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(Un)Becoming teacher of school-based Aboriginal education : early career teachers, teacher identity,… Madden, Brooke 2016

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  (UN)BECOMING TEACHER OF SCHOOL-BASED ABORIGINAL EDUCATION:  EARLY CAREER TEACHERS, TEACHER IDENTITY, AND ABORIGINAL EDUCATION ACROSS INSTITUTIONS by BROOKE MADDEN B.Ed., The University of Windsor, 2004 B.Sc., The University of Windsor, 2005 M.Ed., Lakehead University, 2011  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Curriculum Studies)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)  September 2016  © Brooke Madden, 2016 ii  Abstract  This research explores the experiences and perceptions of nine Aboriginal and ally early career teachers (1-5 years experience) who have completed university coursework and/or extended professional development on the topic of Aboriginal education. The inquiry places focus on how targeted teacher education, and transitions into educational work settings, shape teacher identity and practice.  Over an eight-month period, teachers participated in a series of three or four individual, semi-structured interviews on topics related to professional identity and engagement in Aboriginal education across institutions. Data fragments elicited from the research reveal ongoing, relational processes of momentarily occupying, exceeding, resisting, and/or reforming subject positions of teacher made available through discourse. The fragments are used to identify and trace significant forces that direct how participants become, and become undone as, teachers of school-based Aboriginal education.  Analysis concentrates on four key relationships between teachers and sources of knowledge about Aboriginal education that formed, reinforced, and challenged teachers’ emerging professional identities and associated practices as they navigated Faculties of Education, schools, and areas between (e.g., teaching practicum). They include: (un)becoming teacher and a) school-based sources of Aboriginality, b) pedagogical pathways for Aboriginal education with/in teacher education, c) significant place, and d) supports used for engaging Aboriginal education.  Contributions are made to the fields of teacher education, Aboriginal education, and decolonizing education and research. The research reveals the benefits and difficulties that coursework and professional development afford in preparing, and providing ongoing assistance iii  to, teachers who foreground Aboriginal content and approaches. Learning from teachers’ processes, preparedness, and priorities enhances understanding about identity negotiation and movement of knowledge-practice across institutions. Further, theory building presents a decolonizing methodology for analyzing the construction of teacher identity that accounts for teachers’ complex and shifting positions beyond the binary opposition Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal.   A decolonizing theory of (un)becoming teacher of Aboriginal education, alongside early career teachers’ recommendations to improve university and school-based Aboriginal education, hold potential to shift Aboriginal education research beyond a discourse of transformation/resistance. This opens space to reconfigure Aboriginal education and teacher education, as well as subject positions therein, to support the needs and prerogatives of Aboriginal students and communities.    iv  Preface This dissertation is original work by the author, Brooke Madden. I conceptualized, designed, conducted, analyzed, and represented the program of research following guidance from committee members and building on the support of many who will be recognized in the Acknowledgements (forthcoming).  This research received a certificate of approval from the University of British Columbia, Office of Research Services on October 6, 2014. The UBC Behaviour Research Ethics Board certificate number is H14-01010   Portions of Chapter 2 have been published elsewhere: Madden, B. (2015). Pedagogical pathways for Indigenous education with/in teacher education. Teaching and Teacher Education, 51, 1-15. I carried out all of the research associated with and wrote the manuscript (i.e., Madden, 2015). Chapter 2 also draws from a co-authored manuscript in revision for publication elsewhere: Glanfield, F. & Madden, B. (forthcoming). Chapter 69 - The Indigenization of teacher education. Handbook of Research on Teacher Education. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. I carried out all of the research associated with and authored all components of the manuscript (i.e., Glanfield & Madden, forthcoming) that appear in this dissertation.   Portions of Chapter 3 have been published elsewhere: Madden, B. (2016). Tracing spectres of whiteness: Discourse and the construction of teaching subjects in urban Aboriginal education. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, DOI: 10.1080/01596306.2015.1127211. I carried out all of the research associated with and wrote the manuscript (i.e., Madden, 2016). Chapter 3 also draws from a forthcoming manuscript that will be published elsewhere: Higgins, M., Madden, B., Bérard, M.-F., Lenz Kothe, E., & Nordstrom, S. (forthcoming). De/signing research in education: Patchwork(ing) methodologies with theory. v  Educational Studies. A Journal of the American Educational Studies Association. All co-authors contributed equally to developing the theory of designing with theory and the guiding notion of patchworking. As the second author, I acted as the primary editorial support to Marc Higgins who wrote the introduction and conclusion to the manuscript.    Portions of Chapter 6 are in review for publication elsewhere: McGregor, H., Madden, B., Higgins, M., & Ostertag, J. (in review). Braiding designs for decolonizing research methodologies: Theory, practice, ethics. I carried out all of the research associated with and authored all components of the manuscript (i.e., McGregor et al., in review) that appear in this dissertation.  Portions of Chapter 7 are in review for publication elsewhere: Higgins, M., Madden, B., Bérard, M.-F., Lenz Kothe, E., & Nordstrom, S. (forthcoming). De/signing research in education: Patchwork(ing) methodologies with theory. Educational Studies. A Journal of the American Educational Studies Association. I carried out all of the research associated with and authored all components of the manuscript (i.e., Higgins et al., forthcoming) that appear in Chapter 7.  vi  Table of Contents Abstract ...................................................................................................... ii	  Preface ....................................................................................................... iv	  Table of Contents ........................................................................................ vi	  List of Tables .............................................................................................. xi	  List of Figures ............................................................................................ xii	  List of Symbols .......................................................................................... xiii	  List of Abbreviations .................................................................................. xiv	  Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... xv	  Chapter 1: Early Career Teachers, Teacher Identity, and Aboriginal Education Across Institutions ........................................................................................ 1	  1.1	   Development of Research Questions ................................................................................. 3	  1.2	   Researcher Positionality ..................................................................................................... 6	  1.3	   Key Terms ......................................................................................................................... 7	  1.4	   A Guiding Decolonizing Framework ............................................................................... 10	  1.5	   Research Methods ........................................................................................................... 11	  1.6	   A Glance at Upcoming Chapters .................................................................................... 12	  1.7	   Research Objectives ......................................................................................................... 13	  Chapter 2: A Review of Literature: Indigenous Education, Teacher Education and Teacher Identity ......................................................................................... 15	  2.1	   A Case for Formal Indigenous Education in Universities and Schools ........................... 15	  2.2	   Indigenous Education and Teacher Education ............................................................... 19	  2.2.1	   Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education .............................................. 19	  vii  2.2.1.1	   Pedagogical pathways for Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education .   ............................................................................................................................ 20	  2.2.1.2	   Extended professional development on the topic of Indigenous education with/in schools .................................................................................................................. 28	  2.3	   Teacher Identity and Indigenous Education ................................................................... 34	  2.3.1	   Settler identities and teacher resistance .................................................................... 34	  2.3.2	   Decolonizing educators and processes ...................................................................... 37	  2.3.2.1	   Non-Indigenous teacher educators and teacher candidates .............................. 37	  2.3.2.2	   Practicing non-Indigenous teachers ................................................................... 39	  2.3.2.3	   A cautionary note on decolonization and ‘non-Indigenous’ as a marker of identity ............................................................................................................................ 41	  2.3.3	   Indigenous teachers and Indigenous education with/in teacher education ............. 42	  2.4	   Indigenous Education, Teacher Education, and Teacher Identity ................................. 43	  Chapter 3: Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach ........................................ 44	  3.1	   Britzman’s Theory of Learning to Teach and Becoming Teacher ................................. 45	  3.2	   Britzman’s Cultural Myths ............................................................................................... 47	  3.3	   (Un)Becoming Teacher: The Signified Teacher, Subjecification, and Agency ............... 51	  3.4	   Decolonizing Britzman’s Theory of Learning to Teach and Becoming Teacher: Making Space for Other-than-human Agents and Indigenous Theories .............................................. 53	  3.4.1	   Recovering other-than-human agents and agency in the flow of discourse ............. 54	  3.4.2	   Indigenous theories of education and educator ........................................................ 55	  3.4.3	   Western image of teacher of Aboriginal education and Aboriginal students ........... 58	  viii  3.4.3.1	   Modern European colonialism: Key theories of Eurocentrism and whiteness .. 59	  3.4.3.2	   Canadian national myths and colonial systems of education and versions of educator ............................................................................................................................ 63	  3.5	   Theoretically Informed Research Design ........................................................................ 65	  3.5.1	   The interview series .................................................................................................. 67	  3.5.1.1	   Adopting a reciprocal stance .............................................................................. 71	  3.5.1.2	   A discursive and relational notion of experience as a site of witnessing (un)becoming ..................................................................................................................... 76	  3.5.1.3	   Walking interview with/in significant place ...................................................... 78	  3.5.1.4	   Agential documents in a landscape of (un)becoming in Aboriginal education .. 81	  3.5.1.5	   Relational listening to audio-recordings of interviews ....................................... 83	  Chapter 4: (un)Becoming Teacher and School-based Sources of Aboriginality .... 91	  4.1	   School-based Sources of Aboriginality ............................................................................ 92	  4.1.1	   Relational t/Teacher: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal pedagogy .................. 92	  4.1.2	   The universal ‘we’: (un)Becoming teacher and (opposition to) Aboriginal content .. 97	  4.1.3	   “They want the whole shebang!”: (un)Becoming teacher and the Imaginary Indian ..   ................................................................................................................................. 104	  4.1.4	   Teacher mentor: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal school staff ..................... 113	  4.1.5	   Obstructing teacher specialist: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal students ..... 119	  4.2	   (un)Becoming Teacher and School-based Sources of Aboriginality .............................. 127	  Chapter 5: Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming ................................................................ 129	  5.1	   Pedagogical Pathways .................................................................................................... 131	  ix  5.1.1	   Pedagogy for decolonizing and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming ............ 131	  5.1.2	   Indigenous traditional models of teaching and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming ....................................................................................................................... 139	  5.1.3	   Indigenous and anti-racist education and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming ..   ................................................................................................................................. 150	  5.1.4	   Indigenous and place-based education and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming  ................................................................................................................................. 161	  5.2	   Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming .......................................................................................................................... 171	  Chapter 6: (un)Becoming Teacher With/in Significant Place ........................... 175	  6.1	   Walking Interviews With/in Significant Places ............................................................. 176	  6.2	   (un)Becoming Alongside Terra Nova Rural Park .......................................................... 178	  6.3	   An Open-ended Conclusion .......................................................................................... 187	  Chapter 7: Hybrid Encounters: First Peoples Principles of Learning and the Landscape of Becoming in Aboriginal Education ............................................ 191	  7.1	   Lesson/Unit Interview: Supports Used for Aboriginal/Indigenous Education ............ 192	  7.2	   Studying the Functions of Documents as Topics ........................................................... 194	  7.3	   First People’s Principles of Learning: Initial Encounters with Hybrid as Authority ...... 196	  7.4	   Methodological Excess and the Limits of Preparation .................................................. 202	  7.5	   Hybrid Encounters and Data Productions .................................................................... 204	  7.5.1	   Data fragments that include hybrid agency ............................................................ 204	  7.5.1.1	   FPPL as authority ............................................................................................ 209	  7.5.1.2	   FPPL as undiscerning associate ....................................................................... 214	  x  7.5.2	   FPPL-centred networks ........................................................................................... 216	  7.6	   Hybrid Encounters: FPPL and the Landscape of Becoming in Aboriginal Education . 219	  Chapter 8: Concluding Thoughts: Early Career Teachers, Teacher Identity, and Aboriginal Education Across Institutions ...................................................... 222	  8.1	   Contributions ................................................................................................................. 227	  8.1.1	   Sources of knowledge about Aboriginal education and subjectification ................. 227	  8.1.2	   Britzman’s cultural myths and signified Teacher in formal Aboriginal education . 229	  8.1.3	   Movement and sedimentation of theory-practice associated with Aboriginal education across educational institutions ............................................................................ 232	  8.1.4	   Markers of identity and positionality in relation to formal Aboriginal education .. 235	  8.1.5	   Resistance as a positive site of tension .................................................................... 239	  8.1.6	   Applications for teacher education through a focus on teacher educators and/or educational researchers ....................................................................................................... 240	  8.2	   Significance of the Research Contributions ................................................................... 242	  8.3	   Future Research Orientations ........................................................................................ 245	  References ................................................................................................ 247	  Appendices ............................................................................................... 284	  Appendix A – Interview Series Protocol ................................................................................. 284	  Appendix B – Data Samples from Relational Listening ......................................................... 289	  Appendix C – Observation Protocol ...................................................................................... 295	    xi  List of Tables Table 3-1 Summary of methodological inflections to conventional qualitative approaches to interview ........................................................................................................................................ 70	  Table 7-1 Approaches to the study of documents (as appears in Prior, 2008, p. 285) ............... 194	  Table 7-2 Comments written by professional learning series participants about FPPL during What, Wonder, and Wow activity (Encounter 4 – 11/26/2014, ~4:00pm) .............................. 211	   xii  List of Figures Figure 6-1 Sage garden beds at the Sharing Farm, Richmond, BC ........................................... 179	  Figure 6-2 Looking east toward Adventure Playground, Richmond, BC .................................. 184	  Figure 7-1 First Peoples Principles of Learning (FNESC, n.d.c) ................................................. 201	  Figure 7-2 Example of FPPL-centred network ........................................................................... 217	   xiii  List of Symbols ¶  Paragraph ‘ ’  Scare Quotes: used around a word or phrase to subtly cast doubt on a term or occurrence “ ”  Quotation Marks: used to indicate a quoted passage or spoken language xiv  List of Abbreviations ABCDE – Association of British Columbia Deans of Education  ACDE – Association of Canadian Deans of Education BEd – Bachelor of Education BCMoE – British Columbia Ministry of Education CBC – Canadian Broadcasting Corporation CTLT – Centre for Teaching, Learning, and Technology  FNESC – First Nations Education Steering Committee FPLMBC – First Peoples' Language Map of British Columbia  FPPL – First Peoples Principles of Learning OMoE – Ontario Ministry of Education PD – professional development NWAC – Native Women’s Association of Canada  TRCM – Treaty Relations Commission of Manitoba UBC – University of British Columbia xv  Acknowledgements  I begin by expressing my sincerest gratitude to the early career teachers with whom I worked. They welcomed me into their neighbourhoods, classrooms, and homes with grace and sustained commitment to our shared goals for Aboriginal/Indigenous education and healing colonial relationships. It was a pleasure and inspiration to be greeted by their stories each morning as I prepared to write, and to be continuously reminded of the strength, passion, and creativity required of and produced through this work. I am also thankful to school administrators who connected me with teachers and extended invitations to learn more about Aboriginal education efforts in Metro Vancouver school districts. I would like to deeply thank my supervisory committee - Drs. Cynthia Nicol, Jan Hare, and Tony Clarke - for their continued support throughout my program and guidance in the overlapping areas of Indigenous education and teacher education. I have grown significantly as a result of learning from Cynthia’s gentle and generous approach to mentorship. Early on, Jan involved me in multiple components of UBC’s required BEd course Aboriginal Education in Canada and provided a stimulating and collegial work environment. Tony’s enthusiasm for ideas and his recognition of the value of process produced confidence to forge innovative and exciting research paths. Thank you to my examination committee - Drs. Dwayne Donald, Anne Phelan, and Michael Marker – who honoured me with their questions and insights during and following examination. All involved were fortunate to learn alongside this brilliant and kind-hearted group of scholars for the afternoon. A special acknowledgment to Michael for teaching me about the Peoples, stories, and land that come to constitute the place I called home while earning my PhD.  xvi  I am also grateful for financial support from the University of British Columbia’s Faculties of Education and Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies, as well as from the Social Sciences in Humanities Research Council of Canada.  Learning with my “Thinking with Theory” reading and writing group – Marie-France Bèrard, Marc Higgins, Elsa Lenz Kothe, Dr. Heather McGregor, and Sam Stiegler – has been the highlight of my time as a graduate student. I admire their scholarship, treasure their friendship, savour their talents in the kitchen, and look forward to our journeys ahead. Heartfelt thanks go to Heather for whom there are not enough words to express my gratitude. For all of the meals, walks, yoga, vacations, collaborations, and revisions, I am blessed. She fills and balances my mind, body, heart, and spirit.   Special thanks to Dr. Shannon Moore and Kal Heer who kept my glass full, playlist queued, and sides splitting. I am also grateful to a community of Indigenous and ally scholars pursuing Indigenous and decolonizing research and education across Turtle Island. I acknowledge the scholarship and support of Dr. Marie Battiste, Dr. Michael Cappello, Dr. Peter Cole, Heather Commodore, Dr. Susan Dion, Dr. Karlee Fellner, Dr. Florence Glanfield, Sákéj Youngblood Henderson, Dr. Jeannie Kerr, Dr. Lisa Korteweg, Dr. Georgina Martin, Dr. Julia Ostertag, Dr. Amy Parent, Alexa Scully, Dr. Emily Root, and Dr. Alannah Young. I would like to deeply thank my family – Craig, Denise, and Paige Madden. This accomplishment is but one manifestation of what is possible with the love and care you continuously provide.  Finally, I am thankful to Marc Higgins, my partner in so many ways. His questions bend my brain, his perseverance inspires, and his love makes me believe. This dissertation would have xvii  not been the same without you. Joni Mitchell said it well, “Cause part of you pours out of me. In these lines from time to time”.    1  Chapter 1: Early Career Teachers, Teacher Identity, and Aboriginal Education Across Institutions  Within Canada, a persistent gap in educational attainment at both the secondary and post-secondary levels exists between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal students (Statistics Canada, 2011). For example, in British Columbia (BC) approximately 47% of Aboriginal students complete grade 12 within six years of first entering Grade 8, compared with 79% of non-Aboriginal students (Heslop, 2009). Approximately 48% of Aboriginal people in Canada hold a postsecondary qualification, while 65% of non-Aboriginal people earn the same level of educational attainment; the greatest difference between populations is reflected in the proportion of university graduates (Ferguson, 2013).   In addition to statistics and academic attainment measures, Aboriginal youth and community accounts of negative school experiences add important insights on this discrepancy. Studies illuminate issues that include: intergenerational trauma resulting from Canada’s residential school system (Daniels, 2013; Madden, Higgins, & Korteweg, 2013); racism (Hare & Pidgeon, 2011; St. Denis, 2010); exclusion (Friedel, 1999; Kanu, 2002) and misrepresentation of Aboriginal wisdom, cultures, and perspectives in curriculum (Dion, 2009; St. Denis, 2011); and lack of Aboriginal administrators, teachers, and support staff in schools (Kitchen, Hodson, & Cherubini, 2011). Aboriginal and ally scholars have long appealed for, and given examples of promising practices towards changes that counter marginalization and meet the education needs of Aboriginal students and families (Battiste, 2000; Battiste & Barman, 1995; Kirkness & Barnhardt, 1991), with targeted teacher education consistently identified as a critical avenue towards school improvement (Haig-Brown Research & Consulting, 2009; OMoE, 2014; St. Denis, Bouvier, & Battiste, 1998). 2   My involvement in examples of such targeted teacher education has been a constant source of inspiration throughout graduate studies. While completing a Master of Education program at Lakehead University, I worked as a graduate research assistant on a large-scale project that, in part, studied the perceptions of inservice teachers mandated to participate in district-led, extended professional development on Aboriginal education (Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015; Korteweg et al., 2010; Madden, Higgins, & Korteweg, 2013). My masters research utilized narrative inquiry to delve deeper into the decolonizing processes of select teachers participating in the larger project, with a focus on the ways that ancestry, gender, and race came to bear on their engagement in Aboriginal education reform (Madden, 2011, 2014, 2016). For three years during doctoral studies, I contributed to a team of Aboriginal and ally scholars designing, implementing, and assessing supports for a course entitled Aboriginal Education in Canada, UBC’s first mandatory course in Aboriginal education for Bachelor of Education students. My role focused closely on the relationship between teachers and curricular documents, pedagogies, and resources for school-based Aboriginal education (Hare, Madden, Higgins, Young, Wager & Mashon, 2012).  My tenure as a graduate student also coincides with what has been described as the 8th fire. This declaration draws from the Anishinaabe prophecy and names the present as the time for Aboriginal peoples across Turtle Island to come together with settler communities and light the 8th and final fire of justice, love, and peace (CBC, 2016; Simpson, 2008).   Education across the country is undergoing programmatic, curricular, and policy reform, partially in response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada’s (2015) calls to action to mobilize Indigenous knowledges and counternarratives. By extension, I am witnessing the ongoing reconfiguration of teacher education initiatives to address the history and legacy of 3  residential schools, advance Aboriginal leadership, improve Aboriginal-non-Aboriginal relationships, and identify and meet teacher-training needs relating to these areas. National and international community-based movements toward advancing Indigenous education, wellness, and sovereignty that are deeply tied to land continue to spread like wildfire. Messages of decolonizing and Indigenizing are enhancing my social media feeds, weekends, and graduate coursework. It is a powerful time of synergy, of coalition building, priority setting, and growing capacity. It is also a time to ask important questions about the preparedness of and the roles that government, public and private institutions, communities, practitioners, and individuals might play in pursuing reconciliation and sustaining Indigenous survivance1. 1.1 Development of Research Questions  Within the overlapping teacher education spaces that I occupy, a central factor that I have identified as significantly shaping teachers’ approaches to engagement is questions of teacher identity in relation to Aboriginal education. I have come to identify several circulating teacher curiosities at multiple levels, including: • What are the aims and purposes of Aboriginal education?  • Who is Aboriginal education for? Aboriginal students or all students? • Is an Aboriginal teacher always teaching Aboriginal education? Can a non-Aboriginal teacher teach Aboriginal education? • What are the characteristics and practices of those who are committed to this work? • Is Aboriginal education about integrating Aboriginal perspectives, knowledges, and pedagogies? Are all three components needed for it to ‘count’ as Aboriginal education? • Do conventional understandings of education and teacher change in this emergent area?                                                  1 Drawing on Vizenor (1994), Dion & Salamanca (2014) define survivance as: the survival plus resistance of Indigenous peoples who are responding to ongoing impacts of colonialism. Survivance often takes the form of artistic creation and is positioned as both “evidence and means of cultural survival and resistance” (Dion & Salamanca, 2014, p. 163). It occurs “independent of a response from the non-Indigenous world…[yet] does offer the possibility of disruption [of colonial logics, mythology, and subject positions] and, in some instances, an invitation to participate in a conversation” (p. 169). 4  • What are points of resonance and divergence across Aboriginal education, education for diversity, as well as education for social and ecological justice?  For my doctoral research, my experience in teacher education led me to focus on how a unique group of practicing teachers – those who had completed university coursework on the topic of Aboriginal education – were grappling with these questions. I was eager to trace the contextual and relational conditions that were offering complex and often contradictory answers to these questions, and how those involved were learning to teach and becoming teachers of Aboriginal education through the process.   I view identity, broadly speaking, and teacher identity as the specific focus of this work, as more than the static markers of identity from which identity politics are regularly conducted, although these do play a role in my scholarship. In understanding and employing the often-elusive (Beauchamp & Thomas, 2009) concept of teacher identity, four interconnected and culturally-mediated characteristics of teachers’ professional identity are acknowledged. First, teacher identity is neither stable nor fixed, rather, it is an ongoing, relational process of being discursively constructed as ‘teacher’, including (imperfectly and incompletely) interpreting teaching experiences. Second, contextual and relational conditions produce teacher identity (e.g., previous experience as a pupil, initial teacher qualification program, interaction with students). Third, teacher identity is but one component of identity that interacts with other partial identities in dynamic ways that are not always harmonious. Finally, agency is central to teacher identity as teachers play an active, yet not autonomous, role in reviewing and reimagining themselves as professionals (Britzman, 2003; Beijaard, Meijer, & Verloop, 2004; Flores and Day, 2006; Gee, 2001).  5   In this inquiry, a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher provides analytical frames to theorize ongoing, relational processes of momentarily and imperfectly occupying, exceeding, resisting, and/or reconfiguring subject positions of teacher that are made available through discourse. A significant proportion of Chapter 3: Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach is devoted to further examining this approach to theorizing teacher identity, including how it is employed to design research that accounts for the signified Teacher, subjectification, and agency in the context of (un)becoming teacher in formal Aboriginal education. Briefly, I suggest a more complex treatment of teacher identity has the potential to extend simplistic interpretations that tend to be organized according to the binary opposition between resistant teacher and decolonizing teacher. These constructions that are somewhat sedimented in the context of formal Indigenous education in universities and schools and do little to account for the complexity and variations of identity and experience within, and beyond, both categories2.  The research questions that guided this project are: 1. How do early career teachers (1-5 years teaching experience) across complex and shifting identity positions construct a sense of teacher identity through engagement with university-based coursework and/or extended professional development (PD) that has Aboriginal/Indigenous education as its central focus?   2. How does transition and inculcation into educative work settings shape and support early career teachers’ motivation and capacity for, and approach to, teaching Aboriginal/Indigenous education?                                                  2 The prevailing subject positions of teacher in Indigenous education in universities and schools are explored in depth in Chapter 2: A Review of Literature: Indigenous Education, Teacher Education, and Teacher Identity. 6  1.2 Researcher Positionality  My interest in how Aboriginal education coursework impacts the construction of teacher identity and practices is intimately connected to my own explorations of identity and professional purpose in a university setting. My induction into teaching is marked by a formative experience as an Aboriginal support worker in a remote community in Northern Ontario. Neither my disciplinary training as a biologist nor secondary teacher qualification prepared me well for this position. To further understand how to create space for Anishinaabe culture and wisdom in practice, I enrolled in graduate studies in education on the same traditional territory.   Since then, university coursework has also significantly shaped how I understand my Aboriginal and European ancestry, including how to honour my relations and deconstruct my family’s complex and repeatedly silenced colonial histories. In negotiating alignments between ancestry and identity, investigation of colonial relations of power and the production of privilege enables my careful positioning as a woman with Aboriginal ancestry and solidifies my commitment to Aboriginal education. This positioning acknowledges differences that matter and resists appropriation of traditional knowledge and experiences of marginalization that are not my own.  Gaining awareness about myself through relationships with/in (in)formal education (e.g., university coursework, First Nations Longhouse events at UBC, completing PhD requirements) has also been fraught with uncertainty and tension. My interest in how colonial discourse circulates, organizing subjects according to an insider/outsider binary in spaces secured for decolonizing and Indigenizing stems from experiences of becoming (un)done through connecting with my Aboriginal ancestry as an adult, largely within a university community. In negotiating evolving alignments between ancestry and identity, I encountered the systemic productions 7  Donald (2012) speaks of, making one feel they must “…choose sides, to choose a life inside or outside the walls of the fort” (p. 534). For example, I was advised by some to remain distinctly inside the fort (i.e., identify as a non-Aboriginal settler). It has taken several years to confidently maintain that such instruction further obscures my family’s colonial histories and positioning; seeks to sever relationships with ancestors and land; and does little to work towards Donald’s (2012) call for, “complex understandings of human relationality that traverse deeply learned divides of the past and present” (p. 534).  1.3 Key Terms  This research is embedded in the emergent and complex movement to decolonize and Indigenize Faculties of Education and schools across the country that was introduced at the beginning of this chapter. Reform in BC is large-scale, interdisciplinary, and, in some cases, involves collaboration between institutions and government and Aboriginal community partners. For example, all members of the Association of BC Deans of Education committed to including a required course in Indigenous education (or equivalent) by 2012 in their respective initial teacher qualification programs. The British Columbia Ministry of Education (BCMoE) is in the process3 of redesigning K-12 provincial curriculum that, among additional significant changes, “authentically integrates” Aboriginal perspectives and content across all levels and subjects (BCMoE, 2015). 54 of 60 school districts in BC have signed Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreements (AEEAs) with local First Nations. AEEAs are collaboratively created every five years and detail how the school district will work to meet the needs and support the priorities of local                                                 3 Redesigned K-Grade 9 curricular documents and related resources are available for voluntary use by teachers during the 2015/16 school year and will become official in 2016/17. Redesigned Grades10-12 curricular documents and related resources will be available for voluntary use by teachers in 2016/17 and will become official in 2017/18 (BCMoE, 2015). 8  Aboriginal students and communities (BCMoE, n.d.a). I suggest that such initiatives often position teachers at the centre of their operation, particularly those who are early in their career and have completed formal coursework in Aboriginal/Indigenous education as one component of a teacher qualification program.  As such, the invitation to participate in the research was extended to early career teachers with 1-5 years of teaching experience who took part in teacher education on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education. These recruitment criteria established a focus on the relationship between teacher identity and educational institutions, as well as opportunities to map the movement of knowledge-practice associated with Aboriginal education across Faculties of Education, schools, and areas between (e.g., teaching practicum, BCMoE professional development). I also hoped to learn about the successes, challenges, supports, barriers, priorities, and desires from the perspectives of early career teachers who are translating theory-practice across educational institutions and working with Metro Vancouver’s large and diverse Aboriginal student population4.                                                  