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The stories nations tell : historical consciousness and the construction of national identity at the… Anderson, Stephanie Blair 2017

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  THE STORIES NATIONS TELL:  HISTORICAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF NATIONAL IDENTITY AT THE CANADIAN MUSEUM FOR HUMAN RIGHTS  by  Stephanie Blair Anderson    B.A. (H), Queen’s University, 1995 B.Ed., Queen’s University, 1996 M.Ed., The University of British Columbia, 2004   A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in  THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Curriculum and Pedagogy)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)  March 2017   © Stephanie Blair Anderson, 2017   ii Abstract   As Canada prepares for its 150th birthday, within the context of its colonial legacy, silenced histories, and multiple, shifting identities in the present, Canadian sites of pedagogy are confronting questions around whose national narratives they are communicating.  Within this milieu, Canada recently (2014) inaugurated its sixth national museum, the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR), in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  Using a theoretical frame that applied approaches within critical museology and historical consciousness, this investigation interrogated the CMHR as a site of pedagogy that could be read for its representational and spatial meanings, and as a site of historical consciousness that communicates a past, present, and future vision of Canada.    This research also introduced and utilized a Framework of Canadian National Narratives capturing current constructions of Canadian national identity.  This framework identified two master national narrative templates—Master National Narrative Template 1.0 (the progressive, unified, Euro-Western colony-to-nation narrative of Canada), Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (Canada as a progress-oriented, generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic)—and a third dimension titled Counter National Narratives 3.0, that is not a narrative template.  Rather, NN 3.0 captures competing, or silenced aspects of Canadian history through national narratives that contest, rebuke or, intervene in the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0, thereby providing a more nuanced account and multiple perspectives on Canadian identity.  In other instances, NN 3.0 throws into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces.  This study offers a new research approach for the identification, and analysis of national narratives in sites of pedagogy—classrooms, textbooks, monuments, national historic sites, museums, news media, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, Indigenous landscape features, and public performances.  It suggests a new curricular imperative coined The Narrative Dimension for history education that might also be used in museology and public history.  Part of The Narrative Dimension includes critical engagement with a country’s master national narrative templates and those that problematize them.  This investigation further concludes that museum attempts to use this aspect of The Narrative Dimension offer an innovative way to curate difficult knowledge.         iii Preface  A part of this research was published in an adapted article in the Canadian Journal of Education.  This is located in Chapter 2.  I conceived of, designed, and carried out the research program following guidance from my committee and building on the support of many individuals named in the Acknowledgements.  I was responsible for the process of analysis and writing.  I sought and received permission from the Canadian Museum for Human Rights to interview a number of researchers/ curators there.  This research required and received approval from the UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board, the certificate for which is # H15-00572.     iv Table of Contents  Abstract ........................................................................................................................................................ ii  Preface ......................................................................................................................................................... iii  Table of Contents .................................................................................................................................... iv  List of Tables ............................................................................................................................................ vii   List of Figures ........................................................................................................................................ viii   List of Abbreviations .............................................................................................................................. xi  Glossary...................................................................................................................................................... xii  Acknowledgements ............................................................................................................................. xiii  Dedication ................................................................................................................................................. xv  Chapter 1: Introduction and Research Problem .................................................................... 1 1.1 Setting the Stage .......................................................................................................................... 1 1.2 Situating the Research and its Questions .......................................................................... 6 1.3 Significance of the Study .......................................................................................................... 7 1.4 Chapter Conclusion and the Structure of the Dissertation ........................................ 8  Chapter 2: Literature Review and the Conceptual and Theoretical Framework............................................................................................................................ 11 2.1 National Identity ...................................................................................................................... 11  2.1.1 A Modern, Invented Tradition and Imagined Community ............................. 11 2.1.2 Multiple Ethno-Cultural Articulations .................................................................... 13 2.1.3 Everyday Banalities ....................................................................................................... 15 2.2 National Identity and Museums ......................................................................................... 17 2.2.1 Museums and State Authority ................................................................................... 17 2.2.2 The Cultural Turn, Critical Museology, and Curating Difficult Knowledge ............................................................................................................................. 20 2.2.3 Canada, the Cultural Turn, and a Critical Museology ....................................... 25 2.3 Conceptual Frame: Current Constructions of Canadian National Identity ....... 30 2.3.1 Sites of Pedagogy ............................................................................................................ 31 2.3.2 A Framework of Canadian National Narratives ................................................. 34 2.4 Theoretical Frame ................................................................................................................... 53 2.4.1 Mieke Bal ............................................................................................................................ 54 2.4.2 Historical Consciousness ............................................................................................. 58 2.4.3 History Education and Historical Significance .................................................... 68           Chapter 3: Research Methods and Procedures .................................................................... 71  v 3.1 Single Instrumental Case Study with Embedded Units ............................................ 71  3.2 Data Sources .............................................................................................................................. 73 3.2.1 Embedded Units: The Exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery .............. 74 3.2.2 The Researchers/Curators of Canadian Journeys ............................................. 78 3.3 Data Collection Methods ....................................................................................................... 82 3.3.1 Researcher’s Observations in the Five Exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery ......................................................................................................................... 82 3.3.2 Interviews .......................................................................................................................... 83 3.4 Data Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 85  3.4.1 The Five Story Exhibits: Researcher Observations and Interviews ........... 85  3.5 Trustworthiness ....................................................................................................................... 86 3.6 Researcher Positionality ....................................................................................................... 92  3.7 Ethical Considerations ........................................................................................................... 94 3.8 Limitations of the Research ………………………………………………………………………95  Chapter 4: Architecture, Interior Journey, Content, and Controversy ............................. 97 4.1 Location ....................................................................................................................................... 97 4.2 Architecture and Design........................................................................................................ 99 4.2.1 Exterior Features .......................................................................................................... 103 4.2.2 The Interior Journey .................................................................................................... 105 4.3 Content ....................................................................................................................................... 114 4.3.1 Overview and Mandate............................................................................................... 114 4.3.2 Decision-Making and Process .................................................................................. 116 4.3.3 Controversy .................................................................................................................... 118  Chapter 5: Analysis ..................................................................................................................127 5.1 Setting the Stage: The Canadian Journeys Gallery .................................................... 128 5.1.1 Layout and Content ...................................................................................................... 128 5.1.2 The Spatial Journey ...................................................................................................... 134 5.2 The Five Exhibits:  An Overview ...................................................................................... 137 5.3 Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights ................................................................. 138 5.3.1 A Brief History................................................................................................................ 138 5.3.2 Exhibit Overview........................................................................................................... 142 5.3.3 The Process of Curation ............................................................................................. 142 5.3.4 Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 144 5.3.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness ......................................... 152 5.4 Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy ................................................................ 154 5.4.1 A Brief History................................................................................................................ 154 5.4.2 Exhibit Overview........................................................................................................... 156 5.4.3 The Process of Curation ............................................................................................. 157 5.4.4 Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 158 5.4.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness ......................................... 171 5.5 Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy ............................................................. 173 5.5.1 A Brief History................................................................................................................ 173 5.5.2 Exhibit Overview........................................................................................................... 177 5.5.3 The Process of Curation ............................................................................................. 178  vi 5.5.4 Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 181 5.5.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness ......................................... 204  5.6 The Right to Same-Sex Marriage...................................................................................... 206 5.6.1 A Brief History................................................................................................................ 206 5.6.2 Exhibit Overview........................................................................................................... 208 5.6.3 The Process of Curation ............................................................................................. 208 5.6.4 Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 210 5.6.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness ......................................... 219  5.7 Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice .......................................... 220 5.7.1 A Brief History................................................................................................................ 220 5.7.2 Exhibit Overview........................................................................................................... 222 5.7.3 The Process of Curation ............................................................................................. 223 5.7.4 Analysis ............................................................................................................................. 225 5.7.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness ......................................... 231    Chapter 6: Conclusion .............................................................................................................235 6.1 Research Summary ............................................................................................................... 235      6.2 Implications for Museology ................................................................................................ 242      6.3 Implications for Theory:  Historical Consciousness and Sites of Pedagogy ... 245      6.4 Implications for Theory:  History Education and Sites of Pedagogy ................. 247      6.5 Implications for Curriculum: History Education ........................................................ 247      6.6 Future Potential:  National Narratives and Sites of Pedagogy……....................... 251  References .................................................................................................................................253  Appendices ................................................................................................................................274 Appendix A. Data Collection Tool: The Five Exhibits ........................................................... 274 Appendix B. Data Analysis Tool: The Five Exhibits ............................................................... 276 Appendix C. Interview Questionnaire ......................................................................................... 277    vii List of Tables Table 1. Exhibit selection in the Canadian Journeys Gallery in Chapter 3 ..................... 76 Table 2. The relationship of participants to the exhibits in Chapter 3 ............................ 80 Table 3. The utilization of four evaluation criteria to ensure research quality in           Chapter 3……………………………………………………………………………………………... 88    viii List of Figures  Figure 1. Framework of Canadian National Narratives ......................................................... 36 Figure 2. Bayne, M. (Painter) Hockey Sale .................................................................................. 50 Figure 3. Bayne, M. (Painter) (2015) Patio & Garden ............................................................ 50 Figure 4. Bayne, M. (Painter) (2015) D-rectdial ...................................................................... 51 Figure 5. Monkman K. (Painter) (2014) Expelling the Vices .............................................. 53 Figure 6. The Museum at dusk ....................................................................................................... 101 Figure 7. Exterior view of the Cloud ............................................................................................ 103 Figure 8. Interior view of the Cloud ............................................................................................. 104 Figure 9. The Mountain..................................................................................................................... 104 Figure 10. The Museum exterior................................................................................................... 105 Figure 11. An interior view of the alabaster ramps .............................................................. 107   Figure 12. The Museum galleries .................................................................................................. 110 Figure 13. The Israel Asper Tower of Hope.............................................................................. 112 Figures 14 and 15. The Stuart Clark Garden of Contemplation ....................................... 113 Figure 16. The Museum exit ramp ............................................................................................... 114 Figure 17. Artist Rebecca Belmore’s Trace ............................................................................... 125 Figure 18. View of the Canadian Journeys Gallery from the entry .................................. 128 Figure 19. View of The Canadian Journeys Gallery with the entry in the background..................................................................................................................................... 129 Figure 20. The Share Your Story recording booth ................................................................. 130 Figure 21. The glass-enclosed theatre at the entry to Canadian Journeys................... 131 Figure 22. The digital canvas displaying the story and image grid................................. 132 Figure 23. The Canadian Journeys Gallery exit experience................................................ 136 Figures 24 and 25. The Canadian Journeys Gallery exhibit ramp and viewing platform ........................................................................................................................................... 137 Figure 26. The Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit ................................ 142 Figure 27. The introductory panel to the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit ................................................................................................................................. 144 Figure 28. The cast-iron statue of Ana, with an embedded video screen in the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area ................................ 147 Figure 29. The cast-iron statue of Karl, with an embedded video screen in the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area ................................ 148 Figure 30. The cast-iron statue of Diego, with an embedded video screen in the  Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area ................................ 149 Figure 31. The right side-panel of the Migrant Workers and Human Rights exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 150 Figure 32. The Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ............................... 156 Figure 33. The bronze sculpture in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ...................................................................................................... 160 Figure 34. The head tax certificates and photo montage in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ...................................................... 162 Figures 35, 36, 37, 38, and 39. The photo series in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit........................................................................ 163   ix Figure 40. The left side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 164 Figure 41. A close-up of the map on the left side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ...................................................................................................... 165 Figures 42. A close-up of the bronze statistical circles on the right side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ...................................................... 165 Figure 43. The right side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 167 Figures 44 and 45. The Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ........... 177 Figure 46. The focal area of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 183 Figure 47. The wall projection of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit’s focal area ....................................................................................................................... 184 Figure 48. The desks found in the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit’s focal area ....................................................................................................................... 184 Figure 49. The left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 192 Figure 50. The quote on the left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ................................................................................................................... 192 Figure 51. Photograph 1 on the left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ........................................................................................................... 193 Figures 52 and 53. Photos 3 and 4 on the left side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit .................................................................. 194 Figures 54, 55, 56, and 57. The last four photographs on the left side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ....................................... 195 Figure 58. The right side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 197 Figure 59. The quotation on the right side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ........................................................................................................... 198 Figures 60, 61, 62, and 63. Some close-ups of the photographs on the right side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit....... 199 Figure 64. The right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 201 Figure 65. Photograph 1 from the right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit .......................................................................................... 202 Figure 66. Photograph 2 from the right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit .......................................................................................... 202 Figure 67. The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit .............................................................. 208 Figure 68. The introductory text panel of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 211 Figure 69. A close up of the “wedding cake” in the focal area of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit ...................................................................................................... 211 Figures 70, 71, and 72. Some examples of the close-ups on the “wedding cake” in the focal area of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit...................................... 212 Figure 73. The left side wall of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit ..................... 213 Figure 74. The left side wall artifacts in The Right to Same-Sex Marriage  x exhibit ............................................................................................................................................... 215 Figure 75. The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit right side wall ................................ 215 Figure 76. The glass-enclosed box featuring three artifacts on the right side wall of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit ....................................................................... 216 Figure 77. The right side-panel of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit .............. 217 Figure 78. Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit .................. 222 Figure 79. Shared by a Twitter user: “My mom posted this on Facebook in honour of my aunt, Marion Audrey Rice, who died violently in February 1979  #MMIW.” ......................................................................................................................................... 224 Figure 80. Opening text panel of the Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit ................................................................................................................................ 226 Figure 81. Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit in relation to the entire Canadian Journeys Gallery ............................................................................. 227 Figure 82. The focal area of the Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit ................................................................................................................................ 229 Figure 83. Framework of Canadian National Narratives .............................................. 236 Figure 84. The Narrative Dimension ........................................................................................... 250     xi List of Abbreviations  CMHR The Canadian Museum for Human Rights  CMW International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families   IRS The Indian Residential School System  MMAW Missing and Murdered Aboriginal Women   NN 1.0 Master National Narrative Template 1.0  NN 2.0 Master National Narrative Template 2.0  NN 3.0 National Narratives 3.0  RAA Ralph Appelbaum and Associates  SAWP The Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program  TRC The Truth and Reconciliation Commission  UBC             The University of British Columbia    xii Glossary  Alcove: A term researcher/curators sometimes use to refer to the exhibits in the    Canadian Journeys Gallery   Story Niche/Niche: A term researcher/curators sometimes use to refer to the exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery    xiii Acknowledgements Academic work is rarely accomplished without support.  Mine is no exception, and there are many people who helped me throughout this project whom I would like to thank. I am indebted to my supervisor, Dr. Penney Clark, for her steadfast commitment to my work.  Throughout this project she has offered endless support and demonstrated an exemplary standard of academic scholarship.  The breadth and depth of her work in social studies education is a true inspiration.  Moreover, Penney’s kindness and grace will serve as a model of leadership that I will take forward into my future endeavours.   To my committee members, Drs. Jennifer Carter and David Anderson: your encouragement and thoughtful criticism continuously steered me in the right direction.  Early on in this research project, I had an important discussion with Jennifer Carter.  She encouraged me to pause and really think about what I wanted to do.  Without her, my work would be very different today.  I am grateful to have learned so much from her about museology. Similarly, early on in this work, I was given the opportunity to work with Dr. David Anderson on a project with an international team of curators.  I learned a great deal about the subtle art of leadership by watching him steer this committee.  Moreover, this work afforded me the opportunity to meet some people in the field who later became instrumental to parts of this project.  To my research participants: without your help, this work would have been impossible.  Thank you for giving of your time and speaking to me at length about the Museum’s exhibits and your work.  I am very lucky to be surrounded by an incredible group of brilliant, multifaceted, professional women whom I call my dearest friends.  Over the past six years, whether through weekly runs, glasses of wine, or long-distance telephone conversations, these women were unrelenting in their support of both my work and my well-being.  From the bottom of my heart, I would like to thank Michelle Schira-Hagerman, Yvonne Csanyi-Fritz, Kate Bayne, Kerry Watt, Celeste Burgoygne, and Susie Pawelek.  Their presence in my life has been an ongoing reminder that as women, we are so much more than our work-selves.  They have helped me stay present and have been exemplary models of work–life balance. I would also like to thank all the female academics who are breaking glass ceilings and producing the finest work while also juggling the complexit ies of motherhood and family life.  I have looked for you on my journey. To my parents, Art Anderson and Janet Rodger-Anderson: summers were spent at our family camp on Lake Superior and on trans-Canada tenting trips formed in me an early love of this land we call Canada.  Our family discussions around the dinner table in Northern Ontario were always lively and became the root of my intellectual inspiration.  Perhaps most important, the balanced lifestyle I hold so dear is the one that you so wisely modelled to me.  It is this that has enabled me to keep all the balls in the air throughout this project while maintaining a sound body, and mind.  My mother is no longer alive to see this work. In 1967, she was part of a  xiv group of students chosen from across Canada to participate in the Centennial Commission’s youth cultural exchange program, in honour of Canada’s 100 th birthday.  The students were picked up by train as it travelled across the country.  They converged in New Westminster, BC, to participate in a week of activities.  Given the context of my work, my mother would be so interested in this project. Throughout the ups and downs of the last six years, as I made countless runs down Spanish Banks to clear my head, she has been by my side, always whispering in my ear.  To my siblings, Kristen Anderson Napoli and Travis Anderson: I was fortunate to be surrounded by your humour, quick wit, and wise counsel in Vancouver throughout this project.  I love sharing the evolution of our lives together, and our constant dialoguing, and Sunday night dinners have kept my feet on the ground.  To my immediate family: my two remarkable sons, Max and Finn, have seen more than their fair share of Mom typing away at the kitchen table over the last six years.  Know that I am your biggest fan and that without you in my life this whole endeavour would have been meaningless.  Your inquisitive minds and fantastic humour are constant reminders of the amazing generation climbing the ranks.  As you journey forward in life and set your own goals, I look forward to being there for you every step of the way. And finally, out of everyone, it has been my husband, Jeff Redmond, who has been unwavering in his support throughout intimate trials and tribulations of this project. I am so lucky to be with a man who has always treated me as a true and equal partner.  On countless Saturdays over the past six years, he parented our boys to give me the headspace I needed to get the work done.  His understanding was the best role-modelling our sons could ever witness.  Without his love, and encouragement, I would have lacked the strength to get this done.  Here’s to sharing in many more of life’s goals and adventures together, Jeff.       xv Dedication   To my mother, Janet Rodger-Anderson. Ardent feminist, accomplished athlete, consummate intellectual, skillful pedagogue, and devoted mother.  Words cannot qualify or quantify your impact on my life. You continue to inspire everything that I do.   1 Chapter 1: Introduction and Research Problem 1.1 Setting the Stage Since their inception, museums have had a dedicated pedagogical imperative (Bennett, 1995, 2006; Hein, 2006; Hooper-Greenhill, 1992; Rydell, 1984, 2006; Trofanenko, 2011).  Moreover, the educational priority of the national museum has typically been to communicate a state vision through the expression of a common historical experience (Abt, 2006; Anderson, 1983/1996; Coombes, 1995; Duncan & Wallach, 2006; Giebelhausen, 2006; Macdonald, 2003; Mackey, 2012; Phillips, 2012).  Thus, national museums, like other sites of pedagogy—such as classrooms, textbooks, monuments, news media, memorials, national historic sites, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, and public performances—often construct and communicate national narratives (Carretero, 2011; Donald, 2009; Ellsworth, 2005; Nora, 1996).  These national narratives are discursive devices that combine history, collective memory and myth into teleological communications of a nation’s past, present and future; what Hobsbawm (1990) has called ‘‘the nation’s programmatic mythology’’ (p. 6).  Often, they attempt to suture a country’s differences by representing its citizens as belonging to a larger national famiglia, the imagined community of the nation-state (Anderson, 1983/1996).   The national narratives constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy frequently encompass or reflect what Wertsch (2004, 2008) terms “schematic narrative templates”—underlying abstract structures belonging “to particular narrative traditions that can be expected to differ from one cultural setting to another . . . [and] are not readily available to conscious reflection” (2004, p. 57).  These templates  2 pervade time and “act as unnoticed yet very powerful coauthors when we attempt to tell ‘what really happened’” (2008, p. 142).  Wertsch (2004, 2008) distinguishes between “specific narratives” and “schematic narrative templates,” noting that while the former “deal with ‘mid-level’ events that populate textbooks, examinations and other textual forms” the latter “involve a much more abstract level of representation and provide a narrative framework that is compatible with many instantiations in specific narratives” (2004, p. 51).  For example, he identifies two American schematic narrative templates as “manifest destiny” and “quest for freedom” (p. 58), noting that “these abstract structures can underlie several specific narratives” (p. 57).  To better underscore the national element of Wertsch’s (2004, 2008) “schematic narrative templates,” I have termed them “master national narrative templates” in my work.  Hence, master national narrative templates are ideal vehicles for what Novick (1999) describes as “some eternal or essential truth about the group . . . and along with it, an eternal identity for the members of the group” (p. 4).  Lopez, Carretero, and  Rodriguez-Moneo (2014) have observed that “schemes about the nation’s past are commonly used in a completely unreflective, unanalytical, and unwitting manner and remain uncontested and unrevised from a historiographical point of view” (p. 548).  As Canadian Aboriginal scholar Dwayne Donald (2009) has articulated: “official versions of history, which begin as cultural and contextual interpretations of events, morph into hegemonic expressions of existing value structures and worldviews of dominant groups in a society” (p. 3).  Thus, the communication of master national narrative templates in sites of pedagogy often results in simplified understandings of history that produce  3 binary notions of insiders/outsiders, and promote state visions that exclude or silence particular individual or group identities (Létourneau, 2006).   Increasingly within the contexts of millennial globalization, post-colonialism, and transnational citizenship however, static identities and storylines of the past are being called into question in countries throughout the world.  In Canada, the recent work of leading scholars, cultural producers, and artists has troubled and challenged master national narrative templates communicated in sites of pedagogy by adopting an historical sensibility that demystifies how symbols and narrative tropes are adopted as wide-scale reflections of the past (see Ashley, 2011; Clark, 2007; Clark & Sears, 2016; Dion, 2007; Donald, 2009; King 2014; Neatby & Hodgins, 2012; Saul, 2014; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Seixas & Clark, 2004; Stanley, 2006, 2012; Yu, 2007/2008).  Adding to this, in June 2015, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) released its final report on residential schooling that specified the country’s shameful history of “cultural genocide” perpetuated against Aboriginal peoples through state sponsored educational programs like the Indian Residential Schooling system (Truth and Reconciliation Report, 2015, p. 1). The nation is therefore staring down its 150th birthday in 2017, within the context of its colonial legacy, silenced histories, and multiple, shifting identities in the present.  Consequently, Canadian sites of pedagogy are confronting questions around whose national narratives they are communicating.   Within this context, Canada has recently (2014) inaugurated its sixth national museum, the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR), in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  Designed by American architect Antoine Predock, this massive limestone and glass edifice, topped with a glimmering spire, has become a celebrated icon of the Winnipeg  4 skyline.  One of only two national museums to be built outside of the National Capital Region (Ottawa-Gatineau),1 the choice of Winnipeg, as the site of this new national museum, was surprising.  From an international perspective, the city is difficult to access—visitors must first fly through one of Canada’s five international hubs (Halifax, Montreal, Toronto, Calgary, Vancouver) and then board a smaller airline to reach the provincial capital.  Moreover, on a national level, despite Winnipeg’s significance as the gateway to western Canada, it is widely considered a city for passing through rather than for lingering; it is also notorious for its long, cold winters, which have given it the nickname “Winterpeg,” and long blackfly and mosquito summer season.  The choice of Winnipeg for Canada’s new national museum, however, was a direct result of visionary Winnipeg businessman, broadcaster, lawyer, and politician Dr.  Israel (“Izzy”) Asper.  Izzy was inspired by the Asper foundation’s annual student trips to the U.S.  Holocaust Memorial Museum, and other key touchstones in Washington, DC.  It is said that his daughter, Gail, once pointed out to him that it seemed wrong that Canadian students were paying homage to a foreign country’s trophies rather than Canadian ones (Knelman, 2011).  Thus, in the wake of the widely publicized 1998 failure to have a Holocaust gallery included in the Canadian War Museum, the Asper Foundation hired the team from Lord Cultural Resources to expand their concept for a comprehensive Canadian genocide museum (Lord Cultural Resources, 2016). Consequently, on April 17, 2003—coinciding, to the day, with the 21st anniversary of the signing of the                                                       1 The Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21 (2011) is the only other museum located outside of Ottawa-Gatineau.  Canada’s other national museums in the National Capital Region include: (1) the National Gallery of Canada (1913), which includes the Canadian Museum of Contemporary Photography (1998), (2) the Canadian Museum of History, which includes the Canadian War Museum, (3) the Canadian Museum of Nature (1990), and (4) the Canada Science and Technology Museum (1967), which includes the Canada Aviation Museum and the Canada Agricultural Museum.   5 Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms—Asper officially launched the private initiative to bring to life a human rights museum.  Tragically, however, in October 2003, at the premature age of 72, Asper died of a heart attack.  The project was quickly taken up by Gail Asper, and despite ongoing challenges over five years, including escalating costs, the need to secure donors, and three different Prime Ministers, the nascent museum, was declared a national museum in 2008, with three levels of government—federal, provincial, and municipal—coming together with private donors to begin the $351 million project.  From its outset, the CMHR has embodied the global movement of memorial or human rights driven museums that commemorate atrocity-related events, and whose primary curatorial function is to act as intermediaries between the remembered and the public, frequently through exhibitions aimed at communicating a national social consciousness (see Chapter 2).  However, constructing and communicating a national social consciousness is frequently controversial—especially in a nation-state such as Canada, whose diverse society does not share a common religion, language, or ethnicity, and which is currently confronting the moral dilemmas associated with its colonial legacy and silenced histories.  Thus, since the CMHR’s inception as a partially federally funded national museum, the government’s involvement has raised a number of concerns, most notably how much control and censorship Ottawa might exert over its content (Busby, 2015; Carter, 2015, 2016; Stone, 2006).  Consequently, since its official opening in September 2014, the CMHR has received much criticism around which stories it does and does not tell.  The Museum has been chastised for not adequately addressing many uncomfortable Canadian truths,  6 including the recognition that the historical oppression of Canada’s Métis, Inuit and First Nations peoples was cultural genocide. (see Chapter 4).  This research investigation is situated within the context of these debates.  It recognizes that national museums act as sites of historical consciousness by communicating a temporal relationship between the past, present, and future through spatial and representational narratives; and, like the work of many scholars in the fields of both museology and history education, it shares a theoretical concern for making these national narratives more explicit to citizens.  1.2 Situating the Research and its Questions To date scholars at the theoretical intersection of museums and national identity have: (a) studied how museums situate conceptions of national identity as intimately connected to power relations and subjective political negotiations of national identity (Anderson, 1983/1996; Bennett, 1996, 2006; Crane, 1997, 2006; Duncan & Wallach, 2006; Rydell, 1984, 2006); (b) analyzed and troubled how museums represent nationhood, with particular attention to competing histories and new definitions of statehood through the representation and recognition of the “other,” both internationally (Coombes, 1995; Dicks 2000a, 2000b; Dubin, 2000, 2006; Karp & Lavine 1991; Knell, Watson, & Macleod, 2007;Macdonald, 2003, 2006; Stevens, 2007; Trofanenko, 2008) and in Canada (Ashley, 2007, 2011; Dean, 2009; Henry, Tator & Mastis, 1998; Mackey, 2012; Phillips, 2012; Stanley, 2006, 2012);  (c) studied the conditions of production/reception of national narratives in museums (Gregory & Witcomb, 2007, 2013; Smith, 1991/2006) and other sites of pedagogy (Neatby & Hodgins, 2012), and; (d) discussed the idea of historical consciousness and its  7 relationship to museum practices (Carter, 2016; Crane, 1997, 2006; Macdonald 2003, 2008; Trofanenko, 2016).  However, no scholarship in Canada has deconstructed a site of pedagogy, such as a national museum, as a site of historical consciousness by identifying the national narratives that it communicates.  This research attempts to speak to this gap by addressing the following questions:  1.  To what extent do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity?  2.  How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?  This investigation explores these questions by deconstructing and analyzing the Canadian national narratives that are communicated in five exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery:  Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights, Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy, Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy, The Right to Same-Sex Marriage, and Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  1.3 Significance of the Study Deconstructing and analyzing Canadian national narratives, as these are communicated in a national museum, offers an innovative lens that (a) troubles dominant narrative visions and the exclusive communication of certain national narratives over others; (b) problematizes state visions that exclude or silence particular individual or group identities and (b) raises important questions about the political motivations and, indeed, the stakes involved in constructions of national narratives in sites of pedagogy such as museums.  This study also offers a new research approach for the identification, deconstruction, and analysis of the communication of national narratives in multiple sites of pedagogy—classrooms, textbooks, monuments,  8 memorials, national historic sites, news media, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, Aboriginal landscape features and public performances (further defined on pg.20 )—that will (a) expand analytical repertoires used to investigate the communication of Canadian national narratives, and (b) suggest new orientations and practices that attempt to trouble the communication of constructions of Canadian national identity. 1.4 Chapter Conclusion and the Structure of the Dissertation In this introductory chapter, I have outlined the context, aim, and significance of this study and presented the research questions.  I have also provided a brief history of the origins and development of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.  The remaining chapters are organized as follows. In Chapter 2, I establish the theoretical framework for this research.  This chapter begins with an exploration of concepts of national identity stemming from international theorists (Anderson, 1983/1996; Billig, 1995; Edensor, 2002; Gellner, 1983; Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1983; Smith, 1991/2006).  It then turns to how recent critical works discuss the relationship between national identity and the museum itself (Abt, 2006; Ashley, 2007, 2011; Bennett 1996, 2006; Carter, 2015; Coombes, 1995; Duncan & Wallach, 2006; Henry et al., 1998; Karp & Lavine, 1991; Lehrer and Milton, 2011; Macdonald, 2003, 2006; Mackey 2012; Mason, 2006; Phillips 2012; Rydell, 1984, 2006; Sandell, 1998, 2005; Simon, 2011; Stevens, 2007; Stone, 2006; Trofanenko, 2008).   Following this, Chapter 2 introduces a conceptual Framework of Canadian National Narratives.  This conceptual framework reflects national narratives that are  9 frequently constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy and helps to determine how the narratives communicated at the CMHR challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity.  It will also contribute to the analysis of the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.  Growing from the work of leading Canadian scholars, public intellectuals, cultural producers, and artists (see Ashley, 2011; Clark, 2007; Clark & Sears, 2016; Dion, 2007; Donald, 2009; King, 2014; Neatby & Hodgins, 2012; Saul, 2014; Schick & St. Denis 2005; Seixas & Clark, 2004; Stanley, 2006, 2012; Yu, 2007/2008) the framework identifies two master national narrative templates—Master National Narrative Template 1.0 (NN 1.0) and Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—and a third dimension coined Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0), that is not a master national narrative template.  Rather, NN 3.0 conveys competing, omitted, or silenced aspects of Canadian history through national narratives that contest, rebuke or, intervene in the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0, thereby providing a more nuanced account and multiple perspectives on Canadian identity.  In other instances, NN 3.0 throws into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces.  Chapter 2 also describes what is meant by this study’s use of the term “sites of pedagogy” and describes the theoretical framework applied in this investigation.  Chapter 3 describes the research method used in this study (i.e., case study) and explain why this method was particularly suitable.  I also provide a detailed map of the research design used for data collection and analysis.  In addition, I address a  10 number of concerns related to qualitative research, particularly those around trustworthiness and issues about the transferability of research findings. Chapter 4, introduces the CMHR as a national site of pedagogy and  and describes the CMHR’s unique architecture and design features and the spatial journey that this affords visitors.  The chapter also chronicles the content decision-making process at the CMHR and concludes by detailing the controversy that ensued over this content in the CMHR’s third space of public dialogue—that is to say in documents found in both the media (newspaper articles and blog posts) and the scholarly literature that articulate the public dialogue and debate surrounding the construction, architecture, and content of Canada’s newest national museum.  Chapter 5 begins with a spatial orientation of the Canadian Journeys Gallery and the five exhibits selected as sites of analysis within that exhibit that have been chosen for this investigation.  It then turns to the analysis of the five exhibits themselves.  Data collection included interviews with researchers/curators and information gathering in each exhibit.  To discuss the processes of curation, design, layout, and content generation for the embedded units (exhibits) in this research study, I begin the analysis with the exhibit Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights.  I then look at four other exhibits, in the following order: Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy; Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy; The Right to Same-Sex Marriage; and I conclude with Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  Chapter 6 revisits the research questions, provides a summary of the investigation and its findings, discusses the study’s implications for curriculum and museum practices and makes suggestions for future research arising from this work.   11 Chapter 2:  Literature Review and the Conceptual and Theoretical Framework To establish the context, theoretical and conceptual framework for this research I will: (1) outline a definition of national identity that stems from the theories of several international theorists;   (2) review how recent critical works discuss the relationship between national identity and museums;  (3) describes what is meant by the term “sites of pedagogy”;  (4) outline current constructions of Canadian national identity through a conceptual Framework of Canadian National Narratives that identifies two master national narrative templates—Master National Narrative Template 1.0 (NN 1.0) and Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—and a third dimension that is not a master national narrative template, coined Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0);  (5) discuss the theoretical work that will be used in this investigation.  2.1 National Identity For its larger definition of nation and national identity, this investigation draws on scholarship from the following seven theorists: Benedict Anderson, 1983/1996; Michael Billig, 1995; Tim Edensor, 2002; Ernest Gellner, 1983; Eric Hobsbawm and Terrance Ranger, 1983; and Anthony Smith, 1991/2006. 2.1.1 A Modern, Invented Tradition and Imagined Community This definition of national identity used in this study is shaped in part by the disciplinary or instrumentalist approach to national identity put forth in the work of Gellner (1983), Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983), and Anderson (1983/2006).  This approach views nations and national identity as modern cultural ideas directed by political interests and born from the Enlightenment and the popular revolutions at the end of the eighteenth century.  12 Gellner’s Nations and Nationalism (1983) explores the phenomenon of nationalism as a function of modernity whereby the very structures of the modern state (education, technologies of communication and bureaucracy) drive the organizational imperatives of the nation.  He defines nationalism as “primarily a political principle, which holds that the political and the national unit should be congruent” (p. 1), noting “nationalism emerges only in milieux in which the existence of the state is already very much taken for granted” (p. 4).  In The Invention of Tradition, Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983) observe that those in positions of power have invented traditions thereby creating the illusion of antiquity and continuity in order to disguise the fact that nations are relatively new constructs.  Hobsbawm and Ranger’s ideas are important for identifying the historical processes and manipulating interests underlying the invention of ancient national lineages including the creation of a unified sense of belonging, to justify the power of certain institutions, and to communicate ideologies which promote shared values and beliefs.  