactions with their cohorts, introduced me to veteran BladeRunners visiting the office, and invited me to community events.  Stephen, one of the coordinators, introduced me to the BC Housing site’s foreman, Ed. A young Aboriginal man, Mike, had secured his job on Ed’s site and later received additional support from BladeRunners. Stephen thought the site might work for my project, so he set up a meeting on site in July 2010. The following narrative describes that meeting, introducing both Ed and Mike and my entry onto their worksite.   In a subsidized housing complex in Burnaby, Ed sat in an air-conditioned apartment, vacated for the project and serving as the site office. Stephen explained to Ed, a white man in his fifties with a friendly disposition, that I had a proposition for him, then promptly left for his next site visit.   54  I described my overall research objectives to Ed: to examine everyday encounters between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people in Vancouver, to consider how these encounters relate to processes of colonialism and racism. I explained that BladeRunners was facilitating my efforts by linking me up with his site, where Mike works with non-Aboriginal coworkers daily. I said I would like to observe the men at work and conduct interviews with them about their experiences learning about Aboriginal issues and working with Aboriginal coworker(s).  Ed expressed skepticism that the men on his site would tell me their truthful opinions about Aboriginal issues, suggesting they would tell me whatever it is they think I want to hear. I explained that I would elicit stories rather than generalized opinions, asking interviewees about their lives at and beyond work as well as about their impressions of current local events in the news relating to Aboriginal communities. Ed said he distinguishes between those wider societal issues and his interpersonal relations with people like Mike: “When I talk to Mike, I don’t think about those things.” When I explained that I could talk with the men about how they relate to individuals versus group or collective concerns and the interplay between, he seemed satisfied and intrigued. He inquired about my fieldwork schedule at the site, expressing a preference for my visits and interviews to coincide with the workers’ lunch hour.37  Ed asked one of his workers to find Mike. A few minutes later, Mike walked in wearing his hard hat, holding a Coke bottle filled with ice. He smiled shyly at me and waited for Ed to explain why he had been asked to come to the office. Ed asked me to tell Mike what I had told him about my research. I gave an abbreviated explanation, expressing concern about his comfort with my presence on the site and research questions.   Ed interjected, saying to Mike, “Maybe it doesn’t matter that you’re Native American [sic]. Maybe you don’t care at all. Maybe it matters to you but not Tim [Mike’s Aboriginal coworker]. What do you think, does it matter?”  In a low voice, Mike said simply, “Yes, it matters.”   “There you go!” Ed exclaimed and looked back at me.   I asked Mike, “Which nation are you from?”  “Haida.”  Ed asked which town.                                                              37 Ed also asked about my general career plans and my personal life – whether I was married or had children. I gave brief answers and then returned to my research agenda, aware of how my gendered identity might be perceived as problematic in an all-male environment. In some ways, being a woman on the site facilitated conversation as many of the men were willing to participate in my research as a gesture of gentlemanly behaviour.  55   “Masset.”   Ed asked Mike why he had come down to Vancouver. He explained that he had received training in audiovisual technologies and was interested in music recording and film.   “I didn’t know you were a BladeRunner,” Ed said.  “I wasn’t at first,” Mike replied. “I found out about it and learned I could get First Aid and safety training.”  “Ah, good on you!” said Ed.   Mike explained that he met Bobby from BladeRunners, who introduced him to Stephen.   “Stephen’s a good guy,” Ed replied. “He came and said he was from BladeRunners. I didn’t even know I had a BladeRunner! As I told you before, I didn’t care if you were Native, black, blue, white… I liked you and brought you on.”   “I remember you telling me that at the time,” Mike said.  “So what do you think about Natalie here being around?” Ed asked. “Because this is about you – she’ll be talking to the guys about you. So it’s up to you.”   I explained that I will be focusing on broader Aboriginal issues and his coworkers’ experiences with Aboriginal people more generally.   “– It’s also Tim… Tim’s Native too, right?” Ed interrupted.  “Yes,” Mike said.   I told Mike that I would like to talk with him further about my research and discuss whether or not he’s comfortable with it. Ed told Mike to think about it. I thanked them both and arranged to follow up the next week. Mike nodded, smiled at me, and walked back to his work station. As I left, I saw Tim; he wore a goose feather taped upright on the side of his hardhat, a simplified, urban, and humorous imitation of a headdress.   A week after this meeting, I called Ed and he said Mike gave me the “go-ahead” to conduct fieldwork at the site. He asked me to stop by over lunch hour to share my plan with the rest of the crew. I sat in a grassy courtyard with about a dozen men and explained my intentions. None of them except Mike and Tim had heard of BladeRunners, and one man said he had not considered the racial makeup of the crew before my arrival. A few men asked questions about me and my 56  research, and one man said he thought they should all help me out. When Ed asked if they agreed to let me conduct my study at the site, the men nodded and Ed smiled at me. They all returned to work and I began my fieldwork there within the week.   I share this narrative of my research entry onto this BladeRunners placement site because it illuminates several relevant methodological concerns: issues of field site access, consent and approval, reactions in the field to my research, ethical considerations around conducting research on non-Aboriginal people with Aboriginal people also on site, questions about ethnographic truths, and discursive strategies employed by me and my interlocutors to address issues of race, difference, shared spaces, and Aboriginality.  Dur