4 “Vancouver has the third-largest population of Aboriginal Peoples in Canada, after Winnipeg and Edmonton” (City of Vancouver, 2016, ¶1), with 23.2% of the total Aboriginal population aged 14 and under compared with 15.4% of the non-Aboriginal population of the same age range (Statistics Canada, 2011). The First Nation reserve communities located within the boundaries of Metro Vancouver include: “the Burrard Inlet 3 of Burrard; Musqueam 2 and 4 of Musqueam; Katzie 1, 2 and Barnston Island 3 of Katzie, Semiahmoo of Semiahmoo, Coquitlam 1 and 2 of Kwikwetlem First Nation; Mission 1, Capilano 5 and, Seymour Creek 2 of Squamish, Tsawwassen of Tsawwassen First Nation; Whonnock 1, Langley 5 and, McMillan Island 6 of Kwantlen First Nation; and, Matsqui 4 of Matsqui” (Statistics Canada, 2006, ¶1). In addition to those Aboriginal peoples affiliated with local reserve communities, First Nations, Métis, and Inuit people in Metro Vancouver identify with reserve, rural, and urban communities within and beyond British Columbia (B.C.). B.C. is the traditional territory of 203 First Nations communities, with approximately 60% of First Nations languages of Canada spoken in the province (FPLMBC, n.d.).  9   Aboriginal/Indigenous education was used in the documents associated with the research project (e.g., dissertation proposal, advertisement to recruit participants, teacher consent form). This was intended to reach a broad range of potential teacher participants through reflecting the provincial context wherein Aboriginal and Indigenous as descriptors of formal education are both used frequently and often interchangeably by universities, Faculties of Education, school districts, and the Ministry of Education. There does not appear to be clear distinctions made between terms by educational institutions, or consensus on the preferred term in formal education in BC.  Within the dissertation, the term Indigenous is used when drawing from and bringing together international research and perspectives on (teacher) education, traditional knowledges and approaches, and the global Indigenous movement of decolonizing. When making reference to particular scholars/scholarship, I retain the authors’ original discursive practices and reflect their specific research and/or education context to the best of my ability.  Within Canada, Aboriginal is the legal term applied by the Canadian state to the people who, under the Constitution Act, are recognized to hold distinct rights as First Nations, Métis, or Inuit. Aboriginal education is one example of Indigenous education that endeavours to account for national specificity with respect to Canadian history, politics, policy, education, and relationships, as well as diverse and placed forms of Aboriginal resistance to ongoing impacts of colonialism and regeneration of cultural practices.   To reflect this lineage, I use the term Aboriginal to describe the context associated with the dissertation research study (e.g., school-based education, teacher education, students, content) and when generating knowledge claims. I acknowledge critiques of this term that include: state imposition of identity vs. self-identification, collapsing of diversity and disregard for the ways in 10  which language and land shape peoples and Nations, and the possibility that those who do not hold legal status do not feel as though they can claim Aboriginal as a marker of identity (e.g., Chartrand, 2012; Flowers 2015). Artefacts from the research retain the discursive practices utilized by teacher participants, universities, and school districts. As such, the terms Indigenous (inclusive term), First Peoples (inclusive term), and First Nations (does not include Métis or Inuit, which in some cases is appropriate and in others it excludes) appear occasionally.  1.4 A Guiding Decolonizing Framework  Educational research by and for Indigenous peoples must work to address the exploitative history of research, and to resist standards of inquiry predicated on colonizing relations (Smith, 1999). A theoretical and methodological framework for research with decolonizing purposes is one approach to advance change that honours Indigenous knowledge and nurtures Indigenous communities (inclusive of human, natural, and spirit worlds). I use this approach to engage and extend Aboriginal goals (Battiste, 2000, 2013; Donald, 2009, 2012) for decolonizing Canadian education through two interconnected and recursive processes: deconstructing and reconstructing.  Deconstructing “colonial frontier logics” (Donald, 2012) reveals and challenges the assumptions and organizing principles of pervasive colonial systems that generate inequities in the symbolic and material distribution of resources, and entrench deeply learned divides in Aboriginal and Canadian relations. Decolonizing and race-based theories (Biermann, 2011; Lawrence & Dua, 2007; Thobani, 2007) provide frames to consider the circulation, and sedimentation, of racism and whiteness in the Canadian colonial context. Within the context of teacher education and teacher identity, deconstruction illuminates and creates openings to address how the production, organization, circulation, and regulation of institutional norms of 11  intelligibility “systematically construct versions of the social and natural worlds, and position subjects in relations of power” (Luke, 1995, p. 8). Of central importance to this inquiry are the interplay between de/colonial discourse and participating teachers’ sense of professional identity and practices, as well as their own motivations and capacity to engage Indigenizing and decolonizing processes.  Reconstructing involves learning from Aboriginal epistemologies and ontologies that are sublimely relational and place based (Cajete, 1994; Marker, 2006). Educators are called to engage and, in some cases, contribute Aboriginal counternarratives of resistance to colonial systems, and resurgence of traditional ways-of-knowing and -being. In the study, reconstructing involves designing research that creates space to honour Aboriginal theories of education and educator (e.g., Archibald, 2008; Battiste, 2013; Donald, 2014) as alternatives to education derived from colonial systems. A guiding decolonizing framework provokes theory building, new research methods, analytical questions, and types of findings to address education as an avenue to both support Aboriginal student success through a focus on teachers, and heal the relationships that connect Aboriginal peoples and Canadians. 1.5 Research Methods   This study examines how transition between Faculties of Education, schools, and areas between (e.g., teaching practicum) shapes and supports teachers’ emerging professional identities and practices. The experiences of nine early career teachers who participated in university-based coursework and, in some cases, extended professional development on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education are the focus. Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal participation across four Metro Vancouver school boards position this study among the first to include diverse perspectives from uniquely trained teachers in efforts to improve K-12 and post-secondary AE.   12   Interviews formed a central method in this inquiry. Designing research with a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of teacher identity generated five major methodological inflections to traditional qualitative approaches to interview: a) adopting a reciprocal stance, b) experience as a site of witnessing unbecoming, c) walking interview with/in significant place, d) agential documents in a landscape of becoming in Indigenous education, and e) relational listening to audio-recordings of interviews. Theoretically informed readings of interviews (Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009) grounds data analysis. Supporters of this methodological approach argue for centring theoretical perspectives during research design, such that analysis is built into, and extends from, interviews.   Teachers were invited to participate in a series of three individual, semi-structured interviews that were organized by topic: a) teachers’ personal-professional identity, b) teachers’ experiences of participating in teacher education on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education, and c) teachers’ relationships with place revealed through walking interviews. Seven of nine teachers also elected to take part in a fourth interview where they shared a lesson or unit they designed, adapted, and/or facilitated that integrated Aboriginal content. Audio-recordings of interviews and Aboriginal/Indigenous education lessons, copies of interview materials (e.g., interview prompts, teacher education syllabi, policy and curricular documents, lesson and unit plans), photographs of interview spaces, and oral (recorded) and written field notes comprise the data that was produced during interviews. 1.6 A Glance at Upcoming Chapters  Chapter 2 critically reviews Indigenous education scholarship that spans and connects the fields of Indigenous education, decolonizing and decolonization, teacher education, and teacher identity.  13   Chapter 3 presents a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher as the central theoretical framework and explores the methodological inflections to interview that result from designing research with this framework.   Chapters 4 – 7 present research findings that are organized according to the four key relationships between teachers and sources of knowledge about Aboriginal education that formed, reinforced, and challenged teachers’ emerging professional identities and associated practices as they navigated Faculties of Education, schools, and areas between (e.g., teaching practicum). They include: (un)becoming teacher and a) school-based sources of Aboriginality (Chapter 4), b) pedagogical pathways for Aboriginal education with/in teacher education (Chapter 5), c) significant place (Chapter 6), and d) supports used for engaging Aboriginal education (Chapter 7).  Chapter 8 concludes the dissertation through presenting the contributions of the research, the significance of the contributions with a focus on applications, and future research orientations that will extend the work. 1.7 Research Objectives  This research endeavours to: a) design a decolonizing methodology for analyzing the construction of teacher identity, b) map the evolving Aboriginal landscape across educational institutions; c) reveal the benefits and difficulties that coursework provides in preparing and providing ongoing assistance to early career teachers who foreground Aboriginal content and approaches to teaching; d) identify key school-based relationships and sources of knowledge about Aboriginal education that shape teacher identity, and teachers’ images of Aboriginal students and school staff; and e) synthesize the limitations of, supports needed for, and recommendations to improve university and school-based Aboriginal education from the 14  perspective of early career teachers.  15  Chapter 2: A Review of Literature: Indigenous Education, Teacher Education and Teacher Identity Chapter 2 reviews Indigenous education scholarship that spans and connects the fields of Indigenous education, decolonization, teacher education, and teacher identity. The emergence of Indigenous education and the ways in which it has been taken up by universities, specifically Faculties of Education, and school districts are explored. Comparing teacher education in the form of university coursework, and extended in-service teacher professional development (PD) reveals points of resonance and divergence between educational institutions’ approaches. While pedagogical pathways are more diverse within Faculties of Education, school districts offer important extensions to pedagogical methods concerning applications for practice.  Resistant teacher and decolonizing teacher are presented as the prevailing subject positions within Indigenous education and teacher education. The construction and characteristics of these identities are explored, while drawing attention to the complexity and variations of identity and experience that are often collapsed in deploying both categories. The absence of Indigenous teachers’ perspectives throughout literature on Indigenous education and teacher education, as well as those teachers who identify as non-Indigenous and/or racialized are noted as areas for deeper inquiry. 2.1 A Case for Formal Indigenous Education in Universities and Schools Chapter 1: Early Career Teachers, Teacher Identity, and Aboriginal Education Across Institutions introduced the persistent gap in measures of academic attainment between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal students, alongside Aboriginal youth and community accounts of negative school experiences that enhance understanding of key factors that contribute to this discrepancy. Promising practices that challenge marginalization that negatively affects 16  Indigenous peoples and communities, as well as fosters high levels of ignorance regarding Indigenous perspectives and knowledges among members of non-Indigenous educational communities are of central concern (Dion, 2007, 2009; Strong-Wilson, 2007; Wildcat, McDonald, Irlbacher-Fox, and Coulthard, 2014). In their seminal piece focused on higher education that has been interpreted for use in schools and with teachers (e.g., Archibald, 2008), Kirkness and Barnhardt (1991) maintain that responsive systems of education would be grounded in the four R’s: respect for Indigenous knowledge and traditional approaches to teaching and learning; integration of content that is relevant to, and builds upon, Indigenous students’ relational views of human, natural, and spirit worlds; reciprocal teaching and learning relationships that disrupt a teacher/student hierarchy; and the teaching that, with knowledge, comes responsibility to one’s relations, including past and future generations. Those who might be positioned as “critical and Indigenous” (Denzin, Lincoln, & Smith, 2008) scholars5 expose the exploitative history of impacts by education institutions on Indigenous peoples, knowledges, and communities that include those beyond the human world (Bishop, Berryman, Cavanaugh, & Teddy, 2009; Grande, 2008; Marker, 2004; Smith, 1999). Consequently, they call for what is increasingly referred to as “Indigenous education” that works both within and against colonial systems. Critical and Indigenous scholarship often focuses on revealing, examining, and challenging the ways colonial relations of power construct, uphold, and are reinforced by structures and subject positions in relations that produce privilege and multiple oppressions (e.g., Eurocentrism in schools and the production of a deficit view of culture                                                 5 Drawing on the title of the 2008 SAGE handbook, I resist the tendency to subsume Indigenous scholars and approaches within a critical paradigm. This aims to remind the reader of the historical, political, legal, and onto-epistemological nuances that exist between paradigms, as well as the controversy that surrounds such an assimilative approach to grouping. 17  and problematic white subjectivities, Battiste, 2005; St. Denis, 2007).  According to Tuck and Yang (2012), Indigenous education must move participants to action, specifically the type that results in “the repatriation of Indigenous land and life” (p. 1) (see also, Alfred, 2009; Grande, 2008). A focus on repatriation highlights the unique colonial histories of Indigenous peoples including their status and rights as First Peoples (e.g., United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations), 2008; Aboriginal title). Further, it signals the central role of land in Indigenous intellectual traditions that are “sublimely ecological and place based” (Marker, 2006, p. 482). Drawing on Simpson (2014), Wildcat et al., (2014) envision what repatriation might look like in the context of teaching and learning in formal education:   Settler-colonialism has functioned, in part, by deploying institutions of western education to undermine Indigenous intellectual development through cultural assimilation and the violent separation of Indigenous peoples from our sources of knowledge and strength – the land…[O]ne, if not the primary, impact on Indigenous education has been to impede the transmission of knowledge about the forms of governance, ethics and philosophies that arise from relationships on the land. As Leanne Simpson argues…if we are serious about decolonizing education and educating people within frameworks of Indigenous intelligence, we must find ways of reinserting people into relationships with and on the land as a mode of education…‘Indigenous education is not Indigenous or education from within our intellectual traditions unless it comes through the land, unless it occurs in an Indigenous context using Indigenous processes’ (Simpson, 2014, p. 9). (p. II – V)  Wildcat et al.’s (2014) notion of repatriation that calls to embed Indigenous education in relationships with and on the land represents a goal that is more closely aligned with the agential possibilities available within educational institutions, in comparison to Tuck and Yang’s (2012) “striv[ing] to undo colonialism” (p. 19) for example. Of the latter, Spivak (1988) cautions that desire for a “pre-colonial ideal” that can never be neatly separated from the history of colonization “can be detrimental to the exploration of social realities within the critique of 18  imperialism” (p. 21).   In Canada, several Faculties of Education and, in exceptional cases, entire universities are moving towards incorporating required courses on Aboriginal/Indigenous6 topics (ACDE, 2011; CBC News, 2015a; CTV News, 2015; Universities Canada, 2015). Archibald (as cited in Amos, 2010) highlights the dual role Faculties of Education play in both modeling how universities can be more inclusive of Indigenous peoples and knowledge, and preparing teachers to do similar work in schools. The Association of British Columbia Deans of Education (2006) is an exemplar of dedication to taking up this doubled task through its mandated inclusion of a required BEd course in Indigenous education (or equivalent) in initial teacher qualification programs throughout the province.   Similarly, school districts nationwide are undergoing programmatic, curricular, and policy reform aimed at nurturing and mobilizing Indigenous knowledges, advancing Indigenous leadership through recruitment and retention, and improving Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships through welcoming environments (e.g., Manitoba Education, n.d.; OMoE, 2015). Redesigned K-12 British Columbia Ministry of Education curriculum and Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreements (AEEAs) signed between school districts and local First Nations were cited in the introduction as among BC-specific examples of reform. With an introduction to the current school context for Indigenous students and the purposes and constructions of formal Indigenous education in place, the following section focuses on the relationship between formal Indigenous education and teacher education. Indigenous education and teacher education in the                                                 6 Both Aboriginal and Indigenous as descriptors of formal education are frequently used, and often used interchangeably. There does not appear to be consensus on the preferred terms in formal education in Canada. 19  form of Faculty of Education coursework, and school district extended professional development (PD) are considered.  2.2 Indigenous Education and Teacher Education 2.2.1 Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education   Previous, and related, reviews of literature from 2000-2012 (Madden, 2015) and 2013-2015 (Glanfield & Madden, forthcoming) determined that the vast majority of research on what I have introduced as “formal Indigenous education” focuses on teacher educators7’ experiences of and pedagogical approaches for engaging required and elective Indigenous education coursework with/in Faculties of Education, as one component of initial teacher qualification or graduate programs. I use the term Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education to mark the tension between a course with distinct theoretical underpinnings, pedagogical methods, and commitments and a larger program of study whose purpose and goals may, at times, be incommensurate or even antithetical to constructions of (critical and) Indigenous education explored in the previous section. Within the literature, students engaged in Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education include pre-service teachers, as well as practicing teachers pursuing graduate studies and/or additional qualifications. As such, I utilize the term “teachers” throughout for ease. When referring to particular texts/studies, the discursive practices of the authors are maintained and include pre-service teachers, teacher candidates, practicing teachers, inservice teachers, and/or teachers. Rhea and Russell (2012) explain that this focus on teacher educators is appropriate                                                 7 In this instance, teacher educators refers to those who design, deliver, and assess Faculty of Education coursework for initial teacher qualification, graduate studies, and additional teaching qualifications. Within the dissertation, the term teacher educators is also used to refer to those responsible for designing and facilitating PD for in-service teachers. 20  because they are located at the center of Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education as they negotiate integration of Indigenous knowledges and pedagogical approaches in their own teaching, while preparing teachers to do the same. They argue this involves the foundational work of supporting both Indigenous and non-Indigenous teachers to see themselves as affected by, implicated in, and accountable for shifting education towards local Indigenous priorities and solutions. Rhea and Russell also flag this role as precarious, attributing teacher educators responsibility for facilitating the construction of knowledge about Indigenous-non Indigenous relationships; as well as Indigenous peoples, perspectives, and priorities in a manner that challenges the academy's longstanding history of marginalizing, appropriating, and/or distorting Indigenous knowledges (Battiste, 2008; Smith, 1999). 2.2.1.1 Pedagogical pathways for Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education    I conceptualized “pedagogical pathways” as a means of organizing my review of relevant studies determined by their concentration on Faculty of Education coursework for initial teacher qualification, graduate studies in education, and additional qualifications/studies in mainstream programs (Madden, 2015). Working the conceptual space between the relational ontologies theorized by Cajete (1994) and Deleuze and Guattari (1987), pedagogical pathways are presented as configurations that guide, shape, and constrain the movement of pedagogy. Consider the concept ‘hiking trail’ that manifests through the relationships among communities of animals, trees, rocks, streams, and earth; trail maps and markings; a specified distance and level of difficulty described on a website; and the promise of a spectacular view. Similarly, assumptions about education and teaching, associated purposes and goals, central themes, and pedagogical methods comprise a pedagogical pathway that influences, but does not determine, the learning 21  journey. Some elements of the pathway remain constant while others fluctuate, and the journey is continuously contextual, distinct, relational, and unforeseeable.   Pedagogical pathways are commonly thought to lead to a transformative destination (Ahhh, the promise of that spectacular view!). For example, Indigenizing teacher education pursues particular individual and systemic shifts likely to result in educational change that improves schooling for Indigenous students and communities. However, pursuit of school improvement does not ensure this goal will be achieved. This pedagogical production often hinges on the assumption that teachers will make sense of (their relationship to) Indigenous content shared within teacher education and then ‘successfully’ adapt and apply their understandings for classroom practice. However, movement of knowledge-practice between educational institutions is typically non-linear and complex (e.g., Dion, 2007; Schick, 2000; Sleeter, 2005; St. Denis, 2011; Strong-Wilson, 2007). Further, that teachers’ attempts to model Indigenous approaches to teaching and learning will resonate with Indigenous students is not guaranteed (e.g., Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015).   Pedagogy refers to the flow of movement that may produce desired transformational shifts. Moreover, like a hike rerouted due to weather, injury, blockage, or curiosity, pedagogy generates immeasurable, unpredictable, additional productions. Pedagogy, distinguished from pedagogical pathways, always already exceeds pathways in ways that, at once, may be considered productive and problematic. It is important to highlight the winding nature of the pathways (Marker, 2011) that often meet, as well as diverge. Similarly, I recognize teacher educators’ capacities to travel on, as well as connect multiple pathways in responding to particular situations, needs, and goals.  36 relevant studies were taken as the basis for analyzing the a) theoretical underpinnings, 22  b) purpose and goals, c) central themes, and d) pedagogical methods of the coursework musings and exemplars. This produced four pedagogical pathways engaged by teacher educators in university-based Indigenous education: 1. Learning from Indigenous traditional models of teaching (e.g., Anuik & Gillies, 2012; Brayboy & Maughan, 2009; Kitchen & Raynor, 2013; Phillips & Whatman, 2007; Sanford, Williams, Hopper, & McGregor, 2012; Styres, 2011; Tanaka, 2009, 2015; Tanaka et al., 2007; Williams & Tanaka, 2007); 2. Pedagogy for decolonizing (e.g., Chinnery, 2010; Dion, 2007; den Heyer, 2009; Hook, 2012; Iseke-Barnes, 2008; Korteweg et al., 2014; Oberg, Blades, & Thom, 2007; Pridham et al., 2015; Riley, Howard-Wagner, & Mooney, 2015; Root, 2015; Taylor, 2014; Wolf, 2012); 3. Indigenous and anti-racist education (e.g., James, Marin, & Kassam, 2011; Kameniar, Windsor, & Sifa, 2014; Mackinlay, 2012; Mackinlay & Barney, 2012, 2014; Morgan & Golding, 2010; O'Dowd, 2010; Strong-Wilson, 2007; Tompkins, 2002; Tupper, 2013); 4. Indigenous and placed-based education (e.g., Chambers, 2006; Korteweg, Gonzalez, & Guillet, 2010; Scully, 2012).  Learning from Indigenous traditional models of teaching promotes Indigenous knowledges within Faculties of Education through honoring both Indigenous teachings and the traditional modes through which they are transmitted.  Most studies involved Indigenous Elders, knowledge holders, and artists in activating living Indigenous knowledges through co-learning and investigation throughout coursework (Anuik & Gillies, 2012; Brayboy & Maughan, 2009; Kitchen & Raynor, 2013; Phillips & Whatman, 2007; Sanford, Williams, Hopper, & McGregor, 2012; Styres, 2011; Tanaka, 2009, 2015; Tanaka et al., 2007; Williams & Tanaka, 2007). As a result, this pathway presents abundant opportunities for first-hand inclusion of Indigenous experiential and traditional knowledges. Moreover, cultural mentors were often involved in design, development, and delivery of teacher education. This works towards advancing Indigenous leadership and self-determination applied to education within and beyond educational institutions, providing adequate supports are in place (e.g., funding for honoraria, long-term contracts, welcoming environments, and collaborative program design).  23   A traditional pathway often does not explicitly explore the unique political positions and rights of Indigenous communities. This differs from decolonizing, anti-racist, and place-based pathways that consider Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships through a focus on colonial relations of power that marginalize particular groups, while privileging others. When exploration of the relationship between power and Indigenous communities and knowledges is omitted, it has the potential to limit strategies for engaging apathetic or resistant teachers who do not view themselves as implicated in Indigenous education. Further, it may enhance the conditions for appropriation of Indigenous knowledges, or perpetuate colonial ways of knowing about Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships (e.g., Indigenous peoples and knowledges are romanticized and/or relegated to the past). Pedagogy for decolonizing, Indigenous and anti-racist education, and Indigenous and place-based education have theoretical roots in a critical paradigm, yet typically make space for Indigenous knowledges on their own terms. Each pathway is differently concerned with the central task of reshaping contemporary Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships through teacher transformation. The inclusion of Indigenous counternarratives and development of frames for understanding these often marginalized experiences, perspectives, histories, and knowledges in terms of relations of power play central roles in supporting individual and systemic transformation in all three pedagogical pathways. Specifically, teacher educators argue these shifts lead to deconstructing problematic subject positions and interconnected systems of oppression in schools, as well as responding to the priorities and needs of Indigenous students and communities. In general, decolonizing, anti-racist, and place-based studies assert that individual and systemic transformation is supported through stories of, and frameworks for, understanding: a) 24  colonization and Indigenous survivance (Chinnery, 2010; Dion, 2007; den Heyer, 2009; Hook, 2012; Iseke-Barnes, 2008; Korteweg et al., 2014; Oberg, Blades, & Thom, 2007; Pridham et al., 2015; Riley, Howard-Wagner, & Mooney, 2015; Taylor, 2014; Wolf, 2012); b) racialization and racism as ongoing colonial strategies (James, Marin, & Kassam, 2011; Kameniar, Windsor, & Sifa, 2014; Mackinlay, 2012; Mackinlay & Barney, 2012, 2014; Morgan & Golding, 2010; O'Dowd, 2010; Strong-Wilson, 2007; Tompkins, 2002; Tupper, 2013); and c) Indigenous relationships with/in place that continue to be disrupted as a result of neocolonial8 exploitation, respectively9 (Chambers, 2006; Korteweg, Gonzalez, & Guillet, 2010; Scully, 2012).  Among critically informed approaches, decolonizing and place-based pedagogical pathways consider the role of land in the construction of knowledge, as well as current disputed and deleterious relationships with/in place when conceptualizing transformation. Nonetheless, only Indigenous and place-based education presents Indigenous voice as emerging from an Indigenous ecology of placed relations among human, natural, and spirit beings (Castellano, M. B., 2004; Cajete, 1994; Kawagley, 1995; Steinhauer, 2002; Wilson, 2008). Those who are guided by Indigenous and anti-racist education appear to be beginning the work of taking “Indigenous thought seriously” (Haig-Brown, 2008) through positioning land as central to knowing-in-being. While consideration of land is emergent, an anti-racist pathway is unique in that it draws on                                                 8 On distinguishing between colonialism and neocolonialism, as well as the current postcolonial condition shaped by globalization, Spivak (1999) states, “Let us learn to discriminate the terms colonialism – in the European formation stretching from the mid-eighteenth to the mid-twentieth centuries – neocolonialism – dominant economic, political, and culturalist maneuvers emerging in our century after the uneven dissolution of the territorial empires – and postcolonialism – the contemporary global condition, since the first term is supposed to have passed or be passing into the second” (p. 172). 9 My construction of decolonial (e.g., colonization, Eurocentrism), race-based (e.g., racialization, racism, white supremacy, whiteness), and Indigenous (e.g., relational ontology) analytical frames and detailed in chapters that follow. 25  Indigenous counternarratives of racialization and racism in the contemporary colonial circumstance of continued occupation of Indigenous territories in the form of nation-states.  However, it risks echoing the overwhelming presence of “damage-centered research” (Tuck, 2009) on and narratives about Indigenous peoples that obscure examples of resilience and cultural resurgence, as well as reinforce the impression that victimization and suffering is the primary condition of Indigeneity. Decolonizing and place-based education explicitly, and a traditional model implicitly, focus on Eurocentrism and often leave race unexplored.  Pedagogy for decolonizing calls for an action component that supports a larger global Indigenous decolonizing agenda (e.g., Battiste, 2013; DIES, 2012; Smith, 1999). Teachers are invited to reconfigure their personal and professional biography with Indigenous peoples to work together to dismantle oppressive colonial structures and support Indigenous self-determination. The action component of Indigenous and anti-racist education and Indigenous and placed-based education concentrates on teacher-transformation that affects change in schools, notably through the production of students as critical agents working towards a more socially just and ecologically responsible way-of-being in place. In general, these three pathways are subject to related feminist poststructural critiques (e.g., Ellsworth, 1989; Madden & McGregor, 2013; Orner, 1992) of the limitations of pedagogical methods that ‘call for voice’ including the desire for a stable, autonomous, unified, knowable individual/community/identity that can be represented and transformed, as well as reliance on binary oppositions (e.g., Indigenous/non-Indigenous, racialized/white) that position participants in ways that both constrain and enable. Learning from Indigenous traditional models of education is grounded in a relational ontology that nurtures spaces of differentiation, attends to localization, and considers natural and spiritual beings as agential knowers and thus differently produces and prohibits (e.g., potential to be read 26  as apolitical). In the first, more detailed literature review on pedagogical pathways (Madden, 2015), I position plurality as a resource in shifting and unknowable teacher education contexts. Thus, selecting one pathway over another is not recommended. Teacher educators are encouraged to connect pathways in charting their own route, taking into account their unique place, positioning, talents, students, and priorities. They are also urged to learn from analysis of pedagogical pathways, as well as draw inspiration and heed warnings from those who have journeyed beforehand. Often commensurate and complimentary, pedagogical pathways differently offer teachers distinct gifts, including challenges, in creating opportunities to improve Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships in general and schooling for Indigenous students specifically. Much has been learned in terms of applications for practice within, and beyond, Faculties of Education from scholarship that focuses on pedagogical pathways. For example, this body of scholarship documents teacher educators’: pedagogical methods, perspectives of teachers’ responses to particular conceptions of Indigenous education, linguistic practices/repertoire, and recommended texts. However, my recent review of this literature revealed four areas in need of further inquiry. They are: a) the relationship between Faculty of Education coursework and the greater Indigenous education landscape beyond the university (e.g., school programs), b) the position of a required Indigenous education course within a larger initial teacher qualification program that may have incommensurate objectives, c) course design and curriculum development that are responsive to local communities and place, and d) the perspectives of teachers who interpret such coursework. I suggest attending to the ways that pathways construct school-based Indigenous 27  education, and image(s) of teacher therein, may present opportunities to address each of these underdeveloped areas. For example, how does university coursework shape how teachers understand: the aims and purposes of Indigenous education? The communities to whom Indigenous education responds? Indigenous education curriculum? The characteristics and practices of Indigenous teachers, as well as non-Indigenous teachers who are committed to Indigenous education? How do these constructs sit next to conventional understandings of education and teacher? and What is the fate and influence of these understandings as teachers transitions from studying in Faculties of Education to teaching in schools? Similarly, tracing pedagogical pathways supports examination of the movement, and sedimentation10, of knowledge-practice associated with Indigenous education within and between Faculties of Education, schools, and transitional spaces (e.g., teaching practicum). For example, one might examine why it is that a talking circle is often presented as the primary approach to school-based Indigenous education? What are the traces of this interpretation? How might it be connected to the pedagogical pathway(s) for Indigenous education utilized in Faculties of Education? (How) Does a talking circle respond to the educational needs of Indigenous students in schools? Mapping movement and sedimentation may reveal colonial influences and the emergence of potentially problematic norms. In spaces marked for Indigenizing and decolonizing, this has applications within: discourse analysis, document analysis (e.g., policy, curricular documents), and studies of practicing teachers’ pedagogical approaches. The next section shifts the gaze to concentrate on in-service teacher education, in part through the lens of pedagogical pathways alongside school-based extensions to teacher education on the topic of                                                 10 Sedimentation is intended to convey a dynamic and mutable occurrence that may appear stable through continuous (re)articulation as similar. 28  Indigenous education. 2.2.1.2 Extended professional development on the topic of Indigenous education with/in schools   While much of what is known about teacher education and Indigenous education emerges from the context of university coursework, a few studies shine light on preparing practicing teachers to integrate Indigenous education topics and issues relevant to Indigenous students and communities in school classrooms. While smaller in quantity and scope, the body of literature that focuses on extended professional development on the topic of Indigenous education (herein referred to as extended PD) suggests that school-based initiatives can also be organized according to three11 of the four pedagogical pathways that guide university coursework: 1. Learning from Indigenous traditional models of teaching (e.g., Chartrand, 2012; Te Ava, Rubie-Davies, & Ovens, 2013; Yunkaporta & McGinty, 2009); 2. Pedagogy for decolonizing (e.g., Bishop, Berryman, Cavanagh, & Teddy, 2007, 2009; Dion, Johnston, & Rice, 2010; Hynds et al., 2011; Korteweg et al., 2010; Garcia, 2011; Garcia & Shirley, 2012; Owens, 2015; Strong-Wilson, 2007; Whalan & Wood, 2012); 3. Indigenous and placed-based education (e.g., Nicol, Archibald, & Baker, 2013; van der Way, 2001).   Although generally underreported and undertheorized, I suggest significant differences exist, and warrant further attention, between university coursework and extended PD for teachers who are simultaneously learning and practicing. Based on my personal involvement in both Faculty of Education and school board Indigenous education initiatives in two Canadian                                                 11 The absence of in-service teacher education research that can be organized according to an Indigenous and anti-racist pedagogical pathway corresponds with calls to further attend to the shared spaces between Indigenous education and anti-racist education (e.g., Biermann, 2011; Lawrence & Dua, 2007; Madden, 2016), as well as teachers’ desire for support to negotiate Indigenous, multicultural, and additional examples of anti-oppressive education (e.g., Korteweg et al, 2010; St. Denis, 2011). 