In Imagined Communities (1983/1996), Benedict Anderson argues that envisioning oneself as a member of a national community comprised of millions of people—most of whom you will never meet—requires a unique feat of the imagination.  He states: “the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (p. 6).  Anderson’s thesis is based upon the idea that nations, nationality, and nationalism are unique cultural artifacts that were born from the popular revolutions at the end of the eighteenth century.  He explains  13 that the emergence of the nation-state under such historical circumstances resulted in a citizenry “united by a ‘deep horizontal comradeship’” (p. 7), which sees itself as an active participant in nation-building and which views “rather contingent territorial boundaries and banal national property” as “worth fighting, and even dying for” (p. 9).  According to Anderson (1983/1996), this national communion or comradeship is experienced when the imagined community shares in larger events (e.g., war, Olympic victory), common laws (e.g., same-sex marriage, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms) and key institutions (e.g., national museums, schools, national historic sites).  Thus, for Anderson, national identity as a figurative extension of the imagined nation is fictional.  A key component of his thesis sees the propagation of the idea of the nation as tied directly to the invention of the printing press.  In the 21st century, this referent has logically evolved and grown with the capacity of mass media to target large national audiences.  Gellner (1983), Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983), and Anderson’s (1983/1996) definitions of national identity therefore speak to the potential role of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights as a structure of the modern state. Despite its recent inauguration, the Museum has become a part of the invented tradition of our nation, contributing to Canada’s imagined community (Anderson, 2006). 2.1.2 Multiple Ethno-Cultural Articulations  Because Aboriginal peoples have occupied the land encompassed by Canada’s state borders long before Canada became a nation, I also draw from portions of Anthony Smith’s (1986, 1991, 1998) work to argue that national identities are not always modern constructs.  Smith argues that national identities materialize from the  14 pre-existing ethnies, that is, “named human populations with shared ancestry myths, histories and cultures, having an association with a specific territory, and a sense of solidarity” (Smith 1986, p. 32) and is therefore not an entirely modern construct.  Smith’s (1991) ethnicities thesis is derived from a conception whereby ethnic symbols, provide a means of distinguishing ourselves from others.  He is critical of both Gellner (1983) and Hobsbawm and Ranger’s (1983) assertions that the nation is a modern construct.  Moreover, rather than homogenizing elites like Hobsbawm and Ranger do, Smith contends that the selection of symbolic and ceremonial traditions is often highly contested between different power groups—a confrontation between competing national intellectuals and aristocratic elites.  This was evidenced, for example, in the debates and contestation that occurred over the amount of gallery space awarded to certain ethno-cultural communities over others at the CMHR (see Chapter 4).  Smith also argues that in states where there is no common set of shared symbols it may be necessary to select multiple symbols to promote national allegiance from diverse groups.  He defines nation as "a named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members" (p. 14).  Smith also differentiates between ethnic nationalisms of the blood that describe those nations (e.g., primarily in Eastern Europe) where a state’s borders correspond to those of the social nation, and nations like the US, Britain, and France where civic nationalism exists and multiple populations supposedly meld together.  To this, Smith (2008) adds the concept of plural nationalism—a form of nationalism wherein peoples within a state retain much of their unique ethno-cultural identity.  Examples of the latter are found in Catalonia, Québec,  15 Scotland, the Basque Country, and Flanders, although with different nuances in each case.  Unlike Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983), who see privileged groups as controlling state traditions, Smith’s (1986, 1991, 1998) work speaks to the protest and contestation that figures prominently in debates around the national narratives constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy, and in particular, the representation and recognition of certain ethno-cultural groups over others. 2.1.3 Everyday Banalities And finally, this investigation’s understanding of the nation and national identities draws from Michael Billig’s Banal Nationalism (1995), and Edensor’s National Identity, Popular Culture and Everyday Life (2002). The crux of Billig’s thesis is that national identity should be conceptualized as a “form of life which is lived daily in a world of nation-states” (p. 68), including numerous traditions that make up quotidian life including recreational pursuits, work customs, political, family and community endeavours (Billig, 1995; Edensor 2002).  Billig argues that for too long “the concept of nationalism has been restricted to passionate and exotic exemplars” (p. 8), suggesting that theorists have overlooked banal signifiers in everyday life that often underpin nationalism.  One example to support Billig’s theory would be the everyday reproductions of national identity via the media (nightly national news) that remind us of our commonality with our compatriots, or our difference from foreigners.  Edensor (2002) delves further into Billig’s (1995) theory of banal nationalism, with an exploration of the relationship between national identity, popular culture, and everyday life.  He tackles the significant neglect of popular culture in studies of national  16 identity with reference to the everyday “spatial, material, performative, embodied and representative expressions and experiences of national identity” (p.  vii).  This includes the potential omissions or neglect of cultural icons, ideological landscapes and sites, formal and informal ceremonies, and Hobsbawm and Ranger’s (1983) invented traditions.  Edensor (2002) also counters theorists who insist that in our current global, transnational world, national identity is a waning force.  He argues that (1) the increased sense of fluidity around the concept of identity creates a need for reclaiming terra-firma, with national identity providing an “existing point of anchorage” (p. 28); (2) national identity is shaped by an unconscious set of assumptions about the way citizens think and act and that we are unaware of its subliminal hold on our lives; and (3) identities are always anchored in time and space by a framework of geographical and historical contexts, as well as a legal, political and institutional bureaucracy (2002).  Edensor’s work is a powerful argument for the idea that national identity is rooted in much more than homogeneity and tradition.  What is appealing about both Billig (1995) and Edensor’s (2002) work is that it speaks to the fact that despite an awareness that nations and national identities are constructed, citizens frequently express national passion and take pride in fixing their identities to the nation (i.e., the Olympic Games).   Thus, the larger definition of national identity that informs this research draws from portions of scholarship from the above-mentioned theorists.   It sees nations and national identities as sometimes originating in the development and bureaucracy of the modern state (Gellner, 1983), and in other instances stemming from pre-existing ethnicities (Smith, 1986, 1991, 1998).  It further understands nations and national  17 identities as being moulded and contested by the state’s invented traditions (Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1983), yet also anchored (often unwittingly) by a society’s everyday banalities (Billig, 1995; Edensor 2002).  It concurs that just as nations are created and imagined by states and their citizens, so too are national identities (Anderson, 1983/2006). 2.2 National Identity and Museums   This research aims to determine the extent to which the narratives communicated at the CMHR challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity, and how this positions the Museum as a site of historical consciousness.  What follows presents some of the literature that discusses national identity and its relationship to museums. 2.2.1 Museums and State Authority Museum scholars agree that museums throughout the world are implicated in the creation of national identities (Anderson 1983/2006; Ashley, 2007, 2011; Bennett 1996, 2006; Carter, 2016; Coombes, 1995; Crane 1997, 2006; Dubin, 2000, 2006; Duncan & Wallach, 2006; Giebelhausen, 2006; Henry et al. 1998; Karp & Lavine 1991; Macdonald, 2003, 2006; Mackey 2012; Phillips 2012; Rydell, 1984, 2006; Trofanenko, 2008).  Scholars often discuss the link between national identities and museums by historically situating the institution’s origins and functions as intimately connected to the trajectory of the state and to subjective political negotiations (Bennett, 1996, 2006; Duncan & Wallach, 2006; Giebelhausen, 2006; Karp & Lavine, 1991; Macdonald, 2003; Rydell, 1984, 2006).  Abt (2006) linked the public museum’s earliest connection with the state to Ptolemy Soter’s founding of the Mouseion of Alexandria in c. 280 BCE,  18 arguing that it connected “the institution of learning and its materials to the purposes of the state in a manner that enhanced the sovereign’s prestige and extended his reach to include the less tangible but no less significant realm of knowledge” (p. 116).  Tracing the museum’s evolution in the West as an agent of the state, he details the Roman acquisition of looted Greek statuary and paintings between 211 and 60 BCE, describing how their incorporation into the architecture and public space of Rome became a visual reminder for citizens of the emperor’s military prowess.  Abt observed the intimate way in which museums are connected to state authority with detailed examples of princely collections and cabinets of curiosity from the Renaissance to French expansion under Napoleon.  As he explains, Francesco I de’ Medici’s study was located in the Palazzo Vecchio, the seat of Florentine government and the Medici dwelling, and connected to the sala grande where he entertained state visitors.  Such princely collections were expressions of the world in microcosm, places where state officials could symbolically claim dominion over the greater world.  Abt (2006) further argues that in response to the ideological threat of revolution, many states throughout continental Europe quickly moved to establish their own national museums and royal collections throughout Europe: the Ashmolean Museum, in 1683; the British Museum, in 1753; the Uffizi, built from 1743 to 1769; and the Louvre, in 1793.  He further explains that French expansion under Napoleon led to the establishment of a number of other European museums modeled after the Louvre including: the Galleria dell’Accademia in 1807, in Venice; the Pinacoteca di Brera in 1809, in Milan; the Rijksmuseum’s predecessor in 1808 in Amsterdam; and the Museo del Prado in 1809 in Madrid.  Abt observes that although the French were ultimately required to retreat from these countries, “they left behind a  19 durable model for the public museum in Europe which, despite the political vicissitudes of many countries, continue today as symbols of, and containers for, national patrimonies” (p. 129).   Other scholarship that discusses the museum’s historical origins and functions is devoted to deconstructing the notion of the museum as a disseminator of fixed knowledge through an analysis of the ways in which objects and/or narratives are used to construct temporal orders that teach the public about conceptions of progress and preconceived notions of the dominance of Western nations and peoples.  These studies often use a Foucauldian framework, looking at museums as power structures and critiquing their routine naturalization of one national history over others (Ashley, 2007, 2011; Bennett 1996, 2006; Crane 1997, 2006; Dubin, 2000, 2006; Henry et al. 1998; Hooper-Greenhill 1992; Karp & Lavine 1991; Mackey 2012; Phillips 2012; Rydell, 1984; Trofanenko, 2008).   Certain scholars have discussed the relationship between the museum and the power and interests of the imperial/colonial state (Anderson, 1983/2006; Coombes, 1995).  Annie Coombes (1995) examined the role of the museum in forming the “idea” of Africa, arguing that exhibitions of African material during late Victorian and Edwardian England reinforced the imperial fantasy of progress toward civilization through British dominance of the world.  Anderson (1983/2006) investigated the museumization of ancient monuments and other sites in colonized Southeast Asia.  Building on his thesis of the imagined community, Anderson described how the sites of Borobudur, Angkor, and Pagan which had fallen into disrepair, were “successively disinterred, unjungled, measured, photographed, reconstructed, fenced off, analysed,  20 and displayed” (p. 179), as a means to create alternative legitimacies for colonialist rule that was less connected to conquest.  Meanwhile, other theorists (Duncan & Wallach, 1980, 2006; Giebelhausen, 2006; Heumann Gurian 2006) have demonstrated how a museum’s architecture, including its internal layout, exhibition spaces, and display elements, combined with its regional placement in a city, are equally instrumental in fostering a sense of the permanence and importance of the nation.       2.2.2 The Cultural Turn, Critical Museology, and Curating Difficult Knowledge The cultural turn was a movement in the 1970s that saw a shift away from positivist epistemology and a move toward a diverse array of new theoretical impulses stemming from fields that had once been peripheral to the social sciences (Mason, 2006).  It was heavily influenced by historiographical developments, including the emergence of social history, which resulted in a change in museology in the process of curation to incorporate women, Indigenous2 peoples, cultural and ethnic minorities, and others who had previously been marginalized within the historical narratives of museum exhibitions.  Consequently, museum curation and scholarship, as influenced by the cultural turn, saw increased representation of marginalized groups in exhibitions (Ashley, 2007, 2011; Coombes, 1995; Henry et al., 1998; Karp & Lavine, 1991; Macdonald, 2003; Mackey 2012; Phillips 2012; Stevens, 2007; Trofanenko, 2008). A few decades on, however, the cultural turn underwent further transformation (Karp et al., 2007; Lehrer and Milton, 2011; Macdonald, 2006).  As Lehrer and Milton (2011) detailed, the current museological moment “is one of democratization not just of                                                       2 Throughout this dissertation, I use the term Aboriginal to denote Canadian Aboriginal peoples.  That is, Canada’s “First Nations, “Métis”, and “Inuit”. I use the term Indigenous to denote the “original inhabitants” of a land in countries other than Canada, or, when I am referring to a grouping that includes both Canadian Aboriginals and Indigenous peoples from other lands.   21 access, but also of authority” (p. 5).  This critical museology frequently draws attention to the political character of museums and to questions about the connections between government, museums, publics, the social vocation of museums, and cultural policy (Hein, 2006; Macdonald, 2003; Mason, 2006; Sandell, 1998, 2005).  Theorists of critical museology are often influenced by the ideas of French philosopher and historian Michel Foucault (1980, 1991).  Foucault’s theories encompass a reassessment of the relationship between power and knowledge, notions of truth, sexual politics and subjectivity, and the way that history is written—all factors that contribute to subjective notions of national identity.  Critical museology typically points to the fact that museums are never neutral and that the very acts of collecting, selecting, displaying, and interpreting objects and carefully crafting narratives are always related to politics and culture.  As a result, museums have been forced to tackle the question of whose history they are constructing and whose memories they are negotiating.  Critical museology is also influenced by structural theory and the ideas of French philosopher Jacques Derrida.  Derrida believed “there can be no fixed signifieds (concepts), and signifiers (sound or written images), which have identity only in their difference from one another, are subject to an endless process of deferral” (Mason, 2006, p. 43).  What this means for critical museology is that any efforts to affix meaning to objects will always result in competing meanings; the interpretation and recognition of those meanings remain dependent on the context.  Through the lens of critical museology, historians, anthropologists, and curators are no longer the only authoritative producers of narratives of the past.  Increasingly, other stakeholders are emerging and influencing how curatorial work is shaped.   22 Additionally, museums have evolved from cabinets of curiosity with static objects, showcasing state riches and disseminating progressive storylines of nationhood, to becoming critical spaces for public engagement, where audiences are characterized as active interpreters of meaning who decode exhibitions in varied and discriminate ways (Bal, 1996, 2002, 2006; Dicks 2000a, 2000b; Gregory & Witcomb, 2003; Lidchi, 1997; Smith 2006).  Contemporary museum practices have therefore moved from being content-driven to ideas-driven, espousing the creation of experiential pedagogical spaces (Carter, 2015, 2016; Grenier, 2010; Simon, 2011; Trofanenko, 2016).  In addition, many institutions have shifted considerably over the last quarter century in response to calls for social accountability to urgent contemporary issues that take up social justice causes and convey a national social consciousness—human rights, the environment, and immigration among them (Carter & Orange, 2012).  This began in the 1950s with memorial museums such as Yad Vashem, in Jerusalem (1953), and continued into the present, with the new human rights museums that were first inaugurated in the 1980s including, for example: the the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, in Phnom Penh, Cambodia (1980); the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM), in Washington, DC (1993); the Apartheid Museum, in Johannesburg, South Africa (2001); and the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, in Rwanda (2004). The curatorial function of these human rights museums is often to act as an intermediary between past atrocities and present social justice (Carter & Orange, 2012; Carter, 2015, 2016; Stone, 2006).     23 As Carter (2016) has articulated: The manner in which many museums are constructing the past is highly informed by political and cultural interests of the present . . . the desire to inscribe the memory of a painful past with the possibility of changed social behaviours for a better future through an appeal to activism. (p. 256)  Within this context, the CMHR, is what Carter & Orange (2012) have described as an “issues based [museum] that take[s] on historical and current problems, both local and global in scope, and provide[s] the knowledge and information platforms upon which these institutions are premised.” (p. 11).   Carter and Orange use the term issues-based, rather than idea-based, as issues denote ongoing dialogue and debate, whereas ‘idea-based’ suggests loyalty to specific representational strategies that may or may not be social justice -based.   Educational theorist Deborah Britzman (1998, 2003) has called the interpretive content in museums that deals with histories of atrocity, violence, racism, genocide and war: “difficult knowledge”.  Roger Simon (2011) further theorizes that memorial or human-rights museums are said to present “difficult knowledge” by Confront[ing] visitors with significant challenges to their expectations and interpretive abilities.  This may occur when an exhibition offers multiple, conflicting perspectives on historical events, resulting in narratives whose conclusions remain complex and uncertain.  In the face of such a demand; a specific exhibition may be contested or refused while provoking degrees of anxiety, anger, and disappointment. (p. 194)  Simon (2011) has also cautioned that, “‘difficult knowledge’ does not reside within particular artifacts, images and discourses,” but rather between the affective force provoked within the experience of an exhibition and the possible sense one might make of one’s experience of this force and its relation to one’s understanding of an exhibition’s images, artifacts, text, and sounds. (p. 195)  In his view, curatorial practice is highly pedagogical and involves “a broad set of  24 judgements that set the framing for the presentation of combinations of images, objects, text, and sound within a particular mise-en-scène” (p. 207).  In Simon’s earlier work, (2000) he conceived and advocated for a form of critical pedagogy coined a “pedagogy of transactive memory” that facilitates a situation in which one’s memories of the past are placed alongside potentially opposing narratives, allowing for the possibility that “one’s stories might be shifted by the stories of others” (p. 62).  He has asserted that “a transactive memory has the potential to expand that ensemble of people who count for us” (p. 63).  That is, individuals may come to empathize with others by listening to recounting of “public memories.”  Although Simon was writing specifically about schools, his theories are easily extended to other sites of pedagogy such as museums.  Thus, memorial or human-rights-based museums become “transactional space[s], not for the consolidation of national memory but for mobilizing practices of remembrance-learning” (p. 63).  They simultaneously connect us with marginalized or silenced narratives thus problematizing the master national narrative templates of our culture.  Simon’s (2000) “pedagogy of transactive memory” therefore challenges “the reiteration of valued stories which attempt to secure the permanence of collective affiliations and identifications in stable notions of a meaningful past” (p. 76).  In his 2005 collection The Touch of the Past: Remembrance, Learning and Ethics, Simon further probed his “pedagogy of transactive memory” with exploration of written, visual and material memory-making of systemic mass violence.  The volume’s essays explore how, and with what consequences, difficult memories are passed on through differences of time, space, and cultural frameworks (p. 4).   As Simon (2011) has noted, however, the long-term effects of these new  25 memorial museums and their ambitious moral agendas remains to be seen, as “there is ample evidence that an awareness and moral assessment of previous unjust violence and brutality does not automatically constitute a bridge for linking the past and present so as to diminish the recurrence of injustice” (p. 207).  He concluded that these institutions leave museology with the task of envisioning “a curatorial pedagogy of difficult knowledge committed to retaining that which does not expend itself as information” (p. 207) and which embodies “an affective force provoking thought and action” (p. 208).  As Lehrer and Milton (2011) have similarly detailed, increasingly, museums are “taking the word ‘curate’ in its root meaning of ‘caring for’,” so that curation becomes understood not only as “selection, design, and interpretation, but as care-taking—as a kind of intimate, intersubjective, inter-relational obligation—[which] raises key ethical questions relevant in an age of ‘truth-telling’” (p. 4).  2.2.3 Canada, the Cultural Turn, and Critical Museology In Canada, many museums, have, since the 1990’s, followed the trend of presenting ideas-driven exhibitions that seek to recognize and represent previously marginalized ethno-cultural and Aboriginal groups in more socially just ways, by featuring exhibitions that curate difficult knowledge by revisiting past injustices committed against these groups (Ashley, 2007, 2011; Henry, et al., 1998; Kreps, 2006; Mackey, 2012; Phillips, 2011, 2012).  However, several scholars point out that when Canada’s ethno-cultural minorities are included in museums, they are often collapsed into representations of an official “multicultural” national identity.  Ashley (2005, 2011, 2016) as well as Henry and colleagues (1998) have written about the Royal Ontario Museum’s (ROM) Into the Heart of Africa exhibition, which met with public outcry, and  26 was boycotted, over what African Canadian organizations argued was the story of white people in Africa, and a perpetuation of racism through a series of objects on display that lacked adequate interpretation.  As Henry and colleagues concluded, the exhibition marked a turning point for future museum exhibitions attempting to represent minority groups, by pointing to the blind nature of white privilege in the upper echelons of museum curation and raising questions about limited conceptions of Canadian national identity.  In November 2016, the Royal Ontario Museum issued a formal apology for this exhibition (Crawley, 2016) Meanwhile, other literature is devoted to the ways in which museums use the contributions and presence of Aboriginals in very particular ways.  Scholars have indicated that narratives in museums often serve Canada’s progressive, Euro-Western, nation-building storylines, and that the cultural property of First Nations, Métis, and Inuit is appropriated for many museums’ functions and collections (Battiste & Henderson, 2000; Dion, 2009).  Growing fascination with the “savage” in contrast to civilized Euro-Western peoples was buoyed by the increasing scarcity of Indigenous people in the colonies and meant that greater value began to be placed on Canadian Aboriginal art and artifacts (Clapperton 2010; Dion 2009).  Museums often adopted a salvage paradigm whereby the physical, spiritual, mental and emotional belongings/remnants of Indigenous peoples were collected and preserved by museums to remember a vanishing race.  When they were not presenting their culture as extinct, institutions were complicit in ignoring modern Aboriginal culture, preferring to situate their culture, artifacts, and belongings outside of history proper and as frozen in the past (Mackey, 2012).  27 Canadian museological institutions have also been key in crafting a visualizing technology that has perpetuated a worldview emphasizing the superiority of Euro-Western culture over all others.  This was accomplished through exhibitions that linked the development of cultures to the animal and plant worlds—as having advanced from simpler to more complex forms over time (Mackey, 2011, 2012; Phillips, 2011, 2012).  According to Phillips (2012), this type of chronology creates a colonizing discourse that limits “the terms in which the past of many non-Western peoples can be discussed” (p. 360).   Although the issues described above have yet to be completely resolved, since the 1980s, and mainly due to Aboriginal cultural activists, museum practice in Canada has become more inclusive of Canada’s Aboriginals.  Almost all large-scale Canadian museums, including the Canadian Museum of History (Ottawa), the Glenbow Museum (Calgary), the Royal Ontario Museum (Toronto), the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia (Vancouver), Pointe-à-Callière Museum and the McCord Museum (Montréal) and the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (Winnipeg) have dedicated exhibition space to Canadian Aboriginals (Logan, 2014).  Moreover, policy changes for working with Aboriginal communities at both large and small Canadian institutions have largely demonstrated how visitor feedback and direct involvement from Aboriginal communities in curation can improve museum practices (Trofanenko, 2006).   Coupled with this, some Canadian museums are embracing the notion of their role as sites of decolonization.  Decolonization is premised on recognizing Indigenous peoples as “those who have inhabited the lands before colonization or annexation; have  28 maintained distinct nuanced cultural and social organizing principles; and claim a nationhood status.  Indigenous peoples are both self-identified and recognized by members of their community” (Castagno & Brayboy, 2008, p. 944).  Although decolonization manifests itself in different forms depending on place, time, circumstances of colonization, and the priorities of local Indigenous people, the decolonization movement in Canada tends to share certain features including: (a) challenging the assumptions, legacies, and histories of both settler (Canadian) and imperial (French/English) colonial systems; (b) confronting the universalization of Euro-Western thought steeped in modernity; (c) challenging cognitive imperialism and Eurocentrism that privileges certain cultures and ways of knowing over others (Ahenakew, Andreotti, Cooper, & Hireme, 2014; Battiste, 1998; 2013; Mackey 2012; Phillips, 2012).    Museums that act as sites of decolonization often become institutions of memory through what Dion (2009) has labelled “(re)tellings of testimony.”  Here, survivors of colonial harm and injustice can tell their stories to the public as acts of social justice and to ensure that their stories are remembered (Dion, 2009).  Nevertheless, despite museums’ evolution from colonial trophy cases to centres of decolonization and dialogue, scholars warn of ongoing issues around Aboriginal representation and recognition in Canadian museums (Logan, 2014; Mackey, 2012; Phillips, 2011, 2012; Wakeham, 2008).  As Mackey (2012) and Phillips (2011, 2012) have indicated, museum exhibitions continue to appropriate Aboriginals into the national pasts they construct through authoritative narratives of nationhood that weave together their land, history, and Western notions of progress.  Mackey (2012) referred  29 to a 1992 exhibition titled Land, Spirit, Power:  First Nations at the National Gallery of Canada, that was deemed progressive for its collaboration with Aboriginal artists and its “less totalizing and generalizing approach to Aboriginal artwork” (p. 329).  She argued that, like many other similar exhibitions, it was still problematic: “Aboriginal people’s essential link to the land, and their ‘hybrid’ and politicized presence, is here transformed into the mythic tale of Canadian tolerance” (p. 330).   Wakeham (2008) has also contended that too often, the dominant narratives communicated in museums of countries with colonial pasts such as Canada, are state-orchestrated storylines of reconciliation.  Logan (2014) furthered this argument, stating that in Canada, this “‘celebratory discourse’ of museum-driven ‘reconciliation’ glosses over or sugar coats existing violations against Indigenous peoples” (p. 120).  As Lehrer and Milton (2011) argue, curating “reconciliation” risks other erasures, neglects, and negations, potentially inflicting further harm by silencing those living with scars, still-open wounds, or ongoing injustice.  There is a need for curatorial work that can both reveal and contain such tensions, highlighting the ways that aggrieved parties live in “contentious coexistence” in the aftermath of violence, while also creating spaces for more robust “dissensual community” to emerge. (p. 7)  Logan (2014), Lehrer and Milton (2011), Mackey (2012), Phillips (2011, 2012), and Wakeham (2008) have offered powerful arguments demonstrating how settler colonial nations reconcile national guilt over past injustices toward Aboriginals through museums and art galleries and how nation states are still quite active in the construction and reinforcement of identities tied to these spaces.  These assertions are frequently echoed by scholars who argue that although Canada’s official image is one of tolerance and multiculturalism, the nation is adept at ignoring and silencing both  30 inequalities and racism through its museum exhibitions (Ashley, 2005, 2011; Henry et al., 1998; Mackey 2012; Phillips 2012; Stanley 2007).  This investigation will specifically address the recognition and representation of Aboriginals in the CMHR in both Chapter 3: Architecture, Design, Content and Controversy and through the analysis of two exhibits featuring Aboriginal content in the Canadian Journeys Gallery: Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice (section 5.6), and Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy (section 5.4). 2.3 Conceptual Framework: Current Constructions of Canadian National Identity  As noted earlier, the national narratives constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy—classrooms, textbooks, monuments, memorials, national historic sites, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, Indigenous landscape features and public performances—frequently encompass or reflect master national narrative templates, with underlying structures, not readily available to conscious reflection (Wertsch, 2004, 2008).  What, then, are Canada’s master national narrative templates and those that reproach them? The recent work produced by Canadian scholars, cultural producers, and artists has troubled and challenged the narratives communicated in sites of pedagogy.  This is achieved by demystifying how symbols and narrative tropes are adopted as wide-scale reflections of the past (see Ashley, 2011; Clark, 2007; Clark & Sears, 2016; Dean, 2009; Dion, 2007; Donald, 2009; Francis, 1997; King, 2014; Neatby & Hodgins, 2012; Saul, 2014; Schick & St. Denis 2005; Seixas & Clark, 2004; Stanley, 2006, 2012, 2014; Yu, 2007/2008).  From this work, I have conceptualized a Framework of Canadian National Narratives.  This conceptual framework reflects national narratives that are frequently  31 constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy.3 However, before detailing this framework I will first clarify the use of the term “sites of pedagogy.” 2.3.1 Sites of Pedagogy Lieux de mémoire  Historians, history educators, and public historians have traditionally relied on Pierre Nora’s concept of lieux de mémoire to discuss places of learning capable of communicating national narratives outside of formal education (Lorenz, 2004; Neatby & Hodgins, 2012; Seixas, 2004, 2014).  Nora defined these sites as “any significant entity, whether material or non-material in nature, which by dint of human will or the work of time has become a symbolic element of the memorial heritage of any community” (1996, p.  xvii).  His lieux de mémoire signified the multiple ways that the past might be remembered and spatially constituted through two types of historical realms: (1) concrete locations (e.g., emblems and/or symbols, buildings, localities, books, and people), and (b) non-material sites, conceptual spaces, and/or experiences (e.g., commemorations, celebrations, national holidays, and rituals).  Vital to Nora’s concept of lieux de mémoire is Halbwachs’ (1980) observation that memory is institutionalized by nation-states, which use spatial reference points to create sites where collective memory can aggregate.  This acknowledges that historians whose work informs the lieux de mémoire are “both products and producers of the collective identities of the culture in which they are part” (Lorenz, 2004, p. 28).  According to                                                       3 The articulation of Québécois and French Canadian/Acadian national narratives, as communicated through expressions of the political, linguistic, and cultural distinctiveness of the Québec nation, was beyond the purview of this framework.  Létourneau (2004, 2006, 2014); Lévesque and Létourneau (in press); and Lévesque, Létourneau, & Gani (2013) address this in their work, as does, in part, Canadians and Their Pasts (Conrad et al., 2013).     32 Nora, a site of memory’s tangible nature facilitates the recovery of memory long after the lieux’s direct link to the past has been lost. Anomalous Places of Learning In her seminal book, Places of Learning, Ellsworth (2005) drew on insights from interdisciplinary encounters in the fields of philosophy, cultural studies, science, architecture, and media studies to distinguish what she terms anomalous places of learning—architectural spaces, public artwork, particular museum experiences, mediated cityscapes, theatrical performances—from traditional learning centres with specific curricular goals and objectives (i.e., schools).  She referenced six speculative test pieces, — three of which are the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the Civil Rights Memorial, and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s permanent exhibition—to argue that the pedagogical force of these anomalous places lies not in their content or representational ability but in their “appeal to non-cognitive, non-representational processes, and events of minds/brains/bodies . . . by configuring time and space in ways that modulate intensity, rhythm, passage through space, duration through time, aesthetic experience, and spatial expansion and compression (pp. 137–138).”  Ellsworth emphasized that sensation construction is paramount in the conceptual work of architects, artists, performers, media producers, and designers of museum exhibitions and public spaces.  What Ellsworth is suggesting, is that these sites relay narratives not only through their pre-constructed representational features, but also through the unique non-cognitive, nonrepresentational, aesthetic or spatial experience of their visitors.  Thus, architectural spaces, media, particular museum experiences, public art, mediated  33 cityscapes, and theatrical performances have the power to elicit “affective somatic responses” in learners by “inviting the sensation of a mind/brain/body simultaneously in both suspension and animation in the interval of change from the person one has been to the person that one has yet to become” (p. 22).  Through these anomalous places of learning, Ellsworth therefore explores pedagogy as knowledge in the making, rather than knowledge as a thing made. Indigenous Landscape Features Dwayne Donald (2009) has discussed how certain Canadian landscape features are significant places of learning about Aboriginal culture and identity.  Donald aimed to decolonize education by (a) highlighting that all places in Canada were once Aboriginal lands and remain so today; (b) moving traditional Euro-Western place-based notions of geography and history to land-based ones (Calderon, 2014);4 (c) shifting dominant Euro-Western thinking about definitions of historical evidence and (d) considering artifacts as situated within a socio-cultural and historical sense, as “living vestiges fecund with contested interpretations of culture and identity rather than in an archaeological sense referring to findings fit for museums that attempt to capture and define meanings of culture and identity” (Donald, 2009, p. 11).  He used the example of certain rocks, which through the lens of Indigenous epistemologies and knowledges are viewed as ancient life forms whose energy and wisdom are connected to the places                                                       4 Calderon explored how schooling communicates a settler-colonial land ethic through place-based education that lacks significant engagement of such colonial legacies in education.  She suggested that land education might move place-based education forward by “centering indigeneity” (p. 24) and addressing “the ways in which place is foundational to settler colonialism” (p. 33).   34 where they are located.  Donald recounts the story of a particular rock called papamihaw asiniy, whose location was once a sacred site of pilgrimage and offering to the Blackfoot and Cree.  Considered a threat by Christianizing missions, it was removed and relocated several times throughout the early 19th century and now resides in the Royal Alberta Museum.  Donald argued that “[t]he removal of the rock allowed the place to be re-imagined and allowed the Prairies to be redefined in ways more conducive to Euro-Canadian notions of land use and ownership” (p. 17).  This example demonstrates how Indigenous landscape features can act as sites of pedagogy that serve to decolonize by exposing the modernist structures of colonization.                     The understanding of the term “sites of pedagogy” as used in this investigation therefore encompasses a combination of Nora’s (1998) lieux de mémoire, Ellsworth’s (2005) anomalous places of learning, and Donald’s (2009) Indigenous landscape features.  As mentioned in this study’s introduction, museums have had a dedicated pedagogical imperative, offering an informal education to their attending publics (Bennett, 1995, 2006; Hein, 2006; Hooper-Greenhill, 1992; Rydell, 1984, 2006; Trofanenko, 2011).  This definition is important not only because this investigation is interested in the CMHR as a site of pedagogy, but also because the examples found in the framework that follows are communicated in the various types of sites of pedagogy described above. 2.3.2 A Framework of Canadian National Narratives   Since this research took place in Canada, what follows is an examination of national identity as it has been, and continues to be constructed in the current historical moment within the context of the Canadian state.  As noted earlier, from the  35 recent work produced by scholars, cultural producers and artists, I have developed a Framework of Canadian National Narratives.  This conceptual framework captures the national narratives that are frequently constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy.  It will aid in determining the extent to which the narratives communicated at the CMHR challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity.  It will also contribute to the analysis of how these narratives position the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.  The Framework of Canadian National Narratives identifies two master national narrative templates—Master National Narrative Template 1.0 (NN 1.0) and Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—and a third dimension titled Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0), which is not a master national narrative template.  Rather, NN 3.0 conveys competing, omitted, or silenced aspects of Canadian history through national narratives that trouble the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0, thereby providing a more nuanced perspective on Canadian identity.  In other instances, NN 3.0 throws into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces.  Although partially shaped by historiography, and despite the chronological emergence of each, NN 1.0, NN 2.0, and NN 3.0 are not rigidly quarantined from one another.  Instead, they are overlapping, malleable, and continually evolving as we move forward in the current historical moment (see figure 1 below). For clarity, however, I will first describe each one separately below.  36  Figure 1. Framework of Canadian National Narratives, Stephanie Anderson, 2017    37 Master National Narrative Template 1.0 (NN 1.0) Master National Narrative Template 1.0 emerged in the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth century, when historians were primarily communicating romantic notions about national identity (Lopez & Carretero, 2012).  Like other master national narrative templates, NN 1.0 “may be instantiated using a range of concrete characters, events, dates and circumstances, but its basic plot remains relatively constant” (Wertsch, 2004, p. 57).  NN 1.0 conveys the progressive, unified, Euro-Western, colony-to-nation storyline of Canada, borrowing from a historiographical approach where national identities are considered to be innate features and permanent attributes of human nature enshrouded in an aura of naturalness and immutability (Smith, 1991).  It therefore adheres to a meta-narrative of Canadian history that communicates the struggle and progressive triumph of early European settlers in taming the Canadian wilderness, while highlighting Canada’s seamless transition from British colony to ally in the imperial enterprise as an independent nation (see Creighton, 1959; Lower, 1977a, 1977b).  In the time-period when NN 1.0 emerged, national histories were used to distinguish who belonged to the nation and who did not (Smith, 1991; Stanley 2014).  Within this perspective, NN 1.0’s key protagonists typically include mostly Euro-Western male politicians, settlers, industrialists and war heroes.  Often, NN 1.0 interprets these individuals as canonical national figures and reflective of current Canadians’ ancestry, if not through family lineage (which would rule out most modern-day Canadians), then through the constructed imaginary of the nation (Francis, 1997).  When communicated in sites of pedagogy, NN 1.0 often omits, marginalizes, and racializes persons or groups considered to be at odds with, or outside the purview of, its  38 main cultural project by positioning them as abject others.  These include Canadian Aboriginals (Inuit, Métis and First Nations), ethno-cultural minorities, the Québécois and French Canadians (see e.g., Berger, 1996; Dick, 2012; Donald, 2009; Fienup-Riordan, 1995; Létourneau, 2004; Mackey, 2012; Stanley, 2006; Wrong, 1929).  Sometimes overt, and other times quietly woven into NN 1.0, is a worldview influenced by Social Darwinism that emphasizes the superiority of Euro-Western culture over all others (see, e.g., Phillips, 2011, 2012). First Nations, Métis, and Inuit. NN 1.0 frequently silences, marginalizes, and racializes Canadian Aboriginals by communicating progress as “mov[ing] forward in time from the moment of European arrival, mak[ing] the present dominance of Europeans seem inevitable and natural” (Stanley, 2006, p. 34).  As Marker (2011) articulates, these narratives “celebrated in the chronicles of the development of industries and the economic benefits generated by natural resources, contain ‘inaudible’ stories of the displacement and marginalization of Aboriginal life” (p. 107).  NN 1.0’s notions of progress are demonstrated in sites of pedagogy that represent Aboriginals as “primitive,” especially in comparison to “more highly evolved” Euro-Western peoples.  A salient example of this feature of NN 1.0 is relayed through Donald’s (2009) analysis of Fort Edmonton Park.  Donald observes that the space outside the fur trade fort walls is “an anthropological realm—a museum-like exhibit, presumably depicting authentic renditions of Indian people and culture” (p. 2).  He then discerns that inside the fort walls, re-enactments center on industriousness, with settlers labouring in “the interests of civilizing a country and building a nation” (p. 2).  Donald unravels how the fort and other  39 Canadian sites of pedagogy like it, in their marginalization and racialization of Canadian Indigeneity, act as colonial artifacts, signifying “a particular four-cornered version of imperial geography that has been transplanted on lands perceived as empty and unused” (p. 3).  According to Phillips (2012), this type of chronology creates a colonizing discourse that limits “the terms in which the past of many non-Western peoples can be discussed” and perpetuates the idea that human cultures, like animal and plant worlds, have progressed from simpler to more complex forms over time (p. 360). When Aboriginals are included in the colony-to-nation storyline, they are frequently portrayed as exotic, noble savages, animal-like villains, or children in need of white, Euro-Western regulation and control.  Communications of Aboriginals as noble savages are found throughout the work of early Canadian painters such as Paul Kane and Cornelius Krieghoff.  Meanwhile communications of Aboriginals as villains or children are found in George Wrong’s textbook (1929) The History of Canada, where an encounter between the Mi’kmaq and Jacques Cartier is described as follows: “he scattered among them glass beads, combs and other trinkets for which they scrambled like eager children.  They were a wretched company, and Cartier thought they must be the poorest people in all the world” (p. 14).  This communication is also prevalent in early 20th-century films about the Canadian North, such as Nanook of the North (1922) which, although full of grievous ethnographic errors, was central to perpetuating the idea of the imaginary Eskimo—portraying the Inuit as primitive, child-like seal-eaters who rubbed noses (Fienup-Riordan, 1995).   40  An example of NN 1.0’s villainization of Aboriginals is found in the more recent television series Canada: A People’s History (CPH).5  As Lyle Dick (2012) explained, not only did CPH advance a colony-to-nation narrative, it served to promote national unity through its choice of the epic genre that plainly identifies heroes and villains—the latter being, most often, Québec sovereigntists or Canadian Aboriginals.  One segment, entitled “A Single Act of Severity,” used a piece of 1870 propaganda from the Canadian Illustrated News, showing the execution of Thomas Scott, which reinforce the notion that the Métis who participated in the North-West Resistance were “cold-blooded killers” (p. 202).   Ethno-Cultural Minorities. NN 1.0 also typically omits or marginalizes Canada’s ethno-cultural minorities.  Silenced stories include, for example, African slaves in Canada, African Loyalists, the Chinese Canadian contribution to the building of the Canadian Pacific Railway (CPR), and the discriminatory immigration policies and legislation (i.e., the head tax and the Continuous Journey Act) that were enacted to ensure that Canada remained “white” by keeping Asians, Indians, Jews , and Africans out (Stanley, 2006, 2014).  A classic example of this aspect of NN1.0 can be found in the pervasive use of the photograph of CPR director Donald A.  Smith driving in “the last spike” to depict the experience of building the Canadian railway despite the existence of other images of Chinese-Canadians labourers working on the CPR (Reid, 2008). Québécois, French Canadians and Acadians (French Canada). NN 1.0 also typically silences certain French Canadian interpretations of Canada’s history, or communicates                                                       5 This 17-episode series was produced by, and televised on, the CBC and Radio-Canada in 2000/2001.    41 French Canada’s presence through patronizing stereotypes.6  For example, the British victory at the Battle of Québec in 1759 is presented as a triumph, silencing a French-Canadian historical account of la Conquête, or la grande humiliation (Berger, 1986).  This reading, which gained early traction through a seven-volume series titled France and England in North America (Parkman, 1865–1892), silences the Québécois or French-Canadian historical interpretations of the outcome of the Seven Years’ War, often—and tellingly—called “The French and Indian War” in North American English-language historical accounts.  As French Canadians more often understand it, la Conquête, or la grande humiliation, was the lightning rod for a series of degradations designed to thwart French Canada’s aspirations as a unique cultural and linguistic group (Francis, 1997).  And, for many, the battle was a turning point in their national history; whereby a distinctive French-Canadian society was brutally extinguished by a foreign power (MacLeod, 2008). Other expressions of NN 1.0 frequently patronize the Québécois, French Canadians and Acadians through imagery and narratives that portray their societies and culture as entirely Catholic, sometimes quaint, and often rudimentary (Francis, 1997).  To accomplish this, NN 1.0 relies on references or imagery from iconic French-Canadian artistic or literary works that represent them in unifying and stereotypical ways such as entirely Catholic merry voyageurs and habitants (see e.g., the works of Cornelius Kriegoff).  More recently, and with specific regard to aspects of Quebec’s sovereignty movement (1960-present), including the FLQ crisis, the rise and politics of                                                       6 Québécois refers to French-speaking and ethnically French people living in the province of Québec, while French-Canadian includes the multiple Franco-Canadian communities populating Canada.    42 the Parti Québécois and Bloc Québécois, and the 1980 and 1995 referendums, NN 1.0 communicates French Canada as radical, dangerous, and threatening, perpetuating the movement and its supporters as abject others; an always present enemy within (Létourneau, 2004). The examples found here of Master National Narrative 1.0’s omissions, marginalizations, and racializations, are by no means comprehensive.  The othering of groups considered at odds with, or outside the purview of, its main cultural project is indispensable to the NN1.0 storyline where white, Euro-Western identities are celebrated and lionized.  As American author Toni Morrison (1993) points out, the use of abject others is a part of every discourse in which nations form master national narratives.  She details that American themes like individualism, freedom, and power are indebted to the presence of the black other who, in the conditions of slavery, was neither free nor powerful.  Morrison (1993) contends: “Nothing highlighted freedom—if it did not in fact create it—like slavery” (p. 38).  Despite its flaws, however, NN 1.0’s progressive, Euro-Western, colony-to-nation storyline continues to be communicated in Canadian sites of pedagogy and to influence how Canadians speak to one another about history, identity, nationhood, and the future. Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0) Master National Narrative Template 2.0 emerged in the mid-20th century amidst modernist epistemologies of nationality within the field of history whereby national identities came to be known as social constructions and invented traditions (Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1983).  In this context, amidst the new social movements of the 1960s, previously excluded groups such as women, the working class, homosexuals,  43 Indigenous peoples, and ethnic and cultural minorities received representation and recognition in academia, politics, school curricula, intellectual circles, and cultural institutions (Ng, 2005; Thobani, 2007).  In 1968, Hodgetts’ damning two-year study on Canadian history and civics education concluded, “we are teaching a bland, unrealistic consensus version of our past: a dry-as-dust chronological story of uninterrupted political and economic progress told without the controversy that is an inherent part of our history” (1968, p. 24).  Meanwhile, historiography was turning from nationalist, biographical approaches to Careless’s (1969) “limited identities” notion, which presented a more diversified understanding of Canada’s past.  On October 18 th, 1972, in the House of Commons, Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau stated: The government will support and encourage the various cultures and ethnic groups that give structure and vitality to our society . . . They will be encouraged to share their cultural expressions and values with other Canadians and so contribute to a richer life for us all. (Canada, House of Commons, 1971)  Thus emerged NN 2.0: Canada as a progress-oriented, generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  Like NN 1.0, its colony-to-nation storyline references many of the same historical markers, and, also marches forward in a meta-narrative of success.  And, although NN 2.0 does not omit or racialize the stories of Canadian Aboriginal and ethno-cultural people, it is inclusive of these communities only insofar as they interact with Europeans.  NN 2.0 therefore offers a compelling storyline of social cohesion that includes tying present-day Canada to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights.  Like all master national narrative templates, NN 2.0 is also communicated through a wide range of dates, events, characters, and circumstances, but its basic plot is almost always the same (Wertsch, 2004).  44  Appropriation. NN 2.0 frequently appropriates Canada’s ethno-cultural minorities by characterizing them as unstable, until they have been subsumed into the nation-building narrative as hyphenated-Canadians (e.g., Chinese-Canadians, Italian-Canadians, Indo-Canadians).  In many instances, it also appropriates their perseverance, resilience, and tenacity in the face of past racism, discrimination, and hardship into a narrative of progressive redemption and hope for a future Canada shaped by racial equality. On other occasions, NN 2.0 collapses minority cultures into representations of an official “multicultural” national identity.  Scholars argue that these types of celebration of cultural difference “obscure the fact that differential access to power is produced through racial formations and not through the lack of familiarity with the cultural practices of other peoples” (Schick & St. Denis, 2005, p. 307).  Macdonald (2003) warns that sites of pedagogy referencing hyphenated identities (e.g., Chinese-Canadian) often assume a pre-existing superior culture (e.g., Canadian).  She notes that even the recognition of previously marginalized ethnic/national groups (e.g., South Asian or Chinese-Canadian) infers a derisive stance toward fluid, less-defined identities.  And, as Henry Yu (2007/2008) has noted—because this type of national inclusion is often accompanied by rhetorical claims of equal citizenship and the sharing of a common history—it comes at “the loss of other kinds of stories, and the eclipsing of other kinds of politics” (p. viii). Stanley (2012) writes about an Historica Foundation’s Heritage Minute titled “Nitro” that features the poor treatment of Chinese labourers on the railway but is contrasted with a scene identified as “Vancouver 50 years later,” where a former  45 worker is portrayed as happy and prosperous.  Stanley argues that the “Nitro” narrative helps constitute modern-day Canada as a tolerant, multicultural mosaic where the future success of the worker as a male Chinese-Canadian “redeems the racist treatment he experienced in the past” (p. 220). Scholars contend that this safe packaging of difference created by multicultural add-ons in sites of pedagogy allows Canadians to feel good about the presence of “others” while silencing the inequality and racism that many minorities continue to experience today (Mackey, 2002; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Stanley, 2006, 2012; Yu, 2002). NN 2.0 appropriates Canada’s First Nations, Métis, and Inuit people through their cultural artifacts and in association with their relationship to the land.  As Schick and St. Denis (2005) point out “[i]n popular imagery, Canada is communicated as generous and tolerant by “giving away” land to white Settlers” (p. 302).  This image is needed to conceal that “the land was taken by coercive means through a process that depended on inferiorizing and racializing a people” (Schick & St. Denis, p. 302).  Phillips (2012) sees this as a new variation of the authoritative Canadian nationalist narrative, one where “Aboriginal people’s essential link to the land, and their ‘hybrid’ and politicized presence, is transformed into the mythic tale of Canadian tolerance” (p. 330).  As Mackey (2012) details, this dimension of NN 2.0 is problematic for Indigenous groups worldwide whose determining feature is their unique connection to the specific geographical spaces that were colonized.  Striking examples of the appropriation of Aboriginal peoples’ artifacts, artwork, and symbols were evidenced throughout the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games.  The symbol of the Games, was the Inuit Inuksuk, and  46 the official mascots of the Games’ were based on Aboriginal animal forms that were featured on everything from the Vancouver 2010 medals to retail items. Reconciliation and Redemption. Another dimension of NN 2.0 includes recognizing some of the historical wrongdoings of the Canadian state through a narrative that highlights national reconciliation and redemption.  This is exemplified in storylines of Canadian history that (a) recognize past policies, actions, and legislation that racialized, harmed, or violated Canada’s Aboriginal and ethno-cultural minority groups, but (b) emphasize government apologies, compensation and legal measures to right these wrongs.  What this national narrative often omits, however, is that compensatory concessions were, for the most part, wrung from recalcitrant governments by grassroots activism (Radforth, 2012).  Examples often include (a) the incarceration and removal of the rights of Japanese, Italian, and Ukrainian Canadian communities during the First and Second World Wars, and the subsequent acknowledgements, apologies, and/or compensation, by the federal government; (b) the undertaking and operation of residential schools and the initiation of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada and Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s 2008 apology in Parliament; (c) the Komagata Maru incident and the recent federal government funding of more than $82,000 for the location and design of the Komagata Maru Monument in Vancouver’s Coal Harbour.  By emphasizing reconciliation and redemption, the NN 2.0 storyline of Canadian history forges a new social memory of progress that ignores current-day inequities that stem from past racism and discriminatory national policy, including the legacy of residential schools on Canadian  47 Aboriginals, and failures in the implementation of Aboriginal treaty rights and land claims (Donald, 2009; Saul, 2014). Wars Fought for Peace and International Peacekeeping. Finally, NN 2.0 frequently ties Canada to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights through sites of pedagogy that communicate Canada’s role in wars fought for peace or international peacekeeping.  Greenberg (2008) describes several sites of pedagogy erected in Ottawa between 1997 and 2005 that embody this “national narrative of wars fought for peace” (p. 190), including (1) the erection of the Tomb of the Unknown Solider and the peacekeeping monument, The Reconciliation; (2) the Aboriginal War Veterans Memorial; (3) the Korean War Memorial; and (4) the Canadian War Museum.  She argues that “the national icon of the Peace Tower also responds to a nation whose demographic composition increasingly consists of a populace with no direct links to Canada’s military history” thereby reformulating the “iconography of the national narrative” (p. 190), so that newer Canadians might identify with Canada’s nation of peacekeepers. NN 2.0 is not only problematic for the appropriation of Canada’s Aboriginal ethno-cultural minorities, but also for privileging the grand narrative of European history (Donald, 2009; Francis 1997; Marker, 2011; Saul, 2014).  As Stanley (2012) has indicated, simply grafting ethno-cultural chapters onto a Canadian metanarrative that remains wholeheartedly European “does not fundamentally alter its terms” (p. 40).  He argued that most chronologies in sites of pedagogy continue to “move geographically from east to west and from south to north, following the progress of the European frontier” (p. 39) and cling to Confederation, in 1867, as their fundamental  48 organizational division.  NN 2.0, like NN 1.0 therefore continues to present dominant discourses inclusive of the stories of Canadian Aboriginal and ethno-cultural people and communities only insofar as they interact with Europeans.  Nevertheless, NN 2.0 has wide appeal.  It offers a compelling storyline of social cohesion that ties present-day Canada to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights.   Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0) National Narratives 3.0 is not a master national narrative template.  Rather, it captures competing, omitted, or silenced national narratives, through parallel or alternative forms of Canadian identity that contest, rebuke, or intervene in the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0 and provide multiple perspectives on Canadian identity.  In other instances, NN 3.0 throws into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces.  NN 3.0 is rooted in historiography that “views identities as complex, multifaceted phenomena that are constantly changing and never permanent or exclusive” (Lopez & Carretero, 2012, p. 146).  What follows are examples of NN 3.0 and their influences.  New Historiographies. Distinct from NN 2.0, which uses historiography to weave less-palatable aspects of Canada’s past into a narrative of progressive redemption, expressions of NN 3.0 sometimes use historiography to throw into question national identity and nationhood as innate, taken-for-granted concepts (Anderson, 1983/1996; Billig, 1995; Edensor, 2002; Gellner, 1983; Hobsbawm & Ranger 1983; and Smith, 2006).  For example, Anderson (1983/1996), concludes that national identity, as a figurative extension of the imagined nation, is fictional, stating that “the members of  49 even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (p. 6). Alternatively, NN 3.0 as influenced by new historiographies often uses historical evidence and oral histories (Llewellyn, K., Freund, A., & Reilly, N., 2015) to contradict or disrupt the progressive storylines of NN 1.0 and NN 2.0, frequently demonstrating how national pasts are linked to current-day inequities for women, ethno-cultural minorities, and Aboriginal peoples (see Carstairs & Janovicek, 2013; Stanley, 2014; Yu 2007/2008).  For example, Yu (2007/2008) has described how mythological Canadian historical narratives situate “Chinese labourers as late arrivers who displaced white workers, rather than the other way around” (p. iii), pointing out that Asian language sources reveal different perspectives. Similarly, Stanley’s (2014) historical inquiry, “John A. Macdonald and the Invention of White Supremacy in Canada,” forces us to rethink the legacy of Canada’s first prime minister, arguing that Macdonald’s enactment of legislation that excluded the Chinese “was part of his larger project: the creation of a society of people from Europe on the territories of the First Nations, Inuit and Métis people of Canada” (p. 31). The Postmodernist Critique of History. Through the lens of postmodernism, national narratives, when viewed as interpretations of the past, are mediated and unreliable representations (Parkes, 2011; Seixas, 2000).  The postmodernist critique of history throws into question narrative constructions, notions of progress, and the impartiality of historians (Lévesque, 2014).   Expressions of NN 3.0 influenced by the postmodernist critique of history are evidenced in sites of pedagogy that disrupt meta-narratives of national progress and improvement.   50 An example of this aspect of NN 3.0 can be found in the paintings of artist Mike Bayne, winner of the coveted Kingston Prize for Canadian portraiture.  Bayne’s body of work, which s familiar Canadian landscape scenes that are both bleak and ironic—such as strip malls, convenience stores, motels, and warehouses—reflects an uncertainty over Canada’s future, throwing into question notions of progress that differs sharply with iconic works such as those of the Group of Seven that depict a pristine Canadian wilderness (see figures 2, 3 and 4 below).     Figure 2. Hockey Sale, painting by M. Bayne (2010).   Reproduced by permission of the artist.    Figure 3. Patio & Garden, painting by M. Bayne (2015).  Reproduced by permission of the artist.  51    Figure 4. D-rectdial, painting by M. Bayne (2015).  Reproduced by permission of the artist. New Global Identities. New global societies are increasingly characterized by the disjointed flow of people, technology, information, ideas, ideologies, and money (Appadurdai, 1990; Cahoone, 1996).  In countries like Canada, globalization is evidenced through migration (immigration, refugees), migratory networks (international workforces), and other factors such as economic and cultural integration.  As a result, parallel or alternative national identities are emerging.  Manifestations of NN 3.0 that capture this emergence typically raise questions of the “nation” by pointing to “other” diasporic, hybrid, or trans-cultural identities and citizens within the country’s borders.  Decolonization and Indigenous Epistemologies and Knowledges. Certain manifestations of NN 3.0 are also influenced by decolonization and/or reflect particular Indigenous epistemologies and knowledges.  These might include articulations of the acceptance of Canadian or American state-borders as assertions based on the  52 evolutionary view of Indigenous displacement (Marker, 2015).  What decolonizing historiographies suggest, is a narrative cycle that begins with the Indigenous primacy of the landscape, making the modernist structures of colonization and development transparent (Marker, 2015). NN 3.0 as influenced by decolonization is further evidenced in sites of pedagogy that are transformed into “targets for Indigenous contestation” when “projected and activated on a symbolic level through textual, visual, performative and other forms of expressive culture” (Phillips, 2011, p. 341).  Salient examples of this aspect of NN 3.0 can be found in the work of several Canadian Aboriginal visual artists including Rebecca Belmore, Kent Monkman, Sonny Assu, Jeffrey Thomas, Brian Jungen, and Jaime Black.  For example, Monkman, whose compositions encompass a variety of media including painting, film/video, performance, and installation, uses a combination of humour, irony, and witty camp to explore the impact of Christianity and colonialism on Indigenous peoples around the world (see figure 5 below).  Some of his most famous works create specific interventions in the compositions of prominent American and Canadian landscape painters, such as Paul Kane, Peter Rindisbacher, and the Group of Seven to draw attention to colonial manoeuvrings that depict settler landscapes as “undiscovered,” unpopulated, and rife for the taking (Boyanoski, 2006; Coombes, 2006).  Thus, Monkman’s work often embodies NN 3.0 not only by disrupting and chipping away at the Eurocentric art world, but also by pointing to the shameful historical treatment of Canadian Aboriginals by British and French colonizers (Milroy, 2014).   53 . Figure 5. Expelling the Vices, painting by K. Monkman (2014).  Reproduced by permission of the artist.  This conceptual framework reflects national narratives that are frequently constructed and communicated in sites of pedagogy and points to the narrative organization of historical consciousness.  It should be noted that a framework of this sort could not possibly cover everything.  For example, smaller scale non-national narrative templates that address localities and that are particularly valuable for groups in the maintenance of identity and cultural survival are only partially addressed (Carr, 1986).  This conceptual framework will be used to help determine the extent to which the narratives communicated at the CMHR challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity.  It will also contribute to the analysis of the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.   2.4 Theoretical Frame  This case-study investigation seeks to determine which national narratives are being communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, through the  54 following two questions:  1. To what extent do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity?  2. How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?  This research therefore interrogates the CMHR as a site of pedagogy that can be read for its representational and spatial meanings, and as communicating a past, present, and future vision of Canada.  The theoretical frame of this study therefore applies approaches within critical museology (Bal, 1996, 2006), and historical consciousness (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004).  In what follows, I detail this investigation’s use of insights from cultural theory and critical museology (Bal, 1996, 2006, 2007).  I also discuss historical consciousness as a theoretical term (Gadamer, 1963/1987; 1975/2013) and pedagogical imperative (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Marker, 2011; McGregor, 2014; Rüsen, 2004; Seixas, 2004, 2006).  Moreover, I explain how the concept of historical significance (Cercadillo, 2001; Lévesque 2011; Seixas, 1996, 1997, 2009; Seixas & Morton, 2013) was used to inform some of the questions found on the data collection and analysis tools for this study. 2.4.1 Mieke Bal In this section, I describe how the work of European cultural theorist Mieke Bal (1996, 2006, 2007) aids in the deconstruction of the CMHR’s representational and spatial meanings.  Bal (1996) has written extensively about the museum as a text that can be examined through a Foucauldian model of discourse analysis, which uncovers  55 the museum’s narrative structures and strategies.  Bal’s (1996) framework analyzes what she has called a museum’s “language” as “spoken” through the arrangement of objects, lighting, and architecture (p. 4).  However, although she asserts that “walking through a museum is like reading a book” (p. 4), she also acknowledges that there are two narrative possibilities: a textual narrative that links objects to their functional and historical origins, and a spatial one that is the result of the arrangement of objects in an exhibition and the “sequential nature of the visit” (p. 4).   Bal (1996) has argued that an exhibition is an event where someone renders something public, and that its “performance” has three actors or grammatical positions: (1) the  “I,” the expository agent (the museum) who speaks to the visitor; (2) the “second person,” the receiver of the exhibition or gallery to whom the museum speaks; and (3) the “third person,” the object, the specific museum exhibition, the museum gallery itself (pp. 16–17)—in this case, the five exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  Bal (1996) has asserted that the expository agent or museum denotes not only curators or directors but also the entire institution, including its origins, goals, politics, financial status, staff, and collection.  A museum’s staff members further influence the selection, arrangement, and interpretation of the items on display.  The curators and researchers choose and place them, the guides interpret them, and the other staff members supervise public viewing of the items.  Finally, the collection of a museum is the repository from which staff members choose what to display.  In combination, all of these aspects make up the expository agent, the one who speaks in the exhibition. Bal (1996) has pointed out that despite this intricate process of production,  56 including all of the associated negotiations, tensions, and concessions, the final product appears as a unified, coherent exhibition.  To the public, the expository agent frequently speaks with one voice.  The speech acts made in the five exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery are what I analyze.  Thus, although I introduce this research with a brief history of the CMHR and I do include a description of the general process of curation in each of the five exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery, I do not investigate the CMHR’s financial and institutional setup, or the collections that supplied the material for the exhibits in Canadian Journeys, nor do I address in detail how the expository agent assembled the speech act.  The focus of this research lies instead on the finished speech act put forward in the exhibits.  As Bal (1996) has described, in the speech act, the expository agent uses the exhibition to communicate meaning.  This, the topic of the exhibition itself, is the third person within the speech act (Bal, 1996).  Throughout this investigation, the third person—the object spoken about—comprises the five exhibits that I have chosen to investigate in the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  This third person is broad.  It includes every aspect of the five exhibits: the material objects, photographs, documents, videos, sound recordings, lighting, colours, font size, language, and spatial design.  The way the CMHR arranges and stages the displayed objects—their sequence, height, and juxtapositions—are the “semiotics of display,” the semantic structure given to the theme of each exhibit.  As Bal (1996) has detailed, together this constitutes the exhibit’s narratives about the third person, the Canadian human rights themes addressed in each of the five exhibits.  These narratives are directed towards the second person, the visitor.  According to Bal (1996), the second person is both the ideal and the real visitor  57 as envisioned by the expository agent.  Bal uses the term ideal visitor in its singular form, arguing that a museum often imagines a unified visitor.  Although some exhibitions address multiple ideal visitors, this is rare.  The majority of expository agents imagine a native speaker and a foreigner, as indicated by the use of English and/or other languages.  In most cases, these two subject positions are identical, as evidenced in translations that convey understandings in other languages.  Bal has argued that it is possible to identify the ideal visitor through the exhibition itself, because that visitor is spoken to and thus represented in the exhibition (Bal 1996, pp. 30–32).  The ideal visitor is often conceived as white, middle-class, adult, and able to walk freely through an exhibition.  Thus, museum typography is often very small, the volume for sound exhibits is not adjustable, there are few opportunities to sit down, and the language and the representational mode presuppose a grade-school level of education.  Moreover, the presented narratives centre on a white, often male persona, offering identification to white men and women, with the women having to relate to male agents.  In contrast, Bal (1996) argues that real visitors are diverse in age, gender, class, ethnicity, and religion, and they view the exhibition from their unique standpoints.  Most exhibitions do not address real visitors, who are only revealed via visitor studies.  Moreover, as Bal (1996) has explained, since the expository agent designs the speech act earlier than the visitor encounters it, the dialogue between the two is separated by time and space.  Because the exhibition is in place prior to the real visitor encountering it, he or she only sees the third person—in this case, the storyline presented in the exhibits through this pre-structuring of the dialogue, using set objects and narratives.  Bal (1996) notes that “[t]he ‘walking tour’ links the elements of the  58 exposition for the ‘second person’,” so “the two narratives overlap but are not identical” (p. 4).  However, in Bal’s (2007) analysis of the semantics of exhibitions she also points out that the visitor’s spatial journey (their walk through the exhibition coupled with the way in which objects are sequenced) can result in the emergence of new meanings as the visitor moves through an exhibition in which heterogeneous objects “cohere because of the narrative constantly ‘under construction’” (p. 75).  Thus, for Bal, the visitor’s spatial journey through the museum must be taken seriously, as it is here that he or she becomes a co-narrator in the exhibit.  Bal’s (1996, 2006, 2007) work provides a framework for the analysis of the five exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery—specifically, how these exhibits make statements that challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity and situate the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.  Moreover, Bal’s ideas are helpful to the discussion of the spatial elements and impact of the CMHR as a whole, and in particular the exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  2.4.2 Historical Consciousness This research seeks to investigate how the CMHR, through the national narratives it communicates, is positioned as a site of historical consciousness.  The theoretical stance of historical consciousness distinguishes between knowing history and understanding how it is utilized for various purposes (Gadamer, 1963/1987, 1975/2013; Kosselleck, 1965/2004).  One of the earliest definitions of the term can be found in German hermeneutical philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer’s (The Problem with Historical Consciousness (1963/1987): We understand historical consciousness to be the privilege of modern man to have a full awareness of the historicity of everything present and the  59 relativity of all opinions. . . . historical consciousness no longer listens sanctimoniously to the voice that reaches out from the past, in reflection on it, replaces it within the context where it took root in order to see the significance and relative value proper to it.  This reflective posture towards tradition is called interpretation. (p. 89, emphasis in the original)   Gadamer (1975/2013) has described how the dialectic between the inquirer and the object or subject under study is historically situated, and emphasized “the full awareness of the historicity of everything present and the relativity of all opinions” (p. 89).  He believed that when individuals look at the past, they cannot avoid doing so through the kaleidoscope of their worldview, personal experiences, conditioning, the historical moment—individuals are perpetually restricted by the lens of their current place and time.  For Gadamer, “Real historical thinking must take account of its own historicity” (1975/2013, p. 310); it is historically situated, fluid, and mutable.  Therefore, historical consciousness is not static, involves a high degree of reflexivity, and may not be valid in another time and place.  In his book, Democratic Education as a Curricular Problem: Historical Consciousness and the Moralizing Limits of the Present Daniel Friedrich, (2014) observed that Gadamer (1963/1987, 1975/2013) and Koselleck (1965/2004) presented historical consciousness “not as an option or a mere possibility to be fulfilled by schooling or pedagogy, but a defining, inherent quality of the modern world” (p. 41).  Since this research is interested in the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness, and the Museum is considered a site of pedagogy, it is essential to look at how historical consciousness has been written about as a pedagogical device. Historical Consciousness as a Pedagogical Project Much of the focus on historical consciousness within history education draws from the work of Jörn Rüsen (2004), who scrutinized how learners understand certain  60 aspects of the past as history and how they comprehend history as positioned within a temporal relationship between the past, present, and future.  According to Rüsen, “Historical consciousness should be conceptualized as an operation of human intellection rendering the present actuality intelligible while fashioning its future perspectives” (p. 67).  Rüsen argued that historical learning involves “narrative competence,” that is, “the ability to narrate a story by means of which practical life is given an orientational locus in time” (p. 80).  He wrote that narrative competence in historical consciousness involves three abilities: (1) the ability to experience, which is related to past actuality; (2) the ability to interpret, related to the temporal whole which combines (a) experience of the past with (b) understanding of the present and (c) expectations regarding the future; and (3) the ability to orient, related to the practical need to find a path through the straits and eddies of temporal change. (pp. 80–81)  Rüsen (2004) claimed that historical consciousness “bestows upon actuality a temporal direction, an orientation that can guide action intentionally by the agency of historical memory” (p. 68).  Rüsen has viewed historical consciousness as making “an essential contribution to moral-ethical consciousness” (p. 68).  He argued that this value-laden interpretation of history can typically be mapped onto four types of historical consciousness through which learners can move: (1) the traditional sense (an unquestioned reception of a historical interpretation), (2) the exemplary sense (an ability to show single case rules and principles), (3) the critical sense (the demonstration of moral reasoning), and (4) the generic sense (a capacity to place interpretation of an event into historical context).     61 Historical Consciousness as Discipline-Oriented Historical Thinking In Canada, Peter Seixas’ scholarship around historical consciousness has been used as a rationale for educational reform in history education.  Seixas (2004) has defined historical consciousness as “individual and collective understandings of the past, the cognitive and cultural factors that shape those understandings, as well as the relations of historical understanding to those of the present and the future” (p. 10).  Building on his own scholarship, and the work of British history education theorists (Lee, 1983; Portal, 1987; Shemilt, 1980), Seixas (2009) has also conceptualized a framework for the field of history education in Canada that is grounded in questions of historical consciousness.  He has advocated that history education stress how history is constructed, and suggested that students should be taught to “come at historical consciousness through a series of questions” (Seixas 2006, p. 15), and such questions would require: Understanding the pastness of the past, the distance between the present and the past, and the difficulty in representing the past in the present.  At the same time (paradoxically), understanding the presence of the past- that is, the consequences for us today of earlier actions and decisions. (p. 16)  Seixas’ framework is based on six historical thinking concepts—significance, evidence, continuity and change, cause and consequence, historical perspective-taking, and the ethical dimension (Seixas & Morton, 2013).  As mentioned earlier, these concepts have also been integrated into the curricula of the majority of Canadian school jurisdictions and into most new school history textbooks (Seixas & Colyer, 2014).  62 Indigenous Historical Consciousness Indigenous scholar Michael Marker (2011) has described Indigenous historical consciousness as reflecting the core concerns of Canadian Aboriginal communities and scholars, inclusive of the following features: (a) cyclical or circular understandings of time and reality; (b) recognition that the land is a source of wisdom and knowledge inextricably bound to histories and memories; (c) the representation of relationships (including with non-humans and, in particular, animals and animal forms) as part of a complex ecological and spiritual web in which humans are not always dominant; and (d) the primacy of land-based histories and knowledge over global ones (Archibald, 2008; Dion, 2009; Donald, 2011; Marker, 2011). Recently, however, there has been debate in history education over the place of Indigenous historical consciousness in the history curriculum in Canada.  Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars and communities have critiqued the discipline of history for its inability to represent Indigenous understandings of the past and interests in the future, and they have troubled the rapport between disciplinary history and Indigenous knowledge systems (Brownlie, 2009; Deloria, 1999; Donald, 2009; Kovach, 2009; Marker, 2011; McGregor, 2014; Smith, 2006).  Debates over Historical Consciousness and Pedagogical Projects In “Indigenous Historical Consciousness: An Oxymoron or a Dialogue?” Seixas (2012), has broached how historians might treat Indigenous historical epistemologies (including oral histories) as both texts and hermeneutic/methodology by focusing on the contradictions and difficulties that arise between the latter and the current historical thinking concepts.  However, Seixas offers little critical deliberation on  63 historical knowledge production as it relates to epistemologies.  For instance, there is no acknowledgement that historical thinking, as embedded in Euro-Western epistemic thinking, is (at minimum) potentially colonizing with respect to what forms of knowledges are, or are not, possible.  Applying a critical lens not only to sources, but also to larger narratives no matter what their form or provenance, is of course, key to a comprehensive history education program.  However, there are certainly ways to broaden this conversation.  For example, and this is one avenue not suggested by Seixas, the recognition that it is necessary to add curricular imperatives in history education in Canada that extend beyond the “Big Six.” Dwayne Donald’s (2009) concept of Indigenous Métissage expands this dialogue.  As a relatively recent curricular engagement that integrates Indigenous historical consciousness, Indigenous Métissage is premised on the idea that Aboriginals and Canadians do not inhabit separate realities (Saul, 2008, 2014) and involves “interpret[ing] the significance of artifacts by showing how Aboriginal and Canadian perspectives of the artifact and place are rooted in colonial histories and logics that are both simultaneously and paradoxically antagonistic and conjoined” (Donald, p. 11).  It aims “to counteract the systemic ways in which Indigenous knowledge systems, values and historical perspectives have been written out of the ‘official’ version of the building of the Canadian nation” (Donald, p. 9), by reframing the mixed understandings of history, memory, and experience between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginals.  For Donald (2009), one of the main goals of Indigenous Métissage rests upon what he calls “an ethic of historical consciousness,” which he describes as “an ethical imperative to recognize the significance of the relationships we have with others, how our histories and  64 experiences are layered and position us in relation to each other, and how our futures as people similarly are tied together” (p. 7).  Criticism of Historical Consciousness as a Pedagogical Project Friedrich (2014) has argued that historical consciousness, as mobilized for the pedagogical field, takes on “radical different” form than Gadamer’s (1975/2013) conceptualization of the term.  Throughout Chapter 2 of Democratic Education as a Curricular Problem: Historical Consciousness and the Moralizing Limits of the Present , Friedrich dissects the ways in which the translation of historical consciousness from theoretical to pedagogical models have changed the term’s meaning from a space of possibility in which every practice is historically produced and therefore “relative to its spatial-temporal coordinates, which established the modern ethos as the continuous historical and critical investigation of the self” (p. 47), to a set of skills that “closes down possibility” and negates “the political power of dissensus” (p. 49).  He notes that certain pedagogues tend to emphasize the idea that historical consciousness is something to be “formed” in students, and use the word “consciousness” as a positive value construct, in opposition to ignorance (see e.g., M.P.  González (2005), Laville (2004), Reta & Pescader, 2002, Seixas, 2004).   Friedrich warns:   By understanding historical consciousness as a skill to be taught, as a term that represents the importance of being aware of everything that can be learned from the past, and of applying those lessons to the present, the teaching of historical consciousness becomes an intentional intervention a component of best practices of teaching history. (p. 43)  Thus, when historical consciousness is said to be embodied in particular pedagogical models, and especially when the parameters of such a model are characterized as fixed  65 and immutable, this is a contravention to the original fluid meaning of the term. As Friedrich (2014) further articulates By making historical consciousness a skill to be taught, pedagogical discourses produce a shift from a quality inherently present in modern thought into a potentiality, a tool that can be learned by anyone, but that is actually present only in educated minds.  Historical consciousness, thus, is moved from the sphere of everyone into the sphere of some.  If one considers that the possibility of including oneself into the historical narrative being taught in schools operates as a fundamental mechanism in the production of the citizen, the re-inscription of historical consciousness as a pedagogical process carries with it the idea of citizenship as an identity to achieve, instead of citizenship as, for example, a basic right. (p. 47)  Heather McGregor (2015) has articulated a similar concern that specifically addresses Canadian history education.  She maintains that Seixas’ historical thinking concepts “are increasingly—unquestioningly—reified amongst teachers as the singular avenue towards historical thinking and conflated with historical consciousness” and that this might constrain “the ability to see the discipline itself as a tradition, subject to history” (p. 297).  Using an expanded view of knowing with historical consciousness, drawn from Gadamer (1975/2013), McGregor (2015) has argued that the following engagements are missing from the Canadian model of historical thinking:  . . . the historian’s positionality, changing identity/ies and their own historicity; the historicity of the discipline; other contextual conditions (i.e.  the role of place) for making and remaking our stories; and, the practices of suspending opinion, showing humility, and asking self-reflexive questions in the encounter with epistemological (and other forms of) difference. (p. 297)    Even before Friedrich (2014) and McGregor (2015), Gadamer and Fantel (1975) suggested that the hermeneutic methodology enhances the development of historical consciousness by guarding against formulaic models, and that interpretive understandings must be situated carefully within their context of creation and construction of knowledge, and also within the context of time and place—the  66 particular historian’s milieu. Informed by the work of Donald (2009, 2011, 2012), Friedrich (2014), Gadamer (1975/2013), and Marker (2011), this study conceptualizes historical consciousness as a defining, inherent quality of the modern citizen/agent who takes a critical perspective of history arising from an attempt to understand the temporal relationship between the past, present, and future, with the recognition that these understandings are fluid and may not be valid in another time and place.  Museums and Historical Consciousness Susan Crane (2006) has discussed the role of the museum on the visitor’s memory as shaping historical consciousness.  She begins with the acknowledgement that the visiting public brings with them their historical consciousness as a package of accumulated life experiences and constantly changing notions of the public’s communal and personal identities.  She declares that visitors deploy this prior knowledge in the midst of viewing an exhibition, just as they learn from the information and objects presented.  Crane (1997) argues that even complete ignorance of a museum’s collection does not preclude visitor expectations.  She notes that over time, memories often shift to the recesses of our minds “sometimes resonant, other times filed away in addresses which, like semi-conducted codes no longer in use, we can no longer access” (p. 124).  Accordingly, a museum’s objects and representations help remedy this loss, offering a continuous, accessible basis for cultural identity; by cuing the knowledge and memories that we carry in our minds.  She notes, externalizing the mental function of remembering, museums of history, natural history, and culture select some memories to retain in the perpetual present.  Preserved and conserved objects are organized in a meaningful narrative that is offered continuously and accessibly. (Crane, 2006, p. 125)  67  The Museum visit itself may become a commitment to remembering and/or a moment of disruption.  It is an interaction that creates, and reinforces or challenges expressions of collective meaning that further change or solidify the visitor’s historical consciousness. Sharon Macdonald (2003, 2008) has examined historical consciousness in museum settings through the representation of identities, linked to past, present and future visions of nationhood via objects.  Historical consciousness in the museum can also be understood by using Elizabeth Ellsworth (2005) and Bal’s (2003, 2006) arguments that a museum’s pedagogical force, and subsequently its communication of national narratives, are conveyed not only through its representational features, but also through the visitor’s non-cognitive, nonrepresentational, aesthetic or spatial experience.  I further argue that historical consciousness is linked to museums and other sites of pedagogy—classrooms, textbooks, monuments, memorials, national historic sites, news media, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, Indigenous landscape features and public performances—by the ways in which these sites communicate a relationship between the past, present, and future through narrative.  These narratives are created through a museum’s representational content (video, images, artifacts, language), and mise-en-espace (whole scenographic or design strategies).  As Jennifer Carter (2016) has articulated, “[m]useums are active in shaping a certain kind of historical consciousness in the manner that they select, order and display collections in a mediated space that invokes methods to engage people in a certain kind of remembering” (p. 245).  What Sharon Macdonald (2005) has further expressed, is that it is most important for scholars to question “what kinds of identities  68 and forms of historical consciousness are being articulated through specific kinds of . . . representation” (2005, p. 52).  Throughout this investigation at the CMHR these understandings of historical consciousness in the museum have informed: (a) the question–response instrument for the five exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery (see Appendices A and B); and (b) the interview questions for the researchers/curators of the five exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery and the gallery as a whole (see Appendix C).  They also helped to answer the second research question: “How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?”  2.4.3 History Education and Historical Significance  To inform the certain questions found on this study’s data collection and analytical tools, this investigation has used the concept of historical significance (Cercadillo, 2001; Lévesque 2011; Seixas, 1996, 1997, 2009; Seixas & Morton, 2013). Historical significance is one of six historical thinking concepts that centre on the knowledge that is present when historians and others try and make sense of the past (Seixas & Morton, 2013). Of the six, it is often argued that historical significance forms the nucleus of historical thinking (Cercadillo, 2001; Seixas, 1996, 1997).  As Cercadillo (2001) contends: “significance” is at the heart of the subject matter of both academic and school history.  It is fundamental to understand a distinctive feature of the discipline: discrete events are not understandable without their link to a frame of reference and a sense of authorship behind them. (p. 116)  The chief concern of historical significance is about the relationships we in the present negotiate with past events, developments, and people, as well as the  69 placement of these into coherent narratives.  The narratives addressed by the concept of historical significance deal with Wertsch’s (2004, 2008) specific narratives rather than what he has coined schematic narrative templates—what I term as master national narrative templates.  As Lévesque (2011) details, “whether people use the past for academic research or contemporary meaning making, whether they are professional historians or history students, they cannot escape the concept of historical significance” (p. 125).  Researchers have developed eight main criteria that factor into an historian’s selection of certain events over others in the development of narratives. These include: importance, profundity, quantity, durability, relevance, intimate interest, symbolic significance and contemporary lessons (Cercadillo, 2001; Lévesque, 2011; Seixas, 1996, 1997). The concept of historical significance reinforces that history is often relative and constructed through the specific narratives advanced by different protagonists (historians among them,) and varies over time and between and amongst groups.  Thus, the concept of historical significance, and in particular questions around the inclusion, distinction and positioning of certain primary materials over others in the five exhibits, informed certain of the questions on the data collection and analysis tools described.  In summary, this investigation has interrogated the CMHR as a site of pedagogy that can be read for its representational and spatial meanings, and as a site of historical consciousness that communicates a past, present, and future vision of Canada.  In order to expose and critically deconstruct the national narratives communicated in the Museum, in addition to using the conceptual framework of Canadian national narratives detailed in Section 2.3, this research study’s theoretical  70 frame applies approaches within critical museology (Bal, 1996, 2006), and historical consciousness (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004).  In addition, to inform certain questions on this study’s data collection tools, this investigation has used the concept of historical significance (Cercadillo, 2001; Lévesque 2011; Seixas, 1996, 1997, 2009; Seixas & Morton, 2013).    71 Chapter 3:  Research Methods and Procedures This chapter describes the research methodology used in this study, and explains why this methodology is particularly suitable for an investigation that seeks to determine the extent to which these narratives challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity, and how these position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness.  It is worth repeating that my research questions are as follows:   1. To what extent do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity?  2. How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?  I also provide a detailed map of the research design used for data collection and analysis.  In addition, I address a number of concerns related to qualitative research, particularly those pertaining to trustworthiness and issues about the transferability of research findings. 3.1 Single Instrumental Case Study with Embedded Units In keeping with the research questions, a single instrumental case study with embedded units lent itself best to this research (Stake, 1995; Yin, 2009).  This type of methodological approach is ideally suited to this kind of investigation because: (a) the research questions require a descriptive exploration in their interpretation of national narratives; (b) the exploration of Canadian national narratives is limited to the boundary of narratives communicated in five exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery and as such this represents a bounded case for the exploration; and (c) the  72 interpretive aspects of the methodology permit the researcher to both elucidate and make meaning of stakeholder perspectives which have themselves various interpretations of history imbedded in particular cultural frames and references.   Case study investigation was first recognized as a unique approach to research beginning in the late 1970s and early 1980s by researchers including Robert Stake (1978), Robert Yin (2006, 2009), and Sharan Merriam (1988).  It is a type of design in either quantitative, qualitative, or mixed methods research that is an object of study as well as an effect of the inquiry and an intensive, holistic description and analysis of “a specific phenomenon such as a program, an event, a person, a process, an institution or a social group” (Merriam, 1988, p. 9).  In a case study approach, the investigator explores a real-life, current, bounded system (a case) or multiple bounded systems (Denzin & Lincoln, 2005; Merriam, 1988, and Yin, 2009).  Case study inquiry requires that researchers use in-depth data collection involving multiple sources of information.  Once all the information is gathered and reviewed, a case description and case themes materialize (Cresswell, 2013).  Although Stake (2005) argues that case study is not a methodology, but rather a choice of what is to be studied, Denzin and Lincoln (2005), Merriam (1998) and Yin (2009) maintain that it is a comprehensive research strategy.  Compared with other research methods, the strength of case study research lies in its ability to examine, in depth, “a case within its ‘real life’ context” (Yin, 2006, p. 111).  The Instrumental Case Type As detailed by Stake (2005), in an instrumental case study, the case is of secondary interest; it plays a supportive role, facilitating an understanding of  73 something else.  When using an instrumental case, researchers are more interested in making conclusions that apply beyond a particular case in the majority of instrumental case studies.  Hence, since I aim to determine the extent to which the Canadian national narratives communicated at the CMHR challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity and how this positions the Museum as a site of historical consciousness, the case (the CMHR) is of subordinate importance.  Using the CMHR simply facilitates the wider conclusions drawn from this study, namely, the ability of museums to act as legitimizers, or challengers, of current constructions of national identity and as sites of historical consciousness.  3.2 Data Sources According to Stake (1995) and Yin (2006, 2009), qualitative case study is an approach to research that investigates a phenomenon within its context using multiple data sources.  Stake and Yin both argue that this convergence adds to the findings as the various strands of data are woven together to achieve a richer understanding of the case.  Moreover, Stake insists that case study researchers should be personally involved with the activities and operations of the case, reflecting and revising descriptions and meanings of what is happening to provide a comprehensive description of the issues, contexts, and interpretations relevant to the case.         This investigation, which looks at the extent to which the narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity, and position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness, used direct observations in the five exhibits in the Canadian  74 Journeys Gallery, and the researchers/curators of the Canadian Journeys Gallery as data sources. 3.2.1 Embedded Units: The Exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery According to theorists, the most common danger associated with case study research is the tendency for investigators to attempt to answer a question that is too expansive, or to choose a topic that has too many objectives for one study (Cresswell, 2013; Miles & Huberman, 1994; Stake, 1995; Yin, 2006, 2009).  The CMHR, houses 11 immense galleries that contain multiple exhibits that are like small museums unto themselves (see Chapter 4). Thus, the Museum as a whole was deemed too expansive a venue for a rigorous case study aiming for thick observation and data collection (Stake, 1995; Yin, 2006, 2009).  Hammersley and Atkinson (2007) have suggested the need for pragmatism in selecting subunits within the case study site. The Canadian Journeys Gallery houses the following exhibits within its exhibition space as a whole (these features and the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole are further discussed in Chapter 5): • 17 distinct exhibits that showcase themed historic Canadian human rights issues;  • 1 Share Your Story booth, where visitors can record their own personal human rights narratives;  • 1 glass-enclosed theatre that plays two films in rotation  • a 29-metre screen that relays 6 different digital stories and an image grid of close to 30 stories;   • an interactive floor exhibit and youth-focused game centered on social inclusion;   75 • and 3 interactive digital insight stations that highlight and expand upon the stories found throughout the gallery.  As mentioned earlier, because the analysis of all of these features was too large for a rigorous case study I analyzed a smaller number of embedded units (exhibits) in the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  Yin (2009) notes that the capacity to look at embedded units located within a larger case is powerful when one considers that data can be analyzed within the embedded units separately, within case analysis, and/or across the subunits, using a cross-case analysis.   Hence, when deciding which exhibits to analyze in the Canadian Journeys Gallery, I attempted to choose embedded units that referenced the CMHR’s role in contemporary critical museology by selecting five exhibits that as a whole reflected the following: (a) Canada’s colonial legacy and diverse Aboriginal populations; (b) other marginalized groups in Canada, including its diverse ethno-cultural population, and those discriminated against because of gender and sexuality and; (c) given that I am examining the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness, past and present Canadian human rights issues, that also point toward a future Canada.  Finally, when choosing which exhibits to study, I also took into account those that had researchers/curators who were available to be interviewed.  