29  provinces, I have found differences include: facilitators’ areas and levels of expertise; required or elective status of teacher education on the topic of Indigenous education; total time and intensity of teacher education; curriculum, inclusive of content, pedagogies, occasions for community involvement, and modes of assessment; available resources and funding; proximity to (specific) school culture; teachers’ experience and workload; and pre-service vs. inservice teachers’ occasions to directly apply learning within the classroom. When bridging or moving between education institutions in this dissertation, I attend to theory-practice relationships, as well local context and institutional specificity in order to work to account for the differences noted above (see also, Brayboy & Maughan, 2009; Higgins, 2014; Van der Wey, 2001).  In this section, three key school-based extensions to teacher education on the topic of Indigenous education will be taken up. Firstly, in-service teacher education is often informed by and draws support from school partnerships for Indigenous education initiatives and reform. Overall, these collaborations pursue wellness and enhanced academic success for Indigenous students, with targeted and sustained teacher education consistently identified as a critical avenue towards school improvement. In general, extended PD aims to shift teachers’ (mis)understandings of Indigeneity and align their practices with the Indigenous education commitments specified. The majority of studies reported collaboration between school administrators (both at school district and independent school levels), Indigenous and ally university researchers, Indigenous community members (e.g., Elders, parents, artists, students, teachers), Indigenous community organizations, and/or the Department/Ministry of Education in designing extended professional or leadership development/learning for practicing teachers (Bishop, Berryman, Cavanagh, & Teddy, 2007, 2009; Dion, Johnston, & Rice, 2010; Hynds et al., 2011; Korteweg et al., 2010; Nicol, Archibald, & Baker, 2013; Owens, 2015; Te Ava, Rubie-Davies, & Ovens, 2013; van der 30  Way, 2001; Walan & Wood, 2012; Yunkaporta & McGinty, 2009). As a result, the occasions for Indigenous leadership and self-determination applied to education were greatly enhanced.   For example, Yunkaporta & McGinty (2009) were invited by an Australian provincial Department of Education to work with a remote school with a majority population of Aboriginal students to strengthen relationships with the Aboriginal community and introduce perspectives and “pedagogies drawn from local lore, language and the sentient landscape” (p. 55). Before working closely with teachers who largely identified as non-Aboriginal, Yunkaporta (“the Indigenous facilitator”) spent several months “making links with community members, organisations, students and teachers, while negotiating the world of local cultural knowledge, protocols, relationships” (p. 59). The teachings that emerged in both oral (e.g., story) and print form (e.g., local research/archival texts) were then developed with community support into program ideas and eventually a unit. The unit was initially introduced by the facilitator in order to elicit students’ feedback to inform the next round of planning and inservice teacher education in the form of action research.   The remaining literature reviewed represents examples whereby participation in research made possible through university-school district or university-school collaboration is conceptualized as teacher education. Garcia (2011) and Garcia & Shirley (2012) involve Hopi/Tewa educators in applying the theoretical frameworks of TribalCrit (Brayboy, 2005) and Red Pedagogy (Grande, 2004, 2008) to analyze their own curriculum and pedagogical approaches. They argued this led teachers to “rediscover history from an Indigenous perspective and develop a critical Indigenous consciousness of Indigenous peoples history with colonization and assimilation” (p. 83). Likewise, Strong-Wilson (2007) involves Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal teachers in decolonizing literature circles aimed at supporting teachers to examine their 31  classroom practices in relation to juxtaposed master and counter-stories, and the sources of knowledge that inform them. Chartrand (2012) explores, articulates, and applies Anishinaabe pedagogy grounded in a place-consciousness perspective12 in her work as an Aboriginal education consultant in a Canadian school district.  Secondly, unique extensions to pedagogical pathways concerning applications for practice were presented within extended PD. Specific strategies aimed at supporting teachers in translating theory and practice, as well as troubleshooting and refining their attempts to engage Indigenous education were common. For example, Bishop et al., 2007 facilitated and studied a kaupapa Māori research and PD project aimed at generating student narratives that link Māori secondary students’ aspirations for self-determination and their experiences of how schools support and limit this purpose. The collaborative storying processes engaged 70 Māori students in a series of in-depth, semi-structured interviews. Stories of experience and meaning were also collected from 50 whānau (family) members, 5 principals, and approximately 80 teachers. As one component of the larger project, student narratives were used within PD to facilitate teacher reflection and shift some teachers’ problematic perceptions of marginalized students. From these efforts, an Effective Teaching Profile (ETP) document was created that: …explicitly reject[s] deficit theorising as a means of explaining Maori students’ educational achievement levels, and [advocates that teachers take] an agentic position in their theorizing about their practice; that is, practitioners expressing their professional commitment and responsibility to bringing about change in Maori students’ educational achievement by accepting professional responsibility for the learning of their students. (p. 736)                                                  12 Chartrand (2012) defines a place-consciousness perspective as “a useful lens in understanding how to maintain the integrity of Aboriginal knowledge sources. It can be used to understand local ways of teaching and learning that inform our modern conceptions of Aboriginal education” (p. 154). 	  32   The ETP then grounded a “PD intervention” in 12 secondary schools that consisted of five components: “an initial induction workshop; a series of structured classroom observations and feedback sessions; a series of collaborative, problem-solving sessions based on evidence of student outcomes; and specific shadow-coaching sessions (see also Bishop et al., 2007, Hynds et al., 2011)”. After six years of supporting and researching PD interventions within the original schools, significant improvements in Maori student engagement and academic achievement were reported. A third unique addition that accompanied in-service teacher education in the literature consisted of inviting teachers to contribute to the ongoing and circular processes of Indigenizing and decolonizing education and educator through sharing their experiences and learning outcomes with larger school, urban, and scholarly communities. For example, Dion et al. (2010) report that as one component of the Urban Aboriginal Education Pilot Project (UAEPP) in the Toronto District School Board (TDSB), teachers were involved in decolonizing PD. As with Bishop et al., 2007, many interconnected forms of supporting teachers in their classrooms took place, including: offering a series of PD workshops and individual meetings; providing appropriate unit plans, sample lessons, and associated resources; assisting in implementing curricular goals and teaching visions; and involving teachers in a large, multi-disciplinary Arts-Based Project that connected them with “an Aboriginal storyteller, artist, or musician, who visited their classroom and worked with students over a period of several weeks” (p. 36). Following the Arts-Based Project, teachers were invited to demonstrate reciprocity through showcasing their work in a local art exhibition, as well as sharing their lesson and unit plans through a TDSB online platform for teachers. Dion et al., (2010) found that UAEPP initiatives in 33  general, and participation in PD specifically, produced decolonizing shifts in teachers’ understandings and practices that resulted in school improvement and enhanced academic success for Aboriginal students.  In general, scholars report that teachers who participated in school-based extended PD on the topic of Indigenous education cited an increased awareness of Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships and Indigenous education, as well as improved teaching and learning conditions for Indigenous students (see the subsection that follows, Settler identities and teacher resistance, for exception/alternate perspective). To sustain, “the larger, much longer process of decolonizing and Indigenizing [schools]” (Dion, 2010, p. iv) providing teachers with ongoing, intensive PD for continued learning, as well as support to negotiate feelings of anxiety and discomfort that arose were recommended (e.g., Bishop et al., 2007; Dion et al., 2010; Korteweg et al., 2010; Strong-Wilson, 2007; See also, Haig-Brown Research & Consulting, 2009). Further, teachers suggested broadening professional or leadership development on the topic of Indigenous education to include administrators and support staff in schools (Korteweg et al., 2010). The nascent status of, and successes reported within, educational research and extended PD on the topic of Indigenous education with/in schools positions it as a possible site for theory-building and exploration of promising practices. My questions relate to an evolving landscape of Indigenous education and relationships between educational institutions therein. How might cooperation across educational institutions enhance their respective established Indigenous education initiatives, as well as present opportunities to learn from one another towards concurrently improving university- and school-based efforts? What might university coursework look like if it were a) informed by and drew support from established partnerships for Indigenous education initiatives and reform? b) incorporated a practical component? and/or c) invited 34  teachers to share their experiences and learning outcomes with communities within and beyond the university? 2.3 Teacher Identity and Indigenous Education   The remainder of this chapter details the prevailing subject positions of teacher and associated productions in Indigenous education. Suggestions are made to move towards more complex treatment of teacher identity. This has the potential to counter the simplistic binary oppositions resistant teacher and decolonizing/ed teacher that are somewhat sedimented in the context of formal Indigenous education in universities and schools, and that do little to account for the complexity and variations of identity and experience within, and beyond, both categories. It also calls for greater inclusion of the experiences, perspectives, and subject positions of Indigenous teachers who participate in Indigenous education with/in mainstream teacher education. 2.3.1 Settler identities and teacher resistance   An established body of research continues to document barriers to Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education (Chinnery, 2010; Dion, 2007; Tompkins, 2002; Schick, 2000; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Tupper, 2011) and extends the focus beyond the university to examine connected obstacles in schools (e.g., Dion, 2009; Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015; Kanu, 2011; St. Denis, 2011; Strong-Wilson, 2007). Non-Indigenous teachers’ resistance to engagement is persistently identified as the central barrier, so much so that Strong-Wilson (2007) argues “the term ‘white teacher’ has become virtually synonymous with resistance” (p. 115). From this literature, a picture of emerging “settler identities” (Tupper, 2013) is developing and includes tropes such as the “perfect stranger” to Aboriginal peoples (Dion, 2007, 2009), ‘good’ white teacher (Strong-Wilson, 2007), and ‘colourblind’ advocate for a liberal notion of multiculturalism 35  (e.g., Schick & St. Denis, 2005; St. Denis, 2011).   Some scholars are analyzing the strategies of resistance employed by non-Indigenous teachers to uphold settler identities. For example, Kanu (2011) documents teachers’ understandings of, and beliefs about, the integration of Aboriginal perspectives into the school curriculum. However, Kanu falls short in connecting her research to the greater discussion on resistance and settler identities.   As part of a research team (Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015), I have begun to examine how teachers who identify as white and/or of European ancestry rely on the strangeness of the familiar (i.e., white Euro-Canadian teachers as ancestral/cultural strangers to themselves) and the familiarity of the strange (i.e., the ‘Imaginary Indian’ teachers have in mind) to prevent the unraveling of Dion’s (2007) “perfect stranger” position. Tuck & Yang (2012) detail several “settler moves to innocence” (p. 1) that “problematically attempt to reconcile settler guilt and complicity, and rescue settler futurity” (p. 3). Moves include: a) settler nativism - at once, “imagining an Indian past and settler future” (p. 13); b) settler adoption fantasies - “to become without becoming [Indian]” (p. 14); c) colonial equivocation - “homogenizing of various experiences of oppression as colonization” (p. 17); d) conscientization - “focus[ing] on decolonizing the mind… [and] allow[ing] conscientization to stand in for the more uncomfortable task of relinquishing stolen land” (p.19); e) a(s)t(e)risk-ing Indigenous peoples - the common deficit approach to numeration, codification, and representation of Indigenous peoples by researchers; and f) re-occupation and urban homesteading (e.g., Occupy Movement as “another settler re-occupation on stolen land”, p.23). Tuck and Yang argue that a significant problematic production that results from these moves is the metaphorization of decolonization. This often occurs through appropriating decolonial discursive practices within scholarship and projects for social justice that 36  may have objectives incommensurate with the notion of decolonization they employ. Once abstracted, decolonial goals cannot be achieved: “decolonization is accountable to Indigenous sovereignty and futurity... [however these commitments] can’t be as long as decolonization remains punctuated by metaphor” (p. 35).   This scholarship has contributed in significant ways to establishing the widely held view that resistance is the central barrier13 to engaging Indigenous education and, in some cases, to understanding how such a response and associated settler identities are constructed and preserved. What the literature calls for is further analysis of the relationship between teacher identity and (sources of) knowledge and modes of knowing about Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships, Indigeneity, and Indigenous education that often represent a challenge to teachers’ epistemologies, historical understandings, and/or privilege. One approach to address this gap is through reading resistance not as a barrier, but rather a site of positive tension (Kerr, 2014). New meanings are generated from placing teachers’ self location among professional, racial, ethnic, ancestral, gender, class, and sexuality positions that they “choose or are forced to accept as a defining identity” (Narayan, 1993, p. 676) in productive tension with the “colonial frontier logics” (Donald, 2012) they may hold. Colonial frontier logics “divide the world according to racial and cultural categorizations…[and then] naturalize assumed divides…serv[ing] to enforce epistemological and social conformity to Euro-Western standards established and presumably held in common by their proponents” (p. 550)14. Creation of new complex theories has the                                                 13 This is not to say that most teachers encountering Indigenous education are resistant. Rather, those who display resistance are extremely influential in programs of teacher education and represent a challenge to all other learners involved. 14 Once again, how I understand and attempt to account for the relationship between power, knowledge, and identity construction in the context of formal Indigenous education is presented 37  potential to shift Indigenous education research beyond a discourse of resistance, opening up spaces to re-conceptualize teacher education and pedagogy for decolonizing and offering new ways of supporting Aboriginal students and communities. 2.3.2 Decolonizing educators and processes 2.3.2.1 Non-Indigenous teacher educators and teacher candidates  Fifty-nine Aboriginal teachers across Canada participated in an ethnographic study facilitated by St. Denis (2010) that asked the central research question, “What can we learn from the professional knowledge and experiences of Aboriginal teachers who teach in public schools about how to better promote and support the success of Aboriginal education in public schools?” (p. 7). Aboriginal teachers identified several characteristics of non-Aboriginal allies in Aboriginal education. They include: involvement in local Aboriginal communities in a support role (i.e., avoid becoming experts, saviours, or ‘taking over’); demonstrating respect for Aboriginal peoples and knowledges by learning to draw on community resources through appropriate protocol; exhibiting positivity and resourcefulness, particularly when facing obstacles in education; and demonstrating honesty, trustworthiness, and the ability to listen.   The process of becoming an ally to Indigenous peoples is often understood in terms of non-Indigenous decolonization15 (e.g., Biermann, 2011; Regan, 2010; Strong-Wilson, 2007). A growing area of study focuses on non-Indigenous teacher educators’ decolonization (e.g., den Heyer, 2010; Kerr, 2014; Korteweg, Gonzalez, & Guillet, 2010; Oberg, Blades, & Thom, 2007;                                                                                                                                                        in Chapter 3: Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach. 15 I view decolonization as complex and ongoing. In using the noun form, I do not mean to suggest that decolonization is processual and has an end point where one is considered ‘decolonized’.  38  Root, 2015) and teacher educators’ perceptions of non-Indigenous teacher candidates’ decolonization as a result of participating in coursework on the topic of Indigenous education (e.g., Dion, 2007; Tanaka, 2009; Wolf, 2012). This empirical work suggests alignment between the experiences of, and challenges confronting, teacher educators who negotiate integration of Indigenous knowledges and pedagogical methods in their own teaching, and teacher candidates who are learning to do the same in schools. At least six areas of teacher educator and teacher thinking and development are currently considered: a) national colonial history and the legacy of schooling for Indigenous peoples; b) personal-professional connection to, participation within, and access to privilege resulting from colonial relations of power; c) genealogy and cultural heritage, as well as “settler displacement”16 (Root, 2015); d) constructions of Indigeneity and Indigenous-non-Indigenous relationships; e) relationships that connect Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples with each other and natural and spirit worlds; and f) the unique decolonizing responsibilities of, and strategies available to, educators. In general, teacher educators continue to grapple with the often unfamiliar context where Indigenous ways-of-knowing and -being are centred, and they are positioned as co-learners who are living and (un)learning alongside teachers. They cited a need for supports to: build and sustain relationships with similarly positioned teacher educators, those who are facilitating in-service PD, and practicing teachers; explore what might constitute valuable and appropriate inquiry practices within a community of learners; and utilize reflexive work towards developing practical decolonizing programs, curricular documents, and pedagogical approaches. Learning                                                 16 For Root (2015), “the angst and anguish of ‘displacement’ signals a lack of knowledge about who I am, where I come from, and what my story is. The grief is for a loss of culture that is congruent with the Land, and a disconnection from generations of my ancestors and Land-based ancestral knowledge. The longing is to know who I am and where I am from” (pp. 99-100). 39  from the experiences and perspectives of practicing teachers who have taken part in university coursework and/or extended PD on the topic of Indigenous education is one approach to complement knowledge derived from the perspectives of teacher educators, as well as a means by which teacher educators can assess their practices and extend their reflexive inquiry. Further, uniquely trained practicing teachers may act as a hinge to connect teacher educators in university and school settings. Nurturing relationships and sharing practices responds to the desires of teacher educators and holds potential for concurrent improvement of Indigenous education initiatives within and across institutions.  2.3.2.2 Practicing non-Indigenous teachers   My Master’s thesis engaged with a small body of scholarship focused on the decolonization of practicing non-Indigenous teachers involved in PD on the topic of Indigenous education. The teachers with whom I worked identified as non-Aboriginal, of European ancestry, and/or white, and were involved to varying degrees in a large-scale initiative to improve public schooling for urban Aboriginal students17. I argued that teachers’ engagement in Aboriginal education could be understood in terms of five decolonizing processes: positioning of oneself in relation to Aboriginal peoples and land; honouring their relations and Aboriginal knowledges through cultural protocols and ceremony; understanding that colonization and racism are produced by, and reproduce, systems of power that marginalize particular groups, while privileging others; integrating Aboriginal wisdom in their classrooms grounded in traditional approaches to teaching; and knowing that deconstructs the assumptions and organizing principles of colonial systems and                                                 17 Several components supported this Aboriginal education initiative, including the formation of an Aboriginal steering committee, employment of Aboriginal support workers in schools, and resource development. However, the most significant funding allotment was directed towards elementary and secondary PD for select teachers. 40  creates space for Indigenous ways-of-knowing and -being (Madden, 2011, 2014).  Despite teachers’ remarks that explored access to privilege as white-presenting individuals and challenged racism in schools, whiteness - the racial norm and location of structural advantage in Western modern societies - appeared to be on the move; a force drifting in and out of narratives of what many, myself included, considered successful engagement in school-based urban Aboriginal education. Thus, I have argued that more attention to the shared spaces between decolonizing and race-based theories is needed (Madden, 2014). In a subsequent manuscript (Madden, 2016) I trace some of the ways in which whiteness and Eurocentrism coalesce, creating the possibilities for, and the conditions in which teachers take up, problematical subject positions in de/colonial spaces. Colonial discourse and teachers’ constructions of Aboriginality/Indigeneity and Aboriginal/Indigenous peoples are also explored. I argue that decolonization need not be (and perhaps cannot be) opposed to colonization. Rather, de/colonization calls for the consistent examination of colonial logics and productions that seep into hybrid spaces like formal Indigenous education (see also Wildcat et al., 2014). I have begun to explore how this orientation may support the stated purposes, processes, and goals of associated Indigenous and anti-oppressive projects and approaches. Within the context of Indigenous education and teacher identity that this dissertation labours, the slippages – the instances where real and imagined personal and professional identities of teaching subjects rupture and blur – might be seen as fertile ground for generating a deeper understanding of self, other(s), and the relationships that connect. Attending to how the construction and enactment of these foundations shape teachers’ engagement may open up possibilities within and beyond Indigenous education. This emergent theoretical and methodological frame (i.e., de/colonization and teacher identity) continues to provoke and provides grounding for Chapter 3: Theoretical 41  and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach and to generate new types of analytical questions and de/colonial readings of (connections among) data fragments in finding chapters (i.e., Chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7). 2.3.2.3 A cautionary note on decolonization and ‘non-Indigenous’ as a marker of identity  A reading of the scholarly literature⁠ on teacher decolonization and pedagogy for decolonizing reveals that subjects are overwhelmingly organized according to ancestral/political categories in binary opposition (e.g., Indigenous/settler, Indigenous/non-Indigenous, Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal). In this form, race, as well as other intersections of identity (e.g., gender, class), are largely left unexplored (for exception see Mackinlay & Barney, 2012; O’Dowd, 2010). Drawing on our narratives of experience as doctoral students, Heather McGregor and I (Madden & McGregor, 2013) demonstrate how the term non-Indigenous can collapse significant differences among students who identify with one category or the other, while simultaneously discounting those who do not see themselves reflected in either totalizing term. There is risk of excluding the perspectives of those who identify as non-Indigenous and racialized and participate in the colonial project while facing marginalization themselves, as well as unique decolonizing sites, strategies, and goals that may be available from this standpoint (Lawrence and Dua, 2005; Gaztambide-Fernández, 2012). As signaled in the previous subsection, the term non-Indigenous also runs the risk of acting as a Trojan horse that obscures a discussion of the ways that whiteness generates, and is generated by, problematic subject positions, constructions of Aboriginality/Indigeneity, and colonial ways of knowing about Indigenous–non-Indigenous relationships. Indigenous/non-Indigenous serves to remind that de/colonizing work is always within/against colonial systems of power-knowledge. As such, I attempt to hold the tension 42  between using essentialism strategically at times, while looking to Indigenous intellectual traditions for models of relationality and plurality to construct and consider identity in new and complex ways. 2.3.3 Indigenous teachers and Indigenous education with/in teacher education   It is noteworthy that there is limited literature that documents the experiences, perspectives, and subject positions of Indigenous teachers who participate in Indigenous education with/in mainstream teacher education alongside non-Indigenous classmates and colleagues18. There is, however, related research that explores Aboriginal teacher candidates’ dissatisfaction in being prepared to teach Euro-Canadian curricular content using conventional Western pedagogical approaches (Kitchen, Hodson, & Cherubini, 2011). Frustration caused by the pressure to “put aside all [Aboriginal] experiences and ways of seeing education” (Cherubini et al., 2010, p. 551) was also present in the narratives of early career Aboriginal teachers during their professional induction. Further, Aboriginal teachers’ experiences of racism; stereotyping; being relied upon heavily to lead Aboriginal/Indigenous education initiatives often without adequate recognition or compensation; their professional qualifications and capabilities being questioned; and apathy and/or debasement of the ongoing effects of colonization and oppression of Aboriginal people are well documented (Cherubini et al., 2010; Madden, Higgins, & Korteweg, 2013; St. Denis, 2010, 2011; St. Denis et al., 1998).                                                 18 I make a distinction between university coursework and/or inservice teacher PD on the topic of Indigenous education, and initial teacher qualification programs designed specifically for Indigenous students (e.g., Native Indian Teacher Education program, NITEP; Indian Teacher Education Program, ITEP). I understand expressions of the latter as having their own unique history, purpose, goals, student body, theoretical underpinnings, and curricular and pedagogical approaches that are distinct from the concept of Indigenous education with/in mainstream teacher education described throughout this chapter. 43   I propose that inviting participation from Indigenous teachers will enhance understanding of Indigenous teachers’ experiences of taking part in teacher education on the topic of Indigenous education and how this specific educational context shapes their emerging understandings of their own sense of teacher identity. Given the move towards required Indigenous education in initial teacher qualification programs and the stated goal to increase the number of certified Aboriginal teachers in Canada (ACDE, 2011; FNESC, n.d.a., OMoE, 2015), it is of timely importance to consider how teacher education is responding to and accommodating this group that has been identified as a key component for Indigenous students’ success (Dion, Johnston, & Rice, 2010; Dion & Salamanca, 2014; Korteweg et al., 2010; Haig-Brown Research & Consulting, 2009). 2.4 Indigenous Education, Teacher Education, and Teacher Identity This critical review of literature bridges research on Indigenous education, decolonizing/decolonization, teacher education, and teacher identity. It reveals general gaps in understanding, highlights topics that are underrepresented and/or undertheorized, marks specific areas for further exploration and inspiration, and raises new analytical questions made possible through theory building.   The next chapter, details how my research intended to address each of these underdeveloped areas, was designed. Decolonizing Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher constructs a theoretical framework that inflects conventional qualitative approaches to interview, producing new types of interview methods and data productions, as well as shaping the enactment of research ethics, data analysis, and generation and representation of knowledge claims.   44  Chapter 3: Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach  Chapter 3 presents a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher as the central theoretical framework and explores what might be produced (e.g., relationships, methods, data, dissertation findings/chapters) from designing a series of interviews with this framework.   Britzman’s (2003) three cultural myths are examined and positioned as “provid[ing] a set of ideal images, definitions, justifications, and measures for thought, feelings, and agency… A language for describing who [teachers] might become and what they should desire” (p. 222-223). In line with decolonizing imperatives, Britzman’s theory is deconstructed to expose its reliance on Eurocentric constructions of teacher, teaching, and learning that circulate in formal education institutions. Reconstruction reconfigures this theory to include Indigenous theories of identity, education, and educator. It also illuminates the ways that colonial discourse (i.e., Eurocentrism and whiteness in general, and Canadian national mythology specifically) and systems of education are entangled with cultural programing, often shaping interpretations of Aboriginal education and reifying problematic Aboriginal-non-Aboriginal relationships in schools and universities.   Introduction to the interview series, and Aboriginal education lesson/unit interview, that I designed focuses on the five major methodological inflections to the conventional qualitative approach to interview that resulted from designing with a decolonizing theory of (un)becoming teacher. The relational meaning making made possible through this theoretical-methodological framework, as well as the mode of organizing findings that were generated are signaled in transitioning readers towards upcoming findings chapters. 45  3.1 Britzman’s Theory of Learning to Teach and Becoming Teacher  This study is grounded in theories of Indigenous education and decolonization introduced in previous chapters and expanded herein. It is also guided by scholars who draw on critical feminist (e.g., Abu-Lughod, 1990; Narayan, 2003) and poststructural feminist theories19 (e.g., Britzman, 1994, 2000, 2003; Davies, 2006; Mazzei, 2007) that maintain identity is differentially and contextually (re)constructed through “prevailing vectors of power” (p. Narayan, 1993, p. 676) enacted with/in discourse. This theory building provokes new questions, analytical frames, and findings to address how colonial discourse, as well as the decolonial response, “systematically constructs versions of the social and natural worlds and positions subjects in relations of power” (Luke, 1995, p. 8). In this research project, the interplay between discourse and participating teachers’ sense of professional identity and practices, as well as motivation and capacity to engage Indigenizing and decolonizing processes, are of central import.  In developing a theoretical and methodological framework, I looked to situate the relationship between two texts as the unit of analysis: early career teachers’ attempts at                                                 19 Noting its subversive and contested condition, MacLure (2013) succinctly outlines the contours of poststructualism: …poststructuralism could be characterized in terms of an opposition to the rationalist, humanist worldview that is the (continuing) legacy of the seventeenth-century ‘Enlightenment’. Poststructuralism anchors itself in a critique of reason, as the faculty that regulates the social and moral order, and challenges belief in progress as the inevitable result of scientific and philosophical rationality. Theorists reject the idea of a universal truth and objective knowledge, asserting that truths are always partial, and knowledge always ‘situated’ – in other words, produced by and for particular interests, in particular circumstances, at particular times. Poststructuralism is also associated with the ‘crisis of representation’, in which language is no longer held to represent or reflect a pre-existing reality, but is inextricably implicated in the fabrication of realities. Finally, poststructuralism decentres and dis-assembles the humanist subject – the thinking, self-aware, truth-seeking individual (‘man’), who is able to master both ‘his’ own internal passions, and the physical world around him, through the exercise of reason. (p. 167) 46  understanding (the construction of) their own professional identity and formal Aboriginal education across institutions. I do so with the commitment to support exploration and address the underdeveloped areas of Aboriginal education and teacher education I identify in the literature review. In brief, these areas can be summarized as those concerning: the relationships between knowledge, subjects, and teaching practices; the oft-overlooked connections that (could) shape and reinforce an evolving landscape of Aboriginal education; a notion of de/colonization; and inclusion of marginalized perspectives.  White, of European ancestry, and/or non-Aboriginal are the categories of identity consistently utilized to represent the majority population of teacher candidates and practicing teachers in Canada when discussing Aboriginal education (Banks, 2006; Carr & Lund, 2009; Kanu, 2005). Moreover, my focus on examples of formal teacher education that have Aboriginal education as the central focus and remain largely influenced by Eurocentric systems (e.g., rigid time/place constraints; initial teacher qualification programs organized by levels, disciplines, and subjects; facilitation by faculty members or school administrators who may not be community members/Indigenous knowledge holders, see Kitchen, Hodson, & Cherubini, 2011) led me to look to a feminist poststructural paradigm to work within and against this de/colonial context.   I argue that while evolving from and responding to Euro-Western theories, feminist poststructural approaches provide frames to explore power and strategies to reconfigure knowledge (including understandings of self and experience) as partial, situated, relational, always ‘on the move’, and indeterminable. This works to displace and resist normalizations that are unintentionally and surreptitiously (re)produced through discourse by the very structures and processes that aim to challenge multiple, enmeshed oppressions (e.g., Bachelor of Education course on the topic of Aboriginal education). I do not intend to collapse feminist poststructural, 47  decolonizing, and/or Indigenous theories. Rather, I aim to illustrate how weaving commensurate aspects of approaches creates possibilities for research and education while attending to difference without destruction.  Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher provides tools that enhance understanding of teacher identity. It uncovers the relationship between discourse and the production and performativity of the prevailing subject position(s) of teacher in general, and is translated for use in the field broadly defined as Aboriginal education specifically. Founded in a Foucaultian theory (1972, 1979, 1980), discourse circulates via human practices, institutions, and actions. Discourse is understood not as “a language or a text but a specific structure of statements, terms, categories, and beliefs” (Scott, 1988, p. 35). Texts are “artifacts of human subjects’ work at the production of meaning and social relations” (Luke, 1995, p. 13). They are embedded within other texts and thus intertextual, and can be viewed as traces or imprints of the discourse that shaped their creation. That which is represented, inclusive of the modes, categories, and signs that are available to direct representation, are products, enactments, and producers of discourse. 3.2 Britzman’s Cultural Myths    Britzman (2003) locates cultural myths as “perform[ing] the work of discourse: communities are counted and discounted; particular orientations to authority, power, and knowledge are offered; discursive practices are made available; and persons are constructed…as non-contradictory subjects” (p. 223). Three cultural myths that combine to form a version of teacher that is “impossibly desired” by those who are learning to teach are deconstructed by Britzman, including: a) “everything depends upon the teacher”, b) “the teacher is the expert”, and c) “teachers are self made” (p. 223). 48  Britzman (2003) argues that the myth that “everything depends upon the teacher” is rooted in a perceived struggle for control between teachers and students that is “predicated upon the institutional expectations that teachers individually control their classes, [which] constructs learning as synonymous with control” (p. 224). This authoritative discourse led the teacher candidates with whom Britzman worked to “invest in the belief that they must master the art of premonition and instantaneous response…to ensure control as a prerequisite for student learning” (p. 224). They also formed this identity of teacher according to the binary opposition tyrant/comrade, wherein both versions were viewed as unitary and noncontradictory. Even when the complexity of classroom life revealed students as knowers and contributors, thus undoing this particular cultural myth (i.e., everything depends on the teacher), teacher candidates resisted the “dangerous territory of the unknown” and “the multiplicity of [teaching] identities that they in fact embodied and that the contexts elicited” (p. 226). In addition to shaping teachers’ practices and perceptions of professional identity, Britzman asserts the pressure to control learning also impacts constructions of knowledge and the knower: When the double pressures of isolation and institutional mandates to control force teachers to equate learning with social control, pedagogy is reduced to instilling knowledge rather than coming to terms with the practices that construct both knowledge and our relationship to it. Such pressures deny the webs of mutual dependency and the power relationships that shape classroom life. Consequently, the subtext of classroom life remains ‘unread’ when the student teacher feels compelled to predict, contain, and thus control what is to be learned. Implicit in this stance is a mimetic theory of learning and of knowledge; students absorb the singular meanings of a work. Intertextuality, or the knowledge of other context and texts one brings to any new understanding, is unaccounted” (p. 225).  Ironically, the multifarious pedagogical possibilities inherent in contradictions and complex uncertainties—through which learning is often realized (i.e., pedagogy)—are eluded when the desire to control learning dictates imparting ‘known’ knowledge.  49   Britzman (2003) argues that the myth of the “teacher as expert” reflects, “the larger cultural expectation that teachers be certain in their knowledge and knowledge express certainty” (p. 227-228), and is reified through conventional classroom experiences of overdetermined knowledge and compartmentalized curriculum. The previous myth, the desire to control learning, is connected to the view of teacher as expert who commands knowledge: “Knowing answers appears to demonstrate a teacher’s ability to ‘think on one’s feet,’ seemingly a significant ingredient in the making of a teacher…a ‘command’ of the material also becomes a powerful indicator of competency and skill” (Britzman, 2003, p. 228-229). Teacher candidates’ construction of the teacher as a unitary and expert source and master of knowledge provoked two common interconnected fears: that they [teacher candidates] will never know enough about how to teach and about teaching materials to in fact ‘teach’. To assuage the first fear, attempts were made to render, “the unknown familiar by positioning pedagogy as the acquisition of ‘tricks of the trade’ and suppressing the political commitments that structure every methodology” (p. 227). Regarding the second, knowledge was reduced to an “immediate problem of knowing the answers” (p. 228). Preoccupation with acquiring knowledge prevented critical epistemological questioning on the topic of knowledge construction, including examination of the values and interests inherent in the knowledge being transmitting. Similarly, fear of not being an expert resulted in looking to teaching methods “as the source rather than the effect of pedagogy” (p. 227). Britzman argues that attempting to render the unknown familiar by fixating on ‘knowing the answers’ and ‘tricks of trade’ obfuscates the political commitments inherent in knowledge construction and claims. This serves to “protect the status quo, heighten the power of knowledge to normalize, and deny the more significant problems of how we come to know, how we learn, and how we are taught” (p. 229). 50  The cultural myth that teachers are self made “serves contradictory functions, for it supports the conflicting views that teachers form themselves and are ‘born’ into the profession” (Britzman, 2003, p. 230). This myth circulates via discourse and is sedimented in initial teacher qualification programs through a focus on, for example, teaching style that locates pedagogy as a product of one’s personality and reduces it to “its most mechanical moment”. An image of a ‘natural teacher’ is constructed who innately possesses the required talent, intuition, and common sense to practice ‘successfully’. Britzman (2003) argues that, “the professional legitimation of teaching style over pedagogy ignores both the social basis of pedagogy and the institutional pressure for teachers to exert social control” (p. 231), and, I would add, the pressure for teachers to command knowledge. As with associated cultural myths, the self-made teacher masks the ways that institutional systems function and discount the contextual relations in which learning is embedded. Exaggerating personal autonomy also shapes teachers’ constructions of educational theory and the notion of experience. Britzman (2003) details how the role of the former in learning to teach is diminished: More than any other myth, the dominant belief that teachers ‘make’ themselves functions to devalue any meaningful attempt to make relevant teacher education, educational theory, and the social process of acknowledging the values and interests one brings to and constructs because of the educational encounter. While covering its own theoretical tracks, the myth that teachers are self-made structures a suspicion of theory, and encourages the stance of anti-intellectualism. (p. 230)   The notion that teachers form themselves corroborates a particular discourse of experience as authentic and something that is ‘had’ (see also Davies & Davies, 2007). It is positioned as the key that leads to, “the guarantee of meaning, and these meanings [are] thought to exist prior to their articulation.” (p. 231). Britzman (2003) defines learning to teach as “a search for meaning and a hope that experience in teaching can make meaning into insight” (p. 19). She proposes 51  investment in this fallacy - experience begets meaning and meaning begets insight - is problematic in at least two significant ways. First, experience can only become a significant tool for learning when it is analyzed critically and relationally and, even when this is the case, meaning is always partial, unstable, subjective, and ultimately unknowable in any complete sense. Second, when experience was marked by obfuscation and failed to lead to clarity, confidence, and competence (which is generally so often the case), teacher candidates tended to discount it as inauthentic, excessive, or unimportant. 3.3 (Un)Becoming Teacher: The Signified Teacher, Subjecification, and Agency  Britzman (2003) locates the process of learning to teach “in relationship to one’s biography, present circumstances, deep commitments, affective investments, [and] social context”, all of which are significantly shaped by “conflicting discourses about what it means to learn to become a teacher” (p. 31). Discourse necessitates “paradoxical conditions through which the accomplishment of subjecthood is made possible” (Davies, 2006, p. 426). Through this framework, one’s sense of teacher identity – the characteristics that an individual maintains define a teacher, the symbols that represent a set of values, the goals that compel one to teach, knowledge that is deemed ‘worthy’ of curricular inclusion, the relational conditions and practices through which teaching and learning become possible – is never autonomous, depoliticized, unified, constant, and/or knowable.   To become intelligible as T20eacher, a subject is summoned by cultural myths that “provide a set of ideal images, definitions, justifications, and measures for thought, feelings, and                                                 20 Capitalization differentiates between the signified Teacher - a non-contradictory version of teacher informed by cultural myths – and enactments of teacher that occupy, exceed, rupture, and reconfigure this “normalized fiction” by those who “impossibly desire” (Britzman, 2003) subject positions made available through discourse.  52  agency… A language for describing who they might become and what they should desire” (Britzman, 2003, p. 222-223). Simultaneously, the subject imperfectly occupies a position that does not exist outside of, or prior to, discourse. In surrendering to these myths, subjects come to (momentarily) recognize themselves as, and are also recognized by others as, Teacher. This process of (un)becoming is sometimes referred to as subjectification (Davies, 2006). It contributes to the rendering of the signified Teacher as a coherent, stable, essentialized identity, thus reifying cultural myths.      I am stressing engagement in simultaneous (subversion of) submission and mastery is not simply a matter of choice; subjects are not “autonomous, free agents who merely chose the discourse of the day” (Britzman, 1994, p. 58). Foucault (2003) explains that such a notion of power - one that is tethered to a sovereign subject and deployed through subjective control - can be understood as an effect of power: One of the first effects of power is that it allows bodies, gestures, discourses, and desires to be identified and constituted as something individual. The individual is not, in other words, power’s opposite number; the individual is one of power’s first effects. The individual is in fact a power-effect, and at the same time, and to the extent that he is a power-effect, the individual is a relay: power passes through the individuals it has constituted. (p. 30)   The poststructural subject is in contrast to humanism’s ‘individual-of-will’. S/he cannot exist outside of discourse and is continually being “created [and undone] in the ongoing effects of relations and in response to society’s codes” (St. Pierre, 2000, p. 503). The discursive subject does have agency but the “the question of agency is reformulated as a question of how signification and resignification work” (Butler, 1990, p. 144).   In this study, agency might be generated through developing tools and platforms to enhance understanding of, as well as capacity to disrupt, the ways in which discourse produces 53  and positions early career teachers within the “very relations of institutional power at work in classrooms, staff rooms, and policy” (Luke, 1995, pp. 12-13). For example: How does discourse produce conditions that regulate who and how one inhabits, exceeds, and/or resists the signified Teacher in formal Aboriginal education? How does this differ within and across institutions? How might subjectification and prevailing subject positions in this de/colonial context be connected to widespread non-Aboriginal teacher resistance to engagement in Aboriginal education? In which ways might discourse be reconfigured and subject positions resignified to invite greater participation and more complicated discussion of relationality and de/colonization? Understanding this notion of agency highlights how we can “begin to identify the kinds of discourse that are made available, and decide whether a discourse can provide the practices we desire” (Britzman, 2003, p. 237).     3.4 Decolonizing Britzman’s Theory of Learning to Teach and Becoming Teacher: Making Space for Other-than-human Agents and Indigenous Theories   Poststructural frames support consideration of the production, organization, circulation, and regulation of the institutional norms of intelligibility that determine what can be said and done in constructing a sense of teacher identity in relation to Indigeneity. While I have argued such tools are promising and perhaps necessary in the de/colonial context of formal university- and school-based Aboriginal education, decolonial commitments nevertheless require deconstruction and reconstruction of colonial ways of knowing that underpin this poststructural approach. Stated otherwise, how might decolonizing Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher reveal its Eurocentric assumptions and approaches to knowledge construction? Further, what new methods, analytical questions, and meanings might be generated in “taking Indigenous thought seriously” (Haig-Brown, 2008) by weaving Indigenous 54  theories of education and educator (Archibald, 2008; Battiste, 2013; Cajete, 1994; Donald, 2014)?   3.4.1 Recovering other-than-human agents and agency in the flow of discourse I suggest that one component of this decolonizing work is countering the sedimented notion that discourse is reducible to linguistic practices and that signification is primarily a human application of anthropocentric meaning onto static and inert objects21. Indigenous relational theories create space to recognize other-than-human agents in the flow of discourse, including processes of subjectification. In advocating for a “new educational consciousness” that is environmentally, socially, ethically, and spiritually grounded in place, Cajete (1994) looks to traditional education as a model that “illuminates the true nature of the ecological connection of human learning and helps to liberate the experience of being human and being related at all its levels” (p. 218). In this ecological education, other-than-humans are positioned as teachers with the unique gifts of cultivating “ecological piety” and reverberation among “individual and communal ‘inscapes’ with the natural landscape” (p. 75). Within this relational ontology all entities are agential and appreciated for their unique being and manner of relating: “Native American people, through their ecological educational processes, evolved a natural response to the other - that other being, the natural world - and allowed the other to define itself to them, rather than imposing preconceived intellectual meanings (p. 76)”. As will be discussed below, examples of other-than-human agents include places, such as places selected by participants in this research as actively shaping their conceptions of Aboriginal education. They also include                                                 21 While Britzman’s theorizing directly challenges the notion that discourse is synonymous with language, she and other scholars who draw similar conclusions (e.g., Davies, 2006; Jackson, 2001; Phelan & Luu, 2004) place emphasis on linguistic texts of humans, which risks conveying this impression.	  55  documents, such as policy and curriculum documents that purport to govern how teaching and learning unfolds in formal Aboriginal education.  3.4.2 Indigenous theories of education and educator I propose that Britzman’s analysis of subjectification and (un)becoming Teacher draws almost exclusively on dominant constructs founded in Eurocentric assumptions of teaching and learning that circulate in formal education institutions. The cultural myths she deconstructs – everything depends upon the teacher, the teacher is the expert, and teachers are self made – combine to form one particular prevailing subject position of Teacher, however, this version may not be commensurate with a general understanding of ‘what counts’ as Teacher in Aboriginal education.  In examining the perceptions of new Aboriginal teachers (years 1-3), Cherubini, McGean, & Kitchen (2011) argue that cultivation of one’s cultural identity and professional identity could not be separated. Aboriginal teacher participants stated that formative learning about the characteristics, practices, and responsibilities of a teacher resulted from experiencing the traditional teachings and pedagogies of the Elders. This has important implications for both Aboriginal and ally teachers who have taken part in what Cajete (1994) refers to as the day-to-day process of constructing traditional and empirical knowledge in living place, as well as those who learn with knowledge holders through traditional approaches within formal education (see Madden, 2015).   For example, let us consider how a teaching common to many Aboriginal cultures is enacted through one approach to storywork. The teaching is that the primary responsibility of the teacher is to recognize, validate, and nurture students’ learning spirits to support them in using their unique gifts to fulfill their purpose for the good of the community (Musqua, as cited in 56  Knight, 2007). Archibald’s (2008) analysis of Indigenous storywork as a pedagogical approach for understanding and transforming contemporary educational challenges, offers teachers the opportunity to learn to respectfully use some Indigenous traditional stories and stories of experience in their classrooms. She positions Indigenous storywork as capable of “educating the heart, mind, body, and spirit” (p. 144) through providing students the place to think and feel. In cases where listeners who are “ready unfold meanings in relations to their personal lives” (p. 124), stories are a powerful tool for teaching, learning, and healing, “becom[ing] a philosophical guide for change” (p. 124). Marker (2011) adds that creation stories, a genre of traditional stories, “define the meaning of the local geography…[and] are told in ways that expose deep truths about the people’s responsibilities and relationships to the land” (p. 99).  Archibald (2008) explains that traditional stories are shared using methods distinct from Eurocentric approaches. For example, using a talking circle for perspective sharing after students have had time to make their own meaning of a story, with minimal guidance or explanation from the teacher, grants both stories and students agency. She also explains that engaging local protocols (e.g., using a talking stick to signal the storyteller “has been given time to share her or his knowledge through oral tradition”, p. 16) and observing rules pertaining to the telling of stories (e.g., some stories can only be told during particular seasons) are important components of storywork. Following these guidelines demonstrates that one is prepared to “make meaning with the stories” (p. 83). “The communal principle of storytelling is that that a listener is or becomes a member of the community” (p. 26).  This is significant because being part of a community involved in storywork entails responsibility on the part of the listener. For example, Archibald observes that Elders rarely define terms because it is assumed that listeners know, or should 57  know, what they mean. If they do not, “then there is an expectation that you will find out” (p. 90). Far from “self-made”, this example animates a version of teacher who is being and becoming in multiple relationships that extend beyond formal educational institutions. This teacher recognizes the four aspects of being in the world – mind, body, heart, and spirit - that must be nurtured and balanced to maintain healthy self-identity (Battiste, 2013; Cherubini, Niemczyck, Hodson, & McCean, 2010). Within this paradigm, the notion of ‘self’ is not discrete. Rather, self is always understood in relationship to family, community, and Nation that are inclusive of human, natural, and spirit worlds (Archibald, 2008). In Archibald’s storywork, the teacher is not positioned as “expert” although I do recognize storytellers’ skillfulness (e.g., learning and sharing stories through oral tradition, sensing when and how to tell a story). Instead, she is one among a group of learners and knowers. Her unique role in the collective is to nurture students’ gifts and the community as a whole by drawing on pedagogical methods that inspire students to form and share their own situated knowledge and perspectives. The image of teacher within Aboriginal education being conveyed is not in pursuit of, or responsible for, exerting control over students or knowledge. Instead, she facilitates learning of local teachings through introducing longstanding protocols that confirm students’ responsibilities to all their relations and supports their respective journeys of enacting these accountabilities. Once again, it is important to signal the potential for evolution of distinct notions of Teacher within Aboriginal education in different educational contexts and geo-political locations. Decolonizing analysis of the processes of learning to teach and (un)becoming teacher necessitates consideration of contexts, conditions, and relationships that diverge from those detailed by Britzman. I wonder: How do Britzman’s cultural myths circulate in formal Aboriginal 58  education within and across institutions, if at all? What related and/or distinct version(s) of the signified Teacher are produced and prohibited in this unique context? (How) Is this image entangled with widespread sources of knowledge about/constructions of Aboriginality, Aboriginal teachers, ally teachers, and Aboriginal learners? What new possibilities might emerge if the norms that circulate in Faculties of Education and schools were brought into conversation with Indigenous theories, and empirical examples, of education and educator?  3.4.3 Western image of teacher of Aboriginal education and Aboriginal students In addition to an Aboriginal notion of Teacher, a Western image of Teacher who is responsible for engaging formal Aboriginal education and Aboriginal students also provides frames to consider subjectification in Aboriginal education and teacher education. In the previous chapter, I signal my alliance with scholars who remain concerned with the co-constitutive relationship between colonial relations of power (e.g., Eurocentrism and whiteness) and productions, for example widespread Canadian narratives and colonial subject positions (Francis, 1992; Lawrence and Dua, 2005; Regan, 2010; Thobani, 2007).  To embed and explore this discursive phenomenon in the context of teacher education, I connect decolonizing (Battiste, 2005, 2013; Donald, 2009, 2012) and race-based (Frankenberg, 1993, 1997, 2001; McWorter, 2005; Nayak, 2007) theorists/theories. I also look to Aboriginal and ally scholars who explore, often using empirical data, the ways in which national mythology produces, and is produced by, Eurocentric schooling and associated identities of teacher and student (Dion, 2007, 2009; Donald, 2009, 2012; Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015; Schick, 2000; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; St. Denis, 2011).    59  3.4.3.1 Modern European colonialism: Key theories of Eurocentrism and whiteness When examining whiteness, I draw heavily on Frankenberg’s (1993) theory of whiteness and epistemic violence to supplement Battiste’s (2005, 2013) theory of cognitive imperialism. While recognizing the extensive scholarship on whiteness, Frankenberg is selected in large part because her analysis of whiteness attends to the colonial context in which it is embedded. It also takes seriously the role of gender in constructing white subjectivities. I suggest this complement is necessary (as opposed to frames for considering either Eurocentrism or whiteness) because, as I have argued elsewhere in greater detail (Madden, 2015), decolonizing and anti-racist/race-based approaches in Indigenous education rely on distinct theoretical underpinnings, assumptions, discursive practices, strategies, and conceptions of agency. Indigenous critiques of anti-racist education/research have illuminated race-based misconceptions (e.g., reliance on the myth of the vanishing Indian and the assumption that racism begins with slavery) and charged antiracism with the exclusion of Indigenous agendas focused on regeneration of knowledges and repatriation of land (Lawrence & Dua, 2011; St. Denis, 2007). Further, I point out that decolonizing education focuses almost exclusively on Eurocentrism and often leaves race unexplored (e.g., Chinnery, 2010, den Heyer, 2009, Iseke-Barnes, 2008, Korteweg et al., 2014, Oberg, Blades, & Thom, 2007, Wolf, 2012 for exception see Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015; Hook, 2012; Madden, 2016). Modern European colonialism is understood as “the conquest and control of other people’s land and goods” (Loomba, 2005, p. 2). It is unique from other forms of colonialism in that it was established alongside Western European capitalism and thus restructured the economies of dominated countries, “drawing them into a complex relationship with their own, so 60  that there was a flow of human and natural resources between colonised and colonial countries” (ibid, p. 3). Frankenberg (1993) highlights the role colonial discourses play in colonization through the construction of subjects and knowledge systems that produce each other and relations of power, “the Western self and the non-Western ‘other’ are co-constructed as discursive products, both of whose ‘realness’ stand in extremely complex relationships to the production of knowledge, and to the material22 violence to which ‘epistemic violence’ is intimately linked” (p. 17). Lewis & Aikenhead (2000) position Eurocentrism as an ideology that is contingent upon widespread confidence in the assumption that, “Western European cultures are superior and a standard against which other cultures should be judged” (p. 53), as well as aspire to model. It is upheld by relations of institutional power at work that produce Eurocentrism as objective and the naturalized endpoint of inevitable progress. Battiste (2005; see also Smith, 1999), however, exposes the intimate connection between Eurocentrism and colonial aspirations. Through “…forced assimilation, English education, Eurocentric humanities and sciences, and living in a Eurocentric context complete with media, books, laws and values” (Battiste, 2013, p. 26), Eurocentrism is established as the universal norm. Its projection onto other(ed) cultures often results in marginalization, misrepresentation, and/or appropriation of divergent epistemologies. Battiste (2005, 2013) refers collectively to these processes as cognitive imperialism and argues that it produces, and is produced by, white supremacy, racialization, and racism.                                                  22 Extending upon Frankenberg’s signalling of a Marxist materiality that connects ideology and class struggle, I recognize the material-discursive that is natural-cultural. This provides, for example, frames to consider phenotype and Indigenous relationships with natural and spirit worlds (beyond their conception as resources) alongside ideology. 61  Ansley’s (1997) definition of white supremacy resonates with the understandings of modern European colonialism and Eurocentrism introduced:  [It is] a political, economic and cultural system in which Whites overwhelmingly control power and material resources, conscious and unconscious ideas of White superiority and entitlement are widespread, and relations of White dominance and non-White subordination are daily reenacted across a broad array of institutions and social settings. (p. 592)  Racialization and racism uphold white supremacy. Battiste (2013) argues that racialization is marked by, “systemic forms, and intentional acts” (p. 134) that essentialize groups of people based on real and perceived differences in biological and cultural characteristics (i.e., the construction of race). Racism might be thought of as the discursive relations of power that exploit these differences in a manner that marginalizes particular groups, while privileging others (e.g., constructing the ‘drunken Aborigine’, Langton, 1993). Networks of institutional power form racist subject positions from which individuals both access and submit to power; racism is “an inherent feature of social, political, [and] economic systems” and subjects are “always in its [power’s] relays” (McWhorter, 2005, p. 535-538). Whiteness is but one production that results from, and reproduces, these networks. Whiteness is neither static, nor uniform. Material and discursive dimensions of whiteness are historically constructed and internally differentiated (Frankenberg, 1997, 2001). Through internal differentiation, whiteness emerges as a multiplicity of identities that inhabit local custom and national sentiments and, moreover, are spatially and temporally dependent, gendered, classed, and politically manipulated (Twine & Gallagher 2008). Nevertheless, Frankenberg (1993) has theorized whiteness in general as a set of three linked dimensions that differently shape the lives of those who are read as, and/or identify as, white. First, whiteness is a location of structural advantage, of race privilege. Second, it is a standpoint from which white people consider 62  themselves, others, and society overall. Third, whiteness refers to a set of cultural practices that usually go unmarked and unnamed.  I heed critiques of whiteness studies (McWorter, 2005; Nayak, 2007) that, I would argue, at times can be extended to the field of decolonizing education. McWorter (2005) illuminates the incommensurability of “believe [that] racism is an institutional phenomenon and racist subject positions are formed within networks of power” (p. 533) and a conception of agency that frequently relies on a, “a generic subject plus a knapsack full of white privileges” (p. 546) that can be jettisoned or put to better use at will. I agree that ‘owning’ whiteness through recognition does not automatically lead to understandings about the production of white subjectivities through “a vast institutionalized system of social control [that]…drive[s] those who use it to propose not transformation of social systems but various strategies of divestiture” (p. 547).  Accordingly, I work the limits of race-based and decolonizing theories to support discussion of how rules and regularities created the possibilities for, and the conditions in which teachers take up, subject positions in Aboriginal education. This theory building offers unique possibilities when untangling and reconfiguring teachers’ constructions of Aboriginal-non- Aboriginal relationships, Aboriginality and Aboriginal peoples. Further, these analytical tools hold potential to address how networks of power shape teachers’ motivation and capacity to engage in decolonial processes. Incorporating theories that consider race in decolonizing and Indigenizing spaces could aid in: generating greater support for Aboriginal education, resisting reproduction of neo-colonial identities such as ‘white rescuer’, and developing more fulsome and nuanced decolonizing theories that consider, at least, race, ancestry, and gender.   63  3.4.3.2 Canadian national myths and colonial systems of education and versions of educator  Based on a review of the literature that introduces this subsection - Western image of teacher of Aboriginal education and Aboriginal students - I have organized four interconnected national myths/mythical identities that enhance understanding of the ways that Eurocentrism and whiteness combine (e.g., Donald, 2009, 2012; Lawrence and Dua, 2005; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; St. Denis, 2011). They include: a) Canada is a multicultural and colourblind society; b) the status quo in Canada is cultureless; culture is constructed as something possessed by an ‘exotic’ other; c) the origin story of Canada is one of settlers as benevolent peacemakers; and d) in an era of reconciliation with Aboriginal peoples, Canada is populated with “newly enlightened, culturally sensitive twenty-first-century partners” (Regan, 2010, p. 86). While each of these myths and associated national and school-based identities could be (and in some cases have been) theorized in depth, in this study they will be used along with empirical data to theorize images of the signified Teacher and subjectification. In this chapter, I offer one example of how normative notions of culture direct formal Aboriginal education that illuminates the relationship between discourse, relations of power, and teacher identity and practices. Canadian myths/mythical identities are revisited in greater depth during data analysis within findings chapters.  Culturally responsive pedagogy has been prevalent in the literature and remains so for some scholars (e.g., Bishop, Berryman, Cavanagh, & Teddy, 2007; Nicol, Archibald, & Baker, 2013; Te Ava, Rubie-Davies, & Ovens, 2013). Donald (2011) introduces how a simplified deficit view of culture can manifest in formal education, as that which is possessed by uncivilized people who are bound by tradition. Provocative questions are raised about how this discourse generates 64  systems of education and positions teachers and Aboriginal students therein. Donald also explores how viewing Aboriginal education through the singular (and problematic) lens of culture limits understanding of Aboriginal knowledge and Aboriginal-non-Aboriginal relationships in terms of colonial relations of power. He argues that, at times, Aboriginal culture is being used as code for “race” or “problematic differences”. For example, culture is positioned as that which forms individuals who ‘do not value’ education and/or ‘cannot comprehend’ in schools due to a ‘mismatch’ in worldviews, thus reinforcing schools and the status quo as ‘cultureless’. Largely through policy and professional development, teachers are charged with the task of ‘closing the achievement gap’ between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal students through delivering cultural programming, towards what are actually assimilative ends. This discursive landscape leads some educators to erroneously reason that they are not prepared to teach, or responsible for, Aboriginal education because they: identify as non-Aboriginal, teach a particular discipline in which culture is irrelevant, do not teach Aboriginal students, and/or cannot access an Aboriginal knowledge holder (see also Grande, 2008; Marker, 2006; St. Denis, 2011).  It is not my intention to develop a theoretical and methodological framework that reifies a Eurocentric Teacher/Aboriginal Teacher binary. Rather, I endeavour towards developing de/colonial frames and designing research that makes space to explore the relationship between subjectification and more than one version of the signified Teacher (i.e., (un)becoming Teacher), as well as recover other-than-human agents and agency in the flow of discourse. This theory building supports the production and analytical questioning of data generated through a series of interviews with a subset of teachers who are familiar with varying images through participation in Aboriginal education coursework and in some cases professional development (PD).  65  3.5 Theoretically Informed Research Design Elsewhere and along with colleagues (Higgins, Madden, Bérard, Lenz Kothe, & Nordstrom, forthcoming), I extend the methodological space carved out by Jackson and Mazzei’s (2012) Thinking with Theory to include designing research with theory. The latter text conceives of and models data analysis as a complex location of theory-practice; researchers are called to engage in “reading-the-data-while-thinking-the theory” (Jackson & Mazzei, 2012). As a group of graduate scholars of education and educational research, we have come to view methodology as constructed and emergent; it is “a performative and non-separable enactment of the interconnected space between theory, practice, and ethics (Barad, 2007, 2010; Lenz-Taguchi, 2009)” (Higgins et al., forthcoming, p. 1). Both approaches (i.e., thinking and designing with theory) work against normative trends in “conventional humanist qualitative methodology” (St. Pierre, 2011a), such as bifurcation of theory and practice; movement towards best practices; preoccupation with research methods; and continued confidence in (post)positivist notions of rigor, validity, reliability, and transferability.  We heed multiple calls from diverse spaces (Lather, 1986, 2007; Law, 2004; Pillow, 2003; Mazzei, 2007; St. Pierre, 1997) to work against prescribed methodology and the reductive interpretation of methodology, “as just itself… a stand-alone set of [neutral] research practices” (St. Pierre, 2011b, p. 52, emphasis in original). The notion that methodological design23 pre-exists and is separable from other aspects of research (notably one’s theoretical framework) is traced back to its roots in Western modern scientificity, and the customary positioning of                                                 23 Reference to methodological design calls attention to the processual nature of designing methodology. It presents a challenge to the conventional assumptions that methodology preexists research projects and simply a matter of choosing that which ‘best fits’ our theoretical commitments, ethics, research questions, and goals. 66  methodology as a means to achieve and justify the ends is challenged. Founded in “an ethic of attempting to account for, and be accountable to, the always already shifting research contexts we find ourselves getting lost within (Lather, 2007)” (Higgins et al., forthcoming, p. 1), we set our gaze on research design. The pivotal role that theory can play in piercing, (un)stitching, snagging, and mending the ruins of the striated methodologies of conventional qualitative research is demonstrated through presenting patchwork(ing) methodologies that are continuously open to further re(con)figurations.  The patchwork methodology that grounds my dissertation research centres a series of three or four theoretically informed interviews with early career teacher participants. Theoretically informed interviews are grounded in theoretical perspectives, such that analysis is built into and extends from interviews (Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009). I suggest that application of this approach reaches beyond analysis of interview transcripts. It also acts as a tool to consider the relationship between (the formation of) taken-for-granted research methods and sedimented knowledge. By extension, the association between a research apparatus (e.g., the combination of methods, research participants, researcher, contextual elements, theory, project outline, etc.) and the phenomena (e.g., what are often referred to as findings or knowledge claims) that result opens up space to explore how theory might reconfigure research methods towards new types of data and understandings. Further, how a researcher might be accountable for a methodology that is relational and ongoing, as well as what said methodology produces foregrounds research ethics and develops novel sites for ethical consideration and the types of ethical questions researchers ask. 67  3.5.1 The interview series  Nine early career teachers across four school districts in Metro Vancouver took part in a series of interviews conducted over an eight-month period (October 2014-May 2015). The series was comprised of three individual, semi-structured interviews that were organized by topic: a) teachers’ personal-professional identity; b) teachers’ experiences of coursework, and extended PD on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education if applicable; and c) teachers’ connections with place and Aboriginality/Indigeneity revealed through walking interviews. Of the nine teacher participants, three identify as male and six as female. One teacher identifies as Aboriginal, one as a settler and having Aboriginal ancestry, four as non-Aboriginal, and three do not identify using these categories; of these three, one identifies as a new Canadian with Chinese ancestry, one as a first-generation Canadian with Italian ancestry, and the last subtly refuses and continuously complicates Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal and Aboriginal/settler as categories of identity. Four teachers identify as white, two teachers identify as racialized and/or a person of colour, and three do not call on race as a marker of identity. At the time of the interview series, two participants worked as secondary teachers with qualifications in history and social studies (1) and music education (1); three participants worked as elementary school teachers; three participants were hired by their districts as a teacher-on-call (TOC), two of whom are qualified as secondary history and social studies teachers and one as an elementary teacher; and one worked exclusively as a teacher consultant in Aboriginal education at the elementary level. Of these nine, one taught in a French immersion context. All nine participants completed coursework on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education across four universities in three provinces. Five of nine teachers have been involved in extended PD on the same topic offered through their current Metro Vancouver school district with, in some cases, support from government and community 68  partners (e.g., BCMoE; First Nations Education Steering Committee24, FNESC; Musqueam First Nation). Three teachers have completed or are completing graduate studies or additional qualifications in education in Metro Vancouver.   