Table 1 details the five exhibits that were chosen and the reason for the selection of each.      76 Table 1. Exhibit selection in the Canadian Journeys Gallery EXHIBIT REASON FOR SELECTION (a) Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights    This exhibit was chosen because: (a)  it features a Canadian human rights issue that takes into account a current and ongoing human rights issue in Canada: the rights of seasonal agricultural workers; (b) the exhibit curation was a collaboration between experts in the field and the migrant worker community in Canada; (c) the researchers/curators were available to be interviewed.  (b) Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy    This exhibit was chosen because: (a) it features a Canadian human rights issue that takes into     account Canada’s diverse ethno-cultural population (Chinese Canadians) who were racialized, silenced, and marginalized in Canadian history; (b)  the exhibit curation was a collaboration between    experts in the field and the Chinese Canadian community; (c)  the researchers/curators were available to be interviewed. (Continues on next page)             77 EXHIBIT REASON FOR SELECTION (c) Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy    This story niche was chosen because:  (a) it takes into account Canada’s colonial legacy and diverse Aboriginal populations (Métis, Inuit, and First Nations), who were racialized, silenced, and marginalized in Canadian history and who continue to be discriminated against today; (b) the legacy of Canada’s residential school system has implications for the present and future of Canada, as reflected in the 2015 Truth and Reconciliation Report; (c) the exhibit curation was a collaboration between experts in the field, and the Aboriginal community (specifically) residential school survivors; (d) the researchers/curators were available to be interviewed  (d) The Right to Same-Sex Marriage   This exhibit was chosen because:  (a)  it features a Canadian human rights issue that takes into account issues of gender and sexuality; in particular, it highlights individuals (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and others) who were discriminated against, silenced, and marginalized in Canadian history; (b) it represents a very current and ongoing human rights issue in Canada, because these individuals often continue to be discriminated against today;  (c) the researchers/curators were available to be interviewed. (Continues on next page)   78 EXHIBIT REASON FOR SELECTION (e) Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice    This exhibit was chosen because: (a) it takes into account Canada’s colonial legacy and diverse female Aboriginal population (Métis, Inuit, and First Nations) who were racialized, silenced, and marginalized in Canadian history and whose discrimination continues today; (b) it represents a current and ongoing human rights issue in Canada (although Aboriginal women make up only four percent of Canada’s female population, between 1980 and 2012, 16 percent of all women murdered in Canada—over 500 individuals—were Aboriginal, (Government of Canada, 2015;)  (c) the exhibit’s curation was driven almost entirely by the Aboriginal community  (d) the artists/curator was available to be interviewed. 3.2.2 The Researchers/Curators of Canadian Journeys In addition to the material attributes of each exhibit, data sources also include interviews with the researchers/curators responsible for certain elements of the curatorial process in the five exhibits.  I conducted interviews with four current researchers/curators at the CMHR (current employees), one previous researcher/curator from the CHMR (former employee), one artist/curator contracted by the CMHR, and one researcher contracted by the CMHR. Current CMHR researcher-curators take on various roles to gather diverse perspectives for the exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  These include literature  79 reviews, oral histories, working with specialists/scholars in the field, and meeting with community stakeholders, activists, and designers.  However, it should be noted that each of the researcher/curators interviewed had little involvement or influence in the size and positioning of the exhibits within the Gallery itself.  As detailed in their interviews, the CMHR gallery floor plans were already drawn, and construction on the building had already begun by the time the researchers/curators were hired.  Moreover, at the time that the five exhibits analyzed in this study were curated, the CMHR was under construction and undergoing many changes.  Hence, the role of these researchers/curators was less authoritative and multiple parties were involved in the process of production.  Nevertheless, the interviews conducted for this research study were not only helpful in the analysis of this study but also provided background information into the curatorial process in creating the exhibits and the role that the varied and multiple parties played.  The analysis of the five exhibits begins with a description of the story of this process and incorporates these interviews into the analysis. The table that follows outlines each participant’s relationship to the exhibits under study.  It is followed by a short description (not an analysis) of the work experience and roles of each of the participants interviewed.  Pseudonyms have been used in keeping with the BREB/ethical guidelines for this study and my agreement with the CMHR.  80 Table 2. The Relationship of Participants to the Exhibits in the Gallery   Gallery Data Sources (Participants)  Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole   researcher/curator A, B, C, D, and E   The Exhibits    Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights   researcher/curator B   Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy  researcher/curator C and G   Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy  researcher/curator E and D   The Right to Same-Sex Marriage  researcher/curator C   Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice   curator F  Researcher/Curator A At the time of the interview, researcher/curator A had been with the CMHR since 2013.  This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole. Researcher/Curator B This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the exhibit Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights.  Researcher/curator B was also interviewed about the process of curation in the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole.  81 Researcher/Curator C This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in two exhibits: (a) Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy and (b) The Right to Same-Sex Marriage.  Researcher/curator C was also interviewed about the process of curation in the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole. Researcher/Curator D This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the two exhibits with Aboriginal content under analysis: (a) Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy and (b) Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  This participant was also interviewed about the process of curation in the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole.   Researcher/Curator E  This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy exhibit, and the process of curation in the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole. Artist/Curator F   This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the exhibit Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  Researcher G This participant was interviewed about the process of curation in the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy. The analysis of the five exhibits begins with a description of the story of this process and incorporates these interviews into the analysis.  82 3.3 Data Collection Methods  The data collection methods and data analysis for this investigation use insights from the scholarship of cultural theorist Mieke Bal, (1996, 2002, 2006), and scholarship around historical consciousness as both a theoretical term and as a pedagogical project (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004). Case study methodology requires that investigators collect evidence from multiple sources, thus strengthening and/or enriching the research.  As detailed earlier, data for this investigation, included: (1) the researcher’s direct observations in the five exhibits and (2) interviews with four current researchers/curators at the CMHR (current employees) and one previous researcher/curator of the CHMR (former employee), one previous artist/curator contracted by the CMHR, and one researcher contracted by the CMHR.  What follows is a more detailed explanation of each. 3.3.1 Researcher Observations in the Five Exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery  Data collected in the five exhibits took place over the course of two years and three separate visits.  Shortly after the Museum opened in November 2014, I visited the CMHR for the first time. On this two-day visit, I walked, studied, photographed, and made written observations in each of the 11 galleries, to decide which gallery/ies I would analyze in this investigation.   After analyzing this data, I determined that the investigation would focus solely on the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  In May 2015, I made a second visit to the CMHR.  On this three-day visit, I focused entirely on collecting data in the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  I walked, studied, photographed and made written observations in the gallery as a whole.  On this visit I  83 also met informally with some of the researcher/curators of Canadian Journeys to discuss the curation of the gallery.   The data collected during this visit, helped me narrow this investigation down to the five exhibits selected. In October 2015, I made a third and final visit to the Museum. On this occasion, I spent three days in the Canadian Journeys Gallery collecting further data in the five exhibits selected for analysis, and conducted interviews (see Section 3.3.2 below).  On this visit, I collected data using observation, photography, note taking, and the question-response sheet developed for this investigation (see Appendices A and B).  These direct observations considered every aspect of the exhibits’ representational content (video, photographs, images, artifacts, language), and mise-en-espace (the whole scenographic or design strategy).  3.3.2 Interviews   A review of the literature indicates that interviews with museum researchers/ curators are a common method of data collection in studies that look at conceptions or representations of nationhood or national identity in museums (Dicks 2000a, 2000b; Gregory & Witcomb 2007, 2013; McLean & Cooke, 2003; Smith 2006).  Moreover, although an exhibition or museum’s curation is often the result of concentrated teamwork, interviews with individual researchers can yield rich data and point to the presence of conflicting and convergent viewpoints within the team.  Interview questions (See Appendix B) were informed by the scholarship of cultural theorist Mieke Bal (1996, 2002, 2006), historical consciousness as both a theoretical term and as a pedagogical project (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004), the conceptual  84 Framework of Canadian National Narratives, and the concept of historical significance (Cercadillo, 2001; Lévesque 2011; Seixas, 1996, 1997, 2009; Seixas & Morton, 2013). Interview protocol drew from a combination of Meuser and Nagel’s (2002) expert interview and Rubin and Rubin’s (2005) model for responsive interviewing (see below). Interview Protocol  Data capturing the curatorial process in creating the five exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery were collected through in-depth, semi-structured interviews.  Although the five exhibits analyzed in the Canadian Journeys Gallery were the product of intensive teamwork, it was felt that individual interviews would yield rich data and make salient the presence of divergent and convergent perspectives within the team.  The interview questionnaire was sent to the participants several days prior to the interview session (see Appendix B).  According to Bogner and Menz (2002), “expert interviews are used mostly by staff members of an organization when a specific function and a specific (professional) experience and knowledge are the target group” (p. 46).  Bogner and Menz further defined the terms “expert” and “expert knowledge” for the purpose of interviewing as follows:   Experts have technical process-oriented and interpretive knowledge referring to their specific professional sphere of activity.  Thus, expert knowledge does not only consist of systematized and reflexively accessible specialist knowledge, but it has the character of practical knowledge in big parts. (p. 166)    These interviews were used to explore the curatorial process in constructing and communicating the material in the five exhibits (see Appendix C).    85 3.4 Data Analysis   3.4.1 The Five Story Exhibits: Researcher Observations and Interviews   Analysis began with a thorough reading of researcher observations documented on the question-response tool in the five exhibits (see Appendices A and B).  The interviews with the researchers/curators were transcribed and the data were then analyzed using a dialectical approach.  The latter was a reiterative procedure of going back and forth between the scholarship detailed above (pg. 84), as well as “a more grounded approach” developed from themes as these emerged from the data (Weston et al., 2001, pp. 382–386).  Using this method allowed room to construct themes as they were informed by theory while at the same time remaining open to emerging themes and themes that “pursue[d] several constructs that were explicit in the research questions” (Weston et al., 2001, p. 386).  Thus, although theory guided the analysis, there was the possibility for new and relevant themes to emerge from the data.  This technique (i.e., applying prior theories and frameworks and inductively developing themes) relied on a constant comparative method of data analysis.   In the first step, the analysis sought to understand the extent to which the narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity and position the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.  This was accomplished by identifying examples of themes of similar content, describing these categories, and refining these definitions by further contrasting new observations with established themes (Merriam & Simpson, 2000).  These principles and procedures were therefore repeated until saturation was reached (Merriam & Simpson, 2000).  86 Analysis began with the identification of themes that emerged from the raw data during the open coding phase for each of the five exhibits.  These themes were then grouped into categories based on similarity.  The next stage of analysis involved re-examination of the categories identified to determine how they are linked (Strauss and Corbin, 1990).  The discrete categories identified were then compared and combined in new ways as I began to assemble the big picture.  Finally, I translated the conceptual model into the story line found in each unit of analysis to be read by others.  Although the stages of analysis are described here in a linear fashion, in practice they frequently occurred simultaneously and iteratively in a back and forth fashion between stages.  3.5 Trustworthiness  Traditional empirical studies have pronounced validity, reliability, and generalizability to be the scientific “holy trinity” (Angen, 2000).  At the other end of the spectrum, some qualitative scholars have questioned positivist evaluation criteria and standards in qualitative studies (Mackenzie & Knipe, 2006; Maxwell, 1992; Shenton, 2004).  Denzin and Lincoln (1998) argued that the concepts of validity and reliability remain appropriate for qualitative research, but that the terms should not be limited to the restrictive interpretation described by positivistic scholars.  Specifically, rather than qualifying the objectivity and certainty of research outcomes, qualitative researchers propose that “evaluating the quality or trustworthiness of a study becomes an ‘open-ended, always evolving, enumeration of possibilities that can be constantly modified through practice and disseminated through exemplary models” (Smith, 1990, p. 178).   87 With this understanding in mind, the terms “validity” and “reliability” encompass the notions of authenticity, trustworthiness, credibility, and “goodness” of any given study (Creswell, 2005; Shenton, 2004).  Lincoln and Guba’s (1985) criteria for evaluating trustworthiness include credibility, dependability, confirmability, and transferability.  The credibility criterion confirms that the information generated from the research is what investigators meant to collect.  Researchers investigate credibility to consider the congruence between the research and the reality (Shenton, 2004). Dependability refers to the extent to which other researchers can follow the analytical choices made by the researcher and the extent to which similar findings might be obtained if the study were repeated (Lincoln & Guba, 1985).  The dependability criterion evaluates the description of the ever-changing research contexts (Lincoln & Guba, 1985; Shenton, 2004).  Rich descriptions of research contexts assist other researchers in understanding the boundaries of this research, and in evaluating the effectiveness of the research methods and the potential to repeat the process in other environments. The confirmability criterion evaluates the degree to which research findings can be confirmed or corroborated by others (Lincoln & Guba, 1985; Shenton, 2004).  A researcher’s subjectivity, roles, and perceptions can often lead him or her to interpret the research findings, in a particular-way.  Strategies to ensure confirmability include triangulation and reflexivity.  Triangulation is the process of using multiple methods, data collection strategies, and data sources to gain a more complete and complex understanding of what is happening, and to cross-reference information and interpretations.  Reflexivity is the process of intentionally revealing underlying  88 subjectivities and assumptions that might cause the researcher to analyze data or interpret a situation, in a particular way. Transferability refers to the applicability of the results.  Lincoln and Guba (1985) proposed transferability—the degree to which findings can be applied to other contexts, participants, groups, and situations—as an alternative to generalizability.  The transferability criterion investigates to what extent the research findings are applicable to other contexts.  While some qualitative scholars have strongly objected to any transferable possibilities, others have recommended the notion of “naturalistic generalization,” which views each case as neither isolated nor independent, but rather originating from a broader situation (Shenton, 2004; Stake, 1995).  As Stake (1995) has argued, “people can learn much that is generated from single cases” (p. 85).  Nevertheless, such generalization calls for attention to use, which not only relies on the researcher’s provision of rich descriptions of contexts but also depends on readers’ judgments regarding the similarity and relevance between research findings and the situation that they intend to compare (Denscombe, 2003).  These four criteria are used interrelatedly in qualitative studies to demonstrate the notions of internal validity, external validity/generalizability, reliability, and objectivity from a positivist paradigm (Lincoln & Guba, 1985).  As Table 3 details, these four criteria were embodied in many ways to ensure the quality of the present study.          89 Table 3. The utilization of four evaluation criteria to ensure research quality Quality Criterion Possible Provision Made by the Researcher The Location of Each Provision in this Research    Credibility Adoption of appropriate, well-recognized research methods  Chapter 3: Research Methods Procedures Examination of previous research to frame findings   Chapter 2: Literature and Theoretical Framework Chapter 3: Research Methods  and Procedures  Triangulation via use of different methods (researcher’s direct observations, interviews, and document analysis)  3.2 Data Sources 3.3 Data Collection Methods  Appendices A, B, C, and D Feedback from committee members and scholars in the field 3.6 Ethics Development of familiarity with participating organization Chapter 1 & Chapter 4 Dependability In-depth methodological description to allow study to be repeated  Chapter 3: Research Methods and Procedures Audit trail: Data collection and analysis tool Appendices A, B, and D  Audit trail: Interview questionnaire Appendix C Confirmability Triangulation to reduce effect of investigator subjectivities and assumptions (direct observations, interviews, and document analysis) 3.2 Data Sources 3.3 Data Collection Methods  Appendices A, B, C, and D Recognition of the shortcomings in the study’s methods, and its potential effects Chapter 3  Professional and peer scrutiny of project Discussion was conducted with supervisory committee. Feedback on certain sections through submission to peer-reviewed journals and conferences Trustworthiness  Description of background, qualifications, and experience of the researcher 3.5 Trustworthiness (Continues on next page)  90 Quality Criterion Possible Provision Made by the Researcher The Location of Each Provision in this Research Trustworthiness  In-depth methodological description to allow integrity of research results to be scrutinized Chapter 3: Research Methods and Procedures   Stakeholder checks: Participants reviewed their interviews 3.5 Trustworthiness Transferability Provision of background data to establish context of study, and detailed description of phenomenon to allow comparisons to be made  2.2 Current Constructions of Canadian National Identity  2.4.2 Historical Consciousness    The credibility of this investigation is demonstrated, in part, through a thick description of the adoption of appropriate, well-recognized research methods, a well-documented examination of previous research in the area to frame findings, and the collection of comprehensive evidence for this case.  This evidence includes direct observations that took into account the representational content (photos, video, images, artifacts, language) and mise-en-espace (the whole scenographic or design strategy) of the exhibits.  Evidence also includes transcribed interviews with researcher/curators.  The credibility of this study is further bolstered though direct quotations from the interviews.  To further reinforce the credibility of this study, I developed a familiarity with the participating organization, the research gatekeepers, and the participating researchers/curators before beginning the investigation, through site visits, face-to-face discussions, and personal correspondence.  In order to maintain the transparency of the research data, my background, qualifications, and experiences were also documented.  Credibility was further bolstered through feedback I received on certain sections of this dissertation from my supervisory committee and other scholars in the field.  91 To maintain dependability, I provide an in-depth methodological description so that the study can be repeated.  I further increase the dependability of this study with a detailed audit trail of the methods I used to collect data.  These included: (a) the researcher’s direct observations; and (b) interviews.  This process of data collection and analysis is further detailed in Appendices A, B, and C. The confirmability of this research can be evaluated through the multiple methods that I employed to collect data, with the intention of reducing researcher subjectivities and assumptions.  This triangulation helped lessen the effect of investigator bias.  An in-depth description of the methodology was documented in this chapter to allow the integrity of the research results to be scrutinized.  In order to practice reflexivity, I regularly discussed the interpretations of the data with my supervisor so as to identify biases and assumptions.  In addition, in section 3.6 I describe my subjectivities and the challenges and limitations associated with this positionality.  Moreover, I invited participants to review the transcripts and analysis so as to confirm or question the findings. To preserve transferability, I have provided the background data and a detailed description of the phenomenon, in order to establish the study’s context.  In particular, Section 2.3 considered current constructions of Canadian national identity, while Section 2.4.2 provided a definition of historical consciousness in Canada.  Section 2.1 defined national identity, Section 2.2 looked at national identity and museums, and Chapter 4 examined the content choices and controversy surrounding the CMHR’s opening.   92 3.6 Researcher Positionality  As in any kind of research study, investigators rarely enter into the field without first engaging in extensive theorizing and preparation.  However, the field of social science research recognizes that despite this advance work, no research is value-free, regardless of the paradigm by which it is guided (e.g., positivist, post-positivist, constructivist, feminist, queer, post-structuralist, Marxist, etc.).  Denzin and Lincoln (2005) maintain that all research is interpretive and is guided by ways of thinking and feeling about the world, as well as beliefs about how it should be understood and studied.  The inherent challenge then is for the researcher to remain self-reflexive and transparent, and to make every effort not to allow his or her bias to interfere.  As Yin (2009) stated, “You need to prepare, but also prepare to discover” (p. 10).  A study investigating the extent to which the narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity must therefore take into account the researcher’s own conception of national identity and the influence this might have on her or his role as a researcher.   Who I am certainly informs the purposes and approaches I have taken to this research.  My own sense of canadienneté is shaped by my lived experience and through the reading of texts.  I identify myself as a white woman descended from English, Scottish, and French families who participated in settlement on Aboriginal lands in Canada.  Growing up in Northern Ontario, my childhood was shaped by the landscape in and around our family camp on Batchewana Bay on the North Shore of Lake Superior, and the scenery on the forested ski trails of the Hiawatha Highlands.  My youthful connection to the landscape could probably best be summed up via a series of Group of  93 Seven paintings depicting the Canadian Shield with scenes of fall colours and snow dusted jack and white pines.  At the time, I did not fully understand the historical significance that the land I loved was Ojibwa territory, and that colonial structures led to a residential school in the building that now houses Algoma University and resulted in the reservation system that continues to border the city’s limits.  Despite being raised by Anglophone parents, and because Sault Ste. Marie had yet to open a French immersion elementary school, I attended the local primary French/ Catholic Notre-Dames-des-Écoles.  Consequently, by fourth grade, I was not only bilingual, but I also had a deep sense of the meaning of “La Conquête” and the obligation tied to “Je me souviens.”  Much of my early Canadian identity also came from travel.  Specifically, several weeks of my summer were always hijacked by my parents’ agenda to travel from sea to sea and almost to the other sea.  This meant viewing much of the rural and urban landscapes dotting the Trans-Canada and Alaska highways from the back seat of the family van.  In 1991, I left the Soo to attend Queen’s University where I completed my B.A.(Honours) in History and French (1995) and B.Ed. (1996). I then began my teaching career.  My twelve years of public school experience involved teaching history and French in several cities throughout Ontario, including Sault Ste. Marie, Kingston, and Toronto. However, the bulk of my practice has been in Vancouver where I taught for the Vancouver School Board.   In 2004, I received my Master’s of Education degree from the University of British Columbia (UBC).  In 2007, I began working in the Department of Curriculum and Pedagogy at UBC.  While the central focus of my teaching has always been social  94 studies/history education, I have also taught Aboriginal Education in Canada, a course that serves to introduce future teachers to decolonizing pedagogies. In addition to my teaching and research at UBC, I have worked for Vancouver Biennale as a consultant to develop in-house curriculum. In this capacity, I liaised directly with international artists, acted as a Twitter panelist for the launch of Ai Weiwei’s Coal Harbour installation F-Grass, and facilitated a workshop for BC teachers that bridged public art and the school curriculum.   Thus, my current conception of Canadian identity comes from the acknowledgement of my settler past, a melding of my early experiences growing up in a small, yet culturally diverse city in Northern Ontario, my education and work as a teacher, travel, academic scholarship, and interest and participation in Canadian arts, politics, and popular culture. 3.7 Ethical Considerations It is paramount that researchers consider their participants in every decision they make (MacLean & Poole, 2010).  Moreover, thinking of research as collaboration, relational ethics focuses on how we treat others and is guided by the quality and character of our relationships (Flinders, 1992; Gunzenhauser, 2006).  The following ethical considerations were taken into account in order to treat the participants with respect, dignity, and care throughout the study: obtaining informed consent, maintaining confidentiality, and mitigating conflict of interest.  Before beginning the investigation, I obtained ethics approval through the UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board to ensure that the study met institutional ethical guidelines.  Prior to their involvement, participants were introduced to the study’s parameters and intent, and  95 were provided with a description of their involvement and potential risks.  Participants make themselves vulnerable by sharing stories about their lives and work.  Underpinned by my strong belief in the importance of a relational ethic, the ethical goals of this research were informed by a caring attitude towards others, especially the participants (Flinders, 1992).  We write ourselves into the research and therefore must be reflexive, as “through progressively closer contact with research participants, deeper engagement and empathetic questioning, qualitative researchers immerse themselves in the lives of their participants” (Gunzenhauser, 2006, p. 624). 3.8 Limitations of the Research  Despite the conclusions that will be drawn from analyzing the five exhibits of this instrumental case study, a limitation of having to bound the case, is that conclusions about the Canadian Journeys Gallery as a whole are less definitive. As detailed, the gallery as a whole is made up of many other features that would also need to be analyzed as separate components in addition to the 17 exhibits. I plan to address this in future research. Moreover, as Sharon Macdonald (2003) cautioned in the edited volume Theorizing Museums, too often museum research is prone to simply presenting institutions as mirror images of official dominant ideological interests.  Bal (2006) further addressed this concern in Exposing the Public, where she argued that recognizing visitor plurality is the key to transforming the relationship between the museum and members of the public, noting, “The plurality of the visitors—each with their own intellectual and aesthetic baggage, moods, knowledge, and expectations—makes any reference to the public impossible” (p. 526).  She also noted that the  96 museum “causes interferences that trouble the pure aesthetic experience of visitors,” and she maintained that rather than fight this tendency, museums should embrace it (p. 525). What these two theorists point to is that audiences are active interpreters of meaning who decode exhibitions in varied and discriminate, and that it is important that.  Despite my agreement with these two researchers, the primary goal of this research was to keep the case bounded by focusing on the institution’s construction and communication of national identity.  Nevertheless, in my future research, it is my aim to substantiate this study with an investigation into visitor conceptions of (Canadian) national identity in the Museum.    97 Chapter 4: Architecture, Interior Journey, Content, and Controversy   This chapter describes the CMHR’s architecture and design features and how the interior spatial elements create a journey for visitors through the galleries.  It also chronicles the content decision-making process at the CMHR and zeroes in on some of the controversies that arose during the construction and opening of the Museum.  Throughout this chapter are references to the CMHR’s ‘third space of public dialogue’—that is to say in documents found in both the media (newspaper articles and blog posts) and the scholarly literature that articulate the public dialogue and debate surrounding the Museum’s construction, architecture, and content.  4.1 Location One cannot escape the issues facing CMHR as a site of historical consciousness, as related to its location and the institution’s relationship with the area’s past and present Indigenous groups. The CMHR is located on a stretch of land locally known as the Forks, at the convergence of two significant rivers: the Assiniboine and the Red.  The Forks comprises nine acres of picturesque riverside parks across the Red River to historic St. Boniface, run by Parks Canada.  The green space features interpretive exhibitions, award-winning sculptures, year-round walking trails, a skateboard park, a canoe beach, a native prairie garden, and a riverside amphitheatre for performances and events.  Directly across from the CMHR is The Forks National Historic Site, one of Winnipeg’s premier tourist destinations, dedicated to preserving and presenting the 6,000-year history of human presence in this area.  The Museum is also close to the grave of Métis leader Louis Riel and adjacent to Esplanade Riel, a bridge that emblematically links Winnipeg’s French and English communities. The Museum’s  98 location, Winnipeg, also contains the largest Aboriginal population in Canada.    Duncan and Wallach (2006) have highlighted how institutions of power, especially museums, reference past civilizations in an attempt to create the illusion of antiquity.  They contend that when a museum is placed at the centre of a city or as part of a municipal park development, it is intended to channel an ancient temple facing an open forum.  For its part, the CMHR lives up to this aspect of Duncan and Wallach’s theory.  However, the location of the CMHR has a more powerful non-Euro-Western significance that counters Duncan and Wallach’s (2006) theory.  Its positioning, at the convergence of the Assiniboine and the Red, is land where Indigenous peoples—especially the Anishinaabe, Cree, Dene, and Dakota have traditionally met.  The Forks became the site of Fort Garry during the colonial fur-trade era.  After Treaty One was signed between the Canadian government and Anishinaabe and Swampy Cree leaders in 1871, the land was used by the railway, and most immigrants before the 1970s arrived at the Forks by train (Carter, 2007).  Embedded artifacts left behind by receding floodwaters at the Forks made the CMHR a site of rich archaeological sediment, and construction of the Museum was suspended for close to a year so that an archaeological dig could be conducted to determine the site’s historical and cultural significance.  In this process, close to 600,000 artifacts were recovered (Cassie, 2010; Lamontagne, 2013).  However, only two percent of the fill removed from the location was actually sifted for artifacts (Syms, 2010).  According to Dr.  Leigh Syms, an archaeologist with more than 40 years of experience working with Manitoba’s ancient heritage, “it was a pathetically inadequate sample and it’s certainly in no way representative of what’s there.  And there’s great, great gaps in the knowledge that we will never have in terms  99 of First Nations at the Forks” (quoted in Wong, 2014).  The reality is that the CMHR’s construction destroyed Indigenous heritage. For its part, the CMHR argued that the archaeological review had complied with all federal and provincial heritage requirements and that Aboriginal communities had been instrumental throughout the review process: elders had given directions, and medicine bags honouring the land had been ceremonially deposited into holes dug for the Museum’s pilings and caissons (Cassie, 2010).  Hence, the project moved forward, and a ground-breaking ceremony was held on December 19, 2008, with construction beginning in earnest in April of 2009.  But as Busby and colleagues (2015) detailed, even though the two percent of fill sifted was twice the quantity required by Manitoba’s heritage policy for a structure this size, and the building’s pilings and caissons were designed to ensure that the sub-surface was insignificantly disturbed and therefore accessible for future excavations, dissatisfaction persisted.  They also noted that an important consequence of criticism of the CMHR’s archaeological mitigation plan was “the renewal of efforts to strengthen Canadian provincial and federal heritage policies concerning site excavations” (p. 5).  4.2 Architecture and Design   The field of architecture has a long-standing tradition of idea competitions.  These not only result in built forms but also offer an opportunity to publicly disseminate radical ideas about how architecture, and possibly the society it accommodates, might be otherwise conceived.  In 2003, the Friends of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, facilitated by Lord Cultural Resources, initiated one of Canada’s largest-ever juried architectural competitions.  According to the press, the goal  100 was to give Winnipeg a piece of architecture that would make it an instant global presence—to mimic the “Bilbao effect” of Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum, in Bilbao, Spain, the best-known example of so-called destination architecture.  Tourists from all over Western Europe now fly to Bilbao, a once obscure Spanish industrial city, simply to spend a few hours at the Museum (Bozikovic, 2014; Kives, 2014).  The jury of the CMHR’s architectural competition was comprised of five architects, including Canadian War Museum designer Raymond Moriyama and landscape architect Jane Durante; and six others, including historian Michael Bliss; writer Robert Fulford; Canadian Museum of Civilization CEO Victor Rabinovitch; Asper Foundation executive director Moe Levy; David Covo, Director of the McGill School of Architecture; and Gail Asper.  This group shaved the long list of 63 entries down to three: world-renowned architect Antoine Predock, of New Mexico, and the runners-up Gilles Saucier and Dan Hanganu, two of Canada’s most prominent architects.  According to Weder (2014), deliberations were “impassioned and animated,” and Saucier had dashed his chances by refusing to include a tower in his design (one of the Aspers’ requests).  Saucier is reported as stating, “To me, a tower is an arrogant symbol of oppression—something to control people, like a watchtower on a prison” (Weder, 2014).  As Duncan and Wallach (1980/2006) have articulated, museum design features are equally important to the collections they house and are “meant to impress upon those who pass through them society’s most revered beliefs and values” (p. 449).  The CMHR’s winning design met these criteria.  It was chosen both for its bold visual statement and because it “envisioned the Museum as a unifying symbol of concepts such as inclusion, freedom, equality, and dignity—ideas that have inspired Canadians to  101 strive for human rights” (CMHR, 2014, p. 22).  Moreover, the Architectural Review Committee felt that Albuquerque-based Predock’s work was a “symbolic statement of both the rootedness and the upward struggle for human rights” (CMHR, 2015).  According to the CMHR, it is meant to evoke “Canada’s majestic natural domain—grasslands, deeply rooted trees, towering mountains, northern lights, snow, icebergs, water and sky” (CMHR, 2014, p. 22).  Every facet of the building seems to exude metaphor: the entry into its so-called Roots, the series of interior ramps called the Journey, and the Labyrinth to the Cloud, culminating with the ascent to the Tower of Hope.  The Museum visit then finishes with an elevator descent to the Museum’s ground-level Garden of Contemplation.  In the words of Predock, the concept was rooted in humanity, making visible in the architecture the fundamental commonality of humankind—a symbolic apparition of ice, clouds and stone set in a field of sweet grass.  Carved into the earth and dissolving into the sky on the Winnipeg horizon, the abstract ephemeral wings of a white dove embrace a mythic stone mountain of 450-million-year-old Tyndall limestone in the creation of a unifying and timeless landmark for all nations and cultures of the world (Predock, 2014).    Figure 6. The Canadian Museum for Human Rights © Milorad Dimić, CC-BY-SA-4.0.   102 There is no doubt that Predock along with local architects Architecture49 have created a bold addition to Winnipeg’s cityscape.  However, reviews of Predock’s architectural marvel, articulated in the ‘third space of public dialogue,’ ranged from sceptical to scathing.  For instance, The Globe and Mail’s architecture critic, Alex Bozikovic wrote: in the CMHR, Predock displays two tendencies of his architectural generation, toward regional influences and heavy-handed symbolism, that sadly went unchecked. . . . Never in this country has so much money and such high ambitions achieved so little architecture.  Izzy Asper wanted this building to “reach for the skies.” It does, forcefully and cussedly, and it fails to lift off. (Bozikovic, 2014)  In a piece titled “Faulty Tower: The Canadian Museum for Human Rights as Tourist Trap, Failed Memorial, and White Elephant,” journalist Adele Weder, winner of the Architecture Canada President’s Award in Architectural Journalism in 2011, wrote: [Predock] has his mettle in so many projects that a good number of clients before the Asper Foundation felt safe handing over millions of dollars toward his commissions; he’s got an international stamp of approval.  What’s more, he has the imagination to come up with concepts that are decades ahead of the technology—and millions beyond the budget—that might accommodate them.  You have to be a truly great architect to make a building this bad. (Weder, 2014)  Nevertheless, not all of those commenting have been entirely negative.  For example, in The Guardian, travel writer Garth Davis’ piece, which questioned the Museum’s location, otherwise praised Predock’s work, albeit with an unusual simile: One thing that is not in doubt is the success of the building itself.  American architect Antoine Predock's signature statement in steel and glass rises out of the mid-western plains like a speared truffle, though his vision is of a mountain wrapped in a cloud of glass. (Davis, 2014)     103 4.2.1 Exterior Features Façade From its exterior, the CMHR is grounded by four stone roots that form the building’s base and whose surface is designed to allow for prairie grass to grow.  According to Predock, these “[c]lutch the earth [and] are calibrated to block northern and north western winds and celebrate the sun, with apertures marking paths of equinox and solstice” (Predock, 2014).  They represent the CMHR’s connection to the earth. The Cloud  Figure 7. Exterior view of the Cloud (author photograph). The building’s southwest face is made up of some 1,200 individual glazed glass panels specially imported from Germany, creating what looks to be an enormous glass cloud.  From certain angles, this glass wall appears to symbolize the folded wings of a dove, the symbol of peace.  The Cloud, which internally houses CMHR staff offices (see figure 8), is also said to be “an allusion to the vaporous state of water” (CMHR, 2014, p. 27).  104  Figure 8. Interior view of the Cloud (author photograph).  The Mountain  Figure 9. The Mountain © Tony Hisgett, CC-BY-2.0.  The monumental portion of the building is clad in locally quarried, 450 million year-old Tyndall limestone, and houses 11 galleries of various sizes, totalling 47,000 square feet of gallery space.   105  Figure 10. The Museum exterior. Image courtesy of the CMHR 4.2.2 The Interior Journey In Places of Learning, Elizabeth Ellsworth (2005) differentiated between museum exhibitions that are sites of representation and those whose qualities and elements of design are anomalous—that is to say, residing in more than edifices and representational structures.  As American architect Maya Lin, best known for her design of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, in Washington, DC, has articulated, “Time is . . . a crucial element in how I see my architecture.  I cannot see my architecture as a still moment but rather as a movement through space.  I design the architecture more as an experiential path” (Lin, 2000, p. 207).  Herbert Muschamp, architectural critic for The New York Times, agreed that the aesthetic experience of a place of learning is crucial to what is learned there.  He described his first visit to the Contemporary Arts Center in Cincinnati, designed by Iraqi-born architect Zaha Hadid, as follows: “The building’s power is fully disclosed only to those who engage it with their feet as well as their eyes. . . . Wandering through the building is like exploring the varied and unpredictable terrain of present time” (Muschamp, 2003, p. 207).  Similarly, Lawrence  106 Halprin, designer of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, in Washington, DC, has described how his work was influenced by the elements of movement and sensation that had affected him emotionally in other designed spaces.  These included a sense of drama, being physically led through spaces choreographed for varied emotional intensity and self-change.  Halprin (1997) argued that these elements, central to the Roosevelt monument, are crucial to intellectual learning about history-making, people and events. In both physical and metaphorical senses, the visitor’s spatial experience throughout the CMHR’s interior is intended to be an upward journey from darkness to light.  In the words of Ralph Appelbaum,   It's an inspirational message just the way you move through this place.  It starts with explaining human rights and shares the stories of people who’ve lost and found them as you rise along the path to the peak.  It’s the journey—climbing a mountain to an extraordinary vantage point where you can see a beautiful city and landscape. (quoted in Sanders, 2014)  This spatial journey begins through two of the stone Root walls—the great masses of Tyndall stone and concrete that give the Museum a subterranean feel (Busby et al., 2015).  According to Predock, the CMHR’s entrance is “a symbolic recognition of the earth as the spiritual center for many indigenous cultures” (Predock, 2014).  Once inside, visitors find themselves at ground level in Buhler Hall, which Predock described as evoking “the memory of ancient gatherings at the Forks of First Nations peoples, and later, settlers and immigrants” (Predock, 2015).     107 The Ramps From Buhler Hall, visitors are guided on their human rights journey via a labyrinth of ascending ramps through the Museum’s six levels and 11 galleries (Landrum, 2014).   Figure 11. An interior view of the alabaster ramps   (author photograph).  Clad in white alabaster stone imported from Spain, and illuminated by hidden LED fixtures, the ramps provide a glowing path that winds all the way from the bottom floor to the top of the Museum.  This thread of light spans a 50-metre chasm between black-tinted concrete walls that create a dark void.  Described as “strikingly beautiful” and “astonishing,” the luminous bridges are one feature of the Museum whose beauty has defied critics in the ‘third space of public dialogue’ (Birmbaum, 2015; Bozikovic, 2014; Landrum, 2014; Weder, 2014).  For instance, in the words of mostly critical Walrus contributor Adele Weder (2014), “It’s strikingly beautiful to look down or to the side at the illuminated, criss-crossing ramps.” Architect, writer, and professor in the Department of Architecture at the University of Manitoba, Lisa Landrum wrote (2014), “With its spatial complexity, material  108 contrasts, and recursive play of dark and light, this labyrinthian passage embodies an architectural reconciliation of opposites, inviting appreciation of difficult harmonies” (p. 24).  Moreover, the passage through the ramps between the galleries allows multiple vantage points for visitors to view past galleries and reflect in an unmediated space.  As The Globe and Mail’s Alex Bozikovic has described: “The most compelling moments come as you pass between the galleries; you cross back and forth across a 170-foot-deep void on bridges” (Bozikovic, 2014).  In addition to their beauty, in the words of Predock, the ramps “act as ‘experiential palate-cleansers,’ enabling a reflective pause between the heavy content of each gallery” (Landrum, 2014).  Thus, the labyrinth of alabaster ramps therefore offers the opportunity for what Ellsworth (2005) has described as an aesthetic pedagogical experience that exceeds decoding the representational material in the galleries.  Here the visitor inhabits the anomalous pedagogy of the Museum—an experience of the body in time and space offering a potentially transformative affective experience (Ellsworth, 2005).  In addition to the experiential pedagogy a visitor might feel or undergo while walking on the ramps between the galleries, there are also multiple balcony-like viewing platforms throughout the ramps and within the 11 galleries themselves that afford different views overlooking the Garden of Contemplation.  In addition to potentially providing visitors with what Ellsworth (2005) has called an experiential pedagogy, the ramps and the viewing platforms found throughout the CMHR also reference Bal’s (1996, 2006, 2007) work around the potential for museums to offer visitors more than just a textual narrative that links objects to their functional and historical origins.  109 According to Bal (2007) the visitor’s spatial journey (the walk itself) can result in new meaning and therefore new narratives emerging as the visitor moves through an exhibition.  Thus, in light of Bal’s (1996, 2006, 2007) work the ramps and viewing platforms found between and within the CMHR’s galleries provide a powerful spatial journey for visitors as they move through the Museum and could be conceived as co-narrators in the exhibitions. Despite their beauty, and the transformative experience they afford, the alabaster ramps have been criticized for their contribution to the physically demanding nature of the CMHR experience (Weder, 2014).  There are, of course, elevators, but since Predock conceived the Museum as a metaphorical “journey from darkness to light,” epitomized by the hard climb to higher ground for human rights, walking is the favoured mode of travel.  I must will admit, however, that despite being fit, the almost one kilometre trek on concrete flooring, through often emotionally taxing content, pushed physical comfort, especially in the later stages of the experience when museum fatigue was setting in.  Nevertheless, the physically demanding spatial journey through the 11 galleries and along the corresponding ramps leaves its mark on the body (sweat, sore feet, leg fatigue etc.) thereby contributing to a pedagogical experience that exceeds the material in the galleries.  110 The Galleries The CMHR is arranged as a sequence of 11 themed gallery spaces.  Figure 12. The Museum galleries. Image courtesy of the CMHR.  What follows provides a brief overview of the content of the 11 galleries (more detail about their substance is provided in Chapter 4). • Gallery #1: What are Human Rights? As the first gallery visitors enter, this is a 7,000 square-foot space that offers a survey of human rights concepts throughout time and around the world.  It features a theatre and a timeline that presents a global survey of human rights concepts  • Gallery #2: Indigenous Perspectives is a 2,700 square-foot space devoted to Aboriginal concepts of humanity.  It is comprised of a circular theatre of curved wooden slats said to represent the multitude of Canadian Aboriginal traditions.  The theater plays a 360-degree film and serves as a space for storytelling, performance, and discussion.    • Gallery #3: Canadian Journeys is the largest of the 11 galleries in the CMH.  It is a 9,500 square-foot space that contains 17 exhibits about human rights in Canada and 1 Share Your Story booth.  • Gallery #4: Protecting Rights in Canada is a 2,000 square-foot space.  This gallery examines the legal aspects of Canadian human rights.  It contains an ambient  111 “living tree” projection evoking the constant growth of laws with regard to social change and contains a digitally interfaced debate table that allows visitors to explore pivotal legal cases from different perspectives.  • Gallery #5: Examining the Holocaust is a 4,500 square-foot space.  This gallery exposes the fragile nature of human rights and the importance of defending them.  It contains a large glass theatre that references Kristallnacht and examines Canada’s experiences with anti-Semitism.  Touch screen monitors allow visitors to analyze Nazi techniques of genocide and compare them to the methods used in other genocides around the world.  • Gallery #6: Turning Points for Humanity is a 3,200 square-foot space focused on The Universal Declaration of Human Rights.  This gallery centers on how grassroots movements have expanded the concept of rights.  Large monitors relay the power of activism and the role of social movements in motivating change.  • Gallery #7: Breaking Silence is a 3,100 square foot space that explores the role of secrecy and denial in many atrocities around the world.  This gallery looks specifically at those genocides recognized officially by the Government of Canada: (a) the Ukrainian Holodomor; (b) the Armenian genocide; (c) the Holocaust; (d) the Rwandan genocide; and (e) the Srebrenica genocide in former Yugoslavia.  • Gallery #8: Actions Count is a 2,100 square-foot space.  This gallery looks at respect for human rights as a vision for the world we wish to create for the next generation.  