Seven teachers also took part in a fourth interview where the purpose was to share and reflect on the process of designing, adapting, and/or facilitating a lesson or unit that integrated Aboriginal content (See Appendix A - Interview Series Protocol). Participation in the fourth interview was optional, so as not to require extensive commitment from participants. The possibility that the Aboriginal education lesson/unit interview may result in teachers’ increased feelings of vulnerability (compared to the interview series) resulting from sharing and reflecting on their intellectual material and engagement with students was also considered. Of the seven that took part, four teachers invited me to join their classroom as a participant observer for the delivery of the lesson. I visited a fifth teacher’s classroom after school hours where she guided me through a tour of her classroom, using examples of students’ work as prompts to describe and reflect on a variety of lessons she designed. As a result of their status as TOCs, two teacher participants detailed the lesson and/or unit they developed through sharing teaching plans, curricular documents, student handouts, resources, photos, feedback forms, and modes of assessment. Two teachers elected not to participate in the optional interview due to time limitations.   The data produced included: Audio-recordings of interviews and Aboriginal education lessons, copies of interview materials (e.g., interview prompts, teacher education syllabi, policy and curricular documents, lesson and unit plans), photographs of interview spaces, and oral                                                 24	  First Nations Education Steering Committee (FNESC) is “an independent society...committed to improving education for all First Nations students in BC” (FNESC, n.d.a, ¶1)	  69  (recorded) and written field notes. Audio-recordings of interviews were the primary source of data, while the other sources supported meaning making with audio-recordings as described in the subsections that follow (i.e., 3.5.1.1. – 3.5.1.5.).  Designing research with a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher generated five major methodological inflections to conventional qualitative approaches to interview (See Table 1). They include: a) adopting a reciprocal stance, b) a discursive and relational notion of experience as a site of witnessing (un)becoming, c) walking interview with/in significant place, d) agential documents in a landscape of becoming in Aboriginal education, and e) relational listening to audio-recordings of interviews. In the subsections that follow I describe the motivations for, and particular schematic cues I carry when, producing these inflections. I discuss what designing research with theory might mean for interview methods, data productions, data analysis, representation and knowledge claims, and research ethics25.                                                   25 I do not intend to suggest that each inflection explicitly reconfigures all of the methodological nodes listed. Rather, schematic cues offer distinct and particular tools that differently adapt research design, which may relationally shape additional nodes. 70  Table 3-1 Summary of methodological inflections to conventional qualitative approaches to interview Methodological Inflection Theorist/Theory/ Schematic Cue Reconfigured Methodological Nodes 1. Adopting a reciprocal stance McGregor & Marker, in review/Reciprocity as ethical stance/Four dimensions of reciprocity ŸSeek opportunities to offer meaningful gifts  ŸCommit to participating in local ways of circulating knowledge  ŸRespond in relation without divesting complexity or contradiction 2. A discursive and relational notion of experience as a site of witnessing (un)becoming  Britzman, 2003/ Learning to teach and becoming teacher/Experience ŸCreation of a theoretically-informed interview series that focuses on early career teachers’ experiences 3. Walking interview with/in significant place Cajete, 1994/Ecology of Indigenous education/Co-constitutive and co-creative relationship between humans and place, and Ecological connection of human learning ŸWalking interview with/in significant place ŸData productions that illuminate living place as an agent in the co-production of interview, and the (un)doing of teacher therein 4. Agential documents in a landscape of (un)becoming Prior, 2008/Studying the functions of documents as topics/Role and productions of key document(s), and network analysis ŸData fragments that included hybrid agency ŸFPPL-centred networks 5. Relational listening to audio-recordings  ŸMazzei, 2007/Deconstruction of voice in interviews/Voice of silence ŸMacLure, 2013/Wonder ŸGilligan, 2015/ Listening Guide method/Listening for the I, and analyzing for the presence of contrapuntal voices  • First listening ŸLocation of research/er in relation to teacher participants • Second listening ŸWonder full data ŸConstellations of wonder • Third listening  ŸMap of relations among teachers’ responses during interview series  • Fourth listening ŸI poems ŸContrapuntal voices Ÿ“Things that matter to…” sketches  71  3.5.1.1 Adopting a reciprocal stance   McGregor and Marker’s (in review) review of Indigenous conceptualizations of reciprocity in education (Kirkness & Barnhardt, 1991) and research (Archibald, 2008; Kovach, 2009; Kuokkanen, 2007; Marker, 2004), as well as those of select non-Indigenous qualitative methodologists (Ostertag, 2015; Trainor & Bouchard, 2012) results in positioning reciprocity as the ethical stance a researcher takes before, during, and following a research project. McGregor and Marker (in review) present four dimensions of this stance that embed reciprocity within local conceptions of respect, responsibility, reciprocation, benefit, recognition, and negotiation, as well as resist smoothing out the complexity inherent in adopting such an ethic: 1) Recognizing relationships that make research possible at a particular time and place through offering gifts that have meaning or purpose;  2) Participating in local ways of teaching, circulating or sharing knowledge, and preparing oneself accordingly;  3) Enacting response-ability towards others through continuous practices of openness, recognition and negotiation without closure;  4) Pursuing a stance of reciprocity even while maintaining an awareness of its tenuousness—that a gift will be interpreted as a threat, that a gift will not be accepted, or that a gift will not be enough. (p. 17)  To create the conditions for reciprocity to arise, these dimensions guided my choices and responses throughout research design; conduct of interviews; and analysis, synthesis, representation, and dissemination of teachers’ perspectives and experiences. In what follows of this subsection, I use the dimensions to offer several glimpses26 at how I worked to foreground                                                 26 Exemplars do not, and cannot, offer the full context or description of the research project and its entire theoretical, methodological, and ethical situation. Designing interviews with a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher privileges methodological (i.e., the performative space between theory, practice, and ethics) processes and productions, rather than a comprehensive review of research methods. 72  relationships attentive to both reciprocity and decolonizing imperatives within and beyond the research.  Kuokkanen (2007) presents an Indigenous and decolonizing notion of circular reciprocity that keeps gifts circulating within communities to “actively acknowledge kinship and coexistence with the world” (Kuokkanen, 2007, p. 38). I worked with teachers on an individual basis to learn about their needs as practitioners who are integrating Aboriginal  content in their classrooms, in order to offer meaningful gifts that support our shared commitment to Aboriginal education. In this way, teachers might be better positioned to use their gifts to support students in doing the same, albeit differently. For instance, I worked with one teacher participant to develop an eight-lesson unit that centred learning with the land and local place after he expressed desire to enhance his capacity to incorporate this pedagogical approach in his practice. I also supported multiple teacher participants’ professional development efforts through, for example, offering feedback on graduate program applications, sharing Aboriginal education resources in response to particular questions and requests, and providing comment on facilitation plans and resources teacher participants prepared for upcoming district-wide Aboriginal education PD sessions they were leading.   Archibald (2008) also highlight the cyclical nature of reciprocity that grounds the “hands back, hands forward” teaching of Tsimilano, Musqueam Elder Dr. Vincent Stogan: My dear ones,  Form a circle and join hands in prayer. In joining hands, hold your left palm upward to reach back to grasp the teachings of the ancestors. Put these teachings into your everyday life and pass them on. Hold your right palm downward to pass these teachings on to the younger generation. In this way, the teachings and knowledge of the ancestors continue, and the circle of human understanding and caring grows stronger. (Tsimilano, as cited in Archibald, 2008, p. 50)  73  While rarely within an ancestral relationship, in general teacher participants had multiple and extended experiences of learning with Aboriginal Elders and knowledge holders through modified traditional approaches. Rather than just giving to me, and me to them, I view teachers’ participation in interviews as one method of enacting teachings they received about respectfully and responsibly sharing what they have been taught in order for the power of Indigenous teachings to persist (Archibald, 2008). In honouring this commitment, several teachers regarded the dissertation as a means through which their learning could be mobilized to practicing and future teachers.   Following McGregor and Marker (in review) and through evolving relationships with district administrators, I also sought opportunities to participate in local ways of teaching and circulating knowledge in school communities beyond interviews with teachers that drew on my unique role as researcher learning with early career teachers. Since November 2014, I have contributed as a facilitator and participant in a district-led Aboriginal education professional learning series. I have been able to leverage this role/space to respond to (my emerging understandings of) the priorities of early career teachers who are incorporating Aboriginal ways of knowing and learning in their practice. Similarly, since January 2015, I have acted as a member of a district’s Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreement (AEEA) Advisory Committee. In this position, I often advocate for educational opportunities to increase teachers’ familiarity with the district’s AEEA, as well as occasions to learn how they might translate policy and practice.  McGregor and Marker (in review) draws on Kuokkanen (2007) to outline the contours of response-ability in pursuing a reciprocal stance: 74  Kuokkanen (2007) goes on to explain: “This kind of reciprocity implies response-ability—that is, an ability to respond, to remain attuned to the world beyond oneself, as well as willingness to recognize its existence through the giving of gifts” (p. 39). She extends reciprocity beyond consideration of one researcher’s agenda in relation to their participants, towards a willingness to contribute to changing what it means to participate in the university and in research altogether. Kuokkanen (2007) argues, “the gift is a continuous process and practice of reciprocation, recognition, and negotiation without closure” (p. 154).  A sustained commitment to honour teachers as knowers who are carrying out work that I believe in, and respond to their needs, has marked all stages of the research. This has taken the shape of proactively communicating my inquiry process and emerging understandings, combining interviews when requested to address time constraints27, sending sample prompts and further instruction so teachers could prepare for interviews, holding interviews at times and locations set by participants, providing food and beverages, and covering all costs associated with the research. I have also worked to learn about and incorporate teachers’ desires for the work. Each interview fragment that appears in the dissertation was transcribed and shared with the corresponding teacher participant, along with details of the chapter it would support. As per the consent form to participate in the research, teachers were invited to review the fragment and: a) comment on its suitability for inclusion in the dissertation, noting desired modifications if applicable; b) respond to the researcher’s remaining questions recorded throughout the transcript; and c) revisit their initial decision to use their name or a pseudonym. Pseudonyms are used for all teacher participants, with the exception of Kevin who features in Chapter 6: (un)Becoming Teacher With/in Significant Place. This subsection (i.e., Adopting a reciprocal stance.), as well as those methodological inflections to interview that follow, illuminate the ways in which the processes of                                                 27	  Three interviews in total were a combination of 2 interviews (i.e., Participant 3 - Interviews 1/3 and 2/optional, and Participant 7 - Interviews 1/2).	  75  participating in university-based research are changed through designing with decolonizing theories. Based on participants’ responses and comments to me, I am of the opinion that my reciprocal stance and associated efforts were often appreciated. However, I do not intend to suggest that reciprocity was ‘achieved’ successfully or otherwise. Sharing teachers’ experiences and representing their voices in relation is a complex, ongoing, and fraught endeavour playing out within explicit and implicit relations of power. Consider one unique example in which I worked with a teacher through four revisions of an interview fragment before a final draft was approved for inclusion in the interview. This process of negotiation revealed a number of instances of (un)becoming teacher, bound up with how the teacher thought she might be perceived by a variety of readers she envisioned (e.g., her partner, colleagues, people in positions of power that were referred to in her interview fragment). An attempt to enact response-ability in this case initiated a flow of tenuous methodological questions: What is produced in representing the final version as the ‘accurate’ account of the teachers’ experience? (To what extent) Could I include the process of negotiation? Because the teacher devoted time to revising the fragment, what was my obligation to include the final version in the dissertation?  Adopting reciprocity as an ethical stance means continually searching for opportunities to offer meaningful gifts that honour the teachers, school district administrators, committee members, colleagues, theorists, and land that make this project possible. It is also marked by a commitment to participate in local ways of circulating knowledge in school and university communities, as well as the ability to respond in relation without divesting complexity or contradiction. I introduce these commitments here with regard to how they are intertwined with 76  my theoretical and methodological approaches, but recognize that how they shaped the inquiry findings will be more fully evident in following chapters.  3.5.1.2 A discursive and relational notion of experience as a site of witnessing (un)becoming   Following Britzman’s (2003) findings in Practice Makes Practice, I position experience as a fruitful location from which to “explore how our teaching selves are constituted in the context of learning to teach, and how the selves we produce constrain and open up the possibilities of creative pedagogies” (p. 26). Experience is curious because the demands of classroom life and practice of teaching should continuously unravel each cultural myth - everything depends upon the teacher, teachers are experts, and teachers are self-made - and yet it does not. Britzman (2003) proposes, “the distance between lived experience and received knowledge that is so endemic to education must be countered by [teachers’] own ability to find some semblance of coherency” (p. 73). This striving for coherence is characteristic of (un)becoming and produces the taken for granted notion of experience28 as something that is ‘had’ and that yields insight through “the shattering of experiences into discrete and arbitrary units that are somehow dissociated from all that made experience in the first place” (Britzman, 2003, p. 51) (See also Davies & Davies, 2007).  Accordingly, as a means of analyzing the relationship between early career teachers’ attempts at understanding their own professional identity and formal Aboriginal education across                                                 28 Britzman (2003) underlines that taken-for-granted notions of experience bring to mind, “the things one picks up along the way such as helpful hints, a teaching style, and a program of classroom management that works without the university. Experience will be akin to a map. But it will also mark the breadcrumbs one leaves behind to find one’s way back. It will implicate events before they can be encountered, be mistaken for anticipation, and will be like an investment one makes to guarantee the future.” (p. 13-14). 77  institutions, interview prompts often elicit teachers to recall and detail narratives of experience. This creates space to explore how teachers examine experience and the ways in which these constructions connect to, or not, meaning, insight, and subject positions of Teacher. Further, participant observation of a lesson that integrates Aboriginal content and the debrief that follows provides an opportunity to evaluate what aspects of the lesson the teacher views as significant (i.e., what ‘counts’ as experience) and what happenings are discounted as inauthentic, excessive, or unimportant. According to Britzman, and of central import to this inquiry, the moments when experience fails are a promising site from which to expose the ruptures, excess, and chasms that reveal (un)becoming teacher.  Britzman argues that it is discourse that structures teachers’ recollections and understandings of experience, “…narratives of learning are not just overlaid upon a pre-existing experience; they are constructive of experience itself. One of the surprises of narrative is that it crafts the thing it must presuppose” (p. 20). She reveals the agential possibilities that become conceivable in educational settings in moving towards a performative notion of experience “as lived”: “…if we begin with the idea that experience is an experience with signs, with language, and so with conflictive forms of meaning, if we think of our experience as the aftereffect of expressing our understanding of what happens, we are still in the realm of trying to understand our perceptions of events, and so, our epistemological commitments and what these mean for interpretation. That places experience somewhere between the poles of discourse and desire, and so experience as lived rather than as picked up or acquired. Something different from mere circumstance, yet also containing the circumstantial, the conditions not of our own making yet still requiring something of a response, experience in education is a foundational discourse, one that will go on to structure the values we bestow onto theory and practice, reading and doing, thinking and acting, knowing and ignoring” (p. 13).  78  Recovering a discursive and relational notion of experience is of interest, particularly in working towards teacher education that supports teachers to differently think through understanding and accounting for experience and its link to knowledge, power, Truth, and authority. Thus, in interview design and analysis, I view experience as meaning full and employ it as a central schematic cue29 when mapping how norms within, and beyond, Aboriginal education guide how teachers take up, challenge, modify, reject, and repurpose available professional identities and make meaning in recounting their experience of these processes. 3.5.1.3 Walking interview with/in significant place Of significance to this methodological design is developing interview methods that generate research productions that are co-constituted with place, in an attempt to recover other-than-human agents and agency in the flow of discourse. This challenges the oft-overlooked role of place in humanist qualitative methodology, and research that focuses on teacher becoming specifically. I look to two key schematic cues presented in Cajete’s (1994) theory of the “ecology of Indigenous education” to explore the relationships between place and processes of teacher subjectification. I wondered: What places do teachers recognize as significant, particularly with respect to developing a sense of professional identity that is in relation to Aboriginality and Aboriginal education? How are these living places agential in constructing differential bodies of learning in university- and school-based Aboriginal education? And, How do these relationships shape how and what meanings are generated, including understandings of self as teacher?  The first cue is the co-constitutive and co-creative relationship between humans and place. Cajete (1994) stresses, “Ultimately, there is no separation between humans and the                                                 29 Drawing on Jackson & Mazzei (2012), I position schematic cues as theoretical concepts with which to design and deliberate during research. 79  environment” (p. 84). He details the ways in which physical and psychological characteristics are formed over generations through relationships with unique climates, topographies, and ecologies. But, he argues, “People make a place as much as a place makes them. Indian people interacted with the places in which they lived for such a long time that their landscape became a reflection of their very soul” (p. 84). Taking co-constitutive human-place relationships into consideration in research and teaching challenges the Cartesian cut between subject and object, organization according to binary oppositions, and the anthropocentric relationships that results (i.e., people/place). The second cue is the “ecological connection of human learning” (p. 218) from which tribal teaching and learning are natural outcomes. Tribal education30 is intertwined in the daily activities of learners in close communion with living place. The parameters of the school are reconfigured and curriculum emerges from “those understandings, bodies of knowledge, and practices resulting from direct interaction with the natural world” (p. 39).31 The ecological connection of human learning invites attention to how living place plays a vital role in teachers’ lives and learning. Applying this cue in the research design, teachers were invited to guide an interview through a place that they identified as significant to developing a sense of teacher identity in relation to Aboriginality and Aboriginal education. When asked by participants to expand on what it means to be in relation to Aboriginality, I suggested that teachers might select a place that                                                 30 Tribal education is the term Cajete uses. Following Aboriginal scholars who work in a Canadian context (e.g., Archibald, 2008; Battiste, 2013), I often interchange traditional education or traditional approaches to teaching and learning. 31 I would suggest that Cajete does not make a cut between nature/culture or romanticize nature, relegating it to the past. Instead, he theorizes the ways that the natural world and culture shape one another in both traditional and modern/formal education. 80  supports holism or other characteristics of Aboriginal knowledges and pedagogies relevant to them. I suggested that we could visit somewhere significant that deconstructs a culture/nature binary - whereby place is either the passive backdrop for, and product of, human activity or romanticized as essentially untouched by humans. When choosing a location, teachers were also encouraged to consider places that illustrate incommensurability between Aboriginal perspectives on a place and the stories the teacher holds/held of that place.  I requested that teachers, with place, lead the walking interview. However, in advance of the interview I shared a set of prompts with participants. The prompts were intended to support exploration of the generative and relational meaning that can be made through movement with/in living place, rather than acting as a fixed agenda for the interview. Informed through thinking with Cajete, the prompts focus on: a) teachers’ perceptions of the parameters of place; b) stories of, and interaction with, living place; and c) traditional approaches to teaching and learning and the understandings, sources of (Aboriginal) knowledge, and practices that emerge. As will be seen in Chapter 5: Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming, these interviews produced my attempts to momentarily and imperfectly ‘capture’ and portray (un)becoming teacher in significant places. Cajete provides theoretical frames to consider teacher identity within an ecology of Indigenous education, and I also draw on a wide body of methodological theory. For example, Marin’s (2013) scholarship on the coordinated activity of observation during forest walks suggests: mapping movement (e.g., stopping) and noting the references and gestures utilized by humans to relate to living place. Kuntz and Presnell (2012) support reframing interview as intraview – “a process-based, intra-active event,… [that is] a cocreation among (not between) multiple bodies and forces” (p. 733). Intraview as event and Cajete’s co-constitutive human-place relationship in learning 81  invite consideration of living place as an agent in the co-production of interview, and the (un)doing of teacher therein. 3.5.1.4 Agential documents in a landscape of (un)becoming in Aboriginal education    An additional inflection to conventional qualitative approaches to interview that pursues other-than-human agents is mapping how documents function in the flow of discourse and processes of teacher subjectification. The established fields of discourse and policy analysis generally inform Indigenous education research that employs document analysis (e.g., Cherubini, 2010, 2012; Kaomea, 2000). While much has been learned from this scholarship (e.g., thematic content analysis, human utilization of documents as a resource towards purposeful ends), I felt limited by what these frames offered in terms of considering an Indigenous ecology of relationships that establishes other-than-human agency. As such, I looked to methodological theory beyond the context of Indigenous education and research to explore how relationships between teachers and documents were shaping the local landscape of (un)becoming in Aboriginal education.  Prior’s (2008) approach to studying “how documents function” is rooted in actor-network theory (ANT) (Callon, 1986; Latour, 1987; Law & Hassard, 1999). This approach views non-humans and hybrids - non-human beings/bodies that display human cultural characteristics - as dynamic resources whose agency extends beyond that which is ‘activated’ by humans. Two key related modes of analyzing and representing how documents function in networks work to reverse the gaze from human utilization of documents to the ways in which documents drive humans, non-humans, and hybrids in relation. Moving towards mapping this re(ar)ticulated landscape resonates with my desire to honour Indigenous relational theories. It also works to 82  counter the sedimented Eurocentric notion that discourse is reducible to linguistic practices and that signification is primarily a human application of anthropocentric meaning onto static and inert objects.  First, data fragments that include hybrid32 agency were produced in working towards mapping how documents function in networks. Drawing on Prior’s (2008) approach to studying documents, methodological considerations when accounting for the contributions of documents during and beyond interviews and observations are detailed in Chapter 7: Hybrid Encounters: First Peoples Principles of Learning and the Landscape of Becoming in Aboriginal Education. Strategies to assign and analyze document functions (i.e., roles and associated productions) are also illustrated through inclusion of an exemplar of a data fragment that includes a key agential hybrid at the centre of the local landscape of Aboriginal education. The second mode offered by Prior (2008) extends the first through translating and connecting data fragments that include other-than-human and hybrid agency to create interactive document-centred networks. She claims that mapping how documents instead of subjects constitute the hub of network analysis reveals that “documents are far from being static and inert objects that become energized only at the behest and instigation of human actors” (p. 832). The production of document-centred networks works on a macro-level to introduce how a key hybrid is shaping how teachers understand ‘what counts’ as Aboriginal education in Metro Vancouver, and how they are imagining, reconfiguring, and enacting and conceptions of teacher                                                 32 The document at the centre of the local landscape of (un)becoming in Aboriginal education is positioned as a hybrid in Chapter 7: Hybrid Encounters: First Peoples Principles of Learning and the Landscape of Becoming in Aboriginal Education. 83  and teaching practices in response. Networks also shine light on how knowledge-practice associated with formal Aboriginal education moves within and across educational institutions.  3.5.1.5 Relational listening to audio-recordings of interviews   I made meaning with the audio-data produced from each participant’s interview series through four phases of listening (see Appendix B – Data Samples from Relational Listening for examples of each phase). My initial desire to position audio recordings of interviews as the primary data source for analysis stemmed from engagement with Mazzei’s (2007) deconstruction of voice in interviews with white teachers who worked in schools where they were the racial minority. Her theorizing of the co-constitutive relationship between silence/speech works towards designing a qualitative methodology that supports researchers in listening to “engag[e] the silences [in research] as meaning full and purpose full” (emphasis in original, p. 2) and include the “voice of silence” in discourse analysis. This opens up space to consider new and productive readings of that which is so often simply coded as white teachers’ ‘resistance’. She proposes several frames for rethinking how we hear and represent silence. Examples include: silence as determined by group dynamics, silence by responding to a question that diverges from that which was asked, silence as a ‘non-response’ to white privilege, and silence as a devise to avoid being perceived as dissimilar, impolite, or racist. Additionally, Mazzei draws connections between silence and productions of whiteness that can be understood as: coded, veiled, intentional, unintelligible, and/or privileged.  While this method of listening to interviews did support a more fulsome exploration of human voice and the complex interplay of silence and speech, unexpectedly, it also offered deep exploration of the relationships connecting a vast network of humans, non-humans, and hybrids 84  within and across interviews33. Encouragement to “loose myself from the extreme rationalism of spoken language, voiced text, [and] tangible data” (Mazzei, 2007, p. 73) released me to view and organize teachers’ interviews as networks of agents, absence, presence, elsewhere, and elsewhen, as well as examine the circulation of power and constitution of Teacher therein.  During the first listening phase, I located myself as a researcher in relation, notably how the research design I conceptualized shifted in response to teachers’ positions, experiences, and perspectives. These nascent understandings supported the tailoring of the interview series accordingly. For Interviews 2, 3, and 4, I listened to the preceding interview (i.e., Interviews 1, 2, and 3) with the same teacher participant one to three days before the subsequent interview to inform the prompts I would pose during our next meeting. Changes to sample interview prompts in the interview protocol indicate meanings made about researcher-participant relations during the first listening.  The purpose of the second listening phase was to generate a thorough written record of interviews; mark key interview fragments for future analysis of (un)becoming teacher; flag data that refused organization or explanation; and note feelings, considerations, judgments, and ideas about data. For each participant and for every interview, while listening I made detailed notes in pocket notebooks organized by interview. As often as possible, the second listening of each interview was conducted within a week of completing said interview. This supported the inclusion of rich contextual detail and completion of the data production, organization, and analysis stages according to the proposed timeline. Notes include: contextual factors, participant                                                 33 This exploration was achieved through combining multiple methodological inflections to interview, not solely through relational listening to audio-recordings. I mean to suggest that relational listening provided space to account for and analyze relationality as described in the summaries of each listening phase. 85  quotations, silences, other-than-human agents, time stamps, references to other forms of data, and researcher thoughts.  During this phase, by placing a gold star sticker next to a data fragment that necessitated re-examination, I developed a system for marking what MacLure (2013) calls “wonder” - “almost literally hot spots, experienced…as intensities of the body as well as mind” (p. 173). MacLure continues: Wonder is a liminal experience that confounds boundaries of inside and outside, active and passive, knowing and feeling, and even [what are conventionally understood as] animate and inanimate. If I feel wonder, I have chosen something that has ‘already’ chosen me. Wonder is in this sense indissolubly relational – a matter of strange connection. It is moreover simultaneously Out There in the world and inside the body, as sensation and therefore distributed across the body between person and the world.” (p. 181)  I began to conceptualize the dissertation as constellations of wonder34 around which meditation and writing about subjectification would cluster, as well as consider how the connections I drew between wonder full data would impact the story of learning to teach and (un)becoming teachers in a local landscape of Aboriginal education. The second listening also demanded I attend to the ways in which I was being (un)made as ‘Researcher’ through processes analogous to teacher subjectification. For example, Chapter 6: (un)Becoming Teacher With/in Significant Place and  Chapter 7: Hybrid Encounters: First Peoples Principles of Learning and the Landscape of Becoming in Aboriginal Education offers glances at the ways in which conventional images of interview, interviewer, and interviewee were exceeded and the process reconfigured in order to                                                 34 While risking the codification of wonder, I feel it is imperative to acknowledge the significant relationship between the wonder I registered as a multi-sensory experience and data fragments that suggested: a) the reconfiguration of sedimented, as well as emergence of new, subject positions of Teacher in Aboriginal education; and b) that teachers were (un)doing cultural myths and (un)becoming Teacher in Aboriginal education (i.e., the theories that guide this inquiry). 86  respond to other-than-humans agents. Accordingly, I began a separate notebook where I recorded these moments using the same strategies employed during the second phase of listening. The third listening phase aided in the development and organization of a spectrum of points of resonance, divergence, and complexity across interviews. As often as possible, I listened to all teacher interviews across an interview before moving on to the next in the series (i.e., 9 audio files of Interview 1, then 9 audio files for Interview 2, etc.). During the third listening, I typed notes organized by interview using note-taking strategies similar to those developed during the second phase of listening (e.g., time stamps, wonder marked by yellow highlighter). These notes are less detailed that than those produced during the previous phase, and are typically organized by salient themes that arrange summaries of teachers’ related, yet diverse, responses.  I wish to interrupt the reading of this method as an example of “conventional research coding” that MacLure (2013) argues “offends on a number of fronts” (p. 167) including: upholding the colonial association between removed, neutral researcher and docile subject; reifying discrete entities in hierarchical, fixed, and often insipid relations; and discarding and denying, “…detail, complexity and singularity….[while] [d]ifference, chance and alterity struggle to free themselves from the clammy coating of causes and effects, reasons and hierarchy applied by Western rationality” (p. 169).  Themes that emerge from the third listening should not be viewed as evidentiary reflections of objective Truths about reality organized by category35. Rather, during this phase, I sought to map the relations among teachers’ responses to the series of four theoretically informed interviews without obscuring detail, distinctiveness, and the difficulty that this task often                                                 35 This is not to say that no ‘new’ findings emerged; spirituality, for example, is a theme I had not prepared to analyze in depth when developing a theoretical framework. 87  presented. Like MacLure (2013), I hold that one can undertake this approach without “com[ing] out of the ‘flow’ of coding” (p. 174-175) and losing sight of the relational quality of the research apparatus, conditions, and data productions. Instead, coding as an “analytic practice”, “…involves a kind of experimentation or crafting as one sorts, labels and disposes items that – even allowing for the prior determinations of discourse, discipline or ideology – never fully pre-exist their formation as ‘examples’ of categories that are themselves are still being shaped” (MacLure, 2013, p. 174). The fourth listening phase supported a deeper understanding of individual teachers’ formative experiences, touchstone metaphors or symbols, driving passion(s), and prominent perspectives and priorities concerning Aboriginal education. Several strategies for listening during this phase were inspired by the Listening Guide method (Brown et al., 1988; Gilligan, 2015) developed within the discipline of psychology that “offers a way of listening [to research interviews] that is designated to facilitate psychological discovery” (Gilligan, 2015, p. 69)36. While psychological discovery is not the unit of analysis for this research, select methods (e.g., listening for the I, analyzing for the presence of contrapuntal voices) from the Guide presented tools to concentrate on teacher identity and subjectification.  I listened to all interviews conducted with one teacher participant before moving on to interviews with another teacher in the series (i.e., Teacher Participant 1 – Interviews 1,2, 3, 4,                                                 36 The Listening Guide method was not utilized in a more extensive and direct manner because of its divergent theoretical underpinnings and development within the field of psychology, which carries its own unique set of assumptions and norms of conducting and disseminating research. Accordingly, I would argue, the method’s central focus on psychological discovery that signals humanism’s individual of will precludes relational meaning making within individual interviews, as well as across teachers (i.e., Interview 1, Teacher Participants 1-9) and interviews (i.e., Teacher Participant 1, Interviews 1-3, optional). 