It includes issues such as the harassment of LGBTQ+ students, and the wearing of the hijab in order to question our commitment to tolerance.  It also features an interactive table about action against bullying and the stories of individual Canadians who have worked to make a difference.   • Gallery #9: Rights Today is a 5,000 square-foot space that focuses on contemporary human rights, struggles, and action.  It features an interactive wall map, a tapestry of human rights defenders, and a media literacy theatre.  • Gallery #10: Expressions is a travelling / temporary exhibition space.   • Gallery #11: Inspiring Change is a 3,100 square-foot space that looks at individual commitment to positive social change.  This gallery incorporates objects and images from events that have promoted human rights and asks visitors to contemplate their own role in building a better world for all people.   112 The Israel Asper Tower of Hope After the visitor navigates the 11 themed content galleries, the athletic ascent on the thread of light continues upward with a climb on the curling white metal staircase or elevator to reach the Museum’s pinnacle, the 100-metre-high Israel Asper Tower of Hope.  As the CMHR’s symbolic centerpiece, in addition to providing panoramic views of the city of Winnipeg and its surroundings, the Tower was intended to dissolve into the sky.  According to Landrum (2014), however, the “jungle of steel” (p. 27) devised to hold up both the tower and the Museum itself, with which the visitor comes face to face on the viewing platform, detracts from the overall intent: But these brute super-nodes seem at odds with a pursuit of hope and more nuanced understanding of rights.  As a climactic experience, the close encounter with colossal members gives the uneasy impression that might still makes right—a mixed message, obscuring the metaphor of light. (p. 27)   Figure 13. The Israel Asper Tower of Hope. Image courtesy of the CMHR/Aaron Cohen.  The Stuart Clark Garden of Contemplation From the Tower, visitors take an elevator to the Stuart Clark Garden of Contemplation, which stands at the base of an atrium and a 23-storey-tall glass Cloud.  The walk through the Garden of Contemplation is the first stage of the visitor’s exit  113 experience on their journey out of the Museum (Busby et al., 2015).  The garden consists of eight-sided grey basalt columns.  The floor of the garden is made up of pools of water amid greenery, over ancient volcanic stone mined from the dormant volcanoes of Inner Mongolia.  The view from the garden floor offers an awe-inspiring vantage point from which to regard the Museum’s architecture.  However, although the architect’s intention here was to have the visitor pause and contemplate the CMHR experience, this experience is somewhat compromised by the steel structures and administrative offices overhead (Landrum, 2014).  The Garden of Contemplation has been further critiqued for its austerity and lack of inviting or even adequate places to sit and actually contemplate: “Unfortunately, its jagged rocks and ill-considered seating are not conducive to relaxed dialogue.  For a space of this prominence, one would have expected generous basalt benches integrated with the landscape” (Landrum, 2014, p. 27).  Figures 14 and 15. The Stuart Clark Garden of Contemplation (author photographs).  The Exit Experience   To complete the CMHR journey, visitors descend into a lengthy tunnel that leads them back to the Museum’s entry hall.  After one has travelled from the Tower of Hope through the Garden of Contemplation, this long, dark, featureless tunnel seems to  114 negate the rest of the Museum and its messages, in particular the metaphor of the visitor’s journey as a teleological narrative of progress “from darkness to light” (CMHR, 2014, p. 23).    Figure 16. The Museum exit ramp (author photograph).  4.3 Content  4.3.1 Overview and Mandate As previously mentioned, the CMHR’s content is arranged as a sequence of 11 themed galleries.  The Museum has organized itself around particular themes and ideas,  using storytelling conveyed through modern technology.  The Museum houses a growing collection of more than 180 video-recorded oral histories from widely diverse people, who share personal stories of struggle, strife, and even empowerment.  Through a variety of passive, interactive, or immersive tools that employ art, music, photography, shared discussion, digital interactive displays, and theatre, visitors can interact with new technology and sometimes participate within an exhibit.  In some galleries, video screens take up whole walls, images and text appear and disappear, and people on the screen also appear as holograms as they recount key moments in history.  However, the CMHR is not just a high-tech playground. There is a copy of the Bill of  115 Rights signed by former Prime Minister John Diefenbaker in 1960, a copy of the 1763 royal proclamation by King George III that established colonial protocol for relationships with Aboriginals, and head-tax certificates.  Content, according to digital media co-ordinator Corey Timpson, is also scheduled to change; “[W]e’re not a news agency.  But we know and we believe the subject of human rights is adapting and evolving and changing and we have to keep up with that” (Adams, 2014).  Moreover, the CMHR’s mobile app is the first of its kind for a museum for offering a self-guided tour with audio, images, text, and video. The legislative mandate of the CMHR is found in Section 15.2 of the federal Museums Act: “To explore the subject of human rights, with special but not exclusive reference to Canada, in order to enhance the public's understanding of human rights, to promote respect for others, and to encourage reflection and dialogue” (Canadian Museum for Human Rights, 2016).  Although the Holocaust is a central part of the CMHR’s trajectory, the Museum’s mission statement does not state this explicitly or make any other connections to discrete historical traumas or attempts at national reconciliation and redress.  The CMHR’s mission statement clearly specifies three principal tasks: (1) to preserve and promote Canadian heritage, (2) to contribute to Canadian collective memory, and (3) to inspire research and learning (Canadian Museum for Human Rights, 2016).  This overarching emphasis on education is manifested by a variety of initiatives.  For instance, the Canadian Teachers' Federation has partnered with the Museum to develop comprehensive educational programming for use in classrooms throughout Canada (Canadian Museum for Human Rights, 2016).  116 4.3.2 Decision-Making and Process As detailed by the researchers/curators interviewed, content decisions and the production of the CMHR’s 11 galleries were back-and-forth processes involving multiple parties, among them: (a) CMHR researchers/curators, whose work included literature reviews, oral histories, and meetings with various community members, activists, and designers; (b) contracted researchers, including historians and scholars who developed research packets; (c) CMHR board members and personnel; and (d) museum design firm Ralph Appelbaum Associates (RAA). All of the interviewed researchers and curators indicated that most of the design components had been choreographed by RAA.  Based in New York and with additional offices in London and Beijing, RAA’s interdisciplinary team of specialists in design and communications has over 100 built projects to its credit, notably museum galleries, visitor centres, and educational environments, covering subjects that range from natural history and the physical sciences to cultural and social history and the fine arts.  The Appelbaum exhibition design team for this project was extensive and consisted of: a president; a principal; a project director; an art director; a content director; a project manager; a project coordinator; a content coordinator; a media coordinator; two graphic designers; two architect/project managers; an image and footage research director; an artifact/object researcher; an artifact/object coordinator; an image and footage researcher; two exhibit designers; and two copy editors.  Appelbaum remembers the idea for the Museum when it was first pitched to him: I got involved a little over 10 years ago with a phone call—it was Moe Levy calling me on behalf of Izzy Asper asking me to get involved in a museum project unlike any other, transforming how people thought of their relationship to others. (quoted in Sanders, 2014)  117   In addition to RAA’s team, the following companies were contracted for each of the following areas: lighting design: Tillotson Design Associates; audio and acoustic design: SH Acoustics; audio-visual systems engineering: Electrosonic; accessibility consulting: Design For All, the Inclusive Design Research Centre at OCAD University; media production: North Shore Productions / Upswell, Gagarin, gsmprjct°, Idéeclic, Tactable, Bruce Mau Design/ Potion, Media Rendezvous, InMotion, CMHR Digital Media; exhibit fabrication: Kubik; and interior fit-up: PCL (The Chicago Athenaeum Museum of Design and Architecture Good Design Awards, 2016). What follows is a brief history of the process of content decision making for the CMHR.  A more specific description of the curatorial process in each of the five exhibits under analysis is addressed later in this study.   Between March 2009 and February 2010, Lord Cultural Resources (LCR) planned and oversaw a pan-Canadian engagement exercise to support the CMHR in gathering human rights stories (Lord Cultural Resources, 2016).  As part of this process, a Content Advisory Committee (CAC)—made up of human rights leaders from across Canada—was created to provide ongoing expert advice.  The CAC was tasked with initiating public roundtables in 19 cities, involving Canadian citizens.  At the culmination of their cross-Canada tour, the CAC made the following recommendation: The Museum should use the arts to illustrate the richness of the human soul and of reflection, its dark zones, and the multiple ways in which human beings transcend their realities and thereby seek survival. . . .  The overall tone of art featured in the Museum should be inspirational—it should show how individuals have resisted discrimination and sought to obtain justice against all odds. (Norman, 2015, p. 31)    However, as Busby and colleagues (2015) have explained, although the public  118 roundtables were popular and successful in promoting the CMHR, “it remains unclear exactly how Museum planners have incorporated this diversity into the CMHR’s actual exhibits.  Nor is it clear to what extent the CMHR has acted on the recommendations made in the CAC’s final report” (p. 10).  4.3.4 Controversy    The need to address the mistreatment of Aboriginal peoples in Canada was stressed in several of the CAC report’s major recommendations (Busby et al., 2015).  Given Canada’s settler colonial history and its practices of the forced removal, assimilation, and extermination of First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples, and the Museum’s location in Winnipeg—which contains the nation’s largest Aboriginal population—this recommendation became particularly urgent.  Moreover, as Carter (2015) and Phillips (2015) have pointed out, because the structures of settler colonialism endure in Canada, the CMHR, in its efforts to represent historical and ongoing human rights violations against Aboriginals, was faced with the challenge of decolonizing its own practices. All of these issues came to prominence long before the CMHR opened its doors in September of 2014.  In the summer of 2013, a combination of events sparked a widespread public discussion around applying the term genocide to aspects of Canada’s history.  The first centered on an article published by postdoctoral researcher Ian Mosby (2013), who exposed government-sponsored biomedical and nutritional experiments on Aboriginal children at six Canadian residential schools and in northern Manitoba Aboriginal communities.  At this time, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada was also entering its fourth year of hearing survivors’  119 statements about the violence, humiliation, and other suffering they had endured in residential schools and the effects on the children of survivors.  As Busby and colleagues (2015) wrote, “[T]he thought of malnourished children being used as test subjects for vitamin supplements, as well as fortified flour that caused anemia, struck a chord with the public” (p. 11).  At the same time, the work of many scholars maintaining that Canadian historiography is severely flawed when it deliberates upon genocide came to the fore (Bloxham, 2009; Levene, 2005; McDonnell & Moses, 2005; Woolford, 2009).  This scholarship argued that historians’ reliance on narrow definitions of the term genocide (based on the 1948 United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide), limited discussions of genocide to a singular event, or to purely “killing.”  It pointed out that the history of settler genocide often covers a period of centuries, as was the case in Canada.  Within this context, scholars, activists, and journalists called on the federal government to accept and document Canada’s settler–colonial actions (residential schools, forced relocations, and the seizing of homes and property) as constituting an officially recognized genocide, alongside the Holocaust and the Holodomor, and the genocides in Srebrenica, Armenia, and Rwanda.7 At the height of the controversy, a journalist for the Winnipeg Free Press asked the CMHR whether it would use the term “genocide” to refer to the experiences of Canadian Aboriginals.  When told that the CMHR would not, the journalist published an article criticizing the CMHR for this omission (Welch, 2013).  In a recent article by scholar Trish Logan titled “National Memory and Museums:                                                       7 The Government of Canada has officially recognized five legal cases of genocide, with some guidance from the UNGC (1948): the Holocaust (1933–1945), the Holodomor, a man-made famine in the Ukraine (1932–1933), Rwanda (1994), Srebrenica (1995), and Armenia (1915–1923).  120 Remembering Settler Colonial Genocide of Indigenous Peoples in Canada,” published in the edited volume Remembering Genocide, the former CMHR curator states: “As the curator of Indigenous content at the CMHR, I was asked in July 2013 to remove the term genocide from the small exhibit on settler colonial genocide in Canada” (2014, p. 113).  The Museum maintained that because it was federally mandated, it could not publicly declare as genocide what had happened to Canadian Aboriginal peoples without getting into hot water with Ottawa.  Atrocities committed against Aboriginal peoples in Canada would henceforth en masse be named “colonialism,” and the central examples of genocide used to characterize the relationship between genocide and human rights discourse in Canada would be the Holocaust and the Holodomor (Logan, 2014; Welch, 2015).   Meanwhile, another controversy arose over what was perceived as the unfair space allotment and treatment granted to the Holocaust over other genocides—in particular, the Ukrainian Holodomor (Tapper, 2014).  Experiencing the Holocaust occupies 4,500 square feet of space—10 percent of the Museum’s total gallery space, and 1,400 square feet more than Breaking the Silence, where other genocides are examined, including the Ukrainian Holodomor, the Armenian Genocide, the Holocaust, the Rwandan Genocide, and the Srebrenica Genocide in Bosnia. From the outset, museum fundraisers and programmers were adamant that the Holocaust serve as the starting point for the museum’s approach to human rights education.  In 2008, a government advisory review wrote that the Holocaust “provides our paradigm for understanding the causes and processes of all mass, state-sponsored violence, as well as provides the inspiration for human rights protection on a  121 worldwide scale” (quoted in Tapper, 2014). Nevertheless, Ukrainian Canadians and Canadians of Eastern European heritage (Slovak, Lithuanian, Polish, and Armenian) took strong exception to what they perceived as the privileging of Jewish suffering over that of others, and accusations soon turned to charges and counter-charges of racism and intolerance (Busby, 2015; Failler & Simon, 2015; Fallding, 2015).  Shortly after the Museum opened on September 20, 2014, David MacDonald, a professor of political science at the University of Guelph, wrote an analysis piece in the Winnipeg Free Press in which he argued that Raphael Lemkin, who had coined the term “genocide,” had been clear that the word was never just about killing; groups could be destroyed in many ways.  MacDonald (2014) argued, however, that the issue was larger than simply refusing to recognize aboriginal genocide.  Not only has the museum not recognized genocide in the IRS system, it has promoted memory and commemoration of five other genocides.  We recognize genocide when it happens on other continents, but we assiduously avoid genocide when it happens in our own backyard. And that’s a shame. (n.p.)  The Museum defended its decision by arguing that as a 20th-century genocide, the Holocaust was outstanding and was the impetus for international human rights legislation after World War II.  Meanwhile, the CMHR’s director of learning and programming, June Creelman, pointed out that the Holocaust acts as a crucial pedagogic tool, because it is “one of the most studied, most well-documented atrocities.” She further stated: “One of the ways to educate is to start with something familiar and move to something unknown” (Tapper, 2014). Stephan Feuchtwang has discussed how a structure of public recognition can be adapted to address how museums serve to grant legitimacy and act as “authorities of  122 recognition” (Feuchtwang 2003, p. 78).  According to Feuchtwang, the demand for recognition of a grievous loss can often be described and treated in terms of a debt that requires redemption.  Thus, representation in this context implies “recovery by means of what is often a new status, that of acknowledged victim” (p. 77).  In addition to museums recognizing the position of the wounded party, Feuchtwang detailed museums’ roles as authorities: “the authority of recognition includes a judgment that there has indeed been a loss that is worthy of recognition” (p. 78).  He suggested that it is the consent of the authority that allows a claim for redemption to move forward, and he posited that is the first step toward redemption; however, he pointed out that recognition is a mutually exclusive process and that the authority is not calling all the shots: Recognition is a mirror-structure in which the griever and the personal grievance are magnified and focused by authority.  But note that this is truly a mirror structure because it also works in the other direction, from authority to potential grief petitioner.  That which authorizes and recognizes, itself demands recognition. (Feuchtwang, 2003, p. 78)  This statement reinforces the notion that authority performs a validating function for each of the groups that it seeks to recognize.  It also reveals a potentially controversial aspect of Feuchtwang’s framework: the more a museum offers recognition and is seen as a recognizing authority, the more it elicits ongoing pressure both from rival groups and also from within the group, thus offering no prospect of resolution (Stevens, 2007).  Similarly, in Public Memory, Public Media and the Politics of Justice, Lee and Thomas (2012) have discussed the role of museums as agents of memory.  They argued that public institutions should not only influence national identity but promote the “right” of victims of harm or atrocity to be remembered, thereby becoming part of post-atrocity  123 repair efforts. Logan (2014) argued that at the CMHR, First Nations, Métis, and Inuit communities never lobbied the same way as Jewish-Canadian and Ukrainian-Canadian groups.  She attributed this to the fact that Aboriginal peoples were dealing with more pressing real-life emergencies, “such as clean drinking water and the plight of missing and murdered Aboriginal women” (p. 124).  Logan (2014) observed that “Canadian histories rarely relate the long list of atrocities committed against Aboriginals peoples as belonging to a larger process (or processes) of genocide” (p. 114), and that residential schools, forced relocations, dispossession, and bureaucratic assaults against Aboriginals typically are communicated as fragmented events in Canadian history:  One of the challenges for remembrance is that the history of settler genocide can cover a period of centuries, as it does in the case of Canada.  This is in contrast to the short periods of time in which other genocides occur.  As a consequence, the tangible and intangible heritage associated with settler genocide available for museum exhibitions spans multiple epochs and events.  Settler colonial eliminationist policies have been fragmented into isolated parts of a more complete process of genocide. (Logan, 2014, p. 114)  As the CMHR prepared for its official opening on September 20, 2014, it confronted protest over its refusal to use the term genocide in its galleries to describe the Indian residential school system, while simultaneously Canada’s Aboriginal peoples continued to face some very real-time human rights issues tied to the nation’s colonial legacy.  For instance, in the month before the Museum officially opened, at the Alexander Docks less than one kilometre to the north of the CMHR’s location, the body of murdered 15-year-old Tina Fontaine was found wrapped in a plastic bag.  Fontaine was one of dozens of missing and murdered Aboriginal women originally from Winnipeg.  Meanwhile, Canadian Aboriginals were facing third-world living conditions  124 on reserves.  Chief Erwin Redsky, of Shoal Lake 40 First Nation, and Chief Cathy Merrick, of Pimicikamak Okimawin, penned a Globe and Mail Opinion editorial in which they stated:  The water that will pour from the museum’s taps and fill its “reflection pools” will come—like all of Winnipeg’s water—from Shoal Lake, where members of Shoal Lake 40 First Nation were relocated to make way for Winnipeg’s aqueduct and have lived under a boil water advisory for 17 years . . .. [W]e want Canadians to know that for many aboriginal people, the grandiose structure is a bitter reminder of what we do not have.  We do not want to have to take our kids to a museum to learn about human rights, we want them to experience it at home. (Redsky & Merrick, 2014)  Overall, opinion in the “third space of public dialogue” centered on one controversy or another (Lambert, 2014; Lamontagne, 2013; Logan, 2014; Macdonald, 2014; Mosby, 2013; Redsky & Merrick, 2014; Syms, 2010; Tapper, 2014; Welch, 2013, Wong, 2014).  Consequently, Canadian hip-hop group A Tribe Called Red refused the invitation to perform at the CMHR opening, objecting to the Museum’s “misrepresentation and downplay of the genocide that was experienced by Indigenous people in Canada by refusing to name it genocide” (Macdonald, 2014).  Meanwhile, during the weekend of opening festivities, protesters camped on a hill near the Museum and tried to drown out then CEO Stuart Murray’s introductory address (Lambert, 2014), and Buffy Sainte-Marie, prior to her concert, opined that genocide had taken place in the Indian residential schools: “Let’s fess up and hope it doesn’t happen again” (Macdonald, 2014). Despite arguments from scholars in the field, and further controversy generated in the “third space of public dialogue,” the CMHR has upheld the message that it has worked and continues to work diligently to build trust with Canadian Aboriginal groups, who helped guide content and material in several galleries.  The expository  125 agent (EA) pointed to several examples including Trace, a 30-foot original artwork by Rebecca Belmore (see figure 19) made up of 14,000 clay shards hand-pressed and strung together to look like a giant hanging blanket housed in Gallery #2, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Bentwood Box8  featured in Gallery #11, Inspiring Change, the REDress Project exhibit found in Gallery #3, and the topic of Indian residential schools in Canada, found in four separate galleries.  Figure 17. Artist Rebecca Belmore’s Trace, (author photograph).  In June 2015, when the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report was released and Justice Murray Sinclair described the residential school system as a form of “cultural genocide” against Aboriginal peoples, the CMHR has maintained that it will only start using the word “genocide” with reference to Canada’s residential school system, after the federal government recognizes the term (Taylor, 2015).  It bears noting, however, that the term genocide is used in association with residential schools by survivors in Gallery #7, Breaking the Silence.  Here, in a series of what the CMHR calls study carrels that contain personal testimonies and oral histories on each of the                                                       8 The Bentwood Box travelled with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to different provinces and territories.  Offerings were made to it to commemorate personal journeys toward healing and reconciliation (see http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/index.php?p=42).   126 atrocities featured, the topic of residential schools is addressed and the individuals interviewed describe Indian Residential Schools as genocide.  According to Angela Cassie, the CMHR will be closely examining the TRC recommendations: “We’re looking at ways now to add to those exhibits, to speak to the report, and address some of the recommendations in the report” (Taylor, 2015).   This chapter has introduced the CMHR as a national site of pedagogy  by describing the Museum’s unique architecture and design features—the Roots, the Cloud, the Monument, the Israel Asper Tower of Hope and the Stuart Clark Garden of Contemplation—while discussing the unique spatial journey these architectural and design features affords visitors.  This section has further chronicled the content decision-making process at the CMHR and culminates with an overview of the controversy that ensued over this content in the CMHR’s third space of public dialogue—that is to say, in documents found in both the media (newspaper articles and blog posts) and the scholarly literature that articulate the public dialogue and debate surrounding the construction, architecture, and content of Canada’s newest national museum.  In particular, I looked at the controversy surrounding the CMHR within the context of the unique historical-time period that it opened, as Canada was confronting the moral dilemmas associated with its colonial legacy and silenced histories.      127 Chapter 5: Analysis   In this chapter, I analyze the extent to which the narratives communicated in five exhibits in the CMHR’s Canadian Journeys Gallery challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity and position the CMHR as a site of historical consciousness.  To remind the reader, my research questions were as follows:  1. To what extent do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity?  2. How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?  This investigation explores these questions by deconstructing and analyzing the five embedded units (exhibits) in the Canadian Journeys Gallery which are used as cases for this research study.  These five exhibits include (a) Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights; (b) Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy; (c) Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy; (d) The Right to Same-Sex Marriage; and (e) Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice. To expose and critically deconstruct the national narratives communicated in the Museum, manifest in the five selected exhibits, this case study investigation uses a theoretical frame that applied approaches within critical museology (Bal, 1996, 2006), and historical consciousness (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004); as well as a conceptual framework of Canadian national narratives detailed in Section 2.3.  This research therefore interrogates the CMHR as a site of pedagogy that can be read for its representational and spatial meanings, and as a site of historical consciousness that communicates a  128 past, present, and future vision of Canada.  The investigation’s methodological framework analyzed each exhibit through a combination of interviews and other data collection in order to address the process of curation, design, and content selection.  Before delving into the analysis of the five exhibits, however, I first discuss where they are housed—the larger space of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  5.1 Setting the Stage: The Canadian Journeys Gallery 5.1.1 Layout and Content The Canadian Journeys Gallery (Canadian Journeys) is the third gallery visitors encounter on their journey through the CMHR.  It is preceded by Gallery #1 - What are Human Rights? and Gallery #2 - Indigenous Perspectives, the latter being a space devoted to Aboriginal concepts of humanity.  Canadian Journeys is then followed by Gallery #4 - Protecting Rights in Canada.  To get from Gallery #2 to Gallery #3, visitors walk down a short, spacious, corridor that leads them to the large, open entry of Canadian Journeys (see figures 21 and 22).   Figure 19. View of the Canadian Journeys Gallery from the entry. Image courtesy of the CMHR.   129  Figure 19. View of The Canadian Journeys Gallery with the entry in the background (author photograph).  At 9,500 square feet, Canadian Journeys is the largest of the CMHR’s 11 galleries.  The expository agent (EA) has lined the gallery’s sharp-angled perimeter with distinct exhibit spaces called exhibits.  Like small museums unto themselves, they showcase 17 themed historic Canadian human rights issues.  The exhibits form an angular circle around the gallery space.  In counter-clockwise order, beginning directly to the right of the gallery entry and theatre, they are as follows:   Right side wall: • Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights  • Viola Desmond’s Challenge to Racial Segregation  • Share Your Story  Exit • To Gallery #4  Back Wall • Emergency Measures and Québec’s October Crisis • Asserting Métis Rights 
 • The Underground Railroad • Inuit Rights in the North
 • Rights of People with Disabilities
 • Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy • Resisting Religious Oppression 
 • Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy   130 • Protecting Language Rights
 • The Right to Same-Sex Marriage 
  Left Side Wall: • The Right to Vote 
 • The Winnipeg General Strike and Workers’ Rights 
 • Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice • The Struggle for Women’s Rights  • Refugee Experiences at Canada’s Gates 
 • Japanese Canadians and Wartime Rights   In addition to the 17 exhibits, Canadian Journeys houses four other significant exhibits. (1) On the right side wall between the Viola Desmond’s Challenge to Racial Segregation exhibit, and the gallery’s exit, the EA has situated a Share Your Story recording booth (see figure 20).  This booth, where visitors can record their own personal human rights narratives, houses a wooden bench and a wall panel with a microphone.  Figure 20. The Share Your Story recording booth (author photograph). (2) The EA has also placed a large glass-enclosed theatre, directly to the right of the entry to the gallery.  This theatre, which is open to the gallery, has bench seating and plays a 12-minute introductory film, titled Canadian Human Rights Journey that expands upon specific stories and themes examined in the gallery (see figure 21).  131  Figure 21. The glass-enclosed theatre at the entry to Canadian Journeys (author photograph).   (3) The EA has dedicated the centre floor-space of the Canadian Journeys Gallery to a circular feature that includes seating, digital insight stations, and a youth-focused game centred on social inclusion.  The three interactive digital insight stations highlight and expand upon the content in the exhibits and the individual images in an overhead image grid (described below), while the game produces separate light bubbles that join when multiple visitors stand in the space.  (4) Finally, the EA has flanked the Canadian Journeys Gallery with a large, 29-metre screen that relays five different digital stories and an image grid (described in detail below. See figure 22).  These five linear media projections make use of photos and some moving footage as well to examine different themes and include: (a) Internment during both World Wars; (b) the Komagata Maru Incident; (c) Conscientious Objectors; (d) Aboriginal Land Rights; (e) Parliament Hill as a site of protest; and (f) the Acadian Deportation and Identity Resurgence.    132  Figure 22. The digital canvas displaying the story and image grid  (author photograph).  By way of the digital canvas’ grid, the EA showcases close to 30 stories, which include: (a) Aboriginal Health—Tuberculosis Boats in the North; (b) Aboriginal Rights—Banning of Ceremonies; (c) Anti-Semitism—Christie Pits Riot; (d) Children’s Rights—Attawapiskat School Fight; (e) Children’s Rights—British Home Children; (f) Children’s Rights—Duplessis Orphans; (g) Clean Water on Reserves; (h) Disability Rights: Right to Education; (i) Economic Rights—the Wage Gap; (j) Eugenics—Leilani Muir; (k) Internment in Canada—WWI Internment; (l) Labour Rights—Live-in Caregivers; (m) Labour Rights and Cultural Identity—Asbestos Strike in Québec; (n) Labour Rights—Sleeping Car Porters; (o) Language Rights—L’Hôpital Montfort; (p) Maternity Leave—1981 CUPW Strike; (q) Medicare—Tommy Douglas; (r) Métis Rights—Métis Road Allowance; (s) Old Age Security; (t) Queer Resistance; (u) Religious Discrimination—Quebec Bill 94/anti-niqab bill; (v)  Relocation of Marginalized Communities—Africville; (w) Resistance to Violence Against Women; (x) Slavery; (y) Veterans’ Rights—Hong Kong Veterans; (z) War on Terror—Security Certificate Detainees; (zz) Wrongful Convictions (see figure 25).    133 Throughout Canadian Journeys, the EA has shunned the traditional focus on artifacts, and in their place relied on media—the insight stations, the digital canvas, the Share Your Story recording booth, the theatre, and digital stations in the exhibits that use film, poetry, music, oral histories and shared discussion—for its storytelling purposes.  As a result, the Canadian Journeys Gallery enables visitors to take part in a content experience that is both immersive and sensory.  Additionally, these digital features can be modified or augmented as issues and topics change.  As researcher/curator A articulated in our interview: We have a technological infrastructure in place that allows us to swap content in and out of digital components quite easily.  So anything that's in one of the digital kiosk stations let's say is fairly easily updatable.  Anything on the projected image grid would be a little bit easier to change. (researcher/curator A, personal communication, October 2015)  Michelle Henning (2006) has discussed the effects of interactive installations and new media on visitors, throwing into question whether these tools are inherently democratizing.  She has conceded that “new media is most interesting for what it does to the hierarchies of knowledge in the museum, particularly in relation to the division between ‘front and back regions’ of the museum” (p. 303), arguing that visitors are no longer confined to potentially restrictive narratives as filtered in the context of the exhibition, and that screen-based kiosks depicting objects not on display provide contextual information and enable a deeper more diverse and engaging learning experience between visitors and the museum.  Comparing the web to the curiosity cabinets of early museums, Henning (2006) has called for new media to creatively reinvent the museum.  She argues that to diminish the museum’s authority, new media should encourage visitors to sort and reposition objects in new, discordant, non-linear  134 ways to create new meaning and narratives that fit with the view that knowledge is fluid, dynamic, and constructed.  Thus, through multiple, immersive, changeable digital elements in the Canadian Journeys Gallery, EA has created a space where the content is evolving, thereby speaking to Henning’s (2006) call.  Thus, through Canadian Journeys’ extensive representational content and vast chronological span, the EA leaves the impression that it is attempting to appease everyone – all of Canada’s previously persecuted or marginalized individuals, communities, and groups.  Moreover, it also appears as though the EA is eschewing a prescribed authoritative narrative of Canadian human rights in Gallery #3 In this way, at least upon first glance, and without a deep reading of each exhibit, the Canadian Journeys Gallery gives the sense of an experiential pedagogical space that has taken a social justice approach to conveying a national social consciousness (Carter, 2015; Lehrer & Milton, 2011; Stone, 2006).  5.1.2 The Spatial Journey In many ways, the Canadian Journeys Gallery is an assault on the senses.  Standing at the entry, one cannot help but be struck by the light show of the digital canvas and interactive centrepiece, the vast ceiling criss-crossed by the arch of a backlit alabaster ramp, and the provocative invitation produced by the radiant glow of each exhibit’s entryway.  Thus, despite the frequently troubling histories told in each of its 17 exhibits, visually, Canadian Journeys, by no means feels sombre.  Rather, navigating the colourful and eye-popping gallery has an almost celebratory, festive feel.  In addition to this assault on the senses, the EA has eschewed a prescribed walking path in the gallery.   135 According to researcher/curator A, the purpose of this configuration was to shun a prescribed narrative through the space: You know, visitors will enter the exhibit on Viola Desmond for example and be kind of immersed in that story, and the exhibit right next to that is about agricultural migrant workers.  So with all of these different sort of episodes that are presented, I think visitors will come to an idea about the Canadian nation or national identity.  I don't know that we tell them what that is or what they should think. (researcher/curator A, personal communication, October 2015) Thus, navigating the space also recalls Ellsworth’s (2005) observation that sensation construction is paramount in the conceptual work of architects, artists, performers, media producers, and designers of museum exhibitions and public spaces.  As she has noted, the places these artists create, the learner’s experience of “the cinema of a building exceeds merely reading or decoding their signs and meaning. . ..  Affect and sensation are material and part of that engagement” (p. 22).  Thus, despite the representational narrative communicated by the EA, the visitor’s spatial journey through the gallery as a whole will result in personal meaning-making (Bal, 1996, 2002, 2006; Ellsworth, 2003). Researcher/curator A’s articulation above also conveys the CMHR efforts to engaged with the current museological moment, whereby institutions once conceived as cabinets of curiosity with static objects, are becoming critical spaces for public engagement where audiences are characterized as active interpreters of meaning who decode exhibitions in varied and discriminate ways.   Finally, the Canadian Journeys’ exit experience further speaks to the anomalous pedagogy of Gallery #3.  Here, visitors are faced with an illuminated white wall bearing  136 the title “Canadian Journeys” “Les parcours canadiens” in large, raised font (see figure 26).  Beneath this is the following statement: There have been steps and missteps on the road to greater rights in Canada.  This panorama of experience reflects continuing efforts to achieve human rights for all.   Directly to the right of this wall is the open mouth of a softly glowing exit ramp and the natural light emanating from the translucent widows that give visitors a view of Winnipeg, linking the past with the present.  Visually, the exit experience reinforces Predock’s metaphor of the journey from darkness to light.     Figure 23. The Canadian Journeys Gallery exit experience (author photograph).  What is most interesting about this exit experience, however, is the spatial journey it affords.  After embarking on the departure ramp and traveling about 50 metres between the Canadian Journeys Gallery and Gallery #4, Protecting Rights in Canada, the visitor is faced with a viewing platform that overlooks the Canadian Journeys Gallery (see figures 24 and 25).     137  Figures 24 and 25. The Canadian Journeys Gallery exhibit ramp and viewing platform (author photographs).  As Bal (1996, 2006, 2007) has also theorized, the Museum’s spatial walk allows visitors a chance to create new and individual meanings and narratives.  From this heightened vantage point, the visitor overlooks the entirety of the Canadian Journeys Gallery below.  This affords the chance to negotiate new spatial, non-cognitive meanings and interpretations of the gallery, allowing for what Ellsworth (2005) has described as an “aesthetic pedagogical experience” that “exceeds decoding the representational material” in the gallery (p. 22). 5.2 The Five Exhibits: An Overview    Even though the 17 exhibit spaces in Canadian Journeys were curated by different individuals, their layout is almost identical. To avoid repetition in my analysis, here is a summary of the layout features the five exhibits have in common: • Each exhibit measures eight by eight by eight feet, except Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice, that measures eight by eight by 14 feet.  138 • Each exhibit has a left side-panel that briefly introduces the topic of the exhibit to the visitor. • Each exhibit has a right side-panel that includes four to six photographs and corresponding text.  • Each exhibit has a right and left side wall that features a variety of images, photographs, text, artifacts, and/or media. • Each exhibit has a focal area and a back wall that feature a variety of images, photographs, text, artifacts, and/or media.  5.3 Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights  5.3.1 A Brief History  The CMHR exhibit Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights considers the lives of the thousands of agricultural workers who make Canada their temporary home each year.  Specifically, this exhibit is dedicated to those farm workers classified by Human Resources and Skills Development Canada as Agricultural Workers, in the Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program (SAWP) and Stream for Lower-Skilled Occupations.  Agricultural labour is known to be one of the most difficult industries for which to recruit and sustain workers, due to its dangerous working conditions, low pay, long work hours, and, the often unscrupulous practices of employers (Perla, 2015).  In 1966, the Canadian government initiated Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program (SAWP), a program that provides farmers with offshore labourers who will perform the agricultural work that most Canadian citizens would rather avoid.  These mostly invisible men and women hail from countries such as Jamaica, Mexico, Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, Thailand, the Philippines, Guatemala, and El Salvador.  They work in Canadian fields, orchards, greenhouses, meat-processing plants, and dairy farms (Perla, 2015).  Once in Canada, they are not free to change employers or industries, and are  139 often forced to work beyond regulated Canadian workday and work week hours Migrant workers are supposed to be protected by Article 2(1) of the International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families9 (CMW), which defines a migrant worker as “a person . . . who is to be engaged, is engaged or has been engaged in a remunerated activity in a State of which he or she is not a national.” CMW does not distinguish between regular/documented or irregular/undocumented workers, and it emphasizes the connection between migration and human rights, which has become a central policy topic worldwide (Perla, 2015).  Some safeguards include: (a) freedom from discrimination in all aspects of work (art. 7); (b) access to appropriate housing (art. 43(d); (c) access to health care (art. 28); (e) access to educational institutions (art. 43(e); (f) freedom from arbitrary expulsion (art. 20); and (g) protection from violence, physical injury, and threats of intimidation (art. 16).  The Canadian government, however, has yet to ratify the CMW, typically arguing that: (a) Canada’s human rights record is “already impeccable” and in compliance with other international human rights instruments; (b) migrant workers are protected under the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms; and (c) Canada’s immigration policy is open to, and welcoming of, newcomers, and therefore the need for a convention to protect workers’ rights is less urgent in such a model society.  According to Perla (2015), even if the latter argument has historical traction, “recent statistics gathered by the United Food and Commercial Workers of Canada (UFCW) show a shift from the nation-building model to a system of temporary migration more similar to the one that initially inspired the CMW” (p. 196).                                                        9 http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/CMW.aspx   140 Ratification of the CMW would therefore require Canada to make major amendments to current programs and legislation.  For example, Article 52 gives migrant workers the right to choose their remunerated activity.  To meet this standard, the Canadian government would have to: (a) alter its programs to give workers choices that they currently do not have; and (b) take administrative responsibility for the effective operation of its migrant worker programs.  Currently, with the exemption of Mexico, migrant worker programs are the sole responsibility of the employers, not governments (Citizenship and Immigration Canada, Agreement for the Employment in Canada of Commonwealth Caribbean Seasonal Agricultural Workers—2013, Section IV10).  As Perla (2105) describes, “numerous reports, books, academic publications, and documentaries on the topic of migrant farm workers have shown that they are the victims of daily human rights violations in Canada” (p. 196).  The tough working conditions are coupled with often debilitating mental health issues related to isolation: Workers complain about being invisible in Canadian society.  They feel isolated and often suffer from depression and other mental illnesses caused by the lack of family and community support.  Such workers are forced to leave their families behind and have few opportunities to keep in touch while they are in Canada. (p. 198)  Migrant farm workers also frequently endure deplorable living conditions.  Housing can be overcrowded and unventilated, with up to six men often sharing one-room, one-toilet living spaces (Perla, 2015).  In addition, work environments are often unsafe, and accidents, although typically unreported, are common, with fatalities occurring (Hennebry, 2012).  Moreover, pay structures are frequently discriminatory.                                                        10 http://www.hrsdc.gc.ca/eng/workplaceskills/foreign_workers/contracts-forms/sawpcc2013    141 For example, since SAWP’s inception, 25 percent of a worker’s wage is deducted from each payroll period, with twenty percent given back at the end of the contract, while five percent is taken by the government as an administrative fee.11  Further, although legally migrant workers have formal access to both private and public health care, frequently labourers avoid medical attention for fear of being fired and sent home (Perla, 2015).  A recent report from the Metcalf Foundation, Made in Canada: How the Law Constructs Migrant Workers’ Insecurity, maintains, “while government creates the conditions which allow the migrant work relationships to be formed, the supervision of the relationship is increasingly privatized between employer and worker” (Metcalf Foundation, 2012).   Regardless of their status as a largely invisible and disenfranchised segment of the Canadian population, certain migrant farm workers are beginning to voice their concerns and some Canadian civil society organizations and unions are mobilizing to fight on behalf of their rights (Perla, 2015).                                                                     11  Citizenship and Immigration Canada, Agreement for the Employment in Canada of Commonwealth Caribbean Seasonal Agricultural Workers—2013, Section IV, http:// www.hrsdc.gc.ca/eng/workplaceskills/foreign_workers/contracts-forms/sawpcc2013   142 5.3.2 Exhibit Overview    Figure 26. The Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit    (author photograph).  The CMHR exhibit Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights, is the first exhibit the visitor encounters on the left side wall of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  It is bordered on the right by the glass-enclosed theatre, and to the left by Viola Desmond’s Challenge to Racial Segregation. The focal area of this exhibit comprises four cast-iron figures standing in front of a bicycle, each holding a video screen.  The backdrop of the exhibit features a photo of workers harvesting cauliflower in Manitoba.  Both the right and left side walls are made of wooden slats and contain no text or images.  5.3.3 The Process of Curation  According to researcher/curator B, the process of curation in the exhibit space devoted to migrant farm workers began with consultations with Wilfred Laurier University associate professor Janet McLaughlin.  McLaughlin, who is a research associate with the International Migration Centre, prepared a content package for the CMHR and visits were then made to the farms and homes of several migrant workers throughout Canada.  From the content package and the field work, researcher/curator B  143 then developed an approach paper which detailed the content and design strategy researcher/curator B wanted to use for the exhibit.  This highlighted the human rights violations that migrant workers experience and the social movements for their just treatment.  As he detailed, what I was looking at was mostly the international convention on the rights of migrant workers, so I looked at the international framework, and how Canada was doing with regard to the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and the protection of the rights of migrant workers. (researcher/curator B, personal communication, January 27, 2016)  The approach was then presented to a peer review team for the Canadian Journeys Gallery that included members of the curatorial team, an interpretive planner, and representatives from Ralph Appelbaum Associates (RAA).  Once approved, the final step was to conduct oral history interviews with the migrant farm workers themselves.  As Perla (2015) has described, this was no easy process: “Migrant workers are often vulnerable to coercion, and they fear retaliation if they speak up about the human rights violations that they experience while living in Canada” (p. 203).  The curatorial team had to proceed carefully to ensure that participants would not face any harmful consequences as a result of sharing their oral histories.  After that, it became a back-and-forth process between RAA, the Museum and stakeholders:   they came back and gave us renderings that we would approve or send back if we felt that they were going against the message that we felt we wanted to convey, so that is pretty much how we developed that approach or that exhibit, I took back some of the documents as well that were given to me by the designers, I took them back to the communities, I took them back to the activists and all of that to see what they felt and if they agree [sic] with the approach and then we finalized the way the exhibit was going to look like (researcher/curator B, personal communication, January, 27 2016)      144 5.3.4 Analysis Introductory Text Panel Using simple black text on a white backdrop, the exhibit’s introductory text panel titled Uncertain Harvest suggests that the EA might trouble the storyline found in this exhibit.  Beneath this title, in slightly reduced font size, is the sub-title Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights, and below this, in even smaller font, are three paragraphs whereby the EA introduces the topic of the exhibit.           Figure 27. The introductory panel to the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit (author photograph)  Throughout the copy of this introductory panel, the EA proffers an active voice and an authoritative tone, using declarative sentences without indicating how the interpretation presented was decided.  The copy begins with the assertion that the Canadian government brings in migrant farm workers from various parts of the world, and states that these labourers are “essential.” Then through specific mention of the workers’ countries of origin, and the use of the term “temporary,” the EA legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity, by communicating Counter National  145 Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0), specifically, migrant farm workers as a new global diasporic segment of Canadian national identity.  Despite the authoritative tone of the copy, however, the opening text panel does not proffer a completely closed narrative.  The middle paragraph states: “Some are treated well and have no grievances.  But others endure exploitation or unsafe working conditions.  They may fear being sent home.” Here, the EA seems to be indicating that there may be multiple interpretations of the Canadian migrant farm worker experience.  Later, the EA highlights the exploitation and unsafe working conditions some migrant workers endure, communicating the power imbalance between diasporic, disenfranchised workers and the Canadian state.  Meanwhile, by way of the concluding sentence of the copy which states: “Concerned Canadians are working to ensure their rights are enforced,” the EA suggests complicity and comradeship between migrant farm workers and Canadian citizens, and the nation redeeming itself through the helpful actions of “certain Canadians.”  Hence, through this final statement on the opening text panel, it appears that the EA is referencing Master National Narrative 2.0 (NN 2.0)—a national narrative of progress and tolerance. Focal Area: The Cast-Iron Statues, Media Pieces, and Bicycle Although the EA depersonalizes the narrative of Canadian migrant workers in the introductory text panel, the focal area of the exhibit returns personal agency to the workers.  