88  then Teacher Participant 2 – Interviews 1, 2, 3, 4). Brief typed notes were taken under the title, “Things that Matter to [Teacher Participant]” and concentrated on statements that elicited wonder and were repeated and recreated throughout the series. Strategies similar to those developed during the second and third phases of listening were utilized and interview prompts and participants’ responses were viewed as co-constitutive. With respect to the selected data (typically between five and ten fragments per teacher), I “listened for the I… [by] choos[ing] every I statement (pronoun and verb with or without the object) in a given passage or text and list[ing] them in order of appearance” (Gilligan, 2015, p. 71). The “I poems” that result reveal the ways in which the I moves in, “an associative stream that flows throw the narrative, running underneath the structure of the sentences” (Gilligan, 2015, p. 72). Wonder full data was also analyzed for the presence, and interplay, of “contrapuntal voices” – distinct ways of speaking about self and values. Attuning to the voices, harmonies, and cacophonies supports listening for “nuance, for modulations and silence (such as where ‘I’ turns to ‘you’ or drops out completely), to resist binary categories, and to hear complexity rather than flatten the data” (Gilligan, 2015, p 72). Each listening phase produced unique (types of) data that reveals a vast landscape of agents that coalesce to produce the individual interviews, as well as the forces and relations that unite teaching subjects37 within (e.g., Interview 1, Teacher Participants 1-9) and across interviews (e.g., Teacher Participant 1, Interviews 1-4). The data in general, and patterns of wonder specifically, produced from relational listening to audio-recordings of interviews deeply informs the decision to organize findings chapters according to the interview series.                                                  37 I call on the discursive practice of Janzen (2011) who employs the term “teaching subjects” to signal a notion of teacher that “is produced by the discourses of power that circulate” (p. 3). 89   As evidenced by exploration of the five major methodological inflections to conventional qualitative approaches to interview, each interview type (i.e., 1, 2, 3, 4) is a network of: specific theories38 of identity and qualitative research; associated purposes, goals, and commitments; linked methods for designing, conducting, analyzing, synthesizing, and representing research; unique contextual conditions (e.g., all teachers participated in Interview 1 first during October-November, 2014); and particular agents (e.g., explicit attention to place [Interview 3] or the presence of lesson and unit plans [lesson/unit interview]). This is not to say that an argument to organize the inquiry findings by teacher participant, for example, could not be made. One might also suggest that findings be presented by theme, however, at least in the conventional sense of themes as evidentiary reflections of objective Truths about reality, I would argue this is incommensurate with the theoretical-methodological frames I have detailed.  Recall the guiding research questions posed: 1) How do early career (years 1-5) teachers across complex and shifting identity positions construct a sense of teacher identity through engagement with university-based coursework and/or extended professional development (PD) that has Aboriginal/Indigenous education as its central focus? and 2) How does transition and inculcation into educative work settings shape and support early career teachers’ motivation and capacity for, and approach to, teaching for Aboriginal/Indigenous education? For me, answering these questions and honouring relationality took the form of combining interview fragments within a chapter to illustrate a range of teachers’ experiences of (un)becoming teacher in relations to: a) sources of Aboriginality in schools, b) coursework and in some cases extended PD on the                                                 38 While specific theories were often used to inform the design of each of the four types of interviews in the series, I argue that the theories are commensurate and align with a decolonizing approach to Britzman’s (2003) theory of learning to teach and becoming teacher. 90  topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education, c) place and the ecological connection of human learning, and d) supports for Aboriginal education in the classroom. In this way each fragment can be read in relation to the interview type, additional interviews conducted with the same teacher, and, the experiences of other teachers who participated in the same type of interview.         91  Chapter 4: (un)Becoming Teacher and School-based Sources of Aboriginality  This chapter considers the processes of learning to teach and becoming teacher in the specific context of school-based Aboriginal education. Several related questions guide this exploration: According to early career teachers, how do the relationships of a teacher involved in school-based Aboriginal education contribute to their own emerging sense of teacher identity? How do Britzman’s cultural myths (i.e., everything depends upon the teacher, the teacher is the expert, and teachers are self made) circulate in school-based Aboriginal education and impact construction of teacher identity? How do widespread sources of knowledge about Aboriginality/Indigeneity and Aboriginal/Indigenous education (inclusive of Aboriginal/Indigenous teachers, ally teachers, and Aboriginal/Indigenous students) circulate in school-based Aboriginal education and impact construction of teacher identity? And, what enactments of the signified Teacher are (re)produced, resisted, and ruptured in this unique context?   Data fragments produced during the interview series with early career teachers anchor analysis of the interplay between construction of teacher identity and five school-based sources of Aboriginality. In general, analysis focuses on three nodes: a) the subject position(s) of teacher made available through discourse; b) how teachers are created and undone in response; and c) what emergent findings reveal about the emerging landscape of Aboriginal education across institutions. 92  4.1 School-based Sources of Aboriginality 4.1.1 Relational t/Teacher: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal pedagogy Winifred39: I really didn’t want to be a teacher, which I think complicates my understanding of what a teacher is. I didn’t like teachers and I didn’t really want to have anything to do with school. As I got into intermediate grades, I was increasingly frustrated by my teachers’ unwillingness to engage in ideas that I though were interesting. I just wanted to be able to ask the question, “Why?”  One of the reasons I have such an appreciation for Aboriginal students is that, once I got to know some of my students and their families from the Squamish Nation, I related to the way that they came from a completely different culture that wasn’t represented. I would go to school and not have my worldview represented. The things that my parents thought were interesting and important weren’t discussed and the values weren’t the same - I had a much more holistic approach to life. In school, topics were isolated and not interdisciplinary. It didn’t really make sense in a day-to-day, practical way. It was just a bunch of information I was supposed to memorize cause someone thought it was a good idea and it all seemed a bit arbitrary. Even now, when I’m sitting and listening to a speaker, I feel infuriation that that person has all the power over all the people who are sitting there quietly and that it can’t be a discussion. Sometimes I just feel so angry that someone who has got the opportunity to teach, which is really the opportunity to speak at a group of people, does not do something meaningful with it.   Every now and again you’d get teachers, like in my teacher ed. program, who would take us outside and teach us to be quiet. They would teach us to be attentive to our surroundings and make connections between things and suddenly I’d feel so alive! I’d feel so empowered by that person to be me, and validated as a spiritual being in this world.  Now, I understand that the idea of Teacher is so a part of this Western institutionalized education system that I could never want to be that. Yet, when I was 15, I started teaching piano and I taught till I was 25 and it was second nature. I had this wonderful relationship with my students. My parents would be like, “Look, we knew you were meant to be a teacher. You come to life and your students love you and you’re so proud of them and you have this amazing rapport!” So in that way, it wasn’t that I wanted to be a Teacher. I just was a teacher.   My way of being a teacher is being with people. On the one hand, being on a journey of self-acceptance. To come to understand more and more who I am: both who I am in the world and what the world is. On the other hand, it’s giving my students permission to do that - to be. If they want to take up that journey of learning about life and who they are and wrestling with the timeless questions, then I want to support them in that. But, I don’t ever want to impose ideas on them or tell them they have to develop themselves in certain ways. I think it’s a profoundly joyful experience to get to do that. So anyone who would want to do that, I would want to journey with them. So, that’s what makes me a teacher.  …  When I think of my one major cooperating teacher on practicum at a public high school, I think partly she just didn’t understand me and wanted me to make things a bit more rigorous or something, and partly she really respected me. She was like, “You really have rapport with your students”. She would sometimes say, “Careful, you                                                 39 Recall, pseudonyms are used for all teacher participants, with the exception of Kevin who features in Chapter 6: (un)Becoming Teacher With/in Significant Place.  93  don’t need them to like you. You don’t need them to be your friend”. At the beginning I was like, “Yeah you’re right. I don’t need them to be my friend”. That’s good to remember but at the same time, I do need to have rapport. I will never be able to teach without rapport cause I believe in relationship and that’s just essential to me. So sometimes with supervising teachers, I’ve been given the feedback like almost in a mysterious way, “Your students really like you”. I think, “We’ll of course they do because they know the most important thing is them”. I don’t actually care if they learn the information. At the end of the day, I’m fairly engaged with the material that I’m teaching and they do learn. Like, it’s actually not at all a problem. I’m not, not rigorous. I’m not a slacker that sits around and chats with my class all day. I have fairly high standards that are adjusted for the individual that I’m teaching as they’re working on different things but that’s not my entry point as a teacher. It’s definitely based on actually having relationship. So to be more succinct, I think it’s a combination of a supervising teacher being a bit mystified and just not thinking that relationship is that important but [with respect to Winifred’s approach], “If it’s your style”.   Brooke: Did you feel comfortable or confident expressing your philosophy and style to a supervising teacher?  Winifred: No, but like I told you earlier, I’ve always been different. So, part of me felt like, “I’m different and I don’t really belong here and this is what I’m choosing to do. I just have to do it and not care”. I do things differently with such a full awareness. I come in having thought through these differences. If someone was going to challenge me and say, “You’re not doing this the right way”, then I would be able to explain why I was doing it and it yields fruit. So consistently, I’ve been able to work with students that for other teachers they’re just a write off like, “I don’t like that kid”, “They’re a ‘problem’ student”, “They won’t work”. They say bad things about these kids and I can work with them and totally bring out the good in them and get them to love learning. I guess I tone it down too. I don’t really like getting in trouble so if the rules are, “You can’t take your class outside”, I don’t take my class outside. Or, I come up with a really good lesson and get permission because it’s dependent on going outside. But, I wouldn’t force my way of being on the system. I would more just say I can do it in these little ways and eventually I’ll get to teach in a way that I really believe in.    This data fragment produced during a combination of Interview 1 and Interview 3 with Winifred presents an image of Teacher significantly shaped by Britzman’s cultural myths, juxtaposed with a distinct subject position that Winifred identified with and worked hard to distinguish. The Teacher that Winifred “didn’t want to be” and “didn’t like” populated her school memories and is demonstrative of the myths “everything depends upon the teacher” and “the teacher is the expert”. Winifred’s frustration that results from her experience of teachers’ unwillingness to respond to students’ interests and unanticipated curiosities that arose in classroom life indicate a struggle for control. As Britzman (2003) proposes, the pressure to associate learning with social control appears to have resulted in teachers’ reliance on overdetermined knowledge in the form of canonical, compartmentalized curricular content and 94  associated conceptions of success. The impression of a student who does not “want to have anything to do with school” is familiar, and perhaps even overcoded by deficit narratives. I suggest acknowledgement of students’ inner struggles to make meaning from their daily school life and wrestle with existential questions is often overlooked. Recall Winifred saying,  In school, topics were isolated and not interdisciplinary. It didn’t really make sense in a day-to-day, practical way. It was just a bunch of information I was supposed to memorize cause someone thought it was a good idea and it all seemed a bit arbitrary.    As a school student and “even now” as a graduate student and early career teacher, Winifred struggled to learn in a context where knowledge is disconnected from personal experience and the multifaceted context in which it develops. Moreover, an expert who commands knowledge, attention, and adherence to unexpressed and seemingly “arbitrary” codes caused Winfred great discomfort and she yearns for a more relational pedagogical approach that considers and “validate[s]” her unique positionality, including experiences and gifts.   Britzman (2003) writes that “a great deal of the story of learning to teach concerns learning what not to become, and this negative experience drains significance of its potential” (p. 19). Analyzing this data fragment is, in part, an effort to recover the pivotal role “the idea of Teacher [that] is so a part of this Western institutionalized education system” played in Winifred’s construction of teacher identity. Her version of teacher is ostensibly contrary; she is on a journey of discovering self in the world through connecting with natural surroundings, people, and humanity’s work at the production of meaning (e.g., poetry, classical music, fiction, and academic articles were mentioned throughout interviews with Winifred). A teacher to Winifred is defined by her actions and a “profoundly joyful” commitment to journey with students on their 95  own paths, responding to students’ needs through providing support without the teacher imposing her own “ideas” about the world or who others might be in the world.   This image calls to mind the common Aboriginal teaching introduced in the previous chapter that the central role of a teacher is to acknowledge, honour, and cultivate students’ learning spirits to support them in using their unique gifts to fulfill their purpose for the good of the community (Musqua, as cited in Knight, 2007). Winifred did not explicitly attribute her “understanding of what a teacher is” to learning within an Aboriginal community and/or participating in Aboriginal/Indigenous education (i.e., an example of Aboriginal pedagogy). However, throughout the interviews she continually noted the important role Squamish students and families played in teaching her how to respectfully nurture relationships so she could do what she understands as the work of a teacher: I found that culturally it wasn’t really cool to go after something40. So for me to come in as a non-Aboriginal person and say, ‘I want to meet the right people, I want to learn the right information’//like if you come to UBC and you’re like that, you’ll come out on top…whereas in that context, they’re like, ‘slow down, be present in the conversation, and don’t have an agenda’. I was advised not to ask so many questions. So, I really benefitted from the time that I had to build different relationships and get to know people and participate in different types of activities and get to know my students’ families…and have the opportunity to be received in the community and then I could draw on that [in my practice].   Through learning within the Squamish community, Winifred gained understandings of local Aboriginal conceptions of and approaches to teaching and learning and community priorities related to education. It is these types of understandings that Winifred cites as significant in shaping her construction of a meaningful teacher.                                                 40 Winifred stressed that this statement was made specifically in regard to her experiences with members of the Squamish Nation and not to be broadly applied to all Aboriginal peoples/groups. 96  At first glance, it may appear as though both the Teacher that Winifred rejected and the teacher she presented are unitary, discrete, and conflicting versions. Despite her efforts, however, the binary opposition Winifred upheld is porous and reveals an outsidedness that is deeply constitutive of/constituted by that which it opposes. Consider how Winifred’s statement about the act of teaching seems to contradict her definition of the characteristics of teacher, “Sometimes I just feel so angry that someone who has got the opportunity to teach, which is really the opportunity to speak at a group of people, does not do something meaningful with it”. “Speak[ing] at a group of people” calls to mind the myth “that everything depends on the teacher”. This permeability is underscored once again when she shares the story of her parents witnessing her teaching piano as a teen that concludes with the statement, “So in that way [ability to develop rapport], it wasn’t that I wanted to be a Teacher. I just was a teacher.” Within this statement, which incidentally illuminates the ease with which a terse cut between Teacher/teacher can be made, Winifred called Britzman’s (2003) myth of the natural teacher “who [is] ‘born’ into the profession” (p. 5) while constructing an alternate image. It is emblematic of the way that discourse circulates; the dominant belief that teachers ‘make’ themselves pervades Winifred’s professedly distinct version of teacher.   Winifred’s teacher who is in relation with students and their families and communities might also be viewed as a budding subject position; an “impossibly desired” (Britzman, 2003) construct of teacher linked to Aboriginal education that is shaped by a different, yet not unrelated, set of norms (i.e., relational T/teacher). Winifred’s recounting of negotiating her pedagogical approach with a “major cooperating teacher on practicum” exemplifies its (un)doing. According to Winifred, the relational teacher is at once something the cooperating teacher marveled (e.g., “You really have rapport with your students.”) and contested (e.g., 97  “Careful, you don’t need them to like you. You don’t need them to be your friend.”). In “the beginning” the latter action produces doubt as Winifred agrees that the cooperating teacher is “right” before recommitting to her early belief in rapport once her practicum is near completion. What follows is a rapid back-and-forth movement on the topic of rigour, “I don’t actually care if they learn the information…At the end of the day…they do learn...I’m not, not rigorous. I’m not a slacker that sits around and chats with my class all day…I have fairly high standards…but that’s not my entry point as a teacher.” This is not to say that Winifred is unclear in her approach. Rather, this fragment exemplifies the complex and shifting location embodied by Winifred while imperfectly upholding relational Teacher in an educational institution that values certain knowledge and a mimetic theory of learning/assessment. Examples of how Winifred enacted performative agency through drawing on a proven record of nurturing a love of learning in students who other teachers have “writ[ten] off” or through developing “a really good lesson and get[ting] permission [to circumvent the rules] because it’s dependent on going outside” illuminate how Winifred momentarily and imperfectly pursued a relational Teacher identity within constrained systems in order “to teach in a way that [she] really believes in”. Accordingly, not only is the notion of a relational teacher entangled with Britzman’s cultural myths, it is a distinct production that partially results from some of the same educational structures that shape how power circulates (e.g., policy that prohibits outdoor teaching).  4.1.2 The universal ‘we’: (un)Becoming teacher and (opposition to) Aboriginal content Sarah: I withdrew from my first practicum because I was told that I would not get a good report if I continued. I was recommended to withdraw by my faculty advisor. She said I needed to take some time off to understand pedagogy. And it would be to my benefit if I terminated the practicum and started another one in the fall. My 98  cooperating teacher during practicum [school advisor] and I are different in many ways. For example, I liked to have the students work in groups and she liked them to work individually. I created a lot of lesson plans that incorporated Aboriginal education; I ordered books. However, I didn’t get to use the lesson plans as my cooperating teacher [school advisor] didn't like them. She gave me some commonly used resources and asked me to create new lesson plans. I ended up lending my original lesson plans to a classmate who was doing his practicum at another school. He later told me that his cooperating teacher told him that my lesson plans were the best student lesson plans she had ever seen.   We also view the topic of religion differently. I remember on Good Friday she started the background lesson on Easter by saying: “Do you know what happened on Friday? It is the saddest day ever because Jesus died on Friday” I felt shocked that she stated this as a matter of fact, not clarifying that it is sad for those who practice this particular religion. While there were a few children who were Catholics and Protestants, not all of the children shared this same background. Later, when I brought up the topic of religion, I mentioned that we could talk about other religions as well. She said she would have no problem teaching them if the children brought the information to her. Again, I was shocked as I could not imagine young children being capable of bringing information to their teacher so that she could teach. She also said that many of the children in the class are new to Canada, that they don’t know how we do things here, and that we need to teach them. It made me think about who was included in the “we”.    Brooke: How did you negotiate the decision to leave the first practicum? Did you get support from the university?  Sarah: I didn’t get the support I was hoping for when I went to the [Teacher Education] department for a meeting. When I told the administrator the name of my faculty advisor, he said he has “huge respect for her”. While he might have just been expressing his own view of this person, the impression I got was, “If this person can’t help you, then it must be that you are not good enough. And if this person has asked you to withdraw from the practicum, then you should”. I was hoping that the department would back me up and offer me some other options such as switching to another cooperating teacher or another school. I didn’t get that. I felt that that was the last straw. I was too exhausted to defend myself any further. I withdrew. At a later time, after I recuperated, I had a meeting again with this administrator. He apologized after I told him about the impression I had during out first meeting. I hope he can apply my feedback to others in the future.     It was an unfortunate experience. It derailed my journey. But many good things came out of it. Best of all is that I had the privilege get to know an extraordinary teacher educator from whom I’ve learned so much. Her care and encouragement reignited my hope and reinstalled my confidence. I’ve also had the privilege to get to know my faculty advisor and cooperating teacher for the second practicum. They were very positive, supportive, and encouraging. It was a totally different experience. I ended up with two scholarships and an Outstanding Practicum Award from the university.   As with the previous data fragment, Sarah’s perception of the experienced school advisor who supervised her teaching practicum is a version of Teacher shaped by Britzman’s cultural myths – especially “the teacher is the expert”. Sarah, like all early career teachers with whom I worked, participated in a teacher qualification program that positions education as a means to 99  pursue diversity and social justice. My impression throughout the interview series with Sarah was that she connected with the values presented in her initial teacher qualification program and saw an important link between effective teaching and supporting the emotional well being and safety of students within the school, at home, and in society as a whole. While related to pedagogical approach, Sarah shared a number of examples that suggest conflict with “[her] cooperating teacher” was rooted in a fundamental disagreement about what knowledge should be considered for curricular inclusion.   Sarah’s preparation for teaching practicum demonstrates her initiative, creativity, and commitment to social justice education in general and Aboriginal education specifically. As she learned during her BEd coursework, she sought curricular space to incorporate Aboriginal perspectives, selected and ordered appropriate resources ahead of time and using her own finances, and then created “a lot of lesson plans that incorporated Aboriginal education” that were eventually recognized by an unrelated teacher as “the best student lesson plans she had ever seen”. With respect to this last point, when Sarah’s lesson plans were refused by her school advisor, she shared them with a classmate who was teaching at another school, further illuminating her dedication to integrating Aboriginal perspectives in the classroom.  Despite Sarah’s planning, interest, and to some extent her ability demonstrated by the unrelated teacher’s comments and the awards for excellence eventually earned by Sarah, her lesson plans were rejected by “[her] cooperating teacher during practicum”. Instead, she was given “some commonly used resources [that did not include Aboriginal content] and asked…to create new lesson plans”. Accordingly, Sarah perceived the juxtaposition of ‘common’ resources (i.e., representations of knowledge) and Aboriginal education resources, and the privileging of the former over the latter. A related acceptable/unacceptable binary that maps onto insider/outsider 100  knowledge is underscored as the public school teacher advising Sarah presented Good Friday as “the saddest day ever…as a matter of fact” and consented to teach about world religions only if “the children [bring] the information to her”.  To justify a Christian stance that runs counter to the School Act that states provincial schools “…must be conducted on strictly secular and non-sectarian principles...The highest morality must be inculcated, but no religious dogma or creed is to be taught” (BC Laws, 2015), the school advisor allegedly reasoned, “… that many of the children in the class are new to Canada, [and] they don’t know how we do things here, and…we need to teach them.” Eerily resonant with former Canadian Prime Minister Harper’s comments about a health-care plan that he maintained “both new and existing and old-stock Canadians [could] agree with41” (Gollam, 2015), such a statement exemplifies how discourses of whiteness and Eurocentrism construct an apparently benign (to some) version of society and position subjects in systematic relations of power. In this case, the justification that Sarah recalled draws on an established set of “statements, terms, categories, and beliefs” (Scott, 1988, p. 35) about the universality and superiority of a unified and knowable ‘Canadian version’ of Western European culture(s). At once, this statement makes a cut between those who are new to Canada and ‘existing’ Canadians, and constructs an imaginary ‘we’ alongside an ‘Other’. It cannot be ascertained whether the ‘we’ being called upon is reflective of teachers specifically, nevertheless, it would seem that the group is connected by a shared commitment to practicing and preaching Christianity.                                                  41 Stephen Harper went on to explain that he was referring to “Canadians who have been the descendants of immigrants for one or more generations” when he used the phrase ‘existing and old-stock Canadians’ (CBC News, 2015b). 101  Britzman’s musings on the relationship between knowledge and “the teacher is the expert” offers frames to move beyond reading the school associate’s response as an example of individual resistance to difficult knowledge that contested her epistemological assumptions, historical understanding, and/or privilege. Her insistence that Sarah use more common resources and create new lesson plans might also be viewed as an effect of “anxiety born from authoritative discourse” (Britzman, 2003, p. 227). As a result of circulating norms of classroom performance that expect that “teachers be certain in their knowledge and knowledge express certainty” (p. 227-228), the school associate may have viewed Aboriginal resources as an unintelligible limit of her curricular knowledge. Consequently, the integration of Aboriginal knowledges may have represented a challenge to her authority and ‘command’ of classroom materials, which Britzman (2003) maintains are problematically positioned as “powerful indicator[s] of competency and skill” (p. 228-229). Correspondingly, “the pressure to know and the corresponding guilt in not knowing…prevent[s] from attending to the deeper epistemological issues – about the construction of knowledge and the values and interests that inhere is knowledge” (p. 228). The school advisor may have been conditioned over her extensive career towards preoccupation with, and command of, overdetermined and ‘expert’ knowledge. This may have resulted in the tendency to overlook the ideology inherent within, silences resulting from, and effects of canonical knowledge in the form of classroom resources and associated curricular compartmentalization.   Like Sarah, I am curious who “was included in the ‘we’” that was called upon by the school associate? Sarah identified as Chinese-Canadian. As a racialized woman for whom English is a second language, she shared a number of complex encounters she faced in which she 102  was positioned as/took up the position of ‘outsider’ during her teaching practicum and BEd coursework:   [During BEd coursework] we read that article [Peggy Macintosh’s, 1990, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack] and we had a discussion. Then some white students started to say, “That’s not fair, I never feel that way. Come to my home. Come to Canada. I welcome you. I don’t feel I discriminate against anybody.” But, then what she [white student] said right there was very problematic. She just assumed, “This is my home. This is my country.” Right? So then all of the sudden, I become the outsider. And there were so many East Indian and Chinese students that were born here [in Canada]. Like, I wasn’t born here. I am okay with being an outsider. But what about those people to whom [she is] saying, “Come to my country,” and this is their country just as much as it [hers].   Sarah speculated that perhaps it was this very ‘outsidedness’ that initially drew her to Aboriginal education, although it was the development of a deep respect for the traditional knowledges and place-based cultural practices that sustain Aboriginal intellectual traditions that affirmed and upheld her commitment. I wonder, how did the school associate’s beliefs about racial and linguistic difference come to bear on her decision to reject Sarah’s lesson plans that incorporated Aboriginal education? And what does this mean in terms of the ‘type’ of teacher who is positioned and supported to attempt the creative, challenging, and relatively uncharted work of pursuing Aboriginal education in schools? Consider the response of the cooperating teacher in first data fragment to Winifred who identified as a non-Aboriginal woman, is white-presenting, and whose first language is English versus that of the Sarah’s cooperating teacher. Winifred’s engagement of a pedagogical approach that resonates with traditional Aboriginal methods of teaching and learning is viewed as relatively nonthreatening and she is allowed to proceed with a way of teaching that she has confidence in: “I think it’s a combination of a supervising teacher being a bit mystified and just not thinking that relationship is that important but [with respect to Winifred’s approach], ‘If it’s your style’”. 103  Similarly, as Winifred moves from her role as a teacher candidate to an early career teacher, she finds creative ways to subvert the educational system while refraining from “getting in trouble”.  Sarah’s account of her efforts to integrate Aboriginal knowledges was starkly different from Winifred’s as described above. According to Sarah, this experience taken with other factors related to teaching practicum (e.g., the threat of not receiving a “good report”) contributed to her withdrawing from the practical component of her training, which significantly “derailed [her] journey”. Sarah too exercised agency through communicating with her faculty advisor and eventually a key administrator in the Faculty of Education. However, instead of supporting her in executing one of the solutions she identified within our interview (e.g., “switching to another cooperating teacher or another school”), Sarah shared that she was told by the faculty advisor she “need[s] to take some time off to understand pedagogy” and then that the administrator has “huge respect for” the faculty advisor. Both replies give the impression that failure to effectively learn alongside the assigned school associate lay significantly with Sarah42.   The two data fragments emerge from distinct contexts and relationships and thus comparison may be considered by some to be unwarranted. However, Sarah’s encounters with educational authorities across various sites and levels resonate with a wide and longstanding body of higher education scholarship that documents the negative university experiences of racial/ethnic minority students that are heightened as a result gender discrimination. Studies illuminate issues that include: a) racial microaggressions in academic environments, specifically                                                 42 This is not to say that Sarah does not enact resistance and exhibit resilience. I view her efforts to communicate with her school advisor, faculty advisor, and a key administrator in the Teacher Education Department (twice) as agentic, as well as the potential resolutions she proposed, her decision to withdraw from the teaching practicum, and her eventual return to complete the remaining component of her training component required to earn her BEd degree. 104  where faculty are authors of discriminative behavior (McCormack 1995, 1998; Rienzi, Allen, Sarmiento, & McMillin, 1993); b) negative campus racial climates (Chang, 2000; Pettigrew, 1998; Rankin & Reason, 2005); c) an inverse relationship between negative campus racial climate and racial/ethnic minority student academic attainment (Hurtado & Carter, 1997; Solorzano, Ceja, & Yosso, 2000); d) pressure to break from traditional knowledges and cultural practices, and assimilate with the predominantly Western and white traditions of the academy (Rendón, Jalomo, & Nora, 2000; Tierney, 1992, 1999; Rienzi, Allen, Sarmiento, & McMillin, 1993); and e) a lack of racial/ethnic minority administrators and faculty (Museus & Quaye, 2009). A number of these negative experiences also extend to racialized faculty members and have been linked to differences in opportunities for tenure and career advancement (Griffin, Bennett, & Harris, 2013; Jackson & Mazzei, 2012; Pittman, 2010; Turner, Gonalez, & Wood, 2008).   In Sarah’s case, the central issue of Aboriginal content being contested adds an additional layer of complexity to her experience as a (gender-, racially, ethnically, linguistically) marginalized student as a number of strategies exist for excluding, distorting, and/or appropriating Indigenous knowledges in higher education (Battiste, 2008, 2013; Marker, 2004; Smith, 1999). This suggests that teachers’ locations across complex and shifting identity positions not only impacts their own understandings of their positionality in relation to Aboriginal education, it also shapes how others view their entitlement and ability to engage in the work. 4.1.3 “They want the whole shebang!”: (un)Becoming teacher and the Imaginary Indian  At the beginning of our interview, Prairie Dog marked the public acknowledgement of local traditional Aboriginal territory as a topic he wanted to explore further. It was typical during interviews for teachers to raise topics and pose questions related to Aboriginal education. I view engaging their curiosities and desire for Aboriginal education support as one enactment of adopting a reciprocal stance.  105  While Prairie Dog had “acknowledged territory” several times during his work as a teacher consultant in Aboriginal education and graduate student, his principal had recently requested he open a 20-year district-wide celebration being held at a local school in this way. One of Prairie Dog’s colleagues in the Aboriginal Education Department suggested that their principal might ask Prairie Dog to wear the traditional regalia of the local First Nation (e.g., button blanket) during the acknowledgement.   Prairie Dog: I’d like to come up with some language, just to tell [my principal] that I do not like where we’re going with this [wearing a button blanket during the acknowledgement]. “I don’t want to be perceived as a knowledge holder from this territory”, should be enough but if there’s any conflict with [the hosting principal] when I get there I’ll just say [sarcastically], “I’m sorry I’m not the Indian you had in mind!”   Brooke: [laughing] You read Thomas King’s book!   Prairie Dog: If I have to explain beyond the whole gut feeling, it’s just that, there is this whole idea that it’s one or the other [Aboriginal or non-Aboriginal] and it is from colonialism. It’s these constructs//because they want the whole shebang! It’s the twentieth year and these principals; they want that [opening speaker to wear the traditional regalia of the local First Nation]…  Brooke: And you could say, “If I came to a place in my learning that I got a Métis sash for example, then I might feel better about displaying that cultural belonging”.  Prairie Dog: What if [Prairie Dog’s principal] says, [District’s Elder in residence] will give you a Métis sash right now? And I’ll be like, “Uh, no…”  Brooke: Okay, instead you might say, “It’s a really important part of my learning to understand my relationships and responsibilities to cultural belongings if I’m to wear them”.  Prairie Dog: I need to write these things down. So, “If I come to a place..” [Prairie Dog laughing and writing] I even wrote [principal’s name].  Brooke: [laughing] You’re going to be going like this [holding up paper and reading]  Prairie Dog: “So, if I could understand the significance, responsibility, and relationship then I would feel more comfortable and honoured. But, at this time, those pieces are really missing for me and I just don’t feel right”.   Brooke: Want to try it out on me?   Prairie Dog: Yeah.  Brooke: “So Prairie Dog, we [the Aboriginal Education Department] know you have some thoughts on how you might like to acknowledgment this place. We were wondering if you’d wear a button blanket while doing the acknowledgement?”  Prairie Dog: “First of all, I’m flattered that you would consider offering me a button blanket to wear during the acknowledgement. Quite honestly, I don’t feel comfortable. I’m not sure that I’ve developed that relationship or responsibility to carry that through at this time. If it was something from my own culture, say a Métis sash, [then] 106  that would be something I’d consider in the future.” But wait, how would that be given to me? Am I saying that I expect some sort of ceremony for the sash?   Brooke: No!! As I understand it, you’re attempting to highlight the importance you attach to having a relationship with a cultural belonging.  Prairie Dog: What about that whole, “I don’t want to be perceived as a knowledge holder from this territory?”   Brooke: Yeah, you might say, “I’m a bit concerned about being perceived as a knowledge holder from this territory who is welcoming, rather that a guest who is acknowledging”.   Prairie Dog: Yeah. I think that’s what I’ll say, “I’m a bit concerned that I might get perceived as a knowledge holder from this territory who is welcoming, rather that a guest who is acknowledging”.  Brooke: There is a difference. I understand why you’re concerned.  Prairie Dog: [still writing and reading out loud] “If I’m going to stand there dressed”…but here’s the thing, I have done it before [Prairie Dog and Brooke laughing]. I was just helping out with some drummers and a colleague from the [Aboriginal education] department was like, “Here, throw this on”. I’m like, “Okay?”. It was just like a vest with buttons on it and all the kids were touching it. But this [wearing the traditional regalia of the local First Nation at the 20-year celebration] is a little bit different. But even in retrospect it didn’t feel right…  Brooke: And I think you can share your feelings. [You can] say, “I’ve thought about it and here are my thoughts now”. You don’t have to be exactly who you were two years ago. You shouldn’t be! We all do things that we go, “Well, maybe I wouldn’t repeat that”, but [now] you’ve had a chance to reconsider.   The discussion between Prairie Dog and myself shines light on the aggressive and tender navigations (Galman, Pica-Smith, & Rosenberger, 2010) of a Métis early career teacher who was looking to respectfully consider the duties required of an Aboriginal resource teacher in a particular school district, while honouring his ongoing journey of learning about his Métis ancestry often within formal education contexts (e.g., graduate studies, school-based teacher education). Drawing from Leonardo (2008) and in the context of teacher educators confronting whiteness, Galman, Pica-Smith, & Rosenberger’s (2010) use of aggressive and tender navigations refers to finding a balance between aggressively challenging institutional structures that advance colonial logics and racial discrimination, while “tenderly navigating the individual, emotional lives involved” (p. 226). This resonates with the intensity that marked Prairie Dog’s request to 107  “…come up with some language, just to tell [my principal] that I do not like where we’re going with this”. As explored further on, Prairie Dog’s comments demonstrated awareness of, and the desire to contest, some of the ways that colonial logics influenced this particular interpersonal conflict. While peppered with humour, penning and rehearsing a potential dialogue underscores the seriousness that Prairie Dog attributed to the task of securing his desired outcome (i.e., not wearing a button blanket), all the while tenderly navigating and maintaining his professional relationships.  This data fragment was produced within the context of a conversation about the increasingly common practice of beginning public events with an acknowledgment of place and recognition of the First Peoples of that place as the traditional caretakers of the land since time immemorial. I would contend that this type of acknowledgement is always political in that it calls attention to that which so often goes unmarked and unnamed, though some forms of recognition may appear more overtly ideological than others. For example, an opening speaker may highlight the continued occupation of Aboriginal territories in the form of nation-states as the current colonial circumstance. This general practice was so common in the participating universities and school districts that all early career teachers: independently remarked, or were able to provide comment43, on this topic during the interview series; frequently referred to it using slang (i.e., “acknowledge territory”, “the acknowledgement”); and could often recite what was referred to as “the script” on more than one occasion (e.g., “I would like to begin by acknowledging that I am a guest on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the                                                 43 Following mention of the practice of beginning public events with an acknowledgement of place and the First Peoples of that place by several participants, I incorporated a question on this topic during Interview 1 or Interview 2. 108  Musqueam people”, “I would like to begin by acknowledging that I am a guest on the traditional and overlapping lands of the Musqueam, Skxwú7mesh-ulh Úxwumixw (Squamish), Stó:lo, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations).   Somewhat sedimented Aboriginal education enactments, such as ‘acknowledging territory’ are explored further in Chapter 5: Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming. Through a focus on select nodes, the inflections of Indigenous knowledges and cultural practices are traced as they are interpreted within educational institutions and taken up by teacher educators, teacher candidates, and practicing teachers. For the purposes of theorizing (un)becoming teacher with the third data fragment presented in this chapter, it is sufficient to point out that Prairie Dog was asked to open a 20-year district-wide celebration being held at a local school in his role as a self-identified Métis Aboriginal resource teacher. Prairie Dog noted that similar “requests” of the Aboriginal Education Department were common (i.e., that an Aboriginal staff member acknowledge the traditional territory of local First peoples as part of the introductory protocols of public events). He observed frustration among the small staff44 as a result of the theatrical nature of the task discussed herein, as well as overall concern regarding the lack of capacity for engaging Aboriginal education among the largely non-Aboriginal, male-, and white-presenting administrators in the district.   The statement made by Prairie Dog, “…they want the whole shebang! It’s the twentieth                                                 44 The optional interview held with Prairie Dog involved joining him during his daily duties as an Aboriginal resource teacher. This included completing approximately 30 minutes of administrative tasks in the office space used by Aboriginal Education Department teaching and support staff. During this time, one of Prairie Dog’s colleagues got an email for such a request and sarcastically exclaimed (to 3 colleagues and myself), “I just got another request. Now where are my feathers and beads!” 109  year and these principals; they want that [opening speaker to wear the traditional regalia of the local First Nation]” suggests that school administrators only wanted to include Aboriginal protocols if they are conducted by an Aboriginal staff member who reflects the characteristics of what Francis (1992) refers to as the “Imaginary Indian”. Francis (1992) claims these fantasies (e.g., steward of the land, noble savage, gifted artist, vanishing Indian, drunken Indian) are born from experiences of early contact and are the product of refraction, “[t]hrough the prism of White hopes, fears, and prejudices” (p. 5). He traces how, over four centuries, conflicting images have been firmly embedded in the Canadian imaginary through discursive texts including journal writings, visual art, literature, film, laws, policies, media, and school and university curriculum (see also Diamond, 2009; Langton, 1993; Luke, 2006 for international exemplars). While it has been suggested that the contemporary stereotypical images of Indigenous peoples take a more subtle form (e.g., ‘protestor’ rather than ‘savage warrior’, Clark 2007), Francis (1992) asserts, “our views of what constitutes an Indian today are as much bound up with myth, prejudice and ideology as earlier versions were” (p. 6).   Along with colleagues and through a large-scale and longitudinal empirical study (Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015), I revealed that images of the Imaginary Indian shape practicing teachers engagement in Aboriginal education in four keys ways: a) curricular inclusion of a singular, stereotypical, and typically benign ‘Aboriginal perspective’ (e.g., ‘Use what you need’ in reference to environmental resources); b) misguided assessment and assignment of Aboriginal students (e.g., Aboriginal students were continuously enrolled in visual arts courses based on their perceived artistic abilities, rather than an expressed interest in the topic); c) significant diminution and distortion of Indigenous intellectual traditions; and d) irresponsible interpretation of Aboriginal students who did not openly engage in/make reference to cultural 110  practices as ‘culturally deficient’ and, thus, “not the Indian[s] they had in mind” (King, 2003, p. 31). We traced irresponsible interpretation of Aboriginal students to teachers who juxtaposed their perceptions of the Aboriginal students with whom they worked and images of the Imaginary Indian. This problematic school-based practice is echoed by Prairie Dog when referring to principals within the school district. He comically suggested that he might apologize in response to administrators’ requests that he wear the traditional regalia of the local First Nation by exclaiming, “I’m sorry I’m not the Indian you had in mind!” Elsewhere (Madden, in press), I delve deeper into how the constructed rules and regularities of whiteness and Eurocentrism make the binary opposition authentic/inauthentic Aboriginal teacher possible, and create the conditions in which the position of “arbiter of authenticity” is taken up. Deconstructing racialization in the Canadian colonial context, I draw on Battiste (2013) to show that a nation that is formed primarily in relation to that which it excludes depends on the preservation of distinct boundaries and associated myths to maintain a coherent self-identity. This theory points to the motivations that produce a desire for uniformity between (often imaginary images of) culture and ancestry/race, as well as the misunderstanding that participation within both Aboriginal culture(s) and Western culture(s) is incongruent or even impossible.   Prairie Dog subtly noted these “colonial frontier logics” (Donald, 2012) when he lamented the absence of an acceptable identity position that would reflects his complex personal-professional location as an Aboriginal man and teacher, “it’s just that, there is this whole idea that it’s one or the other [Aboriginal or non-Aboriginal] and it is from colonialism…” Donald (2012) explores how these logics often organize subjects according to an insider/outsider binary, making one feel they must “…choose sides, to choose a life inside or outside the walls of the fort” 111  (p. 2). Donald proposes what is needed instead is opportunities to learn from Indigenous theorists/theories in order to work towards “complex understandings of human relationality that traverse deeply learned divides of the past and present” (p. 2).   In responding to Prairie Dog’s request for “some [persuasive] language”, I suggested he might say, “If I came to a place in my learning that I got a Métis sash for example, then I might feel better about displaying that cultural belonging”. This suggestion was likely an attempt to model how he might generate space to honour his ongoing, shifting, and multifaceted journey of developing a personal sense of profession and cultural/ancestral/racial identity/ies, rather than seeking consistency between Prairie Dog’s culture (i.e., Métis) and a cultural belonging he might wear (i.e., sash). Further, I hoped, rupturing the Imaginary Indian and blurring the insider/outsider colonial logics that uphold such problematic images might result in the process.  Prairie Dog’s quick retort, “What if [Prairie Dog’s principal] says, [District’s Elder in residence] will give you a Métis sash right now? And I’ll be like, ‘Uh, no…’” indicates familiarity with strategies used by administrators to resist teachers’ efforts to carve out an alternate subject position of Aboriginal teacher, and perhaps teacher in general. To this, I then offered a different reply that may have proved harder for the principal to counter, “It’s a really important part of my learning to understand my relationships and responsibilities to cultural belongings if I’m to display them.” Prairie Dog seemed to ponder the second option momentarily before deciding, “I’ll say, ‘I’m a bit concerned that I might get perceived as a knowledge holder from this territory who is welcoming, rather that a guest who is acknowledging.’” While a valid and likely effective response, Prairie Dog’s final decision implies that he is more comfortable exercising a strategy that upholds (i.e., I am an Aboriginal teacher, however, I am not from this place), rather than ruptures, the Imaginary Aboriginal teacher through presentation of a version of himself that is in 112  flux (i.e., “I’m sorry I’m not the Indian you had in mind!”).   Though communicated less explicitly, related to this final point of rupturing cultural myths is the discomfort experienced by Prairie Dog at having remembered a previous incident where he was hastily ‘decorated’ in a coastal design,  “[reciting the prepared dialogue] ‘If I’m going to stand there dressed’…but here’s the thing, I have done it before [Prairie Dog and Brooke laughing]. I was just helping out with some drummers and a colleague from the [Aboriginal education] department was like, ‘Here, throw this on’. I’m like, ‘Okay?’   I laughed as Prairie Dog shared this anecdote because he has a brilliant sense of humour and we have strong rapport, but also because the notion that he felt a sort of fidelity to an earlier version of himself that “even in retrospect…didn’t feel right…” suggested the absurdity of humanism’s stable, autonomous, unified, and knowable individual of will.  In my statements that close this fragment, I may have been attempting to share the conviction that I hold that all subjects are “[re]created in the ongoing effects of relations and in response to society’s codes” (St. Pierre, 2000, p. 503). I am considering possibilities ‘out loud’ of what it mean to verbally acknowledge continual (un)becoming teacher without ever being able to fully represent the forces that come to bear upon the process, or how it is understood and embodied by those involved. This gestures towards what Britzman (2003) refers to as a dialogic understanding of learning to teach.  Britzman (2003) defines a dialogic understanding as concern for “the ways talk, practice, and understanding are mediated by difference, history, point of view, and the polyphony of voices possessed by those immediately involved and borrowed from those who become present through language” (p. 237). She contends that such an approach generates new (types of) 113  understandings that work against flattening the intricacies of learning to teach and becoming teacher, as well as opens up space for reconceptualising practice in teacher education.   One proposed approach to understanding the dialogic in programs of teacher education is positioning teacher candidates as researchers. Britzman suggests that teacher educators support candidates in developing critical research strategies and skills (e.g., analyzing discourse, identifying one’s own deep investments in relations to others, taking into account instances of power and pedagogy, taking on the perspective of others) to focus specifically on teachers’ accounts of conflicts, tensions, and confusions in teaching practice. “[B]ecause the tensions of experience are lost and found in language” (p. 3), the dialogic does not assume a transgressive subject who pursues essential meaning through linguistically accounting for an individual’s being or consciousness. “The struggle for voice” is necessarily ongoing, “always subjective, dynamic, interactive, and incomplete; it is never a matter of mechanical correspondence between the speaker’s intentions, the language, and the listener [even when the listener is oneself]” (p. 44). Instead, agency resides in “the conditions of possibility that provoke new thought (Davies, 2010, p. 55). “[R]ecognizing that knowledge can only take the form of a construction can open us to the dialogic, a discursive practice that can produce knowledge capable of deconstructing the discourse of common sense. Students can learn how historical and social practices produce and shape what is taken and refused as knowledge” (Britzman, 2003, p. 230). 4.1.4 Teacher mentor: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal school staff Elizabeth: This year the Aboriginal support worker45 [at my school] is really young and I’ve had some interesting moments with her because it’s her first time. First, she comes to my [First Nations Studies 12] class and                                                 45 Distinct from Aboriginal teacher consultants in the districts studied who hold a BEd degree and generally work closely with teachers, Aboriginal support workers provide cultural awareness in schools and support Aboriginal students and families.  114  does the assignments, which is totally fine. She’s like, “I don’t know any of this [information]. This is so great!” This is great, but it’s also this weird thing where she’s aligning herself in a more student-like role, versus teacher role.   This is going to sound super silly but the other day [we were taking notes on] the British North American Act - the splitting of provincial and federal politics, who was in charge of what, and what that meant for Aboriginal people. I’m trying to get [students] to make connections so I ask, “Do we pay taxes in BC that other provinces don’t pay?” and my Aboriginal worker was like, “Yes!” I’m just like [silence]. And then I ask, “Where? In what places? Do you guys know?” She yells out again, “Alberta!” And I’m [thinking], “I know that you know.” It’s just this hard conversation [to imagine having] because I want to be like, “Thank you for coming and being supportive. Thank you for being in this place. You’re awesome. Your energy is unbelievable, but you’re not a student.”   And things like, she’ll come into other classes and give food – treats, like chocolate - just to the Aboriginal students and not anyone else. I have to say, “You have to be careful because you’re creating a bit of a divide,” because we also have kids from a low socio-economic group who are like, “Why the f#*k didn’t you give me a chocolate?” And the irony of saying, “Don’t give Aboriginal students too much” is incredible and we [Elizabeth and BM] know that that’s not what I’m saying.   What’s been so interesting about this [Aboriginal support worker in the school] is there has been some staff who have been quite harsh to her. [One] staff member said [when referring to an unrelated incident when the Aboriginal support worker removed an Aboriginal student from class without consulting with the teacher], “Oh that’s so Aboriginal of her.” And I was like, “Ughhhhhhh!!” And then you realize, “Oh, are people not buying into her [Aboriginal support worker] as a role on staff because they feel that she’s not living up to the ideal? I’ve made a decision to say, “Okay, she doesn’t know. There are no other Aboriginal workers in the school. She doesn’t get to watch what others are doing. She’s literally on an island trying to do her best. What she is doing is creating really strong relationships, which is fantastic. Sometimes we do that through bribing kids with food and that’s okay.”   So I’m just going to be her friend and walk her through this and also challenge what I think, what my perceptions are. What do I think that an Aboriginal worker should do? What is my ideal, right? I have also had amazing experiences with Aboriginal workers. Like my Aboriginal worker at [alternative secondary school] was working on getting kids status. That’s what he was doing! It was incredible and it was emotional. He and his wife worked on the reserve that he was from and knew a lot of the paper work so [he had] this amazing skill set. He was helping the kids do this before they went out into the world; [he was] dealing with things like identity.   It’s tricky because she [Aboriginal support worker] is so lovely…but these are the dynamics that we work on. I don’t think we have a great system for supporting Aboriginal workers in our school as it is, and then throwing someone in there who maybe hasn’t had the training. [There’s not] someone following up and asking, “What does your day look like? Is that what we want you to be doing?” I think with something as simple as that, things could be way different …  And I don’t want her to have to fight not only for who [she] is, but for the idea of who [she] is, which are very different. I’m not at the point where I feel that I can give my class over to her because I would be//I’m a bit of a control freak//I would be really worried about what that would look like, but I know that I have to do that. I know that I need to empower her; that I have to figure out a safe way for her succeed. I have a couple of ideas…The question I am wrestling with is, how do I give feedback to her so that she still shows up in my room?  115   One of the ways that this data fragment can be read is that it illustrates Elizabeth’s process of (un)becoming teacher as she thinks through, upholds, and challenges her expectations about the role a new Aboriginal support worker46 should play in her classroom, as well as her own position as teacher therein. The “perceptions” and “ideal” Elizabeth holds sometimes call to mind Britzman’s cultural myths and contrast with the somewhat rudimentary day-to-day practices of the Aboriginal support worker that she identifies. Though it is unlikely that Elizabeth would use the language of Britzman, she does appear to recognize that the sources of knowledge that inform her expectations are worthy of further exploration and potentially reconfiguration within relationship with her colleague, “So I’m just going to be her friend and walk her through this and also challenge what I think, what my perceptions are. What do I think that an Aboriginal worker should do? What is my ideal, right?”  Mutual recognition that the Aboriginal support worker, who was responsible for assisting the majority Aboriginal student population enrolled in the course, was unfamiliar with the BC First Nations Studies 12 curricular content led the support worker to suggest she attend Elizabeth’s classes and “do the assignments”. BC First Nations Studies 12 is recognized as either a Grade 11 Social Studies course or an approved Grade 12 Social Studies course. Students who identify as Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal may elect to enroll in the course that is organized around four key elements: land and relationships; contact, colonialism, and resistance; cultural expressions; and leadership and self-determination (BCMoE, 2006; Campbell, Menzies, and Peacock, 2003).   Elizabeth understood the purpose of the arrangement and was even excited by the                                                 46 The Aboriginal support worker both identified as Aboriginal and was responsible for providing school-based support to students who self-identified as Aboriginal within the district. 116  support worker’s enthusiasm, however, “interesting moments” and a prospective “hard conversation” arose when the support worker began “aligning herself in a more student-like role, versus teacher role”. From Elizabeth’s perspective, this alignment is typified by the support worker “yell[ing] out” answers in class, hence obstructing students’ opportunities to answer the questions on BC First Nations Studies 12 topics posed by Elizabeth and thwarting her attempts to get a class discussion started. While Elizabeth may have been accustomed to working with educators (inclusive of teachers and support workers) who hold and share knowledge, this modification is an example of how she strived to create a place for another version of teacher in her classroom and the unanticipated productions that resulted when doing the work of disrupting   normative orientations to authority, power, and knowledge.  Elizabeth felt she “ha[d] to say” to the Aboriginal support worker that she might be “creating a bit of a divide” in “giv[ing] food – treats, like chocolate - just to the Aboriginal students and not anyone else”. This cautionary note suggests the support worker may have lacked content knowledge related to the BC First Nations Studies 12 course regarding contemporary, and often adverse, Aboriginal-non-Aboriginal relationships, as well as the understanding that her practices might further entrench this divide through perpetuating negative attitudes and misconceptions about ‘special treatment’ for Indigenous peoples (see Madden, Higgins, & Korteweg, 2013; Pedersen & Barlow, 2008; Pedersen, Dudgeon, Watt, & Griffiths, 2006). Elizabeth then went on to mention the first Aboriginal colleague who worked with her in a support role and was drawing on his “amazing skill set” and “working on getting kids status…[and] dealing with things like identity”. Correspondingly, this statement may point to the sources of experiential knowledge that informed her initial expectations. Though not the type of ‘expert’ canonical knowledge ‘possessed’ and demanded by Sarah’s school associate in the 117  second data fragment, the first Aboriginal support worker that Elizabeth worked with brought specialist knowledge and a set of unique skills relevant to Aboriginal students.  Despite honouring a version of educator who is learning alongside students and sitting with the complications produced as a result of the female Aboriginal support worker taking on a “a more student-like role”, as well as recognizing a distinct and even subversive form of ‘expert’ knowledge held by the male Aboriginal support worker, Elizabeth continues to be shaped by cultural norms about what it ‘means’ to be a teacher. The cultural myth that “everything depends on the teacher” is evident in the statement, “I’m not at the point where I feel that I can give my class over to her because I would be//I’m a bit of a control freak//I would be really worried about what that would look like, but I know that I have to do that. I know that I need to empower her; that I have to figure out a safe way for her succeed.” According to Elizabeth’s logic, it would seem as though the marker of a successful teacher is the ability to ‘take charge’. That being said, based on my observation of four secondary social studies and applied skills classes taught by Elizabeth, I suggest that Elizabeth’s reference to control is referring to managing the environment in which students learn rather than a tyrannical teacher who does not view students as knowers and contributors. My perception is that Elizabeth took great care to design pedagogical approaches that created particular learning conditions whereby students were more likely to follow the meaning-making pathway, and arrive at the type of knowledge/knowing, Elizabeth desired.  The discriminatory remark that Elizabeth recalled, “That’s so Aboriginal of her,” referred 118  to a situation that differently upheld the notion that “everything depends on the teacher”47. It appears to have precipitated a question that plays a significant role in Elizabeth’s (un)doing: “Are people not buying into her [Aboriginal support worker] as a role on staff because they feel that she’s not living up to the ideal?” An advanced understanding of colonial relations of power and the production of privilege demonstrated throughout our interviews, as well as a genuine appreciation of the Aboriginal support worker’s classroom presence heightens Elizabeth’s thoughtfulness regarding how to best move forward. Elizabeth recognizes several reasons for disparity between the ideal and actual practices of the Aboriginal support worker, and works within her current circumstance to support her colleague in the manner she thinks best. Issues identified by Elizabeth include a lack of: a) professional role models (e.g., “There are no other Aboriginal workers in the school. She doesn’t get to watch what others are doing. She’s literally on an island trying to do her best.”); b) accountability (e.g., “[There’s not] someone following up and asking, ‘What does your day look like? Is that what we want you to be doing?’); and c) training (e.g., “I don’t think we have a great system for supporting Aboriginal workers in our school as it is, and then throwing someone in there who maybe hasn’t had the training.”).   Each of the factors identified as contributing to the breakdown, speak to systemic areas to focus on the improvement of school-based Aboriginal education. The last issue (i.e., lack of training regarding Aboriginal topics and issues facing Aboriginal students and families) raises several related questions for the field of Aboriginal education and teacher education: Who is well positioned to learn about Aboriginal peoples and Aboriginal-non-Aboriginal relationships in                                                 47 The teacher’s comment referenced an unrelated incident when the Aboriginal support worker removed an Aboriginal student from class without consulting said teacher, indicating Elizabeth’s colleague assumed ultimate command of classroom activities and granted little responsibility and independence to the support worker. 119  Faculties of Education? Who is not? How might the majority population of students who identify as non-Aboriginal, of European ancestry, and/or white accessing knowledge of this type have the potential to reinforce colonial relations of power? What are the some of the unanticipated school-based roles those who access this knowledge take on (e.g., Elizabeth acting as an Aboriginal education mentor to the Aboriginal support worker)? How might teacher qualification programs invite practicing teachers engaging school-based Aboriginal education to share their experiences and perspectives?  4.1.5 Obstructing teacher specialist: (un)Becoming teacher and Aboriginal students Estelle: I thought I was going to teach one thing and now I’m teaching something else, which is a whole other story. I was working at [middle school] doing very normal band, choir, [and] music exploration for grades 6, 7, & 8. I wanted to [connect with] an Aboriginal knowledge holder to bring in some Aboriginal music and drumming, so I got a grant. Because the grant was from an Aboriginal source, it went through [the principal] in the Aboriginal Education Department. So [the principal of Aboriginal education] and I connected then. In my second year, [the principal] was like, “I’m courting you. One day you’ll come work with me!”   They didn’t have a music teacher at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus]. A lot of the kids were itching to get into music, art, that kind of stuff. [The principal] said, “We’re never going to save these kids if we don’t give them music.” That’s when I knew she was super awesome! And so she created a [teaching] position - the main focus is music specialist and then the secondary areas. Because [the school is] so holistic, you just fill in the blanks where you need to. So [I also teach] art education, any sewing, textiles, and English. And I am not a trained English teacher at all. That’s been the hugest growing area for me. Holy smokes, don’t know what I’m doing! I mean I know a little bit now…  And so my - and again we all have different views and visions – but my understanding of what I would be doing would be a lot of music…My degree is a Bachelor of Music in Music Education. What that means is my two areas of teaching are band and choir for high school. So at [previous secondary school], I was doing very, very normal high school music stuff – band, choir, jazz band, guitar. Really, really normal kind of stuff and now it’s all different of course, but that’s okay.   So last year at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] it was more guitar, a little singing, but the biggest [difference] I’ve seen with these kids is a lot of them had never taken a music class before. So many of them were skipping school in their previous schools that they didn’t even take music explorations in grades 6, 7, & 8. They had just never played an instrument! It was so fascinating to see [that] making music can be so terrifying for people. I grew up in a musician home. Like, if you were getting dinner in my house, you were taking piano lessons. I love that, but I was so oblivious to the fact that not everyone would feel that comfortable.   120  So, for me there was a lot of growth. I can only explain it through example. I don’t have the words for it. In a ‘typical’48 school, to teach the class some chords on guitar I’d say, “You’ve got five minutes. Practice these three chords and focus on switching smoothly between the G major and the C major because that’s the hardest switch. That’s your goal for the next five minutes. You practice and I’m going to circle around and help you as needed and then we’ll all play together.” If I say that to these kids, they’ll literally sit there silently because they just//I mean it’s all kinds of different things from: they don’t understand how to take the direction - I’ve not presented it in a way that works for them - but for others they’ve never practiced an instrument. So If I say, “This is free time,” that means nothing to them. They have no idea; I’m totally talking another language to them!  I’d never met kids who were not ready for music [and] that I was actually going to be working with them to get them ready. In a regular high school if a kid signs up for guitar class but isn’t ready for any number of reasons, they end up dropping. You don’t work through it with them. [Some of the ways that this ‘working through’ has taken shape] is kids are learning ukulele, as well as guitar, which is so much simpler for them and there’s more success. [Under the course code: Music General], I’m running piano. We’ve got keyboards set up for all the kids and headphones. They can practice in silence, which is the biggest thing; there’s this safety. They can make all the mistakes they want and no one is going to hear them…I’ve got a tiny little choir of five girls. We meet once a week and it’s called voice class because I think choir doesn’t sound as cool.   My time at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] is completely different than anything I ever pictured myself doing. There is tons of value in it and, at the same time, I don’t know that this is where I’m going to be next year. I’m currently finding that it’s not life-giving for me in the same way that it was last year or [in the way] that I expected it to be. There is absolutely zero criticism of [alternative school with Aboriginal focus]. I want to make that really clear. I think [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] is super bad ass! I’m hugely proud of it. It’s about identity. I’m learning so much more about myself, and what I need as a teacher. What I need as a professional. I’m learning about what I can create, versus what I need essentially given to me by a work environment. There’s a lot of spirit wrestling going on right now.   My identity with students at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] versus previous schools, it’s just night and day. At [alternative school with Aboriginal focus], I’m someone different. I’m someone new. I’m learning. I think part of my spirit wresting right now is around [the fact] that I have now lived one year and two months in a job that I am not acting as [Estelle]. I’m not doing all the normal routines and things that I know to be true to me. At [previous middle and high school], my relationships with students were exactly what I expected them to be coming out of my teaching program. It felt comfortable. I felt confident. I felt knowledgeable. I got to bring the aspects of myself that I value.  …  I’m used to coming from this world where I send out the love. “Let’s raise the bar, raise the expectations, and work hard together. We can do it!” and I’m used to getting that back. Whereas at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus], [getting it back] doesn’t happen. I’m working with a different type of kid. For the first time in my life, I have students that didn’t ‘buy in’ right away…So I don’t know how I could describe my identity as a teacher at                                                 48 Estelle formed virtual quotation marks in the air with her fingers (i.e., air quotes) to signify the presence of scare quotes and mark her ironic usage of a particular expression (i.e., ‘typical’) that is not necessarily her own/one she would typically use.  121  [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] other than my relationship has had to become very different with the students. Because all of the parts that are very true to me, for the majority of the kids, [those parts] don’t relate, they don’t resonate. For a lot of them, I would be that nerdy keener kid that doesn’t go over well with them. So I’ve really had to//not change who I am, but relate differently. It’s been made pretty clear to me pretty quickly that not everybody is as excited about things as I am. So for some people they might see [my approach] as insincere and that’s something I’ve had to be aware of…If it’s going to matter, I need to make sure there’s enough sincerity or that I back up my enthusiasm with specifics or examples. I can’t just tell someone that I’m super excited to [do] whatever because they might not believe me.   This data fragment opens with Estelle commenting, “I thought I was going to teach one thing and now I’m teaching something else, which is a whole other story.” As the fragment progresses, readers get a sense of the significant forces that shaped the “whole other story”: a self-identified Aboriginal principal of Aboriginal education who “court[ed]” Estelle before “creat[ing] a [teaching] position” that Estelle went on to fill; the “holistic” alternative school with Aboriginal focus where she taught; and, notably, the majority Aboriginal (i.e., >90%) students with whom she worked. It also becomes evident that, for Estelle, what (i.e., content), how (i.e., pedagogical approaches), and who (i.e., students) she teaches can not be disentangled from her own personal-professional sense of self as teacher,  My [professional] identity with students at [alternative school with Aboriginal focus] versus previous schools, it’s just night and day. At [alternative school with Aboriginal focus], I’m someone different. I’m someone new. I’m learning. I think part of my spirit wresting right now is around [the fact] that I have now lived one year and two months in a job that I am not acting as [Estelle]. I’m not doing all the normal routines and things that I know to be true to me.  As Estelle negotiated her memories of “doing very, very normal high school music stuff – band, choir, jazz band, guitar” and her perceptions of her more recent work that she described as “completely different than anything I ever pictured myself doing”, she engaged in what she referred to as “spirit wrestling”. Remarking on this grappling process can be viewed as an attempt by Estelle to share the emotions associated with her experience of (un)becoming a particular version of teacher in relation to Aboriginal students in an alternative school. It also 122  reveals the co-construction of teacher identity and music, music education, and music students.  