As mentioned above, the bulk of this area is taken up by four life-sized, cast-iron statues set against a brightly lit background photograph of migrant workers harvesting cauliflower in Manitoba.  The use of iron rather than bronze is an interesting choice.  Iron, which is not as precious as bronze, is typically used for artwork meant to be housed outdoors.  Thus, the EA may have chosen this material to cue visitors to the  146 fact that most migrants work outside, and are not as valued as Canadian workers.  Through their large size, dark patina finish, and the visual weight of the iron, the statues form a stark contrast to the luminous green cauliflower leaf backdrop.  Through striking contrast, the EA lends visual prominence to the workers.  Their agency is further highlighted by the fact that the made-to scale cast-iron statues are of four Canadian migrant workers: Ana Maria Hernandez, Flavio Celic, Karl Colquhoun, and Diego Rodriguez.  As researcher/curator B explained: One of the designers came with the idea of having these cast-iron figures to sort of give prominence to the migrant workers as persons.  That’s something at the beginning that I wasn’t completely sure about.  But, I brought it back to consult with the communities and they really liked it.  They said that they are always invisible, so having these cast iron figures as the most prominent feature in the exhibit brings visibility back to them. (researcher/curator B, personal communication, January 27, 2016)   Standing behind the cast-iron statues of Karl and Flavio is an actual bicycle that once belonged to a migrant farm worker (Perla, 2015).  Since most workers cannot afford a car, the expository agent (EA) perhaps chose this artifact to remind visitors that bicycles are the main source of transport used by migrants while in Canada, further underscoring their disenfranchised status and low pay.  Media Pieces Each of the four human statues in the focal area is holding a video monitor that displays an evocative dynamic photograph of the worker staring into the camera and blinking.  The monitors, which are activated when visitors approach, contain the personal narratives of each of the migrant farm workers they feature.  By way of three videos, the EA highlights migrant farm workers who are part of SAWP (Ana, Flavio, and Karl), and a fourth, which features Diego, is part of a unique program whereby migrants  147 can gain residency in Canada; Diego is seeking this for himself and his family.  By way of these four video narratives, the EA has clearly attempted to reference a cross-section of migrant workers.  The workers are of diverse gender and ethnicity , and they work in different regions of Canada.  Despite this diversity, however, similar themes are highlighted in the videos.  For instance, the EA uses all four to allude to the sacrifices and emotional cost of being away from loved ones for an extended period-of-time.  Flavio states: “I speak with my family by phone because of how lonely I feel here, even though I want to go back, but can’t because it’s so far away.”  Karl declares: If you separate from the persons that you’re really caring about in your life for seven to eight months, it’s like you’re in prison.  So we call this like a pay slave the way that the boss has treated you and then you’re separated from your family, the one that you love, the ones that care about me.  The three media pieces featuring those workers who are part of SAWP emphasize   the poor working and living conditions that workers endure.  Anna testifies:  We work every day.  For the two and a half months that I’ve been here, I’ve worked almost every day with few days off.  I understand the importance of fruit production, but there is a time in which working daily every day from 7AM to 7PM, or from 7AM to 6PM is extremely exhausting.    Figure 28. The cast-iron statue of Ana, with an embedded video screen in the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area (author photograph).   148 The EA further uses Karl’s testimony regarding work hours to underline the distinction between the rights of migrant workers and those of Canadian citizens: You don’t get any time off, you’ve gotta keep going around the clock.  You’re entitled to Sunday, but then they say by law, if he has the fruit on the tree and it’s spoiling, then you have to go and get it off.  Canadian workers are treated much better than Jamaican workers.  Even when you do like three times the amount that the Canadians do, they always telling you “Keep going.” “What taking you so long?” “You should be finished a long time ago.” And in your heart you know you’re doing the best and it’s, the best is not good enough.  You can’t do nothing about it.  All it’s gonna tell you, “Oh, I’m gonna send you home if you don’t listen to me or you can’t abide by the rules, then you go home.     Figure 29. The cast-iron statue of Karl, with an embedded video screen in the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area (author photograph).  Another statement by Anna underscores the poor living conditions that many workers endure: “Right now, we live in an old house provided by the boss.  It is a small house.  We have one room in which all eight women sleep.” Despite highlighting the difficulties migrant farm workers endure, the EA also softens this communication with testimony by Anna and Flavio that expresses gratitude toward Canada.  The last statement Ana makes is: “Despite the harsh working conditions, I am grateful for this opportunity.”  Mid-testimony, Flavio says: “Back home  149 in Mexico, I’m doing well because of my work here in Canada.  I have saved money, I have bought some land and have a little house.”  And Diego’s video features the following:  I’m shop steward.  The union is very important because it’s what oversees the workers’ rights.  It grants protection and respect, things that I couldn’t find in Colombia.  For me, coming here has been very good.   Figure 30. The cast-iron statue of Diego, with an embedded video screen in the  Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit’s focal area (author photograph).  As mentioned earlier, the EA has enclosed the entire focal area on both sides with wooden slat walls suggestive of the crates popular for transporting produce.  Thus, although the mise-en-espace of the focal area gives predominant visibility to the personal experience of migrant workers, the wooden slat walls are a foreboding reminder of the difficult and dehumanizing work that dominates their everyday existence. Discussion of the Focal Area As a whole, the focal area of the Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights exhibit makes visible a diversity of migrant worker experiences in Canadian society.   150 Here the EA does not provide any text panels to define how to read these sources, and visitors can come to their own conclusions.  The testimony the EA has chosen to include in this area, with the exception of Diego’s, appears to highlight and criticize the human rights violations that many Canadian migrant workers endure thereby troubling the notion of Canada as a progress-oriented, generous nation (NN 2.0).  Through the four cast-iron statues and the bicycle, the focal area highlights the personal agency to the migrant farm workers.  Moreover, by featuring the personal testimonies of the four workers in which the workers highlight their disenfranchised status in Canadian society the focal area exposes a silent aspect of Canadian national identity shaped by new global identities, and in particular migratory networks and international workforces.  In this way, the focal area communicates Counter National Narrative 3.0.  The Right Side-Panel  Figure 34. The right side-panel of the Migrant Workers and Human Rights exhibit  (author photograph).   151 On the right side-panel, the EA has placed four photographs with corresponding text panels.  Like the introductory text panel, the copy on this side of the exhibit space assumes an authoritative tone—sentences are declarative, the photographs are decoded for the visitor.  Meanwhile, the four photographs give prominence to a cross-section of Canadian migrant farm workers.    Photograph 1 is a close-up of a worker driving a tractor.  The photo captures the glaring sunlight and several labourers in the dry field behind him.  Here, the EA appears to be drawing attention to the hot and harsh working conditions that workers must endure.  The copy, which states: “There is a huge demand for migrant workers because farm work is labour-intensive and seasonal,” further emphasizes this.  The second photograph highlights migrant worker Mike Clive crouched over in a dark and dingy space stacking cabbage in Ontario.  By way of this photo, the EA further underscores the unpleasant working conditions that many workers must tolerate.  The corresponding copy asserts: “Farm work is physically difficult and unusually low paid, but the income helps support families.” Photo 3 features Paula Murillo Velasco and her daughter, in Peru, staring sorrowfully into the camera.  The copy here details that they are “holding photos of family members who were among 10 migrant farm workers killed when their van crashed in Ontario in 2012.”  In this instance, the EA gives prominence to the unsafe working conditions that labourers endure.  The fourth and final photograph features masked migrant workers in a demonstration for rights.  It reads: “Migrant workers and their supporters marched 50km from Leamington to Windsor, Ontario to demand rights.” Through the choice of a photo in which migrants  152 are masked, the EA draws attention to the lack of basic rights, the right of assembly, that workers face. The overall narrative told by the EA on this right side-panel underscores the ambiguous status of these temporary citizens of Canada.  In doing so, it raises questions of and around the conception of Canada as a progressive multicultural mosaic by pointing to those who live inside the nation’s borders, yet reside outside the safety net of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.  5.2.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness  Overall, despite one reference to Master National Narrative Template 2.0’s narrative of progressive tolerance, Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights communicates predominantly Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0).  As explained earlier, NN 3.0 has its roots in an historiography that “views identities as complex, multifaceted phenomena that are constantly changing and never permanent or exclusive” (Lopez & Carretero, 2012, p. 146).  Unlike NN 1.0 and 2.0, NN 3.0 is not a narrative template.  Rather, NN 3.0 captures competing, omitted, or silenced aspects of Canadian history through national narratives that contest, rebuke or, intervene in the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0, thereby providing a more nuanced account and multiple perspectives on Canadian identity.  In other instances, NN 3.0 throws into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces. The exhibit space dedicated to migrant farm workers refers specifically to NN 3.0’s new global identities, and in particular, migratory networks and international  153 workforces.  Through this exhibit the EA raises questions of the “nation” by making visible “other” diasporic, hybrid, or transcultural identities (Canadian migrant farm workers) within a country’s borders (Appadurai, 1996; Cahoone, 1996).  Through the exhibit’s emphasis on the frequently invisible plight of seasonal agricultural workers, the EA has therefore also troubled Master National Narrative Template 2.0—Canada as a progressive, tolerant, multicultural, mosaic tied to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights.  In the words of researcher/curator B: there are several ideas regarding Canada as a nation and the role migrant workers have in this nation, but one is that we bring the people here because we need them to keep part of our economy afloat; we need that whole, you know, agricultural industry, we need to keep it afloat because of the work that these workers do, but they come here, they do not have access to permanent residence, most of them won’t have access to permanent residency, and they will not have access to Canadian citizenship, so that is something. (researcher/ curator, B personal communication, January 27, 2016)    The exhibit space communicates the power differential between this often-hidden segment of Canadian society and Canadian citizens.  When asked about the overall message of the exhibit, researcher/curator B stated: I think it is important for Canada as a nation to understand that we are bringing these workers, we are taking advantage of their labour, but we’re not wanting, we’re not willing to make them part of the nation, so I think that that is one of the main big messages that we have in that exhibit. (researcher/curator B, personal communication, January 27, 2016)    Hence, Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights acts as a site of historical consciousness, by highlighting the human rights violations individual migrant farm workers living in Canada face, thereby unsettling the nation’s present and future status as a tolerant, generous beacon of human rights.    154 5.4 Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy     5.4.1 A Brief History  The first large influx of Chinese immigrants came to British territory in 1858 from San Francisco as a response to the discovery of gold in the Fraser Canyon. When BC entered Confederation in 1871, both Aboriginals and Chinese Canadians were barred from elections. The 1880s saw the arrival of thousands of Chinese workers to build the Canadian Pacific Railway which also led to growing anti-Chinese sentiment among the ruling classes (Yu, 2007/2008, 2009).  After 1884, the provincial government in BC enacted legislation denying Chinese people the right to buy, lease, or pre-empt Crown lands (Roy, 1989).  While white settlers could obtain land from the government at little or no cost, Chinese Canadians could only acquire land directly from private owners.  This two-tiered system of law remained in effect until after World War Two (Roy, 2003).  Moreover, in 1885 the federal government, under pressure from the BC government, imposed a discriminatory head tax of $50 on Chinese immigrants entering Canada; the tax increased to $100 in 1901 and $500 in 1903 and remained in effect until 1923, forcing 97,000 Chinese immigrants to pay to enter the country (Roy, 1989).  However, this did not curb racist sentiment on the Pacific coast.  In September 1907, anti-Asian riots rocked Vancouver, BC, and Bellingham, WA.  According to several Chinese language newspapers: many of [the] white rioters were in fact very recent migrants to the city, and were engaged in a violent process of driving out and replacing Chinese workers in various industries.  This ran contrary to the rhetorical claims of anti-Asian agitators that Asian workers threatened to take jobs away from whites. (Yu, 2007/2008, p. 157)  The irony of the Chinese building the railroads according to historian Henry Yu  155 (2007/2008), “is that they created the very mechanism by which white labourers could arrive and take away their jobs” (p. 157).   In 1923, Canada passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, which forbade any person of Chinese origin from entering Canada (Roy, 2003).  At the onset of World War Two, in 1939, many Canadian-born Chinese youths volunteered for military service despite discrimination and opposition from the provincial governments of BC and Saskatchewan.  In May 1947 the federal government repealed the Act and began retracting other discriminatory laws against incoming Chinese and Canadian-born Chinese (Roy, 2007).  On June 16, 1980, parliament passed a motion recognizing ‘the contribution made to the Canadian mosaic and culture by people of Chinese background. Over 20 years later, on June 22, 2006, Prime Minister Stephen Harper delivered a message of redress in the House of Commons, offering an apology and compensation for the head tax once paid by Chinese immigrants, promising to pay survivors or their spouses approximately $20,000 CAD each in compensation (Roy, 2007).  However, not all Chinese Canadians were happy with the redress settlement, which compensated only living survivors and omitted the children and grandchildren of head tax payees, and those children who did not see their fathers for 10–15 years because of immigration restrictions.            156 5.4.2 Exhibit Overview   Figure 32. The Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit  (author photograph).  The space dedicated to the CMHR exhibit on Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy is the sixth exhibit visitors encounter on the back wall of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  When one is facing this exhibit, Rights of People with Disabilities is to its right, and Resisting Religious Oppression is situated to its left.  The focal point of the exhibit includes a bronze statue of Chinese men working on the (CPR), and a rectangular glass-enclosed box featuring two head tax certificates, back dropped by grey-brown untreated wooden planks that feature 11 photographs and one news article, each framed in red.  The exhibit’s left side wall features a population graphic that depicts Chinese Canadian settlement from 1910 to 1923.  It should be noted that the insight station at the centre of the Canadian Journeys Gallery elaborates on this exhibit.  I will address this in the analysis section below.     157 5.4.3 The Process of Curation  Information on the curation process for Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy is less comprehensive than for some other exhibits in this investigation because many of the content decisions (configuration, language, design, layout, text panels, media, font size, etc.) were made prior to researcher/curator C’s arrival at the CMHR.  For example, before researcher/curator C was hired, the CMHR contracted a researcher who created research packets around a series of questions generated by the Museum.  An interview with another researcher for this exhibit, reveals further background information as to the process of creation before 2010.  As researcher G, detailed, he was first contacted by a CMHR staff-member in 2009/2010 as part of the Museum’s consultation process with experts and community members.  As researcher G described,  this information then got put into their hopper of information to shape something . . . what I assume is that then she went and put some scoping in which then got passed to RAA and they did a mock up, so that’s all part of that early design stage.  And again, what she took out of what we talked about and what she put in I have no idea because there was no follow up. (researcher G personal communication, October 29, 2015).   According to researcher/curator C, this content package    touched on the head tax, but it didn’t just focus on it.  It talked more about Chinese migration to Canada, and was very specific.  For instance, the three politicians that you see at the back wall, they were all mentioned by this contract researcher. (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015)  Researcher/curator C further commented that although the information in the packets (such as the names of the three politicians) was a suggestion, “RAA took a lot of that information literally . . . by the time I got involved in the project, it was pretty hard to change those” (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015).   158 However, researcher/curator C was solely responsible for the curation of the left side wall, which features a large population graphic.  As researcher/curator C has explained, this side wall was based on the head tax database which came from Henry Yu and Peter Ward from a UBC-led collaboration with Library and Archives Canada (funded by SSHRC) that produced the database, which has also been used by both the CHRP legacy and the BC Provincial Legacy Initiatives projects. Researcher G was not contacted by the Museum again until 2012, after an initial mock-up of the exhibit was completed.  At this time, researcher G had already been contacted by the community committee who were unhappy that the Museum was not telling their story.  Researcher G has speculated that this committee may have stemmed from the federally funded Community Historical Recognition Program that came from the federal apology to Chinese Canadians:   it may have been that some of their names were passed to the Museum as that ‘you have to consult with these people’ because the Conservative Feds who were intervening, you could say . . . and that put a lot of pressure on the Museum folks because they have to throw mock up in front of these community folks . . . and of course they wanted a triumphant . . . we overcame [storyline]. (researcher G, personal communication, October 29, 2015)   At this later stage, researcher G, then delivered the head tax database for researcher/curator C to develop for the map on the exhibit’s left side wall. 5.4.4 Analysis   Introductory Text Panel Throughout the introductory text panel of the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy, the EA assumes an authoritative tone—sentences are declarative, the photographs are decoded for the visitor.  The copy, in white text on a black background and titled Overcoming Exclusion, immediately suggests that the EA will  159 communicate a storyline of progress and triumph over past injustice and racism throughout the exhibit.  Directly beneath this title, in somewhat decreased font size, is the sub-title “Chinese Canadians and Immigration,” and beneath this, in even smaller font, are three short paragraphs that introduce visitors to the exhibit.  Here, the descriptive text tells of progress from racism to redemption.  The text explains that Canada relied on Chinese workers to build the national railway, yet the Canadian government subsequently collected a head tax from 1885 to 1923 and then banned nearly all Chinese immigration until 1947.  Despite the acknowledgement of past wrongs, via this opening text panel the EA communicates a national narrative of Canadian progress through redemption, concluding with a statement that highlights the federal government’s apology.  The final paragraph asserts: “Chinese Canadians fought for redress of these six decades of racial discrimination.  In 2006, then Prime Minister Stephen Harper officially apologized.”  With the following introductory statement, the EA further situates Canada as a tolerant nation that is welcoming of current-day Chinese immigrants: “People of Chinese heritage have enriched all of Canada.  Yet there was a time when they were officially unwelcome as immigrants.” What this statement ignores is the current-day discrimination Chinese immigrants face in Canada.  For example, in Vancouver, the present-day housing affordability crisis has renewed racial scapegoating toward Asians, with Mainland Chinese in Vancouver being blamed for the problems created by an unaffordable speculative housing market (Yu, 2015).  Thus, the introductory text panel for Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy leaves the viewer at an alienating distance from the subject and reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0: Canada as a tolerant and progress-oriented nation.  160 Focal Area: The Bronze Sculpture, Head Tax Certificates, and Photo Series Although the EA depersonalizes the narrative of Chinese Canadians in the introductory text panel, through three separate elements in the focal area of the exhibit—the bronze sculpture of Chinese men working on the CPR, the rectangular glass box enclosing two head tax certificates, and the series of eleven photographs and one news article, each item framed in red—the EA returns personal agency to individual Chinese Canadians.   The most prominent feature of the focal area is a medium-sized bronze sculpture titled “Chinese men working on a railway,” by Chinese artist Wang Guangyi, which depicts four male figures back-dropped by grey-brown wooden planks that appear to represent railway ties.  Guangyi is best known for his paintings that reference revolutionary motifs from Cultural Revolution-era posters, brochures, and other materials (see http://www.artnet.com/artists/wang-guangyi).  A text panel indicates that the sculpture, which “honours the thousands of labourers from China who helped build the Canadian Pacific Railway,” was a gift from the Winnipeg Chinese Cultural and Community Centre.    Figure 33. The bronze sculpture in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photograph).  161  The first figure features an exhausted man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, deftly pushing a wheelbarrow along a set of tracks.  The next two male figures are grouped together.  The first is a young man who stands erect and stares into the horizon with a look of sorrow in his eyes and a crowbar in his right hand.  His left hand is placed on the shoulder of an older, emaciated worker, who appears to have collapsed from exhaustion and is seated on the rail line with a shovel in hand.  Overall, the first three figures’ solemn expressions and mostly dismal body language give the sculpture a hopeless, feeling of despair.  However, the final figure of the sculpture lends a different quality to the sculpture.  The tallest of the four, it depicts a middle-aged, well-muscled man standing erect with a pick in his hands, steely gaze set to the distance.  Thus, through the sculpture’s depiction of the physically taxing and dismal work that Chinese Canadian labourers endured while building the railway, combined with the figures’ sorrowful expressions, the visual weight that the bronze accords, and the dark patina finish, the EA underscores the period of Chinese Canadian immigration to Canada during the building of the CPR as dark and shameful. Also in the focal area of the exhibit, to the left of the sculpture, the EA has placed a rectangular glass box featuring two head tax certificates that include photographs of their owners.  The first certificate, issued in 1919, belonged to Jung Song Lee, an adult male.  The second, issued in 1918, belonged to Jung Bak Fong, a child who looks to be no more than 10 years old.  The corresponding text panel, titled, “Discrimination by Taxation,” states: “The Canadian government had increased the tax from $50 to $500 in 1903 to further discourage Chinese immigration. . . . Children were not exempt from paying the head tax.”  Thus, through the display of these certificates  162 in the focal area, the EA lends additional visibility to the personal experience of Chinese Canadian immigrants in the early 20th century and emphasizes, through historical evidence, past legislation that racialized, harmed, and violated Chinese Canadians.   Figure 34. The head tax certificates and photo montage in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photograph).  The focal area also features a series of 11 photographs and one news article.  These are framed in red, and located on shelves made of wooden beams that resemble railroad ties above and the head tax certificates.  The photographs and news article are numbered 1 through 12 so that they can be matched to corresponding text panels on the right side wall, and they appear to follow an historical chronology, with early photographs in black and white and later photographs in colour (see figures 38, 39, 40, 41, and 42).  Thus, despite the fact that the bronze sculpture and the head tax  163 certificates underscore the period of Chinese Canadian immigration during the building of the CPR as being dark and shameful, these photographs transform the overall narrative in the focal area into a storyline of progressive redemption.  As they move toward the present, the photographs become more celebratory, depicting the integration, acceptance, and accomplishments of Chinese Canadians and thereby silencing and omitting all references to the legacy of racism that endures in the present (see more analysis of these photographs in “Right Side wall”).   Figures 35, 36, 37, 38, and 39. The photo series in the focal area of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photographs).  It should be noted that although the EA may be employing these photographs to further personalize the exhibit and draw attention to the diversity of the Chinese Canadians’ experience, the photos are quite small and difficult to see from a distance.  Thus, this effect is limited.  164 The mise-en-espace (the way in which the spatial elements and content embody a whole) perfectly encapsulates the larger CHMR vision: to convey the journey from darkness to light.  The sculpture and head tax certificates, found at waist level, are relatively dark except for the backlit documents.  In this way, the EA reminds the visitor of Canada’s racist immigration policies.  However, the well-lit photographs, framed in red, which become increasingly colourful and celebratory as they move chronologically, transform the narrative of past wrongdoing and racism into one of progressive redemption and reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0).  Left Side Wall      Figure 40. The left side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photograph).   165  Figure 41. A close-up of the map on the left side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photograph).    Figures 42. A close-up of the bronze statistical circles on the right side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photographs).  The left side wall of the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy large population graphic features a map of Canada and a series of statistical circles.  The map, which is burgundy with white text, provides the viewer with the name of each province or territory, and the total number of Chinese immigrants who settled there between 1911 and 1923.  The map also has small dots that represent the location of Chinese Canadian settlements across Canada and large yellow dots that highlight cities with  166 larger populations within the confines of each provincial/territorial border.  Hence, via this large-scale map, the EA clearly intends to draw attention to the widespread settlement of Chinese Immigrants in all parts of the country, despite rampant discrimination, thereby positioning Chinese immigrants from 1911 to 1923 as tenacious and resilient, despite Canada’s discriminatory immigration policies. Beneath the map is a series of graduated and raised statistical circles made of bronze.  By using this precious material, it is as though the EA is attempting to evoke public statuary.  The bronze circles the EA breaks down Chinese immigrants by gender, occupation, underscoring the gender and occupational discrimination that were the result of Canada’s racist immigration policies.  The text beneath the map states: As this map shows, thousands of determined Chinese immigrated in spite of the race-based head tax.  Note how widely they settled across Canada, far beyond densely populated urban Chinatowns.  The head tax was so expensive that many young men came alone, leaving wives and families in China.  By using the adjective “determined,” the EA highlights the perseverance and personal agency of individual Chinese Canadians in the face of the discriminatory head tax.  The left side wall is back-dropped in red and lit with a spotlight.  The EA’s decision to devote an entire wall of the exhibit to these population statistics not only reinforces Canada’s past wrongdoing but also positions Chinese Canadians as resilient and tenacious.       167 Right Side Wall  Figure 43. The right side wall of the Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy exhibit (author photograph).  The right side wall features the same 11 photos and one news article from the red-framed series in the focal area.  The EA has embossed the replicated photographs over a large background photo depicting a scene from the building of the railway.  They are grouped together under overarching titles with corresponding text panels.  In the copy, the EA uses declarative sentences, decoding the photographs for the visitor without revealing how it arrived at the interpretation presented.            Photos 1 through 4 are grouped together under the title “Surviving Hardship,” and all are in black and white.  Photograph 1 depicts a Chinese man mining for gold in the Fraser River around 1875.  Photo 2 shows a tailor in Vancouver in 1900; its caption explains that because of restrictive labour laws, Chinese Canadians often set up their own businesses.  Photograph 3 contains a Globe article about the 1907 anti-Asian riots in Vancouver and states: “Racism turned violent when rioters ravaged Chinese and Japanese neighbourhoods, demanding an end to Asian immigration.”  Photo 4 depicts  168 Shanghai Alley in 1907 after the Chinatown riots.  The text reads: “Most rioters went unpunished while the federal government imposed more restrictions on Chinese, Japanese and Indo-Canadians’ rights.”  Through the grouping of these three photographs and one article the EA provides the Museum visitor with a chronology of Chinese Canadian history that underlines the discriminatory legislation and racial prejudice that Chinese Canadian immigrants faced in Canada from 1900 to 1907.    The next set of photographs (photos 5 and 6) are arranged under the title “Separated Families.”  Photograph 5 depicts Moon Dong’s family, whom he left behind while working in Canada in 1940.  The text states: “Separated for decades, some families were reunited when Canada relaxed immigration restrictions in the late 1970s.”  Photograph 6 shows rooming-house residents in Vancouver’s Chinatown in 1902 and states: “The head tax meant many Chinese men could not afford to bring their families to Canada.”  Here, the EA is stressing the toll that Canada’s racist immigration policies had on Chinese Canadian families.   Photos 7 through 9 are categorized under the title “Contributing to Canada.”  Photograph 7 shows a Chinese Canadian hockey team in Calgary c. 1917.  Photo 8 depicts Chinese Canadian soldiers with the South-East Asia Command in 1945.  Photograph 9 shows the Mah Poy family with a Union Café truck in Alberta in 1940.  It states: “James immigrated in 1902.  His wife, Liang Shi, joined him 11 years later despite the head tax.”  In grouping these photographs together, the EA suggests a more positive and progressive narrative of Chinese Canadian settlement and immigration.  What is interesting is that through photographs 7 and 8, the EA appropriates Chinese Canadians into the larger imagined community of the state through the rhetoric of a shared  169 common history—hockey and wartime sacrifice.  Meanwhile, photo 9 demonstrates that some Chinese immigrated despite the head tax.  Photographs 10 through 12 are grouped under the title “Recognized at Last.”  Photograph 10 depicts Vivienne Poy, the first Canadian Senator of Chinese descent.  Photograph 11 shows Douglas Jung, the first Chinese Canadian Member of Parliament, in 1957.  The copy states: “Jung introduced an amnesty program for Chinese who had entered Canada without immigration papers.”  Photograph 12 depicts Phillip and Anita Lee.  The text details: “Philip Lee was appointed Manitoba’s first Chinese Canadian Lieutenant Governor in 2009.”  Through this grouping, the EA references the progressive gains of Chinese Canadians in the last half of the 20th century.  These photographs are also more colourful and the individuals more jubilant than those in the first three groupings. Hence, through the right side wall, the EA communicates a narrative of progressive improvement in the lives of Chinese Canadians, with regard to Canadian immigration policy.  As the 11 photographs move toward the present, they become more celebratory, depicting the integration, acceptance, and accomplishments of Chinese Canadians and thereby omitting any reference to the legacy of racism that endures from past policy. The Right Side-Panel The right side-panel, features four photographs with corresponding text and has the same title as the introductory panel: “Overcoming Exclusion.”  The panel’s copy assumes an authoritative tone—sentences are declarative, the photographs are decoded for the visitor.  Here, the four photographs and corresponding text tell a  170 progressive chronological narrative of Chinese Canadian history culminating, in the federal government’s redress payments.   The first photo of the panel features Chinese Canadian men on a railway bridge in 1899 in British Columbia.  The corresponding copy notes: “Despite widespread racism, many chose to stay in Canada after helping to build the Canadian Pacific Railway.”  Through the use of the first photograph and its accompanying text, the EA draws attention to the fact that Chinese Canadians were some of British Columbia’s earliest settlers.  Moreover, through the phrase “despite widespread racism,” the EA is highlighting the pioneering spirit and resilience of early Chinese Canadian immigrants in the face of rampant discrimination.  The second photo of this panel features loggers in British Columbia in the early 1900s, further underscoring that the Chinese were amongst British Columbia’s pioneers.  The corresponding copy notes: “Chinese people in Canada earned much less than most.  They often worked in dangerous or low-status jobs that others did not want.”  The EA thereby again positions early Chinese Canadian settlers as resilient and hard-working. Photo 3 is of Daniel Wong and his family in China.  The copy states: “Daniel’s father was working in Canada when this photo was taken.  A picture of his face was added later.”  Through this photograph, the EA highlights the human toll that discriminatory immigration legislation had on Chinese families.  The fourth, and final, photo features Thomas Soon, 97, and Charlie Quon, 99, in Vancouver, British Columbia.  The text reads: “They are holding the first head tax redress payments of $20, 000 from the Canadian government.”    171 Throughout the right side-panel of the exhibit, the EA conveys a storyline of progressive redemption.  The panel’s chronological narrative begins with the acknowledgement that past Canadian legislation discriminated against Chinese Canadians, yet it relays a story of increasing improvement leading to the redress payments. 5.4.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness  Through the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy as a whole the EA legitimizes a current construction of Canadian National Identity.  In particular it reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0).  This is accomplished through a storyline of temporal progress that begins by recognizing past Canadian policies, actions, and legislation that racialized, harmed, and violated Chinese Canadians, yet repeatedly underscores the progress, success, and equality of Chinese Canadians in the present along with a storyline of redemption that features the federal government apology.  Although the exhibit does remind the visitor of Canada’s historically racist immigration policies, it does not use historiography to disrupt a progressive storyline of Canada, nor does it acknowledge or communicate that past racist immigration policies that might be linked to inequities or racist treatment of Chinese Canadians in present-day Canada.  Therefore, as a whole, Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy does not communicate NN 3.0.  The exhibit space therefore acts as a site of historical consciousness by weaving a temporal narrative linking the past, present and future experience and history of Chinese Canadians into a storyline of progressive redemption and hope for a future Canada shaped by racial equality.  The exhibit space also moulds moral values into a body of time by using the future success of the once discriminated  172 Chinese-Canadian worker and reference to the government apology, to redeem Canada for its past wrongs and forge a new social memory of progress.  When asked to describe what big idea this exhibit attempts to communicate, researcher/curator C answered:  the idea that you have a community of folks who've come to Canada and experienced intense racism . . . but [it] then charts a path to overcoming that racism, etc., etc.  And it ends with the redress movement around the Chinese head tax.  The exhibit itself kind of ties things up nicely with the federal government's apology and the payouts for Chinese head tax payees or their surviving spouses. (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015)  In many ways, this particular exhibit recalls another site of pedagogy referenced earlier in this dissertation: the Heritage Minute titled “Nitro.”  As Stanley (2012) argued, Nitro’s narrative helps constitute modern-day Canada as a tolerant, multicultural mosaic where the future success of the worker as a Chinese Canadian redeems the racist treatment he experienced in the past.  As several scholars have pointed out, what is problematic with this type of communication of national identity is that it forges a new social memory of progress that ignores current problems stemming from past wrongdoing (Mackey, 2002; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Stanley, 2006, 2012; Yu, 2002, 2015).  As Yu (2015) has pointed out, in Vancouver, much of the racial scapegoating toward Asians has its origins in past land policies.  As, researcher G has suggested, however, this narrative may not have come from the EA but rather from a community committee that was interested in promoting a triumphant narrative.  In addition, the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy poses another problem.  Although the EA gives the illusion of including the plurality of voices throughout the exhibit via the numerous photographs showcasing the personal stories of diverse Chinese Canadians, the narrative silences the voices of Chinese Canadians  173 who were unhappy with the terms of a redress settlement.  In particular, by compensating only those Chinese Canadians affected by Canada’s racist immigration policies who were still living, the federal government disregarded the legacy that these policies had on the children and grandchildren of its original victims.  As researcher/curator C, indicated in our interview, the insight station talks a bit more about the fact that not all Chinese Canadians are happy with redress . . . for someone who had a father migrate to Canada and didn't see their father for 10–15 years because it wasn't affordable to do so, I mean, it makes perfect sense . . . That's got to be pretty horrible to spend a portion of your life not being able to live with both parents. (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015) Unfortunately, the visitor is not alerted to this extension in the exhibit itself.  Perhaps if the EA had referenced National Narratives 3.0 by nuancing the exhibit’s singular narrative of progress—addressing the redress settlement issue, and highlighting the difficulties many current-day Chinese immigrants face—Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy could have engage in a critical, affective, and provocative dialogue with its public.  Instead, this exhibit, as one of 17 in the larger context of the Canadian Journeys Gallery, misses a key opportunity to curate difficult knowledge as defined by Simon (2011):  offer multiple, conflicting perspectives on historical events, resulting in narratives whose conclusions remain complex and uncertain in the face of such a demand; a specific exhibition may be contested or refused while provoking degrees of anxiety, anger, and disappointment. (p. 194)  5.5 Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy   5.5.1 A Brief History  The Indian residential school system (IRS) operated for more than a century, from the 1880s to the 1990s.  It saw approximately 150,000 Canadian Aboriginal  174 children forcibly removed from their homes and put into state-funded, church-run schools.  The purpose of these schools was to undermine Aboriginal culture by separating children from their families for extended periods of time, educating them in mainstream culture, and subjecting them to punishment for speaking their own language or disobeying the stringent rules in place (see http://nctr.ca/exhibitions.php).   Students in residential schools did not receive the same education as the general Canadian population in the public school system.  The curriculum focused primarily on practical skills.  Girls were taught to do laundry, sew, cook, and clean—skills that would ready them for domestic service.  Meanwhile, boys were taught carpentry, tinsmithing, and farming.  Students often went to class part-time and worked for the school.  Girls did the housekeeping, while boys were charged with general maintenance and agriculture.  Given this arrangement, most students had only reached fifth grade by the time they were 18 (Milroy, 1999). Through the residential school system, the children were often subject to horrendous abuse by school staff, including physical, sexual, emotional, and psychological abuse (see http://indigenousfoundations.arts.ubc.ca).  Survivors recall being beaten, strapped, and shackled to their beds; some had needles put in their tongues for speaking their traditional languages (Haig-Brown, 1998).  These abuses, coupled with inferior sanitation, overcrowding, and insufficient food and health care, lead to a shockingly high death toll.  In 1907, a report by government medical inspector P.  H.  Bryce revealed that 24% of previously healthy Aboriginal children across Canada were dying in residential schools.  This number did not include children who had died at home, where they were frequently sent when critically ill (Fournier & Crey, 1997).   175 Today, it is estimated that as many as 6,000 children died as a result of IRS (see http://nctr.ca/assets/reports/Final%20Reports/Volume_4_Missing_Children_English_Web.pdf).  On top of being subjected to appalling living conditions and corporal punishment, residential school children were also frequently assaulted, raped, or terrorized by staff or other students.  For example, during the 2005 sentencing of dorm supervisor Arthur Plint, from the Port Alberni Indian Residential School, where Plint was convicted of 16 counts of indecent assault, BC Supreme Court Justice Douglas Hogarth called Plint a “sexual terrorist” and declared, “As far as the victims were concerned, the Indian residential school system was nothing more than institutionalized pedophilia” (Fournier & Crey, 1997, p. 72). The residential school system reflected a systemic prejudice based on the belief that Aboriginal culture was inferior to mainstream Canadian culture.  To this, Milloy (1999) writes:  behind every school principal, matron, teacher, and staff member who worked in the school system, and behind each participating denomination, stood the Canadian government and the Department of Indian Affairs, which was symbolic of Canada’s self-imposed “responsibility” for Aboriginal people set out in Section 91:24 of the British North America Act of 1867.  The school system was founded and operated, in fact, through a church-state partnership, a partnership in which the government was the senior partner.  It was the government who provided the core funding, set the standards of care, was to supervise the administration of the schools, and controlled the children who were “wards of this department.” With respect to the children, it was the Department’s “right” as Duncan Campbell Scott, the Deputy Superintendent General of Indian Affairs, explained in 1921, “to ensure proper treatment…” Essentially, the residential school system was a creature of the federal government even though the children in the schools were, in most cases, in the immediate care of the churches.  Despite the government’s authority, however, neither its “right” to protect children nor its responsibility to them was faithfully executed. (p. xiii)   176 In the 1960s, the process of phasing out residential schools gave way to the “’60s Scoop,” during which thousands of Aboriginal children were apprehended by social services and forcibly removed from their families.  This “scoop” which continues through child services today, is part of the legacy of compromised families and communities affected by the legacy of residential schools (Milroy, 1999). Not until the mid 1980s did the perpetrators issue their first recognitions and apologies.  Between 1986 and 1994, the United Church, the Catholic Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate, the Anglican Church, and the Presbyterian Church all issued official apologies for their involvement in the residential school system.  In 1996 was released The Final Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, called for a public inquiry into the effects of residential schools on generations of Aboriginal peoples.  From 1996 to 2005, several class action law suits began to appear against the Government of Canada over the legacy of the residential schools, including one led by Assembly of First Nations National Chief Phil Fontaine.  Finally, on June 11, 2008, former Prime Minister Stephen Harper issued an official apology referring to the residential school policy (see http://nctr.ca/exhibitions.php).  As part of the Indian Residential School Settlement Agreement, in 2009, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) launched and hosted events across the country to listen to survivors’ statements about their experiences in residential schools.  In June 2015, when the abbreviated form of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report was released, Justice Murray Sinclair described the Indian Residential School system (IRS) as a form of “cultural genocide” perpetuated against Indigenous peoples through state-sponsored educational programs (TRC, 2015a, p. 1).  177 5.4.2 Exhibit Overview     Figures 44 and 45. The Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photographs).  The CMHR exhibit Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy is on the back wall of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  When facing the exhibit, it is bordered on the right by Protecting Language Rights and to the left by Resisting Religious Oppression.  Like the majority of the exhibits in Canadian Journeys, it measures eight by eight by eight feet.  To the left of the exhibit, the expository agent (EA) has placed a text panel that introduces the topic of the exhibit to the visitor.  Directly opposite this panel, to the right of the exhibit, as in many of the other exhibits in the gallery, is an identically sized panel with four photographs and accompanying text panels that communicate the experience and legacy of IRS in Canada.  The focal area of the exhibit comprises a projection of a classroom and two small desks with video screens embedded in their surfaces, which project films.  The left side wall features a large quote surrounded by seven photographs with corresponding text panels that describe them.  The right side wall also features a larger quotation surrounded by 12 photographs in white frames  178 each with explanatory copy. 5.4.3 The Process of Curation  Researcher/curator E was directly involved in preparing the research packages for the exhibit space.  As researcher/curator E explained, the packages were prepared in consultation with Canadian Aboriginal peoples.  When asked whether there were any challenges in the curation of the exhibit, researcher/curator E noted that given museums as colonial institutions have a history of mistreating and misrepresenting Indigenous peoples, some individuals “were hesitant to engage with the museum”: “I know that various people have turned to their community and to their elders to seek guidance on whether or not they should venture into a partnership with the museum.”  Researcher/curator E articulated that another challenge was developing the story:  [I]t’s difficult to come at a story, have that entry point be Indigenous-centered when a museum itself is sort of shaped by maybe settler-based narratives.  And so it requires a lot of sort of shifting of perspective to have a storyline be truly Indigenous-centered. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)   Researcher/curator E also spoke about how the Museum had to be mindful that certain photographs and artifacts might trigger trauma for living residential school survivors. I spoke to survivors who explained that if they see one of those old tiny desks they can’t go near it . . . so I was mindful of selecting things, carefully keeping in mind, knowing people get triggered very easily and they have a very emotional response. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  Researcher/curator E explained how residential school survivors were involved in the curatorial process:  essentially we were asking survivors to look at the images . . . saying, “Here are the images we were thinking of putting in this space at the Canadian  179 Museum for Human Rights; what are your thoughts?” And even if, there were obviously some images that got the biggest responses, and those were the ones with nuns in them.  Anything with a nun or a priest in them.  But also even hockey pictures, or even just the buildings triggered survivors.  Some had to bring counsellors back and sit in front of images and sit with a counsellor and look through them with someone. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  Based on this feedback, researcher/curator E recommended to the Museum that if certain images were used in the exhibit, they should include a “contingency plan” or “debriefers” for survivors:   You can include it, but you have to make some kind of contingency plan to know that people may, or will be, triggered by this, or their children, or their grandchildren, it doesn’t . . . it’s not survivors necessarily. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  When asked about the overall narrative that the exhibit Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy was intended to convey, researcher/curator E began by stating: That narrative was very carefully selected, not by me.  There was a heavy hand in, there was always this pressure from, and mostly the learning and programming department, they always wanted balance. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  When I asked what the word “balance” meant within the Museum, researcher/curator E answered, “It was very difficult, very difficult,” and continued: [A]lot of survivors and a lot of people involved with residential schools do treasure the apology, however, a lot of people also think the apology was bullshit and a lot of empty words . . . we worked with people who were in the ’60s Scoop, who were in foster homes, there their whole lives, or had very personal stories about being in the child welfare system, or the ’60s Scoop, and they had donated images, like photos, their own photos, and obviously these kids don’t have, like some people only have one photo of themselves as a child because they’ve been to 12 different foster homes, and we were trying to very clearly say, and we had done an oral history with Cindy Blackstock, and there was always meant to be this connection to say that the current child welfare system is, you know, it’s not, for a lot of people they talk about that, it hasn’t ended, and we were trying to make that connection . . . and it got kind of squeezed into the film. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  180  Researcher/curator E described it as becoming a back-and-forth process between Ralph Appelbaum Associates (RAA), the Museum, and the community:  [A]s things came in from RAA it then started a debate about what to keep in and what to keep out, and they would present a design and we would say yep, we’ve signed up on, we agree with the way it looks, this is fine.  But for some reason, human resources would change something, change text or something, and they would have to go back and design it again, and that happened a lot. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  Researcher/curator E further articulated that holding onto the vision for the Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy exhibit, which originated from consultation with the Aboriginal community, became a continuous battle:  [I]t was a fight, it was an everyday argument . . . you go to design meetings and curation meetings, and meetings with RAA, and meetings with CMHR.  And you repeat the same thing over as they try to redesign the thing, and the text, and change it and the images.  Because you’re continually defending that no, we have to attempt to decolonize the way Indigenous people were seen, we have to at least attempt it.  I’d never expected such a fight.  I’m so naïve, so stupid, that I never expected such a continual fight to try and maintain the integrity of what people actually said. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)  When questioned for examples of this struggle within the exhibit, the way in which the federal government’s apology was to be communicated came up.  Researcher/curator E did not want the apology to communicate a redemptive end to the narrative:  I know a lot of it had to do with the apology, the wording of the apology and how the apology was centered in the alcove.  Like in the text panel, how the apology was written about, that we’re not trying to, we don’t want it too redemptive, we’re done, you know that narrative that we’re finished . . . I had to kind of remind them continually, not finished, not over, like there was originally some narrative of finished-ness, finite, and I no, no, not finite, like apology didn’t mean over. (researcher/curator E, personal communication, December 3, 2015)   181 5.5.4 Analysis Introductory Text Panel Using simple black text on a white backdrop, the EA has designated the exhibit’s introductory text Childhood Denied.  Beneath this title, in slightly reduced font size, is the subtitle “Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy,” and below this, in even smaller font, are three paragraphs whereby the EA introduces the topic of the exhibit.  Like the other two exhibits previously analyzed, throughout the copy of the introductory panel, the EA assumes an active voice and an authoritative tone, using declarative sentences without indicating how the interpretation presented was reached.  It begins with the assertion that “from 1880 to the 1990s, thousands of First Nations, Inuit and Métis children were torn from their homes and sent to Indian Residential Schools.”  What is problematic with this first statement, is that by using the passive voice, it assigns no one responsibility and therefore sets a tone that this “just happened.”  Although the second sentence of the first paragraph states, “Canada’s government used these schools, run by Catholic and Protestant churches, to try and assimilate Aboriginal children into the dominant culture,” its language is similarly evasive.  One wonders why the copy does not acknowledge that “the Canadian government ran these schools with the churches” to “forcibly” assimilate Aboriginal Children by “stripping them of their language, culture, and human dignity.”  Again, the next sentence is similarly ambiguous, stating, “Many students suffered neglect and abuse.”  This is one of the shortest introductory text panels in the entire Canadian Journeys Gallery.  One wonders why the EA did not use up the entire panel, as it did for  182 many of the other exhibits, to provide more background information on the IRS—for example, to specify the varied forms of abuse (sexual, physical, emotional) or the nutritional experiments that “most,” not “many,” students endured.  Or the EA could have addressed the fact that as the IRS were being phased out in the 1960s, the federal government introduced a new system of assimilation whereby thousands of Aboriginal children were apprehended by social services and forcibly removed from their families.  Instead, the EA uses this introductory copy to very quickly turn to a narrative of redemption, stating, “In 2008, government and church leaders formally apologized for the schools, in an effort to foster reconciliation and healing.” The final paragraph then acknowledges the legacy of the IRS with the statement, “Aboriginal families continue to be affected by the schools’ legacy and by government policy.  Aboriginal children are still far more likely to be placed in foster or institutional care than other Canadian children.” Again, the EA’s use of the passive voice seems to be absolving the federal government of direct responsibility.  Moreover, throughout the entire storyline of the preliminary panel for Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy, the narrative is depersonalized.  For instance, there is no mention of individual children, their ages, or their parents.  Overall, the small amount of white text against its larger black backdrop is a glaring visual reminder of what has been silenced and omitted here, especially when it is compared to identical introductory text panels throughout the rest of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  Thus, through this introductory text panel, the EA’s acknowledgement of Canada’s past wrong, framed by the larger story of reconciliation, reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0.   183 Focal Area: The Backdrop, Student Desks, and Films    Figure 46. The focal area of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  In the focal area of the Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy exhibit, the EA has placed two old-fashioned school desks made of wood and iron, embedded with video monitors.  On the rear wall behind the desks is a large-scale projection of a photograph of an IRS classroom, showing students seated in desks and a nun in the background. The Wall Projection and the Desks  Because of its large size and striking subject matter, the projection of a photograph of an IRS classroom is one of the first things that confronts the visitor upon passing this exhibit.  The corresponding text panel states: “Schubenacadie Indian Residential School, Nova Scotia, date unknown.  Nora Bernard, a former student here, started the class-action lawsuit that led to a national settlement for survivors.” The photo credit states, “Sisters of Charity, Halifax, Congregational Archives, 1907.”   184   Figure 47. The wall projection of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit’s focal area (author photograph).  The black-and-white photograph captures a classroom with over 40 male and female students, all wearing uniforms, sitting in close quarters.  The children appear to be between the ages of six and 11, and the photo is staged: the teacher is in the background, and all the children are staring directly into the camera, some of them smiling.   Figure 48. The desks found in the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit’s focal area (author photograph).  185  Also as part of the focal area of the exhibit the EA has placed two small desks with attached seating.  Although these particular desks are from the first half of the twentieth century, they are a familiar artifact in most children’s school experience.  The EA has allowed ample room around the desks, so that visitors can navigate between, touch, and/or sit in them.  The desktops are embedded with a video monitor that plays a film on residential schools (analyzed below). Thus, through the wall projection and the desks EA has taken a seemingly banal setting and set of artifacts—a classroom and student desks—and connected these to the systemic trauma and cultural genocide of residential schooling.  Thus, these ordinary objects, combined with their historical significance, allows the focal area of the exhibit to take on an affective, symbolic stance that has the potential to stimulate sentimental engagement.  Gregory and Witcomb (2007) and Witcomb (2013) have argued that affect can be achieved through the element of surprise or shock in historic exhibitions, which then creates a sense of historical difference or historical perspective between the past, present and future.  In this case, the young age of the students in the wall projection, and the tiny size of the desks combined with the knowledge of the atrocities committed to children in these schools, might cause visitor sentiments to range between horror, shock and revulsion.  Thus, through the use of seemingly ordinary pieces of historical evidence, the EA transforms residential schooling (from a cognitive form of knowledge to an affective one.  Moreover, the desks, like the projection allow visitors to experience the systemic nature and frequent banality of mass atrocity and genocide.  Their symbolic stance stands in for the processes of colonization, allowing  186 the EA to trouble Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0 and thereby communicate Counter National Narratives 3.0, as influenced by decolonization. Media Pieces Each of the two student desks in the focal area houses a video monitor that plays a 12 minute-length film on Indian residential schools.  The film moves back and forth between the testimony of IRS survivors, the narrator, and footage of former Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s 2008 apology in the House of Commons. The video begins with Inuit residential school survivor Simon Hogaluk recounting the memory of being taken away from his home as a child.  He states,  There was a plane that landed by the shore.  And the government were picking up kids.  I looked back at my parents and said, ‘I don’t want to go.’ I started crying, but I was grabbed by my arm and forced into the plane.   By using this particular memory, which includes reference to an airplane and a harsh goodbye, the EA underscores the drastic measures that were taken to relocate children and the fact of their terrible treatment.   The narrator then states: For more than 100 years, over 150,000 First Nations, Métis, and Inuit children were taken from their homes by the Canadian government and placed in boarding schools.  The plan was to apprehend, relocate, and aggressively assimilate Aboriginal children.  Through this, it was believed they would become productive members of society.  The schools are part of a legacy of forced assimilation that stretched from the 20th century and includes the ’60s Scoop and the child welfare system.  From the beginning, the government assigns the running of the residential schools to several churches.   Here, the EA’s use of the passive voice, and the statement that “from the beginning, the government assigns the running of the residential schools to several churches,” silences the fact that the federal government initiated and funded IRS and distances the  187 Canadian government from any direct culpability.  Moreover, by stating, “it was believed they would become productive members of society,” the EA seems to be suggesting that despite historical evidence to suggest otherwise, the goal of residential schools was not, in fact, to eradicate Canadian Aboriginal people and culture, but rather to help them.  Thus, despite a final sentence that mentions the legacy of the IRS system, through this narrator segment the EA absolves Canadians and the federal government of the time-period of any real responsibility for residential schools and their legacy.  The subsequent portion of the film features several survivors speaking about the abuse they endured.  The first is footage of Métis residential school survivor Jules Daigneault, who states: “They took away my name.  They gave me a number.  My number is number 54.”  The narrator notes: “The schools are run with little accountability.  The quality of education is poor and conditions often abysmal.  It’s estimated that thousands of children died, many from disease and malnutrition.  There is abuse of all kinds.” Following this, Inuit survivor Paul Andrew testifies: “You’re told you’re a second-class citizen and maybe a third-class citizen, your language is no good, your culture is the culture of the devil, and you know you’re not perfect, but you gotta act like you’re perfect because if you didn’t… you got the physical abuse.”  Next, survivor Sa’na Peters of the Teslin Tlingit Council affirms: “I have a burn on my arm because I wouldn’t iron the way the nun had told me to iron; she burned me.  This was to teach me a lesson, and when my arm got infected, she said, “That’s the devil in you.” This portion of the film concludes with survivor Charlie Paul’s harrowing testimony: It wasn’t just one person; it was a different number of people that worked there that sexually abused younger boys.  And when I wouldn’t cooperate, they’d strip me naked and put me in a dark dungeon until I would.  So that’s followed me for 48 years.    188  Hence, by way of this segment, the EA draws the focus to the abuse that ran rampant throughout the schools.  Through this portion of the film, the EA appears to be communicating NN 3.0 as influenced by new historiographies by using historical evidence in the form of oral histories to contradict or disrupt the progressive storylines of NN 1.0 and NN 2.0.  However, rather than link this testimony to the legacy of IRS in present day Canada, the EA quickly tempers this evidence with the following declaration by the narrator: “Yet, even in the midst of this darkness, there are moments of light.” This is followed by another statement by Jules Daigneault, in which he says: One day, one of the brothers came over and asked me what size moccasins do I wear. “I got some skates for you, Jules.  I want you to learn how to skate.” Then he showed me how to put ’em on, how to skate around.  By the time Christmas holidays were gone, Bobby Orr was born.  Thus, through this portion of the film, it is as if the EA is attempting to lessen the narrative of IRS abuse and cultural genocide through reference to hockey.  Nevertheless, although Daigneault laughs at the end of his hockey tale, he concludes by noting, “I know how to skate in circles.  Sometimes it was kind of fun, but, uh, 90 percent of the time it was sad.” The next portion of the film jumps ahead to the late 20th century.  Here, the narrator details: In the mid ’80s, many of the survivors of residential schools break the silence and start speaking out.  Determined to hold the government and the churches accountable, they start suing for damages.  In 2006, the federal government and the churches agree to the largest class-action lawsuit settlement in Canadian history.  As part of the settlement, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission begins gathering survivor testimony so all Canadians can know about the stain on their nation’s history.   189 Here the EA is highlighting the role of Aboriginal activism in achieving recognition about the IRS.  However, the final phrase “so all Canadians can know about the stain on their nation’s history” is somewhat disconcerting, because it situates the stain as part of Canadian history rather than characterizing it as part of our ongoing legacy of racism.  Further problematic is that the film leaps from this statement directly to footage of former Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s 2008 apology in the House of Commons, where he declared: Mr. Speaker, I stand before you today to offer an apology to former students of Indian Residential Schools.  The government now recognizes that the consequences of the Indian Residential Schools policy were profoundly negative, and that this policy has had a lasting and damaging impact on Aboriginal culture, heritage, and language.  This particular footage is troubling because it fails to acknowledge the IRS as a form of cultural genocide.  In the final segment of the film the EA returns to the ’60s Scoop.  The narrator begins by acknowledging: In the 1960s, the number of residential schools had begun to decline.  But Canada’s child welfare system continued to intervene in the lives of Aboriginal families, forcibly moving thousands of children into white foster homes.  The program became known as the ’60s Scoop.  Social workers, often unfamiliar with Aboriginal culture, were tasked with deciding which children should be removed.  The film then turns to Bernadette Iahtail from the Attawapisakat First Nation, who was three years old when she and her older sister were taken away from her family and put into foster care.  She states: A lot of them had no idea when they came to a reservation how we lived as Aboriginal people.  There was no running water, there was no flushing toilets, there was no electricity, and for them they considered that poverty.  My first foster home was a—a very crazy, crazy home.  It was very dysfunctional lots of, um, violence, um, lots of abuse.  The brother used to molest me.  My foster mom actually stabbed me, and she used to strap me with her electrical cord.  When I asked my foster mom, “How did I end up  190 here?” she said, “Well, you were just a dirty little Indian, nobody wanted you, so we took you in.” It just like tore a piece of me when she said that because it just felt like I was just thrown away.  I grew up feeling that I didn’t have a place in this world.  I had no idea that I was Cree, had no idea that we were the people of the land.  I had no sense of identity at all about who I was.  The narrator’s voice then explains that today, Bernadette is the Executive Director of the Creating Hope Society, providing hope and resources for survivors of the child welfare system.  Bernadette continues, “When we started talking about the ’60s Scoop, I couldn’t believe how many people started coming out and saying, ‘I grew up in child welfare, I grew up in child welfare.’” Following this, the narrator interjects: “She sees that survivors, denied loving families and schooled in abuse, often pass the painful legacy onto their children and grandchildren.”  Thus, in this instance, the film fully communicates Counter National Narratives 3.0 as influenced by new historiographies.  This is accomplished through the use of historical evidence through oral testimony that links the IRS to inequities and injustice that Canadian Aboriginals continue to face today.  Nevertheless, the EA’s choice of words is interesting here, situating the legacy of IRS as only Bernadette’s opinion, not as fact.  However, the EA follows this message with the following statement: “Fewer than five percent of the children in Canada today are Aboriginal, but they represent half of the 30,000 children currently in foster care.” The EA then turns to twenty-something Angela Miracle Gladue, an Aboriginal dancer/performer and youth worker from Edmonton, Alberta.  The narrator declares: “Three generations of Angela Miracle Gladue’s family bear the scars of the system.  Her grandparents were residential school survivors.  Angela and her siblings were all sent to foster homes.” Angela says: “You would hope that social workers would be there to keep a family together, but instead they broke mine apart.” The narrator explains,  191 “Angela’s mother tried to get her children back, but with no success.” Angela also declares, “She did a bunch of parenting programs, she got a job, she was volunteering, she was doing really good, but they just, ‘Nope, that’s not good enough, Mary.  Now you gotta do this.’” The narrator concludes with, “Today she performs around the world and works with Aboriginal youth.” And the entire film concludes with this final statement from Angela: I encourage people to be proud of who they are and to seek out their culture, and seek out elders and learn about residential schools. ’Cause a lot of kids don’t really know and they just live in this environment that’s really toxic and they don’t know why.  It can change with them, because they’re the, they’re the now, you know, they’re not the, just the future, they’re the right now.  As a visitor uplifting to hear this statement of hope from a young Aboriginal woman.  Thus overall,  although the EA gives visibility to several devastating testimonies that capture the personal experiences of residential school survivors, and those affected by the ’60s Scoop throughout the film, the narrator is often softening the message and a substantial portion of the film is dedicated to Stephen Harper’s apology. Thus, as a whole, the film chiefly communicates Master National Narrative Template 2.0—it recognizes some of the historical wrongdoings of the Canadian state through a progressive narrative that highlights national reconciliation and redemption.        192 The Left Side Wall  Figure 49. The left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  On the left side wall, the EA has placed a large quotation, surrounded by a series of six photographs and one illustration.  The wall’s backdrop is black, and all of the text is in white.  Centred amongst the photographs, the EA has highlighted the following statement by Duncan Campbell Scott, who was the Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs from 1913 to 1932.  Figure 50. The quote on the left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  This quote is accompanied by the first photograph on the right wall, of Duncan  193 Campbell Scott.  Staring straight into the camera, chin in hand, he appears to embody the essence of the white settler privilege of the time-period.   Figure 51. Photograph 1 on the left side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  Through the choice of the quote and photograph, the EA underlines the rampant racism that formed the backbone of Canadian federal government policy and emphasizes that the goal was to eradicate an entire culture, thus acknowledging cultural genocide without explicitly using the term.  Hence, at first glance, by using historical evidence to contradict or disrupt the progressive storylines of NN 1.0 and NN 2.0, the EA appears to be communicating Counter National Narratives 3.0, as influenced by new historiographies.  However, the EA fails to link this testimony to the legacy of residential schools in the present-day.  Instead, through the remaining five photographs, the EA softens the message about IRS.  The first two feature students, parents, and staff from the Fort Qu’Appelle Indian Industrial School in Lebret, Saskatchewan, c. 1900.   194  Figures 52 and 53. Photos 3 and 4 on the left side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photographs).  The first is of a father and his children who attended the school, and the accompanying text states, “Aboriginal clothing, languages and traditions were forbidden at the schools.” The second is a beautiful landscape shot featuring students, parents, and staff.  The text states, “Students were often isolated from their families for months.” Thus, although through the copy, the EA emphasizes some of the ways in which the IRS attempted to eradicate Canadian Aboriginal language and culture, and what the suffering families endured because of the schools, the photographs depict family togetherness and the beauty of the landscapes.  By choosing these two photos to depict the Fort Qu’Appelle Indian Industrial School, the EA therefore appears to be downplaying the fact that the IRS purposefully weakened family ties.  Boys and girls were kept so separate that even siblings were rarely able to interact (Roberts, 2006). The last four photographs on the left side wall series reference the role of churches in the IRS system.   195   Figures 54, 55, 56, and 57. The last four photographs on the left side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photographs).  Photo four shows a domestic science class led by nuns in 1907 on the Muscowequan Indian Residential School in Saskatchewan.  Here, the corresponding copy is particularly problematic.  It states: “Girls were taught cooking and sewing to prepare them for marriage and motherhood.” Through this statement, the EA seems to be attempting to soften the narrative around the IRS by normalizing it—likening its home economics curriculum to that found across Canada in the time-period.  The left  196 side wall series includes an illustration of a “Catholic ladder.”  The corresponding text panel notes, “This illustration, displayed in classrooms, was meant to convince Aboriginal pupils that non-Catholic beliefs would lead them to hell.”  Here, the EA is underscoring the role of one church in undermining Aboriginal spiritual beliefs.  Photograph number six shows boys saying their prayers in a dormitory at the Chooutla Indian Residential School in Carcross, Yukon.  Here the copy states: “Many former students recall abuse, neglect and loneliness at the schools.” Despite the fact that the EA acknowledges the terrible crimes that took place in this IRS, the use of the word “recall” is disconcerting.  Given the ample historical evidence that exists, a more accurate caption would be: “Many former students were abused and neglected.”  Again, in this instance, the EA seems to be attempting to soften the harsh truth about the rampant physical, sexual, and emotional abuse that took place in residential schools.  The final photograph in the series on the left side wall shows Anglican priest, T.  B.  R.  Westgate, holding a child in 1931.  The copy indicates that the child was described as a “potential pupil” for St. John’s Indian Residential School in Chapleau, Ontario.  Through this photograph the EA appears to be drawing attention again to the role of the church in the IRS and the age of its youngest victims.   Overall, by way of the left side wall the EA acknowledges the role of the Canadian government, churches, and individual perpetrators in the Indian Residential School System.  Nevertheless, through the choice of photographs, the illustration and the language of the accompanying text panels, the EA silences and/or diminishes many hard truths about residential schools, including: (a) the vast number of deaths; (b) the obliteration of cultural practices; (c) the rampant sexual, emotional, and physical abuse;  197 (d) the weakening and severing of family ties; and (e) the inadequate curriculum. The Right Side wall Like the left side wall, the right side wall also features a large quotation, this time surrounded by four rows of photographs with explanatory copy beneath them, each photograph is encased in identically sized white frames.  Each row contains three photos, for a total of 12.  Also like the left side wall, the right side wall’s backdrop is black, and all text is in white.  Figure 58. The right side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  The photographs showcase the longevity (1840–1986) and some locations of schools across Canada.  They are in chronological order, are group shots.  The photo captions are as follows: 1. Around 1880: Port Simpson Crosby Home, British Columbia 2. Around 1890: Unknown School, Québec 3. Around 1900: Brandon Industrial School, Manitoba 4. Around 1910: Red Deer Industrial Institute, Alberta 5. Around 1920: Fort Providence Indian Residential School, Northwest Territories 6. 1934: Kamloops Indian Residential School, British Columbia 7. 1941: Aklavik Anglican Residential School, Northwest Territories 8. Around 1950: Edmonton Industrial School, Alberta  198 9. Around 1967: Portage La Prairie Indian Residential School Choir, Manitoba 10. 1960s or 1970s: Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School, Ontario 11. 1983: Poplar Hill Residential (Development) School, Ontario 12. 1986: Lebret Residential School Fastball Team, Saskatchewan   In larger font size, in the second row of photographs, the EA has situated a quote from Nora Bernard, a Mi’kmak residential school survivor who attended the Shubenacadie Indian Residential school in Nova Scotia and started the class-action lawsuit that led to a national settlement for survivors.  It states:  “The goal was to take our culture and our language away from us”.  Figure 59. The quotation on the right side wall of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).      199    Figures 60, 61, 62, and 63. Some close-ups of the photographs on the right side wall series of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photographs).  Through this series of photographs, the EA appears to be highlighting the vast length of time during which residential schools operated, and some of the clubs (choir) and sports (fastball) in which students could take part.  It bears noting here that although these photographs reference the widespread proliferation of IRS in Canada  200 the exhibit space as a whole does not include an overall map indicating the location of all of the residential schools in Canada.  One can’t help but wonder why this has not been included. Moreover, because these photographs only show groups of children, the EA diminishes and depersonalizes the narrative of survivors.  This dehumanization is troubling given the multitude of stories and oral histories that exist.  Thus, despite the quote by Nora Bernard, through the right side wall the EA silences any reference to death, abuse, cultural genocide, nutritional experiments, and other severe conditions at Indian residential schools.  Moreover, by showcasing some group shots of students involved in clubs and sports, the EA appears to be attempting to portray residential schools in a positive light.  Given the large amount of space that this side wall takes up in the exhibit, these omissions and this framing are highly problematic.  Hence, by appropriating residential schools into the national narrative via rhetorical photos that silence past wrongs and suggest equal citizenship through the sharing of a common history, the right side wall of Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by conveying Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—Canada as a generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  201 The Right Side-Panel  Figure 64. The right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  On the right side-panel, which sits across from the introductory panel, the EA highlights four photographs and their corresponding text panels.  As in the introductory text panel, the copy here also assumes an authoritative tone.  Sentences are declarative, and the photographs are decoded for the visitor.  Photograph 1 is a black-and-white shot of seven children, two girls and five boys, all dressed up and holding letters spelling “Goodbye” at the Fort Simpson Indian Residential School, Northwest Territories, c. 1922.  The children appear to be between the ages of seven and 10, it appears to be summertime, and there is a small wooden building behind them, which appears to be a one-room school house.  By way of this photo, the EA shows evidence of just how young IRS students were and the fact that this group was likely allowed to leave for the summer.  202  Figure 65. Photograph 1 from the right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  The second photograph shows a priest surrounded by six Aboriginal children at Sturgeon Landing Indian Residential School in Saskatchewan in 1946.    Figure 66. Photograph 2 from the right side-panel of the Indian Residential Schools and Their Legacy exhibit (author photograph).  The copy states “Father Émile Désormeaux with students marking first communion.  Many schools emphasized religious and skills training more than academics.” The photograph itself is disturbing in composition.  Father Désormeaux who sits in a dark  203 robe gazing directly into the camera, forms a stark contrast to his pupils who, dressed in white, stand with their hands held in prayer. Moreover, the choice of this photograph over many others that exist of students and clergy at IRS, was no doubt purposeful on the part of the EA.  The fact that this photograph features a Jesuit with a large cross tucked into his belt, and the text panel indicates that the photograph was taken to mark the Catholic sacrament of first communion, reinforces the culpability of the church in the systematic cultural genocide of Canadian Aboriginals.  Thus, the power of the Catholic church is contrasted with the innocence and powerlessness of these children who have been stripped of family and culture.  I, therefore, believe this photograph has the potential to create an affective response, and to stimulate sentimental engagement in certain visitors (Gregory and Witcomb, 2007; Witcomb, 2013).  Like the desks and wall projection from the focal area, this photograph of Father Désormeaux surrounded by his pupils has the power to transform understanding of residential schooling from a cognitive form of knowledge to an affective one.  Thus, through its symbolic stance it thereby communicates Counter National Narratives 3.0 as influenced by decolonization. However, the communication of Counter National Narratives 3.0 is quickly quashed through the remaining photographs.  Photograph 3 features Phil Fontaine, National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, in full headdress addressing the House of Commons, in Ottawa, in 2008.  Through the corresponding text panel, the EA notes that he is “responding to Canada’s apology for the residential schools . . . [and] Fontaine helped negotiate the settlement between Canada and former students.” Here, the EA draws attention to the federal government’s 2008 apology.  What this fails to note is that the apology and compensatory concessions were, for the most part, wrung from a  204 recalcitrant government through decades of activism by Aboriginals (Radforth, 2012).  For example, in 2006, Fontaine had issued a class-action lawsuit against the Government of Canada.  Meanwhile, the fourth and final photograph features IRS survivor Rosie Charlie testifying before the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Whitehorse, Yukon, in 2011.  The copy states, “Charlie was taken to a residential school at age 3.” Through the choice of this photo the EA returns to underscoring just how young some of the Métis, Inuit, and First Nations children were when taken from their families.  Thus, although these two final photographs reference the legacy of the residential schools by depicting survivors, the EA does so within the context of two current federal government undertakings: the apology and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings thereby communicating a narrative of redemptive progress.  Thus, by way of this right side-panel the EA communicates NN 2.0.  It acknowledges past wrongs, yet leaves the visitor with the sense that all has been resolved in the present.  Nowhere on this right side-panel is there any acknowledgement that the legacy of residential schools endures in Canada. 5.5.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness As detailed in the analysis above, certain elements of the exhibit Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy (the wall projection, the desks, segments of the survivor testimonies in the film, and the photograph of Father Désormeaux surrounded by his students), convey Counter National Narratives 3.0.  However, as a whole, the exhibit space chiefly imparts Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—Canada as a progressive, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  The EA achieves this by communicating a storyline that acknowledges some of the terrible aspects of IRS, yet balances and  205 softens this narrative through positive exemplars and anecdotes about IRS, text panels written in the third person that absolve anyone of culpability for the organization and running of the schools, and by conveying a redemptive narrative progress that highlights reconciliation. Many scholars have written about this problem in museums of countries with colonial pasts, such as Canada (Logan, 2014; Mackey, 2012; Phillips, 2011, 2012; Wakeham, 2008).  They contend that rather than act as sites of decolonization, these institutions represent Aboriginal peoples through exhibitions that appropriate them into national pasts through state-orchestrated narratives of reconciliation.  The exhibit space devoted to Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy does just that.  It acts as a site of historical consciousness through a temporal narrative that links, past, present and future Canada into a storyline of progressive redemption that forges a new social memory of progress that ignores current problems stemming from the legacy of the schools.  According to Dion (2009), museums that act as sites of decolonization often become institutions of memory through “(re)tellings of testimony.”  In sites of decolonization, survivors of colonial harm and injustice can tell their stories to the public as acts of social justice and to ensure that their stories are remembered.  Unfortunately, despite a few instances in the videos, Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy, has given little voice to the vast testimony that exists from residential school survivors.  The exhibit therefore fails to engage with current museology—characterized by the “democratization not just of access, but also of authority” (Lehrer and Milton, 2011, p. 5).  by fully acknowledging this shameful part of Canada’s past    206 5.6 The Right to Same-Sex Marriage         5.6.1 A Brief History  Prior to the beginning of the LBGTQ+ liberation movement in the late 1960s, those individuals who lobbied against discriminatory treatment of homosexuals were subject to violence, imprisonment, “therapy,” and social ostracism.  This prejudice was rooted in a historically systemic homophobia (Warner, 2002).  For many years, laws in Britain held sway over Canadian views of homosexuals, and prior to 1861, acts of homosexuality in Canada were punishable by death.  Post 1861, the sentence changed to a minimum of 10 years with a maximum of life imprisonment, and prosecutions mostly targeted men.  In 1890, the sentence was further diluted and the wording of the law made more ambiguous, with the common charge for homosexuality being “gross indecency” (Warner, 2002).  However, between 1948 and 1961, homosexuality was further criminalized through changes made to the Criminal Code, wherein the categories of “criminal sexual psychopath” and “dangerous sexual offender” were invented and could include any gay individual who was not celibate.  A major event predating eventual gay liberation was the British parliament taking steps to decriminalize certain homosexual offences as laid out in a public inquiry known as the Wolfenden Report (1957).  In Britain, these recommendations were adopted a decade later, in 1967.  This coincided with Canadian government officials’ and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s call for reform and the May 1969 passing of Bill C-150, which decriminalized gay sex for the first time in Canada’s history (Warner, 2002. Subsequently, the 1970s saw the first gay rights protests in Ottawa and Vancouver and the first gay pride celebration in Toronto.  Two major legislative  207 changes also occurred in the 1970s, including an amendment to the Human Rights Code in Québec to “prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation,” and an amendment to the Canadian Immigration Act that lifted a prohibition against gay men immigrating (Warner, 2002).  The 1980s witnessed a number of legal victories, including Canada adopting the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, providing a basis for future equality-related decisions; most specific was the 1995 assertion of Section 15 of the Charter, which provides “the right to the equal protection and equal benefit of the law without discrimination” to include sexual orientation (Warner, 2002).  Despite these advances, however, the 1980s also marked the rise of the AIDS/HIV crisis, which renewed discrimination and devastated gay communities internationally (Warner, 2002).  Finally, the 1990s and 2000s included the following significant milestones:  • 1992—federal court ruling lifting ban on LBGTQ+ serving in the military.  • 1994—Supreme Court ruling that LBGTQ+ could apply for refugee status on the grounds of persecution in their country of origin.  • 1995—provincial court ruling in Ontario allowing same-sex couples to adopt.  • 1999—court precedent that same-sex couples be afforded the same rights as opposite-sex couples in a common-law relationship. • 2000—Bill C-23, which brought federal statutes in line with the 1999 ruling.   Perhaps most notable was that Canada, in 2005, became the fourth country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage (Warner, 2002).  Thus, despite continued discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals in Canadian society, the country is perceived as a leader for its widespread acceptance and inclusiveness and for its reformed legal policies and government legislation.         208 5.6.2 Exhibit Overview    Figure 67. The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit (author photograph).  The space dedicated to The Right to Same-Sex Marriage is the last exhibit that visitors encounter on the back of the Canadian Journeys Gallery in a counter clockwise fashion from the entry.  When facing The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit, directly adjacent to its right, is the exhibit Protecting Language Rights.  To its left is an angled corner space painted black with an exit door. The focal area of the exhibit is comprised of a stacked, cylindrical, individually framed photo-montage in the shape of a wedding cake.  The two side walls of the exhibit feature quotes in large text, as well as a series of artifacts encased in glass with explanatory text panels.  5.6.3 The Process of Curation   Like the exhibit Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy, the description of the curation process for The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit is less comprehensive than for the other exhibits in this investigation because many of the content decisions were made prior to researcher/curator C’s arrival at the CMHR.  As researcher/curator C stated in our interview:  209 By the time I arrived here, those curatorial decisions [configuration, language, design, layout, text panels, media, font size, etc.] were basically confirmed in the sense that they'd been designed.  And all I was really involved in was being involved in the text writing, some image selection. (researcher/curator C personal communication, October 15, 2015)  The research packet for this exhibit was prepared by a contracted researcher from the community in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  By the time researcher/curator C was hired, the contracted researcher had already interviewed Chris Vogel and Richard North, the couple whose marriage is featured on the left wall.  Researcher/curator C stated: “I think she interviewed both gentlemen separately and then did them together” (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015).  The contracted researcher had also previously sourced the majority of the photographs of couples for the centre wedding cake; however, when researcher/curator C was hired, there were still not enough photos for the 68 frames.  The CMHR therefore initiated a national call; it was looking for couples who were not necessarily married but who were in long-term relationships, and researcher/curator C presided over this call-out.  Couples submitted photos themselves, or others submitted photos on their behalf.  According to researcher/curator C, Ralph Appelbaum made the final choice of photographs.  Researcher/curator C was, however, involved in selecting the photos on the right side-panel, and also in contacting Patty and Sandra Hails, featured on the interior right wall, to see “if they were available to be a part of this exhibit, and finding what artifacts they had” (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015).  When researcher/curator C was asked to describe the overall goal or vision that he brought to the curatorial process of these areas, he summed it up as follows “Well, I mean, simply, it’s, you know, love is love.  It doesn’t matter if people are the same gender or not.  So I  210 think that’s part of it.  It’s also kind of like a celebration, in a limited way, of a struggle where you have a pioneering couple like Vogel and North, and then you have the Hails” (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015).  5.6.4 Analysis Introductory Text Panel Through the title of this exhibit’s introductory text panel—Taking the Cake—the expository agent (EA) appears to be setting a celebratory and playful tone for the exhibit.  Just below this title, in slightly reduced font size, is the sub-title The Right to Same-Sex Marriage, and beneath this, in smaller font, are three short paragraphs introducing visitors to the exhibit.  Through its descriptive text, the panel celebrates Canada as a global leader in the legalization of same-sex marriage.  Although it notes activism, a court battle, and the number of years it took for legislation to pass in Canada (1970–2005), the EA communicates a national narrative of Canadian progress and tolerance by highlighting Canada’s international rankings.  Throughout the copy, the expository agent assumes an active voice and an authoritative tone.  The narrative is impersonal and the human face of the subject matter is notably absent.  Moreover, there is no reference to current-day discrimination that Canadian LGBTQ+ couples face.  Thus, by way of the introductory text panel for this exhibit, the EA leaves the viewer at an alienating distance from the subject and communicates NN 2.0: Canada as a tolerant and progress-oriented nation.   211  Figure 68. The introductory text panel of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit (author photograph).  Focal Area As mentioned earlier, the focal area of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage comprises a cylindrical “wedding cake” made of stacked, individually framed photographs of same-sex couples on their wedding days (see figures 73 and 74).     Figure 69. A close up of the “wedding cake” in the focal area of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit (author photograph).  Through the use of this centre feature, the expository agent references a traditional North American wedding practice—the custom of showcasing and serving  212 guests a white, multi-tiered cake.  The EA has chosen to highlight intimate, close-up shots of same-sex couples, in the midst of various wedding rituals: cutting wedding cakes, clinking champagne glasses, taking vows, kissing, dancing, or simply posing together.  The EA has also chosen to make visible a diversity of same-sex couples in Canadian society.  The photo-montage includes couples from various minority cultures (Aboriginal, other non-White ethnicities, minority religions, etc.).  Here, the EA has collapsed minority culture into a larger representation of official “multicultural” national identity.  Some photographs are also backlit with the names of the couples featured (see figures 75, 76, and 77).  Thus, although in the introductory text panel the EA depersonalizes the narrative of same-sex marriage in Canada, the focal area returns personal agency to same-sex couples.   .   Figures 70, 71, and 72. Some examples of the close-ups on the “wedding cake” in the focal area of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit (author photographs).   213 With respect to lighting, colour, design, and spatial features, the central wedding cake is brightly lit with overhead spotlights.  Each of the photographs is framed in glossy white, the cake is suspended from the ceiling, and the back wall of the exhibit is covered in mirrored glass.  Overall, the mise-en-espace projects an airy, celebratory feel.  The visitor can easily enter the space and travel around the sides of the wedding cake to engage with the photographs.  At the same time, the back mirror reflects not only the cake but also one’s own photo, which again lends a human feel to the focal area. The Left and Right Side walls  The expository agent has dedicated the left and right side walls of this exhibit to two Canadian same-sex couples.  The left is devoted to Chris Vogel and Richard North, who were married in 1974 at a Unitarian church in Winnipeg.  In large, raised, dark-blue text above the left side wall the EA highlights the following statement from the couple: “For us it was about having the option of getting married if you wanted to.”            Figure 73. The left side wall of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit  (author photograph).  214  By way of the left wall, the EA has also included text panel that describes Vogel and North’s story, titled “Trailblazing for the Right to Marry,” and a glass-enclosed box featuring three artifacts:  a photo of the couple from their 1974 union, a silver goblet that they received as a wedding gift, and a collage marking Vogel and North’s 10-year wedding anniversary in 1984.  The EA has titled the text panel detailing the artifacts “A Wedding Ahead of Its Time,” and their church wedding is described as breaking “new ground in the movement to overcome discrimination based on sexual orientation.”  The EA also uses the left side-panel to communicate a narrative of Canadian progress and tolerance.  The story panel explains that although Vogel and North launched and lost the first court battle to achieve legal same-sex marriage in 1974, 30 years later they were part of a court battle that won the right to same-sex marriage in Manitoba.  Thus, although the EA uses the left side wall to reference the fact that Vogel and North were discriminated against in 1974, it also gives prominence to the future legal recognition of their right to marry, through the story linked to the wedding goblet.  As the text panel detailing this artifact notes: “Chris Vogel’s coworkers gave the couple two goblets, showing unexpected tolerance.”  Hence, here, the EA communicates a national narrative of Canadian progress and open-mindedness.   215   Figure 74. The left side wall artifacts in The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit  (author photograph).  The right side wall of the exhibit, dedicated to same-sex couple Patty Hails and Sandra Willie has a layout that is almost identical to that of the left side wall (see figure 80).  Figure 75. The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit right side wall (author photograph).   216 Here, the EA has used larger, raised, dark-blue text that states: “We have never asked for ‘special rights.’ We simply are now equal in the eyes of the law.” as the focal point of the wall.  The text panel that details how the Hails met and married is titled “Enjoying the Right to Marry.” Here, the copy states: “In Canada today, same-sex weddings are no longer newsworthy.”  As on the left side wall, the EA has chosen to feature a glass-enclosed box featuring three artifacts on the right side wall.  These include: a photograph of Patty and Sandra with family and friends on their wedding day, their wedding invitation, and their marriage certificate.  The text panel describing the artifacts is titled “Legal at Last,” and states: “Since 2005, all Canadian same-sex couples have had the right to be legally married.  Their ceremonies are as diverse as the couples themselves. . . . A marriage certificate carrying two women’s names is no longer unusual in Canada.”   Figure 76. The glass-enclosed box featuring three artifacts on the right side wall of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit (author photograph).  217  The EA therefore uses the right side wall to celebrate and give prominence to the current right to same-sex marriage in Canada.  Thus, through both the right and left panels of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit, the EA lends a human face to same-sex marriage in Canada, and also communicates Master National Narrative Template 2.0: Canada as a progress-oriented, tolerant, benevolent nation.                                Right Side-Panel                                                                                         On the right side-panel of this exhibit, the EA has chosen to feature four photographs with corresponding text panels.  The panel’s copy assumes an authoritative tone whereby the EA decodes the photographs for the visitor without revealing how the presented interpretations were reached.  Here, three photographs and corresponding text relay a progressive chronological narrative of protest culminating in the legal recognition of same-sex marriage in Canada.   Figure 77. The right side-panel of The Right to Same-Sex Marriage exhibit  (author photograph).   218 Photograph 1 features what is believed to be Canada’s first same-sex marriage ceremony: the 1972 wedding of Michel Girouard and Réjean Tremblay in Toronto.  The headline states: “Ending the Slavery of Homosexuals.”  Through the use of photograph 1, the EA draws attention to pioneers of the same-sex marriage movement in Canada.  The second photograph depicts activists from the Campaign for Equal Families, in Toronto’s 1994 Pride Parade.  The corresponding copy notes: “Ontario’s government had just defeated a bill to extend spousal benefits to same-sex couples.”  Here, the EA highlights trailblazers of the movement, yet references one provincial government’s legal discrimination against same-sex couples in Canada.  Photo 3 is a photo of Kevin Bourassa and Joe Varnell, and Anne and Elaine Vautour sharing kisses at their double wedding in Toronto in 2001.  The copy states: “Ontario later sanctioned this ceremony, making it a world first.”  Through this photograph, the EA stresses the human face of the right to same-sex marriage movement, as well as Canada’s role as a global human rights leader in this area of legislation.  The fourth, and final, photograph features a news headline from La Presse in Québec regarding Canada’s legalization of same-sex marriage in 2006.  It reads: “Most provinces had already taken this step based on the Equality Clause of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.”  Here, the EA underscores Canada’s progressiveness—that although the Federal government approved same-sex marriage in 2006, it was widely adopted before this date. Thus, throughout the right side-panel of the exhibit, the expository agent conveys a storyline of progressive redemption.  