Throughout the interview series, Estelle continuously made reference to herself as a “music specialist” giving the impression that her own sense of teacher identity was deeply tied to her identity as a musician and music education expert in middle-high school concert band, concert choir, and guitar. In outlining the contours of a music specialist, Estelle emphasized a focus on “refining the craft” as opposed to introducing new curricular content throughout a course and at each level like a science educator might, “…the focus ends up being on the performance, and the practice, and the journey. How do we get from this [hand gesture in front of neck] good at our instrument to being that [hand gesture above head] good? So my identity is very coachy”. In recalling her previous teaching position, she also marked character education as a component of the work of a music educator:  The things I really valued about myself and [that] I wanted to put forth were then instilled in my students as well. [For example,] “You’re [students] playing in a band or you’re singing in a choir. You are not a soloist. You are part of a group. Your role is hugely important for the rest of the community, as far as your playing, as well as stacking your chair at the end [of class/practice].   She went on to detail how a music specialist’s values were reflected, and could in turn be perceived, within students’ behaviour, once again underscoring the significant relationship between Estelle’s sense of teacher identity and the students with whom she worked,  Specialists are often looking for the right fit…if you think about a theatre teacher or a band teacher, that band program becomes their program. The way the kids behave at concerts, at festivals, it’s very much a function of what the teacher brings and that’s why all these programs have different identities. It’s because it’s a function of who the teacher is.  This comment suggests that specialists may have access to greater autonomy than secondary teachers who work within a department alongside colleagues with similar qualifications. Lastly, of 123  music specialists, Estelle spoke of what she identified as a tendency towards an exclusive nature, “A lot of music teachers are quite elitist…the only thing we’re trained to teach is music so we better be good at it! At the same time, music is often being pushed out of schools so we are always defending our programs.”  One could view the characteristics of a music specialist that Estelle identifies as inflections of Britzman’s cultural myths about teacher/teaching that are produced within a particular example of secondary music education in a public school district. Further, perhaps Estelle’s mention of “the right fit” sought by music specialists is calling on the type of symmetry she perceived between her own and students’ beliefs about learning and playing/singing music that upheld a clear sense of herself as teacher in her previous position: My relationships with students were exactly what I expected them to be coming out of my teaching program. It felt comfortable. I felt confident. I felt knowledgeable. I got to bring the aspects of myself that I value.  …  I’m used to coming from this world where I send out the love. “Let’s raise the bar, raise the expectations, and work hard together. We can do it!” and I’m used to getting that back.  The students in the “‘typical’ school” may have reinforced the image of musical specialist presented in Estelle’s “teaching program” so much so that it is rendered a coherent, stable, essentialized teacher position rather than “a normalizing fiction49” (Britzman, 2003).  Estelle carried this image of music specialist forward as she imagined the work she would do in the alternative school. This is evidenced by statements made following those presented in                                                 49 Normalizing fiction calls on the dominant subject position of Teacher made available through discourse that is “impossibly desired” (Britzman, 2003) and exceeded by teaching subjects. 124  the data fragment above that suggest she initially felt that it was her unique training as both a music specialist and Aboriginal educator50 that positioned her well for the role,  So when I took this job, I was very much under the impression that this was going to be me using my training [as a musician] and my degree in music education, and that someone who just happened to study guitar or piano would not be able to do the job. I’m now seeing that this is not the case.  Not only did Estelle envision herself as a music specialist in the new school context, the data fragment also reveals linked images held by Estelle of students in need of saving and a teacher rescuer charged with this task, “[The principal] said, ‘We’re never going to save these kids if we don’t give them music.’ That’s when I knew she was super awesome!” Moreover, music education and anticipated outcomes (e.g., improved self-direction, ability to work as part of a team, capacity to set and achieve goals) are portrayed as the means through which they will be liberated. This statement, as well as some of those made by other teacher participants in previous data fragments (e.g., “One of the reasons I have such an appreciation for Aboriginal students is that...I related to the way that they came from a completely different culture that wasn’t represented [in schools].” – Winifred), reveals spectres of whiteness.   Inspired by Mazzei’ s (2007) engagement with silence in qualitative research,  elsewhere (Madden, In press) I present spectres of whiteness as those traces in which whiteness51 on the move is glimpsed: shocking and vanishing among teachers’ narratives of Indigenizing and                                                 50 Estelle completed an Indigenous Education Summer Institute offered through a Faculty of Education in a British Columbia University. The institute focused on immersing BEd graduates who earned a secondary teaching qualification in local Indigenous ways of knowing, learning, and histories. As such, the position that merged her interest, qualifications, and experience in both music and Aboriginal education “seemed like the perfect fit”. 51 As described in Chapter 3 – Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach, I understand Eurocentrism, whiteness, white supremacy, racialization, and racism as deeply entangled and co-constitutive. 125  decolonizing education. Spectre as metaphor captures the ways that whiteness continues to haunt teachers who are engaging decolonizing processes. Thus it ruptures the binary opposition Indigenizing or decolonizing teacher/resistant teacher as discourse always already circulates, producing and produced by subjects in gh(o/a)stly ways. Spectre also speaks to the ways in which whiteness appears anew as research contexts and representations shift52, provoking openness to acknowledging their presence. A point is not reached where a spectre is distinguished, as it would then cease to be spectral. Instead data fragments are viewed as networks of agents, absence, presence, elsewhere, and elsewhen and the circulation of power and co-constitution of whiteness therein is examined. Tracing spectres of whiteness continues throughout Chapter 5: Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming that focuses on the relationship between teacher identity and Indigenous education and teacher education in the form of university coursework, as well as inservice teacher PD. For this chapter that explores subject positions of teacher and (un)becoming, it is appropriate to note that it is widely argued that whiteness and Eurocentrism create the possibilities for, and the conditions in which teachers take up, the position of rescuer in juxtaposition to deficient Aboriginal student (Dion, 2009; Donald, 2011; Higgins, Madden, & Korteweg, 2015; Madden, 2016).   Working with students in the alternative school appears to have ruptured some of the assumptions and connected images that Estelle held, and that I propose are shaped by whiteness and Eurocentrism. For example, Estelle was surprised that “making music can be so terrifying for people” and students “don’t understand how to take the direction [to practice an instrument                                                 52 The researcher, a significant force in the production of research contexts and representations, is neither isolated from larger societal discourses, nor fixed, knowable, or transcendent, despite sedimented notions of reflexivity that often suggest otherwise (Pillow, 2003). 126  independently in class]”. Recall, Frankenberg (1993) conceptualizes whiteness as a location of structural advantage, of race privilege; as well as a standpoint from which those who are read and/or identify as white consider themselves, others, and society overall. Having “gr[own] up in a musician home”, to Estelle, “taking piano lessons” is as common as “getting dinner”. Her privilege in terms of access to: an instrument; musical mentors in the home; music education in schools; finances for lessons, uniforms, out of town performances; and time to practice while studying at school and university is normalized. As a result, by her own admission, she was “so oblivious to the fact that not everyone would feel that comfortable [making music]”. Estelle did not comment on the relationship between her position prior to teaching at the alternative school and whiteness, supporting the notion that whiteness remains a set of cultural practices that usually go unmarked and unnamed (Frankenberg, 2003). Nonetheless, and perhaps more important than explicit naming, her remarks indicate she viewed herself - the teacher - as responsible for shifting to better align with students’ perceptions, experience, and needs, rather than the other way around.  Estelle shared a number of examples of how she shifted her pedagogical approaches (e.g., “They can practice [keyboard] in silence [using headphones]...there’s this safety”), her conception of music education (e.g., “I’ve got a tiny little choir of five girls. We meet once a week and it’s called voice class because I think choir doesn’t sound as cool.”), and the manner in which she engages in relationship with students (e.g., “I need to make sure there’s enough sincerity or that I back up my enthusiasm with specifics or examples. I can’t just tell someone that I’m super excited to [do] whatever because they might not believe me.”). However, this (un)becoming music specialist in the context of Aboriginal education is not without cost. After the first year, Estelle felt as though teaching was “not life-giving for me in the same way that it was last year or 127  [in the way] that I expected it to be.” She was “spirit wrestling” because she could not reconcile her sense of self as teacher and her experiences of teaching, “all of the parts that are very true to me, for the majority of the kids, [those parts] don’t relate, they don’t resonate”. She was struggling with difficult questions about the characteristics of Aboriginal education and educators that warrant consideration in the larger fields of teacher education and Aboriginal education: Could she sustain her commitment to Aboriginal education while working as a music specialist in a ‘typical’ school (through acknowledging territory and teaching local drum songs to the concert band for example)? What are the essential characteristics a teacher should possess to work well with Aboriginal students? Are the necessities required by a teacher self-generated, and/or are they provided by a work environment? How do disciplinary expertise and commitments sit next to the goals of Aboriginal education?, and, I would add, How can teacher education prepare and support teachers to contend with challenges to their “comfort”, “confidence”, and “knowledge” presented by (un)becoming teacher in general, and (un)becoming teacher specialist in particular?  4.2 (un)Becoming Teacher and School-based Sources of Aboriginality  Data fragments produced during interviews with early career teachers anchor analysis of relationships between teachers and school-based sources of Aboriginality that reinforced, reconfigured, and challenged teachers’ emerging professional identities as they navigated Faculties of Education, schools, and areas between (e.g., teaching practicum). Five significant school-based sources were considered: (un)becoming teacher and a) Aboriginal pedagogy, b) Aboriginal content, c) the Imaginary Indian, d) Aboriginal school staff, and e) Aboriginal students.   Each source was connected to particular subject positions of teacher in Aboriginal education and processes of unbecoming. Prompts and questions to guide teacher educators and 128  educational researchers in exploring and responding to subjectification in this emerging landscape were raised, and can be summarized as follows: The image of a relational teacher (centred on human relations), constructed in response to Britzman’s signified teacher, reveals an example of a de/colonial subject position that is deeply constitutive of/constituted by that which it opposes. Resistance to a teacher viewed as both non-Aboriginal and racialized calls attention to the ‘type’ of teacher who is (not) well positioned and supported to engage school-based Aboriginal education, and raises questions about difference that exceeds the markers Aboriginal/non-Aboriginal and school-based Aboriginal education and educator. Reproduction and rupture of the Imaginary Indian teacher traces the impact of colonial logics and stereotypical imagery in formal Aboriginal education. It introduces a poststructural notion of agency that can be supported in programs of teacher education through understanding the dialogic. Linked to the ‘type’ of teacher that is supported to engage school-based Aboriginal education, the image of teacher mentor shines light on the ‘type’ of student who is (not) well positioned to learn about Aboriginal education in Faculties of Education. The problematic way that overrepresentation of white-presenting, English-speaking, Euro-Western teaching subjects in Faculties of Education contributes to reinforcement of colonial relations of power is signaled. Finally, the obstruction of enacting the subject position music teacher specialist raises important questions about the characteristics a teacher should possess to work well with Aboriginal students, and how these traits align with disciplinary conventions.     129  Chapter 5: Aboriginal Education and Teacher Education: Pedagogical Pathways and Productions of (un)Becoming  This chapter features data fragments produced during second interviews with teachers that focused on their participation in coursework, and in some cases extended professional development (PD), on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous53 education. Many of the central research questions that give form to this chapter were introduced in Chapter 2: A Review of Literature: Indigenous Education, Teacher Education, and Teacher Identity and Chapter 3: Theoretical and Methodological Framework: Designing Interviews with a Decolonizing Approach to Learning to Teach, and mirror those that directed the second interviews. They include: How do university-based coursework and/or extended PD on the topic of Aboriginal/Indigenous education shape early career teachers’ understanding of the purpose of, goals for, and characteristics and practices of teachers who engage school-based Aboriginal education? How do teachers across complex and shifting identity positions construct a sense of teacher identity through engagement with Aboriginal/Indigenous education and teacher education? What is the relationship between pedagogical pathways and subject positions of teacher? (How) Are these processes of subjectification connected to widespread narratives of teacher resistance and teacher decolonizing? What is the relationship between teacher education and the greater school-based Aboriginal education landscape?  Recall that I organize pedagogical approaches utilized internationally by teacher                                                 53 As indicated previously, Faculties of Education and school districts often did not distinguish between the terms Aboriginal and Indigenous and used them interchangeably. For the purposes of recruiting and posing questions during interviews, this discursive practice was reflected. I use the term Aboriginal education when making claims about the dissertation study to reflect the educational context in which the research took place. 130  educators to engage Indigenous education with/in Faculties of Education and professional development for in-service teachers according to four pathways, whereas others may conceptualize the practice of Aboriginal education and teacher education through different frameworks. Pedagogical pathways include: pedagogy for decolonizing, learning from Indigenous traditional models of teaching, Indigenous and anti-racist education, and Indigenous and place-based education (Glanfield & Madden, forthcoming; Madden, 2015).  Based on analysis of teachers’ experiences of Aboriginal education coursework and PD, I suggest that all four pedagogical pathways were utilized in teacher education in Metro Vancouver. Statements made by 6 out of 9 teachers suggest that three or more pathways54 guided teacher education that they participated in, with learning from Indigenous traditional models of teaching being the most common pathway (9/9 teachers). Teachers were least familiar with approaches that indicate an Indigenous and anti-racist education pathway (4/9 teachers), which is consistent with an emerging body of scholarship that calls for theory building and application that supports greater exploration of race, as well as other intersections of identity, in the de/colonial context of Indigenous education (Korteweg et al., 2010; Lawrence & Dua, 2005; Gaztambide-Fernández, 2012; Madden, 2016).  As suggested in the review of scholarly literature, pedagogical pathways in practice were often commensurate and complimentary. A number of examples, some of which are presented, suggest that teacher educators were charting their own route through what I understand as                                                 54 Where ‘I’ refers to Indigenous, ‘D’ – decolonizing, ‘A’ – anti-racist, and ‘P’ – place-based, statements made by teachers suggest experiences of Aboriginal education and teacher education can be organized according to the following distributions: Teacher 1 (I, D, P); Teacher 2 (I, D, P); Teacher 3 (I, P); Teacher 4 (I, D, P, A); Teacher 5 (I, P, A); Teacher 6 (I, D); Teacher 7 (I, D, P); Teacher 8 (I, A); and Teacher 9 (I, D, A). 131  connecting pathways while considering contextual factors such as place, local teachings, their own and teachers’55 positionalities, and their priorities for Aboriginal/Indigenous education and teacher education. In this chapter, four data fragments and respective analysis are organized according to the pedagogical pathway that appears dominant in the fragment. This is a strategy to explore the central inquiry questions detailed that guide this chapter, however, is not intended to obscure instances where pathways merge and blur. 5.1 Pedagogical Pathways 5.1.1 Pedagogy for decolonizing and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming Prairie Dog: In [Indigenous education] graduate studies, you start believing in yourself and the way you think about teaching and learning…The whole thing that I think they were doing was getting us to think about the status quo and is it working or not. So even getting some space to think about that was really interesting because, “Ah, there are a lot of cats thinking that [current conception of education] doesn’t really work!” And I’m thinking the same thing. Again, I want to acknowledge there are teachers doing really good work [who are not working from an Indigenous foundation]…I saw [noted Aboriginal scholar of decolonizing education] in a lecture and she asked us to think about, “Whose project are we serving?” That was really important. It got me thinking, whose project am I serving with some of this knowledge? Who am I teaching for? Who is benefitting?  I think the literature we’ve been reading in my graduate program really opened my eyes. That article that Manulani Aluli Meyer wrote on subjectivity and place. Just giving yourself permission to really not know and be vulnerable. To understand that you’re distinct, [that] what you’re going through is personalized. It’s empowering, when you start thinking about learning that way. You feel as though you have something to contribute and you’re thinking for yourself. It’s funny, even in my first year of graduate studies, I would read [literature] as if it were truth. I would never really question because, “These guys have worked so hard on this paper and they’ve done way more work in this area than I have. Who am I to judge? Who am I to criticize?” You start to look at things different and ask, “How do I think about this?” Trusting yourself to critically look at it and just personalize it. In [Professor’s class], he really encouraged us to, “Think for ourselves!” because we’re each a set of unique relationships and experiences. Then you start learning for yourself and not just to get a grade so you can move on…You also start believing in your [teaching] approach as valid.  Brooke: So I’ve heard you talk about a lot of things that you were excited about as a learner, and how your development//the skills you learned will support you on your journey as a teacher. Is there anything you’re still a bit wary about?                                                 55 Since teacher education refers to professional development for inservice teachers and Faculty of Education coursework for initial teacher qualification, graduate studies, and additional teaching qualifications, the use of the term ‘teachers’ is inclusive of practicing teachers, teacher candidates, and BEd graduates. 132   Prairie Dog: Um…I don’t know actually…well I mean the experience [I] had with a residential school survivor in [graduate coursework], sitting there listening in a circle to the intergenerational trauma56 experienced by the survivor and her family as a result of residential school. Because the emotion is so raw, I’m very apprehensive about that topic. I’m not sure I’m really quite prepared yet to really dive into that as a teacher. There were only a few times where I felt really awkward in [graduate studies]. That was one. I just felt so out of place. Maybe guilt would be a more appropriate word to use? I really didn’t know anything about the residential schools. It was one of, maybe my first, experience. It was really heavy. And learning doesn’t have to be light. I don’t know what to say about it to be honest. I wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing that I was put in that situation. It’s just very remarkable. Like I remember it.   I went on to ask a series of questions57 about the measures taken leading up to and following the circle with the survivor in an effort to explore how students were prepared for, and supported to process, (the potential) emotions associated with the event (e.g., awkwardness, guilt). Prairie Dog did not recall learning about: (students’ relationship to) the history of residential schools, talking circle protocols and procedures should a student need to remove themselves, or how witnessing the testimony of a survivor might impact students before taking part in the talking circle. He remembered the instructor leaving the circle and room to get tissues, but noted no pamphlets or contact information for counselling and cultural support services were provided. To the best of his knowledge, there was minimal discussion following the circle about students’ experiences of participating that ranged from unnamed/unmarked discomfort, as illustrated by Prairie Dog, to outwardly expressed emotions (e.g., crying, leaving the classroom). As I asked these questions, he                                                 56 The legacy of Canada's Indian residential school system is one of neglect and abuse, as well as physical, biological, and cultural genocide. The effects of 100+ years of residential schools on survivors, as well as successive generations and entire Aboriginal communities can still be seen today. Deterrents of health, wellbeing, and long-term resilience such as: cultural conflict, poor self-concept, inequitable educational outcomes, poverty and economic underdevelopment, disproportionate levels of incarceration, substance abuse, and sickness and death from preventable illness have been connected to these early schooling systems (Kirkness, 1999; Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015). 57 These questions were informed by a review of scholarly literature on pedagogy for decolonizing, wherein teacher educators offered suggestions to prepare for and process difficult knowledge and emotions associated with de/colonial content and contexts (Madden, 2015). 133  remarked, “I’ve never really thought about those things actually. I’ve never seen it done any other way”. Our discussion continued: Prairie Dog: I guess from a privileged point of view, I don’t know what to say.  Brooke: When you say “privileged point of view”, what are you tethering that privilege to?  Prairie Dog: I don’t know. Settler, whiteness, mainstream, I guess. Which, in some ways, is how I still identify…I have a lot of privilege. I live in a nice house, in a nice neighbourhood. I’ve never been the subject of any sort of racism to my knowledge. A lot of people in my class that look Indigenous do or have. And I have no idea what that would be like.   Brooke: So how does alignment between race and ancestry sit in a special way next to the topic of residential schools? I’m wondering if, for you in that moment, being asked to witness and respond to a residential school survivor, you feel really white? Is this particular experience of Aboriginality very far away?  Prairie Dog: I think that would be a good way to put it. I did feel very white sitting there listening. That part of my identity was how I related to that story versus someone who has really felt the heartbreaks of colonization. Then coupled with the fact that I had no idea. I felt very stupid that I didn’t know what happened.   This data fragment, as well as overall discussion with Prairie Dog on the topic of university coursework, suggests that he viewed the graduate program with an Indigenous education concentration that he completed to be guided by pedagogy for decolonizing. Decolonizing Canadian education was introduced in Chapter 1:  Early Career Teachers, Teacher Identity, and Aboriginal Education Across Institutions as the tailored enactment of two interconnected and recursive processes: deconstructing and reconstructing (Battiste, 2000, 2013; Donald, 2009, 2012). With respect to pedagogy for decolonizing in the context of teacher education, teacher educators/Indigenous education scholars describe deconstructing as pedagogical approaches that address the exploitative history of education on Indigenous peoples. Teachers are involved in examining historical and ongoing colonial systems founded in knowledge and standards of engagement predicated on colonizing relations. Prairie Dog identified the relationships among Eurocentric education structures and subjects (e.g., curricular documents, school organization according to discrete grade levels and disciplines, normative 134  version of Teacher/Teaching) and maintenance of the “status quo” (e.g., resolute belief in the superiority of Eurocentric knowledge and approaches, perspectives, and priorities – notably ‘progress’ marked by interdependence between capitalism and innovation, technology, and scientific advancement) as central colonial systems analyzed in graduate studies. He identifies the questions posed by a noted Aboriginal scholar during an invited lecture as fundamental to the exploration of his participation within colonial systems of education in his role as a teacher and graduate student, as well as strategies of resistance available from these interconnected positions, “She asked us to think about, ‘Whose project are we serving?’ That was really important. It got me thinking, whose project am I serving with some of this knowledge? Who am I teaching for? Who is benefitting?”  Teacher educators/Indigenous education scholars describe reconstructing as introducing teachers to Indigenous theories that honour traditional teachings and nurture communities that include human, natural, and spirit worlds. Privileging and sustaining Indigenous intellectual traditions are positioned as means of recognizing community priorities and addressing contemporary schooling goals and needs (Dion, 2007; Iseke-Barnes, 2008; Wolf, 2012). Throughout the interview series, Prairie Dog emphasized the important role Indigenous theorists and theories played in his reconceptualization of learning in general, and of himself as a unique and gifted learner specifically. The article he referenced by Meyer (2008) is entitled Indigenous and authentic: Hawaiian epistemology and the triangulation of meaning. It positions knowledge and truth as “vast, limitless, and completely subjective” (emphasis in original, p. 218), while resisting relativism. Emerging from a Hawaiian epistemology, though widely applicable, seven categories of “knowledge making and knowing” offer those of a “research mind” a framework for considering and presenting knowledge claims in a manner that attends to the placed relationships from which 135  claims emerge. Three points “to organize meaningful research” – body (i.e., knowing in being/doing), mind (i.e., knowing through “conscious subjectivity”), and spirit (i.e., knowing “through recognition and engagement with deeper realities”, p. 224) – are positioned as a response to conventional qualitative research/ers’ preoccupation with triangulation and scientificity (e.g., inter-rater reliability). Applicably, Prairie Dog marked the opportunity to learn with a professor that “encouraged us to, “Think for ourselves!” because we’re each a set of unique relationships and experiences.” This professor supported Prairie Dog in drawing on Indigenous teachings to develop tools to derive deeper meaning from the literature in reconstructing notions of education and educator, “You start to look at things different and ask, “How do I think about this?” Trusting yourself to critically look at it and just personalize it…Then you start learning for yourself… You also start believing in your [teaching] approach as valid.” The teacher educator’s purpose for arranging the talking circle that Prairie Dog participated in, as well as anticipated learning outcomes cannot be established with certainty. However, Prairie Dog did share58 that he perceived his central role in the circle facilitated by the residential school survivor to be one of witness. He felt that incorporating the survivor’s testimony was intended to contest the longstanding silence about Canada's Indian residential school system59 and resultant intergenerational trauma in spaces of formal education. To some                                                 58 Prairie Dog shared this information during the process of revising and granting approval for the inclusion of particular data fragments produced during interviews in the dissertation. 59 Review of Aboriginal education scholarship, policy, and resources focused on curricular content points to the notable emergent inclusion of this topic across disciplines, levels, and geo-political regions (e.g., Government of Northwest Territories, Government of Nunavut & Legacy of Hope Foundation, 2012; Hare et al., 2012; Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015; Van der Wey, 2001). 136  extent, this is consistent with pedagogy for decolonizing scholarship whereby Indigenous counternarratives have a central role, and are integrated in teacher education in a number of ways. Examples include: experiential storywork (e.g., Wolf, 2012); the work of Indigenous artists and authors (e.g., Dion, 2007; Dion, Johnston, & Rice, 2010; Dion & Salamanca, 2014; Strong-Wilson, 2007); primary source documents (e.g., Chinnery, 2010; Wolf, 2012); and Indigenous students’ perspectives and experiences of school (e.g., Bishop, Berryman, Cavanagh, & Teddy, 2007, 2009). According to teacher educators/Indigenous education scholars, this pathway supports teachers in examining counternarratives through using frameworks for enhancing understanding of historical and ongoing colonial experiences, processes, effects, and modes of Indigenous survivance (Dion & Salamanca, 2014; see also Vizenor, 1994). As a result, teachers report increased awareness of how oppressive systems function, including how they as subjects function within such systems, alongside Indigenous methods of resistance and regeneration of traditional ways-of-knowing and –being. These sources of knowledge are said to inform teachers’ decisions about how they might reconfigure their biography with Indigenous peoples and knowledges and envision possibilities for transformative teaching that supports a broad, systemic decolonizing agenda (Madden, 2015).   Unlike the pedagogical productions of teacher transformation often reported in academic literature, or Prairie Dog’s initial examples of learning with a noted scholar of decolonization and Meyer’s (2008) Hawaiian epistemology, participation in the talking circle left him feeling “really awkward”. At the time of our second interview, approximately two years following the circle, Prairie Dog shared that he continued to struggle to make sense of what he referred to as a “remarkable” situation, before settling on guilt linked to race and class privilege as “a more appropriate word to use” to describe the emotions he associated with the event. Further, Prairie 137  Dog’s comments suggest a reluctance to adapt the pedagogical approach for his own school-based work as an Aboriginal teacher consultant, or to even introduce the topic of Canada's Indian residential school system, “I’m very apprehensive about that topic. I’m not sure I’m really quite prepared yet to really dive into that as a teacher.” In other words, meaning-full, relational uneasiness and apprehension appear to be pedagogical productions that may have exceeded the anticipated outcomes of the pathway.  One might posit, as the questions I asked in the data fragment perhaps problematically suggest, that Prairie Dog’s discomfort may have been assuaged, or even pre-empted, had a more precise set of guiding constraints been configured in order shape the movement of pedagogy towards preferred ends (e.g., teacher transformation). For example, Prairie Dog may have benefited from a pathway that explicitly supports teachers in analyzing their relationship to residential schools as a colonial system and prepares them to witness, and make meaning from, the testimony of a survivor. However, pursuit of particular individual and systemic shifts does not guarantee that they, or the momentum to initiate or sustain desired educational change, will result (e.g., Chinnery, 2010; Dion, 2009; Farley, 2009; Simon, 2004). Prairie Dog’s experience illuminates pedagogy as a tangle of contextual factors, relations of power, material-discursive agents, narratives, experience, and memory; it is unknowable in comprehensive or linear senses. Distinguished from pedagogical pathways, pedagogy always already exceeds pathways in ways that, at once, may be considered problematic and productive.  Productions easily read as ‘problematic’, such as Prairie Dog’s unresolved emotions and hesitancy to teach about Canada's Indian residential school system, are perhaps more obvious when reviewing the first data fragment than those readily read as ‘productive’. However, through 138  analyzing a talking circle for decolonizing goals that I facilitated60, I have come to understand excessive pedagogical moments - “[those that] overflow the protocols, norms, and forms that are intended to ‘contain’ them’’ (Orner, Miller, and Ellsworth, 1996, p. 73) - among the most valuable gifts available to educators. In this previous project, I worked with a classmate and talking circle participant (Madden & McGregor, 2013) to momentarily disentangle pedagogy in order to reveal three significant forces that combined with the pedagogical pathway for decolonizing61: a) the complex, shifting, and relational identities of subjects who also understand their connections to colonization and Indigeneity to varying degrees; b) the context and dynamics of the learning community and activity; and c) the relationship between subjectification and markers of identity that often structure engagement.   Instead of simply coding Prairie Dog’s experience of learning within/from the circle as one of ‘uncertainty’, ‘overwhelming emotion’, and ‘stuckness’, viewing excess as a constructive production involves examining some of the pedagogical forces that produced him in that moment. Space is created to begin to imagine how to respond to the unknown and unknowable, and pursue accountability to/for possible possibilities of pedagogy and productions of (un)becoming.   For example62, in thinking through the talking circle as experienced by Prairie Dog, a teacher educator might consider how the central experience of Aboriginality being presented in                                                 60 The circle invited classmates in a required doctoral seminar to share an experiential story of coming into relation with local Indigenous peoples, land, and/or conceptions of Indigenous education. 61 We suggest the influence of the three significant pedagogical forces extend to Indigenous education pathways beyond pedagogy for decolonizing. Further, (significant) pedagogical forces are not limited to the three taken up; by virtue of being relational in nature, pedagogy generates immeasurable, unpredictable, additional productions. 62 This is but one example of how might reconsider excess as a constructive production. 139  this circle was surviving the atrocities of residential school and the intergenerational trauma that results. This testimony aligns with the overwhelming presence of “damage-centered research” (Tuck, 2009) on and narratives about Aboriginal peoples that obscure examples of resilience and cultural resurgence. Similarly, it could also give the impression that victimization and suffering are primary conditions of Aboriginality. Prairie Dog may have not connected with the predominant version of Aboriginality he perceived because he “didn’t know anything about the residential schools” and had “never been the subject of any sort of racism to [his] knowledge. Entangled notions of authenticity discussed in Chapter 4: (un)Becoming Teacher and School-based Sources of Aboriginality may have precipitated feelings of illegitimacy in that moment. Despite often identifying as Métis, pedagogy appears to have produced him as “settler, [agent of] whiteness, mainstream”. By his own admission, he felt “so out of place”. These revelations suggest avenues to consider how Aboriginal/ity might be resignified to invite greater participation and more complex and complicated discussion of relationality and de/colonization. 5.1.2 Indigenous traditional models of teaching and pedagogical productions of (un)becoming Brooke: Maybe we can talk a little about the talking circle in the professional learning series you mentioned because I know that approach is used a lot with teacher candidates [and] in classrooms as well. I wondered if you could speak a little about how that resonated or diverged from other approaches to PD you’ve been involved in.  Julian: I think it diverges in the way it diverges from most classroom experiences. So often you have students as receivers of knowledge in desks and the providers of knowledge standing up at the front and delivering. In a circle we’re all facing each other. We’re all seeing each other. We’re all listening to each other and we’re all on equal footing. For me, as a young teacher, I still borderline see myself as almost identifying with the students in terms of being in awe. Being on par with these various people from the district was definitely interesting. I think the circle can have the same thing effect in classrooms. It’s something I’ve been doing with my class actually. We have a weekly cl