The panel’s chronological narrative begins with the acknowledgement that past Canadian legislation discriminated against same-sex couples.  The bulk of the narrative gives prominence to the story of activism that led to  219 the legalization of same-sex marriage in Canada in 2006.  In this way, the right side-panel legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by communicating Master National Narrative Template 2.0: Canada as a progress-oriented, generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  5.6.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness Overall, the exhibit space devoted to The Right to Same-Sex Marriage legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by conveying Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN. 2.0).  This is accomplished by communicating a metanarrative of progress that ties Canada’s present day legalization of same-sex marriage and the rights of same-sex couples in Canada to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights.  Throughout this exhibit EA chronologically highlights the work of pioneering activists and repeatedly references Canada’s redemption for past discrimination, via its role as one of the first countries to legalize same-sex marriage.  In this way, the exhibit devoted to The Right to Same-Sex Marriage further serves as what Feuchtwang (2003) calls an “authority of recognition” (p. 78).  It gives previously underrepresented, persecuted groups a means of recovery through “a new status, that of acknowledged victim” (p. 77).  Moreover, like Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy and Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy, it has failed to curate difficult knowledge as defined by Simon (2011).  Instead, through its celebratory narrative of progress, and redemptive metaphor, the EA communicates a storyline of social cohesion that glosses over the inequality and racism that many LGBTQ+ continue to experience today (Mackey, 2002; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Stanley, 2006).  Thus, the exhibit space acts as a site of historical consciousness, by communicating  220 past, present, and future narratives that highlight Canada as a tolerant, progress-oriented, benevolent country where human rights are at the fore of legal decisions.  When probed further about the exhibit’s celebratory feel and the possibility that the exhibit overlooks current struggles that Canada’s LGBTQ+ individuals, couples, and communities face, researcher/curator C said: The exhibit kind of has a neat tie-up to the story, but that’s not necessarily the reality.  I mean, if you have the right to marry who you want, that doesn’t mean that you’re not going to be facing other kind[s] of barriers because you’re in a same-sex relationship, you know? But yes, there definitely needs to be more about the actual struggle.  And if we could put, either as a reworking of that particular exhibit or digital content in an insight station to kind of flesh that out more . . . because I think that’s what's missing in that particular exhibit.  I know what I’m hoping to do is talk more about the actual struggle through those decades. (researcher/curator C, personal communication, October 15, 2015) Thus, perhaps the flexibility of these digital insight stations might allow the EA to include some recognition of ongoing LBGTQ+ issues of discrimination in a future exhibit.  However, as a human rights museum, one wonders why this was not incorporated from the outset.  5.7 Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice   5.7.1 A Brief History The CMHR exhibit Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice focuses on missing and murdered Aboriginal women in Canada.  The disproportionate rate of violence experienced by Aboriginal women in Canada as compared to non-Aboriginal women is striking and is repeatedly described as a national tragedy (Pearce, 2013).  Although Aboriginal women make up only four percent of Canada’s female population, between 1980 and 2012, 16 percent of all women murdered in Canada (over 500 individuals) were Aboriginal, (Government of Canada, 2015).  Additionally, Aboriginal  221 women between the ages of 25 and 44 are “five times more likely to die a violent death than other women” (Department of Public Safety, 2011).12  The related literature discusses the root causes of the disproportionate number of missing and murdered Aboriginal women as compared to other Canadian women and the reasons why the tragedy has been largely ignored (Gilchrist, 2010; Kuokkanen, 2008; Pearce, 2013).  Kuokkanen (2008) alluded to patriarchy, colonization, and capitalism as factors in the systemic oppression that should be considered when placing the case of Aboriginal in a historical context.  Pearce (2013) attributed the high proportion of Aboriginal women victims to their low socio-economic status and pointed out that according to Amnesty International, and the Native Women’s Association of Canada, there is increased inaction and indifference toward cases of vulnerable women, specifically when they are Aboriginal.  This implies an underlying systemic prejudice and adds a potential explanation for why/how the issue of missing and murdered Aboriginal women did not, for 40 years, receive the attention many scholars and others feel it deserves.  Gilchrist (2010) approached the missing and murdered Aboriginal women crisis from the perspective of media coverage.  Using three comparative case studies, she outlined blatant disparities between the coverage of missing Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal women: the former received three-and-a-half times less coverage than their non-Aboriginal counterparts, and the Aboriginal women’s stories were both shorter and less likely to make front-page news (Gilchrist, 2010).  Gilchrist, like others, claims that the relative invisibility of Aboriginal women over the years in the news media points to a larger issue of systemic inequalities.                                                       12 http://www.publicsafety.gc.ca/lbrr/archives/cnmcs-plcng/cn30343-eng.pdf   222 Due to the disproportionate number of murders and violence occurring against the Aboriginal female population, and with prompts from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action in December 2015, the current Canadian Liberal government announced the launch of a national inquiry into the elevated number of missing and murdered Aboriginal women and girls (Government of Canada, 2015).  The Minister of Justice and Attorney General of Canada, Jody Wilson-Raybould, stated: We recognize that a number of factors like racism, marginalization, sexism, and poverty have contributed to the ongoing tragedy of murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls.  This inquiry is necessary to address and prevent future violence against Indigenous women and girls.  These women are not statistics—they are daughters, sisters, and mothers—and they have the right to live safely and free of violence.13 5.7.2 Exhibit Overview    Figure 78. Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit  (author photograph).   The largest of the seventeen exhibits housed in the gallery, Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice is the fourth exhibit the visitor encounters if navigating the Canadian Journeys Gallery in a clockwise path from the entry. The focal area of Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice features six red dresses suspended from the ceiling on wooden hangers.  In the background are six large-scale                                                       13 http://news.gc.ca/web/article-en.do?nid=1023999   223 panels that display photographs of a birch forest devoid of its leaves.  Superimposed on this forest of birch trees are photographs of six red dresses, hanging in the woods.  It should also be noted that themes found in the Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit are further expanded upon within the larger context of the Canadian Journeys Gallery with a photo on the digital canvas (see figure 22, pg. 132) pertaining to resistance to violence against women. 5.7.3 The Process of Curation  Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice is indicative of critical museology’s “democratization not just of access, but also of authority” in that its entire exhibit space was curated by a local Aboriginal artist/curator F (Lehrer and Milton, 2011, p. 5).  As a small text panel on the inside wall of the installation states: “It is a response to the overwhelming number of missing or murdered Aboriginal women across Canada.  The installation seeks to engage the public in discussion about the sexist and racist nature of violent crimes against Indigenous women.” When approached by the Museum, researcher/curator F, who is Métis, was known both nationally and internationally for the REDress project, which was initiated in 2010.  REDress gathers community-donated red dresses and installs them in public spaces to draw attention to missing and murdered Aboriginal women, making each one “a visual reminder of the number of women who are no longer with us” and of all crimes committed against women (Redressproject.org, 2016).14 As artists/curator F has stated, “I was approached by the Museum to include that project in the Museum.  And, it didn’t have to be that project,                                                       14 http://www.redressproject.org/?page_id=27   224 but that’s what kind of drew them to talking to me in the first place so I thought that’s what I would kind of use in that space” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October, 14, 2015).  Today, the REDress Project has a global following.  In artist/curator F’s words, “I almost feel like it’s out of even my . . . like it’s not my power, it’s the power of these dresses.  They have it and just everybody comes to them, everybody.”  On October 4, 2015, in honour of the Day of Vigils to Remember Murdered and Missing Aboriginal Women, researcher/curator F invited Canadians to display their own red dresses to signal their support for the missing and murdered Aboriginal women and issue a call for action to prevent future violence.15 The response was overwhelming.  Red dresses were hung in yards, public spaces, and areas of business, photographed and then posted on social media with the hash tags #REDressProject and #MMAW.16    Figure 79. Shared by a Twitter user: “My mom posted this on Facebook in honour of my aunt, Marion Audrey Rice, who died violently in February 1979 #MMIW.” Image courtesy of Waubgeshig Rice.   According to artist/curator F, the curatorial process for the exhibit space devoted to Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice was chiefly                                                       15 http://globalnews.ca/news/2257745/red-dress-campaign-looks-to-raise-awareness-about-missing-murdered-indigenous-women/  16 http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/mmiw-mmaw-missing-murdered-indigenous-women-canada-march-1.3256366   225 independent: “I had some feedback from people but it was mostly my own kind of design and my own ideas and I could bounce things off of people but I could also veto things if I needed to” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015).  5.7.4 Analysis   Introductory Text Panel Through the title of the introductory text panel, From Sorrow to Strength, the EA seems to suggest that the exhibit will present a progressive narrative of hope in the exhibit devoted to Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  Beneath the title, in slightly reduced font size, is the sub-heading “Aboriginal women and the right to safety and justice.”  Below this subheading, are three paragraphs that provide the visitor with background information about the topic in an authoritative tone.  By way of the first two paragraphs, the EA draws attention to the “disturbing frequency” with which Aboriginal women and girls go missing in Canada, and the scant “mainstream attention” this receives, noting that many of these murders remain unsolved.  Referencing statistics, the copy also observes the amount of violence and the number of homicides committed against First Nations, Inuit, and Métis women in contrast with other Canadian women.  It states: “Their fundamental rights to safety and justice are at stake.”  Hence, through the first two paragraphs of the opening text panel, the EA legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by communicating Counter National Narrative 3.0.  This is accomplished through a narrative that highlights a forgotten, or silenced, aspect of Canada’s past and present: heightened violence and homicide toward First Nations, Inuit, and Métis women.  In addition, this part of the exhibit space plays a role in decolonization by stressing unjust  226 colonial structures in the country’s media and justice system that contribute to discrimination against Aboriginal women and girls.   Meanwhile, through the last paragraph of the introductory text panel, the EA gives prominence to those Aboriginal peoples and their allies who are “addressing this tragic pattern of violence” by “targeting poverty, racism as well as bias in the media and the justice system.”  Here, the EA reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0 by suggesting the redemption of the nation through the actions of these citizens and other groups.  Figure 80. Opening text panel of the Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit (author photograph).  Focal Area The focal area of Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice is beautiful, yet also eerily haunting.  The way in which the suspended dresses contrast with the white birch forest and move subtly with the surrounding air currents lends a powerful presence to the overall space.  Adding to this movement, the pot lighting above each of the dresses casts dancing shadows on the cement floor beneath.  It is as  227 though this movement in the mise-en-espace of the expository agent is signalling that the issue of missing and murdered Aboriginal women is a living, breathing entity.  In our interview, artist/curator F articulated, “I don't know, I feel like working with them [the dresses] in this way has given them a power and almost like an energy” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015).  Through the focal area, the EA communicates two elements of Indigenous historical consciousness.  First, by not including a linear, progressive textual or visual chronology, it references the Indigenous concept of cyclical, or circular understandings of time and reality (Marker, 2011).  Second, the stark and simple birch forest backdrop is a nod to Indigenous beliefs that the land is a source of wisdom and knowledge, inextricably bound to histories and memories (Marker, 2011).  Moreover, the use of white birch trees further gives the exhibit a local feel, since white or silver birch is native to the forest in and around Winnipeg.   Figure 81. Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit in relation to the entire Canadian Journeys Gallery (author photograph).    228  Figure 82. The focal area of the Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice exhibit (author photograph).  The six community-donated red dresses, as well as 12 other photographs of dresses are all uninhabited.  In this way, it is as though the dresses are markers of absence.  This gives the focal area of the exhibit space a desolate feel.  It further underscores the fact that many Aboriginal women are still missing and emphasizes their invisibility in Canadian society.  In the words of artist/curator F, “We've used [the] project of red dresses to highlight missing and murdered women and sort of that vacancy of body” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015).  The colour palette of the focal area consists of varying shades of white, black and grey whereas the dresses are all a deep ruby red.  Throughout the predominantly white birch forest, the EA seems to be alluding to the innocence of the young Aboriginal women who have often been the target of these abductions, whereas the colour of the dresses is perhaps symbolic of bloodshed.  Speaking about this backdrop, artist/curator F explained,  229 it's (the forest depicted) right inside Winnipeg at Assiniboine Park somewhere.  And I always felt like having them in the bush and in the woods was where it just felt like a sacred thing to do to hang these dresses in those spaces.  It felt like a respectful thing to do. (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015)  Overall, the mise-en-espace of the focal area of Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice, like the introductory text panel, legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by communicating NN 3.0.  This is accomplished by highlighting forgotten, or silenced, aspects of Canada’s past and present: the heightened violence and homicide faced by Canadian First Nations, Inuit, and Métis women and girls.  The Right Side-Panel The right side-panel, features four photographs with corresponding text.  Like the left side-panel, the copy assumes an authoritative tone, photographs are decoded for the visitor, and the expository agent does not reveal how it arrived at the interpretation presented.         Photograph 1 features a large billboard with a photo-montage of missing and murdered Aboriginal women, from a 2009 Vancouver Sisters in Spirit vigil.  Through the use of photograph 1, the EA appears to be drawing attention to the vast number of missing and murdered women.  The second photograph highlights Bernie Williams and Reta Blind—family of missing and murdered Aboriginal women—leading the Vancouver Women’s Memorial March in 2011.  Although the women marching are dressed in beautifully detailed ancestral clothing in shades of black, cream, and vibrant red, their faces appear sorrowful.  The corresponding copy asserts: “Family members of missing and murdered Aboriginal women take a prominent role in campaigns for their  230 rights.”  Here, the expository agent draws attention not only to the toll that missing and murdered Aboriginal women takes on families, but also to forms of action taking place throughout Canada.  Photo 3 is an photograph of the seventh annual (2012) Montreal Sisters in Spirit Memorial March and Vigil, featuring a non-Aboriginal, Québécoise woman with a sign that reads: “My heart is with you who have disappeared.”  Through this photo, the expository agent is highlighting Canadian allies in the fight for justice for missing and murdered Aboriginal women.  The text, on the other hand—which states: “About 40 percent of murders of Aboriginal women in Canada remain unsolved”—gives prominence to the inaction and a more general indifference toward missing and murdered Aboriginal women.  The fourth, and final, photograph features co-founder of Walk4Justice Gladys Radek demonstrating for rights.  It reads: “Radek and many others are demanding a national public inquiry into missing and murdered women.” Here, the EA stresses the fight for a national public inquiry and the possibility of this in Canada’s future. By highlighting victims, family members, activists, and allies, the right side-panel gives prominence to the many ways in which the issue of missing and murdered Aboriginal women has left its mark on Canadian society.  It therefore legitimizes a current construction of Canadian national identity by communicating a version of Counter National Narratives 3.0.  This is achieved through a storyline that raises questions around the concept of Canada as a progressive multicultural mosaic and highlighting a silenced and ignored segment of Canadian society.   However, this side-panel might be critiqued for not doing enough to lend a human face to artist/curator F artistic rendering in the focal area of the exhibit.  One  231 wonders why a registry of missing and murdered Aboriginal women was not included here, or, at the very least, in the digital canvas’ story and image grid?  As a result, the small amount of information found on this right side-panel leaves the viewer at an alienating distance from the subject.  It leaves unanswered questions about the link between IRS and these women as well as the multitude of women not featured—who they were and what they did before they met their tragic fate. 5.7.5 National Narratives and Historical Consciousness  Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice is a unique exhibit within the Canadian Journeys Gallery in that it is an artist’s rendering.  Thus, not only does it reflect the movement in critical museology that sees authority in museums being shared with community holders, it speaks to the visitor at a more subconscious level.  As researcher/curator D articulated: I think it’s really important that we’ve used art in that project, like I think it allows us to capture sort of a nuance that maybe an actual object could not capture.  And art does that so well, it captures nuances and it allows visitors to sort of read various levels or bring various interpretations to it, so I think that’s important. (researcher/curator D, personal communication, October 14, 2015)    Canadian scholar Ruth Phillips (2012) has described the power that artwork has in its ability to transcend linear, progressive, Euro-Western national narratives as told through traditional history sites: The possibility art offers for “breaking the shackles of history” is, I suggest, the second reason why the arena of visual art has been so important a sphere for postcolonial negotiation in settler societies (the first, as I mentioned earlier, being the lack of formal political closure to colonialism). (p. 361)  As researcher/curator F also expresses: “I feel like artwork can catch people from a different place and a more emotive place, or a more kind of raw place, or a more  232 spiritual place maybe, that maybe a didactic type of narrative wouldn’t” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015).  Thus, like some aspects of the Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy exhibit (e.g., the wall projection and the desks), through its large focal area, Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice has communicated missing and murdered Aboriginal women as an affective form of knowledge, rather than simply a cognitive one, and stimulates sentimental engagement.  (Gregory & Witcomb, 2007; Witcomb, 2013).  Through the exhibit space the EA therefore troubles Master National Narratives Templates 1.0 and 2.0 and thereby communicates Counter National Narratives 3.0 as influenced by decolonization.  Despite the exhibit’s sensational power, as mentioned, artist/curator F’s artistic rendering could have been made more impactful and humanizing if greater representation of individual victims and the missing and murdered Aboriginal women registry had been included on the right side-panel or the digital canvas of the gallery. In some ways, parallels can be drawn between Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice and the public memorials of the 1989 Montreal Massacre which emblemized the fourteen women murdered as standing for women subjected to systemic male violence.  Although these memorials were deemed crucial to public awareness of violence against women, in their chapter, Simon and Rosenberg (2005) also critiqued them for limiting visibility across differences of gender, race, and class, calling for a more disruptive form of remembrance, a “traumatic awakening” (p. 83) to instigate learning and activism.  In many ways, Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice takes up this call.   233 Hence as a whole, despite one instance on the introductory text panel that reflects Master National Narrative Template 2.0, Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice conveys Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0).  Specifically, the exhibit has communicated NN 3.0 as influenced by decolonization, and as reflecting Indigenous epistemologies and knowledges, by acting as a visual reminder of an often-silenced aspect of Canada’s past and present: heightened violence and homicide toward First Nations, Inuit, and Métis women.  For example, through the focal area, the EA draws specific attention to the primacy of the landscape as a source of wisdom and knowledge inextricably bound to histories and memories and non-linear narrative (Marker, 2011, 2015).  In addition, the exhibit space draws further attention to decolonization by stressing unjust colonial structures in Canada’s media and its justice system that contribute to discrimination against Aboriginal women and girls.  In artist/curator F’s words: “I hope it opens-up a door for further education of people to understand the kind of factors and the structures and, you know, like colonial structures that are creating and continue to create an unsafe situation for indigenous women” (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015).  The space therefore acts as a counter-narrative to Master National Narrative 2.0: Canada as a progress-oriented, generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  As researcher/curator F articulated,  Because I feel what happens in, I don't know, in kind of like the national rhetoric is that anything that befalls you as a person is your own fault, and the onus is on singular people for creating the situation that they’re in, when that’s not the case at all.  That’s not the case at all.  And I think that was brought to our attention through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and I think that doing work like this, I hope, will also create kind of like a rift in that narrative of it’s everybody's fault, whoever is suffering, it’s their own fault. (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015)  234  This exhibit is therefore positioned as a site of historical consciousness by communicating a past-present-future relationship between issues of safety and justice as they pertain to Aboriginal women.  In artist/curator F’s words:   I think that this work tells a truth about what’s happening in Canada that isn’t often in kind of mainstream attention.  I think that truth has the potential to open people’s minds up about Indigenous people in Canada and the relationships that Canada has with Indigenous people. (artist/curator F, personal communication, October 14, 2015)  The exhibit moulds moral values into a body of time by highlighting the inequities and violence Canadian Aboriginal women faced in the past, and continue to face in the present, thereby provoking questions around how the nation might address these problems in the future.    235 Chapter 6: Conclusion 6.1 Research Summary This case study investigation sought to determine the extent to which the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenged or legitimized current constructions of Canadian national identity and how these narratives positioned the Museum as a site of historical consciousness.  The investigation did so by asking two questions: 1.  To what extent do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights challenge or legitimize current constructions of Canadian national identity?  2.  How do the national narratives communicated at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights position the Museum as a site of historical consciousness?  This instrumental case study has explored these questions by deconstructing and analyzing the Canadian national narratives communicated in five embedded units—the five selected exhibits of the Canadian Journeys Gallery.  These included: Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights; Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy; Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy; The Right to Same-Sex Marriage; and Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice.  This investigation has analyzed the CMHR as a site of pedagogy that can be read for its representational and spatial meanings, and as a site of pedagogy that communicates a past, present, and future vision of Canada.  To do so, it used a conceptual framework of Canadian national narratives detailed in Section 2.3 (see also figure 83 below), as well as a theoretical frame that applied approaches within critical museology (Bal, 1996, 2006) and historical consciousness (Donald, 2009, 2011, 2012; Friedrich, 2014; Gadamer, 1975/2013; Marker, 2011; Rüsen, 2004).  236   Figure 83. Framework of Canadian National Narratives, Stephanie Anderson, 2017.  I have determined that the five selected exhibits in the Canadian Journeys Gallery have legitimized current constructions of Canadian national identity and positioned the Museum as a site of historical consciousness through the communication  237 of distinct national narratives that communicate past, present, and future visions of Canada.  I have concluded that three of the exhibits—Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy, Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy, and The Right to Same-Sex Marriage—have communicated Master National Narrative Template 2.0.  In contrast, I have determined that the two other exhibits—Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights and Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice—have conveyed Counter National Narratives 3.0.  Before discussing the implications of this research, I will briefly recap the conclusions regarding the five exhibits. Master National Narrative Template 2.0  I have concluded that Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy legitimized a current construction of Canadian national identity through the communication of Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—Canada as a generous, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  Despite this exhibit’s recognition of past Canadian policies, actions, and legislation that racialized, harmed, and violated Chinese Canadians, the exhibit space repeatedly underscored the eventual success and equality of Chinese Canadians in the present.  It also communicated a storyline of reconciliation that highlighted the federal government’s apology and compensation package to victims of past racist policies.  Thus, although the exhibit did remind the visitor of Canada’s racist immigration policies, the EA did not use historiography to disrupt a progressive storyline of Canadian history, nor did it acknowledge or communicate how past policies might be linked to inequities or racist treatment of Chinese Canadians in present-day Canada (Stanley, 2006, 2012, 2014; Yu, 2002, 2015).    238 The exhibit space has therefore acted as a site of historical consciousness by weaving a temporal narrative that linked the past, present, and future experience of Chinese Canadians into a storyline of progressive redemption.  Here, I have suggested that perhaps if the EA had communicated National Narratives 3.0, by highlighting the difficulties some current-day Chinese immigrants face, and by addressing the fact that some in the Chinese Canadian community were unhappy with the terms of the redress settlement, the exhibit would be less authoritative, more provocative, and in step with current critical museology. Through this investigation, I found that despite the way in which certain elements of the exhibit Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy (the wall projection, the desks, segments of the survivor testimonies in the film, and the photograph of Father Désormeaux surrounded by his students) have conveyed Counter National Narratives 3.0, the space as a whole chiefly has imparted Master National Narrative Template 2.0 (NN 2.0)—Canada as a progressive, tolerant, multicultural mosaic.  The EA achieved this by communicating a storyline that acknowledged some of the terrible aspects of IRS, yet balanced and softened this narrative through positive exemplars and anecdotes, text panels written in the third person that absolved the sense of direct culpability, and through a redeeming narrative that highlighted reconciliation.   The exhibit space devoted to Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy has therefore acted as a site of historical consciousness through a temporal narrative that has linked past, present, and future Canada into a storyline that forges a new social memory of progress that for the most part glosses over current problems stemming from the legacy of the schools.  239 I further ague that Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy is unsuccessful in acting as a site of decolonisation because the EA has devoted only a small portion of the exhibit to the personal testimonies of the victims (Indian Residential School survivors), and fails to use the term “cultural genocide.” Thus, I also determine that this exhibit has not successfully engaged with current museology as characterized by the “democratization not just of access, but also of authority” (Lehrer and Milton, 2011, p. 5). It should be noted that my conclusions were echoed in the media  as I was completing the conclusion of this dissertation.  In early October 2016, Buffy Sainte-Marie was invited to the CMHR to give a talk about her work in Aboriginal education.  She had not visited the Museum since 2014, when she was part of the Museum’s opening ceremonies.  At that time, some of the exhibits were incomplete, and Sainte-Marie had expressed displeasure with the Museum’s content, saying she would look forward to seeing what the Museum did subsequently.  Disappointed with the Museum’s end product, Sainte-Marie delivered a recommendation before her talk: that the Museum expand its coverage of residential schools, creating an adults-only exhibit that would showcase the most graphic parts of what happened. “These things need to be here, because where else can they be? They need to be acknowledged and understood,” she stated (CBC News, 2016).  In response, Angela Cassie, Vice-President of Public Affairs for the CMHR, said she viewed Sainte-Marie’s recommendations as an opportunity to improve: “There are certainly ways for us to grow and deepen our content” (CBC News, 2016). Through this research study, I have also determined that The Right to Same-Sex  240 Marriage has also conveyed Master National Narrative Template 2.0, through a metanarrative of progress that ties Canada’s legalization of same-sex marriage, and the rights of same-sex couples, to a longer trajectory events related to Canadian human rights.  The Right to Same-Sex Marriage has realized this master national narrative template through a chronological storyline that highlights the work of pioneering activists, yet includes no mention of the discrimination many LGBTQ+ individuals continue to experience today.  Moreover, through the exhibit’s repeated references to Canada’s role as one of the first countries to legalize same-sex marriage it appears to be attempting to absolve and redeem Canada for past discriminatory policies toward LBGTQ+ peoples Hence, I concluded that The Right to Same-Sex Marriage has acted as a site of historical consciousness by weaving together a past, present, and future narrative that communicates a storyline of social cohesion that positions Canada as a tolerant, progress-oriented, benevolent country where human rights are at the fore of legal decisions. Counter National Narratives 3.0 In contrast to these three exhibits, through this investigation I have concluded that the other two exhibits analyzed—Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights and Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice— have communicated current constructions of Canadian national identity through Counter National Narratives 3.0.   For example, despite one example of Master National Narrative Template 2.0, Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights has chiefly referenced NN 3.0’s new global identities by raising questions of the “nation” and making visible “other” diasporic,  241 hybrid, or transcultural identities (Canadian migrant farm workers) within a country’s borders (Appadurai, 1996; Cahoone, 1996).  Through the exhibit’s emphasis on the frequently invisible plight of seasonal agricultural workers, the EA has troubled Master National Narrative Template 2.0—Canada as a progressive, tolerant, mosaic tied to a longer course of events linked to a trajectory of human rights.   Hence, Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights acted as a site of historical consciousness by highlighting the human rights violations individual migrant farm workers living in Canada face, thereby unsettling the nation’s present and future status as a tolerant, generous beacon of human rights.  Similarly, despite one instance in the introductory text panel that communicates Master National Narrative Template 2.0, the exhibit space Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice conveyed primarily Counter National Narratives 3.0 (NN 3.0).  Specifically, the exhibit communicated NN 3.0 as influenced by decolonization and as reflecting Indigenous epistemologies and knowledges by acting as a visual reminder of an often-silenced aspect of Canada’s past and present: heightened violence and homicide toward First Nations, Inuit, and Métis women.  Through its large arts-based focal area, this exhibit, has communicated missing and murdered Aboriginal women as a non-representational, affective form of knowledge rather than simply through representational or cognitive means (Ellsworth, 2005; Gregory & Witcomb, 2007; Witcomb, 2013).  Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice therefore acted as a site of historical consciousness by highlighting the issues of safety and justice that Canadian Aboriginal women faced in the past and continue to face in the present, thereby  242 troubling Canada’s status as a tolerant, bastion of human rights and provoking questions around how the nation might address these problems in the future. 6.2 Implications for Museology Overall the five exhibit spaces analyzed speak to the CMHR as indicative of the museum’s transformation into a site of critical discourse and working within the vein of critical museology.  Within this framework, the CMHR is an issues-based museum that aims to democratize both access and authority by drawing attention to marginalized groups in exhibitions, collaborating with various community stakeholders in its curatorial work, and attempting to create an experiential pedagogical space by communicating moral imperatives with exhibitions that take up social justice causes and convey a national social consciousness (Carter, 2015; Falk 2009; Grenier 2010; Lehrer and Milton, 2011; Stone, 2006). Moreover, through my analysis of the two exhibits that deal exclusively with Aboriginal content, I argue that the CMHR appears to be making an attempt to act as a site of decolonization.  However, I contend that while it is successful in the exhibit Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice, it has missed the mark in Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy. I have further determined that the three exhibits that communicate Master National Narrative Template 2.0 —Chinese Canadians and Immigration Policy, Indian Residential Schools and their Legacy, and The Right to Same-Sex Marriage, have not successfully curated difficult knowledge as defined by Simon (2011).  That is, they have not [c]onfront[ed] visitors with significant challenges to their expectations and interpretive abilities.  This may occur when an exhibition offers multiple, conflicting perspectives on historical events, resulting in narratives whose conclusions remain complex and uncertain in the face of such a demand; a  243 specific exhibition may be contested or refused while provoking degrees of anxiety, anger, and disappointment. (p. 194)   Simon has contended that when an exhibition offers difficult knowledge, it confronts visitors with significant challenges to their expectations and interpretive abilities. This may occur when an exhibition offers multiple, conflicting perspectives on historical events, resulting in narratives whose conclusions remain complex and uncertain. In the face of such a demand; a specific exhibition may be contested or refused while provoking degrees of anxiety, anger, and disappointment” (p. 194).  He pointed out that “‘difficult knowledge’ does not reside within particular artifacts, images and discourses”; but rather “between the affective force provoked within the experience of an exhibition and the possible sense one might make of one’s experience of this force and its relation to one’s understanding of an exhibition’s images, artifacts, text, and sounds” (p. 195).   In contrast, the exhibits Migrant Farm Workers and Human Rights, and Aboriginal Women and the Right to Safety and Justice—through their communication of NN 3.0, also have curated difficult knowledge as defined by Simon (2011). Therefore, what this investigation suggests, is that for curation to move beyond representation and recognition, toward decolonization or other difficult knowledge, museums must wrestle with uncomfortable truths by exposing and troubling dominant narratives and state-orchestrated storylines which are so pervasive that citizens often do not even know they are being communicated.  Simon (2011) has further argued, the new human rights museums and their ambitious moral agendas have left museology with the task of envisioning “a curatorial pedagogy of difficult knowledge committed to retaining that which does not expend  244 itself as information” (p. 207). This investigation at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights has provided a partial answer to Simon’s (2011) call.  Through this study’s analysis of the five exhibits housed in the Canadian Journeys Gallery, it has suggested that one way to curate difficult knowledge is through exhibits that expose and deconstruct a country’s master national narrative templates.  In Canada, this would entail the curation of exhibits that communicate National Narratives 3.0.  These would capture competing, omitted, or silenced aspects of Canadian history through national narratives that contest, rebuke or, intervene in the storylines of Master National Narrative Templates 1.0 and 2.0.  In other instances, they might throw into question taken-for-granted notions around the concepts of nationhood and national identity, through narratives grounded in land, place, or global forces.  Of course, this brings to question what issues museums might face when considering the curation of these counter narratives that might cause conflict with governments and other museums funders. Specifically, how might a national museum, like the CMHR, maintain a critical and activist position while receiving federal funding with a directed mandate.  Future Research: Museology  Sharon Macdonald (2003) has cautioned, too often museum research is prone to simply presenting institutions as mirror images of official dominant ideological interests.  Bal (2006) has also addressed this concern in Exposing the Public, where she argued that recognizing visitor plurality is the key to transforming the relationship between the museum and members of the public, noting, “The plurality of the visitors—each with their own intellectual and aesthetic baggage, moods, knowledge, and expectations—makes any reference to the public impossible” (p. 526). What these two  245 theorists point to is that audiences are active interpreters of meaning who decode exhibitions in varied and discriminate ways and that research in museums should be substantiated by visitor studies. Although I am in full agreement, I felt that in the interest of a tightly bounded case with thick description that was seeking to explore the often hidden national narrative templates that sites of pedagogy construct and communicate, a visitor study was beyond the purview of this particular investigation. However, I strongly believe that a pre- and post-museum study around visitor constructions of Canadian national identity would serve to bolster this investigation, and it is an avenue I plan to pursue through future research.  6.3 Implications for Theory:  Historical Consciousness and Sites of Pedagogy Informed by the work of Donald (2009, 2011, 2012), Friedrich (2014), Gadamer (1975/2013), and Marker (2011), this study conceptualized historical consciousness as a defining, inherent quality of the modern citizen/agent who takes a critical perspective of history arising from an attempt to understand the temporal relationship between the past, present, and future, with the recognition that these understandings are fluid and may not be valid in another time and place. This research also concurs that historical consciousness is linked to museums and other sites of pedagogy—including classrooms, textbooks, monuments, memorials, national historic sites, news media, architectural spaces, arbitrated cityscapes, Aboriginal landscape features, and public performances—by the ways in which these sites communicate a relationship between the past, present, and future through narratives.  And, through the work of Bal (1986, 2003, 2006), Carter (2016), Donald (2009) and Ellsworth (2005) I concur that the reading these narratives in museums and the subsequent positioning of   246 sites of pedagogy as a sites of historical consciousness is determined by taking into account not only their representational content, but also their non-cognitive, non-representational, aesthetic, or spatial features.  What this investigation further posits, however, is that a museum constituted to be a socially responsible discursive site—as a human rights museum like the CMHR should be— should play an important role in the fulfillment of a new historical consciousness, a history that includes the most difficult of truths and silenced national narratives. Future Research: Historical Consciousness and Sites of Pedagogy    As mentioned in this investigation, one cannot escape the issues facing CMHR as a site of historical consciousness as related to its location and the institution’s relationship with the area’s past and present Indigenous groups.  Given Canada’s settler colonial history, the Museum’s location in Winnipeg—which contains the nation’s largest urban? Aboriginal population, figures prominently in its role as a site of pedagogy. As detailed in this research, the CMHR’s construction destroyed Indigenous heritage and in the month before the Museum officially opened, less than one kilometre to the north of the CMHR’s location, the body of a murdered 15-year-old Aboriginal girl, Tina Fontaine was found wrapped in a plastic bag.  Fontaine was one of dozens of missing and murdered Aboriginal women originally from Winnipeg. Thus, although beyond the purview of this case study, at a time when disciplinary boundaries are stringently adhered to in theory such as historical consciousness, I would be interested to see how the idea itself is challenged by geography.  Specifically, an interesting study would be to consider the degree to which the location of the CMHR considers historical consciousness.  Specifically, how does the CMHR’s location speak to a past, present and  247 future vision of Canada? 6.4 Implications for Theory: History Education and Sites of Pedagogy          This research has introduced a Framework of Canadian National Narratives.  Although references to the progressive, unified, Euro-Western colony-to-nation narrative of Canada and Canada tolerant, multicultural mosaic can be found in the scholarly literature, never have these ideas been captured and articulated as two of Canada’s Master National Narrative Templates with examples of how they are communicated in diverse of sites of pedagogy.   Moreover, the articulation of Counter National Narratives 3.0, and particularly how these narratives contest and rebuke the storylines of NN 1.0 and NN 2.0 is new.  Thus, through the introduction of the Framework of Canadian National Narratives, this study offers an innovative research approach for the identification, deconstruction, and analysis of master national narrative templates and those that rebuke and contest them, in multiple sites of pedagogy, that (a) expands analytical repertoires used to investigate the communication of Canadian master national narrative templates and those that rebuke and contest them, (b) suggests new orientations and practices that trouble the communication of constructions of Canadian national identity, (c) offers a starting point for theorists in other nations to create their own similar frameworks, and (d) provides a model for the theoretical frame for the narrative organization of historical consciousness. 6.5 Implications for Curriculum: History Education   In Canada over the last five years, historical thinking, as advanced through the Historical Thinking Project’s six structural historical thinking concepts, has informed  248 new curriculum documents in a majority of provinces and new history textbooks from all major Canadian publishers (Seixas, 2012).  Although historical thinking is crucial in building disciplinary history into the school curricula, and specific narrative accounts can be deconstructed using some of the Project’s six concepts, its tenets do not explicitly address the frequently hidden master national narrative templates, or those that contest and rebuke them, that are communicated in sites of pedagogy.  For example, although the concept of historical significance was used to inform certain of the questions on the data collection and analysis tools described and in particular questions around the inclusion, distinction and positioning of certain primary materials over others in the five exhibits, these questions were not enough in themselves to address an exhibit’s master national narrative templates.  Consequently, the historical thinking concepts do not allow for explicit, critical inquiry with the whole silenced histories and urgent identity questions—ethnic, transnational, diasporic, and Aboriginal—that permeate and shape sites of pedagogy.  This research suggests that curricular imperatives in history education in Canada extend beyond traditional Euro-Western disciplinary models, through engagements that critically expose students to a nation’s master national narrative templates and those narratives that contest and rebuke them through frameworks such as the one introduced and applied in this research investigation (see figure 83).  Such frameworks, would offer history education a means to (a) trouble the exclusive communication of certain national narratives over others; (b) engage with whole silenced histories and urgent identity questions—ethnic, transnational, diasporic, and Aboriginal—that permeate and shape sites of pedagogy in Canada; (c) problematize state visions that  249 exclude or silence particular individual or group identities; and (d) raise important questions about the political motivations and, the stakes involved in constructions of national narrative in sites of pedagogy such as museums.  This study further proposes that national narrative frameworks such as the Canadian example introduced and applied here form part of a new curricular imperative titled the Narrative Dimension (see figure 84).  This Narrative Dimension would not only include exposing and facilitating critical engagement with a country’s master national narrative templates and those that trouble them; it also would comprise engagement with personal and shared histories and identities, and critical reflection on historical knowledge production as it relates to various epistemologies (Indigenous, Euro-Western, feminist, etc.).  This narrative dimension would therefore allow history education to fully engage with historical consciousness. In Canada, the first of these latter two would be informed by much of the original work already being done in Québec and Ontario around French Canadian national narratives (see, e.g., Létourneau, 2004, 2006, 2014; Lévesque, S., & Létourneau, J. (in press); Lévesque, Létourneau, & Gani, 2013).   The Narrative Dimension would put into action Rüsen’s (2004/2011) “temporal orientation” of historical consciousness by facilitating understanding of how moral values are moulded into a “body of time” (p. 67), providing an arena whereby students and citizens might enquire into where national narratives come from, why they are perpetuated, and how they are linked to behaviour in the present and to courses of action envisioned for the future of the nation.  Perhaps most powerfully, however, the Narrative Dimension offers a framework for people to  250 orientate and critically engage with the real-time storylines of history and identity that they encounter online or through interventions in public spaces that appear overnight, before historians have time to generate competing narratives and historiographies.   Figure 84. The Narrative Dimension, Stephanie Anderson, 2017  251  6.6 Future Potential:  National Narratives and Sites of Pedagogy Nationally, Canada is poised to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Confederation, while also just beginning to acknowledge its colonial legacy and silenced ethno-cultural histories.  Meanwhile globally, debates rage around citizenship and the multiple, shifting transnational identities within state borders (for example, the migrant crises, Trumpism, and the UK’s impending departure from the European Union).  Within this context, the CMHR as a museum working within the vein of critical museology, is no longer simply a storehouse of narratives and objects, but an active agent in the creation and dissemination of memory.  Within this milieu, both the Framework of Canadian National Narratives and the Narrative Dimension offer the possibility for museology, history education, and public history to grapple with critical storytelling, identities, and the process of historical inquiry in various sites of pedagogy.   For public communicators of a nation’s past, be they teachers, curators, textbook writers, monument designers, exhibitions, public celebrations, and so on, having a clear understanding of a country’s master national narrative templates and those that contest and rebuke them is essential.  Too often, and perhaps unwittingly, the narratives told and untold in sites of pedagogy are based solely on the moral agenda of their public communicators—how they see history and what they deem to be significant.  In my work as a history educator at the University of British Columbia I have just begun grappling with how to develop pedagogy that might introduce both the Framework of  252 Canadian National Narratives and the Narrative Dimension to my students who are training to become future teachers.    At the same time, more research is needed and might include further studies with students, teachers and citizens around the construction and communication of national narratives.  Additionally, curriculum and educational programing around the construction and communication of national narratives in sites of pedagogy needs to be developed. 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