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Difference at play : an ethnography of discourse and drama in multiracial classrooms in a Francophone… Schroeter, Sara 2017

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DIFFERENCE AT PLAY: AN ETHNOGRAPHY OF DISCOURSE AND DRAMA IN MULTIRACIAL CLASSROOMS IN A FRANCOPHONE MINORITY LANGUAGE SCHOOL by  Sara Schroeter  B.A., McGill University, 2002 M.A., York University, 2009  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Language and Literacy Education)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2017  © Sara Schroeter, 2017   ii Abstract This dissertation explores discourses of difference used by students throughout one year in a Francophone minority language school. This ethnography was conducted in the students’ social studies classes, where drama was used as a (post)critical pedagogy to teach and explore differences embedded in the curriculum. Drawing on critical, Indigenous, and poststructural theories this project explores how the students used discourses of difference in their interactions in and out of the classroom and during dramatic work.   This study reveals that the participating youth used categories of difference, like race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class, and youth, in ways marked by ambiguity, humour, irony, and dissatisfaction, as well as attempts to govern and discipline the boundaries of these constructed categories. Discourses of race consistently emerged in informal educational spaces, such as school hallways; however, the students avoided them in the formal classroom space, a practice linked to the dominance of whiteness in the Canadian educational context. Drama activities created liminal spaces that disrupted the discursive distinction between informal and formal educational spaces, allowing limited access to the students’ informal discourses of race during instructional time. Overarching schooling structures made seizing such moments difficult, in order to disrupt and unpack categories of difference. Furthermore, the students’ problematic racial humour and representational practices surfaced during and immediately following classroom drama activities in ways that reinforced colonial ideas about belonging and unbelonging in Canadian schools.   This study fills gaps in existing research on Francophone minority language schooling by exploring how race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class, and gender intersected in the identifications and discourses of participating youth. These findings trouble the myth of seamless integration in   iii minority language Francophone schools and suggest that linguistic affiliation is an insufficient basis for inclusion and that schools must work to address the significant impact that differences of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class, and gender have on youth’s lives. Furthermore, this study complicates literature in drama-in-education by examining the possibilities and limitations applied theatre affords for unpacking categories of difference in the classroom. It proposes that pedagogical approaches that are explicitly anti-racist and decolonizing are needed in order to achieve such results.   iv Preface  This dissertation is an original, unpublished, independent work by the author, S. Schroeter. The fieldwork reported in Chapters 3-7 was covered by UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board number H13-02237.   v Table of Contents 	Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... ii Preface ........................................................................................................................................... iv Table of Contents .......................................................................................................................... v List of Tables ................................................................................................................................ ix List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ x List of Abbreviations ................................................................................................................... xi Acknowledgements ..................................................................................................................... xii Dedication ................................................................................................................................... xiii Chapter 1: Mobilizing Theory to Disrupt Single Stories in Francophone Minority Language Schools and Drama in Education .............................................................................. 1 1.1 Introduction ...................................................................................................................... 2 1.2 Theoretical Framework ................................................................................................. 10 1.3 Power and Governmentality ......................................................................................... 14 1.4 Discourse ......................................................................................................................... 18 1.5 Subjectivity ..................................................................................................................... 20 1.6 Categories of Difference ................................................................................................ 22 1.6.1 Race and Racialization .............................................................................................. 24 Whiteness and Supremacy as Products of Racial Thinking ................................ 27   vi Indigeneity, Imperialism and Race ...................................................................... 28 1.6.2 Gender ....................................................................................................................... 31 1.6.3 Youth ......................................................................................................................... 33 1.7 Conclusion ...................................................................................................................... 35 Chapter 2: A Review of Research in Francophone Minority Language Schools, Diversity and Inclusion, and Drama .......................................................................................................... 38 2.1 Francophone Minority Language Schooling in Canada ............................................ 38 2.2 The Myth of Diversity and Inclusion in Canadian Schools ....................................... 44 2.3 Drama as (Post)critical, Embodied, and Liminal Pedagogy ...................................... 49 2.4 Conclusion ...................................................................................................................... 52 Chapter 3: Methodology ............................................................................................................. 53 3.1 Research Design ............................................................................................................. 54 3.2 Postionality and Negotiating Multiple Roles ............................................................... 57 3.3 The Research Site .......................................................................................................... 62 3.4 Participants .................................................................................................................... 66 3.5 Research Methods .......................................................................................................... 74 3.5.1 Participant Observations ........................................................................................... 74 3.5.2 Audio and Video Recordings .................................................................................... 76 3.5.3 Interviews .................................................................................................................. 77 3.5.4 Artefacts and Documents .......................................................................................... 81 3.6 Data Analysis .................................................................................................................. 82 3.6.1 “Freezing” the Analytic Moment .............................................................................. 82   vii 3.6.2 Analytic Lenses ......................................................................................................... 83 3.6.3 Initial Analysis .......................................................................................................... 86 3.6.4 Coding Textual Data ................................................................................................. 86 3.7 Conclusion ...................................................................................................................... 90 Chapter 4: Race Talk at École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert ................................................ 92 4.1 In the Hallway as in Vegas ............................................................................................ 94 4.2 The Sounds of Vegas: Race in Informal Spaces .......................................................... 95 4.2.1 Racial Humour in Informal Spaces ........................................................................... 97 4.3 The Sounds of Whiteness in the Classroom .............................................................. 105 4.3.1 Race in the Classroom at Gustave-Flaubert ............................................................ 112 4.4 Discourses of Race and Ethnicity in Liminal Spaces ................................................ 115 4.5 Conclusion .................................................................................................................... 120 Chapter 5: Talking About Identification ................................................................................ 123 5.1 École Gustave-Flaubert’s Grade 9 students identify ................................................ 126 5.2 Identifications of Race ................................................................................................. 132 5.2.1 Intersections of Gender, Race, and Class ................................................................ 142 5.3 Governing Racial Ambiguity and “Mixing” ............................................................. 148 5.4 Conclusion .................................................................................................................... 155 Chapter 6: A Drama-Based Approach to Social Studies and Difference ............................ 158 6.1 Drama: An Embodied Pedagogy of Possibilities ....................................................... 161 6.2 Drama as Liminal Space ............................................................................................. 165 6.3 The Uncontrollable Nature of Discourse ................................................................... 173   viii 6.3.1 Race in Québécois and French Cultures ................................................................. 178 6.4 Embodying Difference: Naming the Indigenous Other ........................................... 184 6.5 Possibilities Offered by Drama-in-Education ........................................................... 191 6.6 The Limitations of Deconstruction in the Classroom ............................................... 194 6.7 Conclusion .................................................................................................................... 196 Chapter 7: Conclusion .............................................................................................................. 199 7.1 Identifications Beyond Language in Francophone Minority Schools ..................... 202 7.2 The Discursive Power of Racial Humour .................................................................. 204 7.3 Drama as Liminal Space of Play and Meaning-Making .......................................... 206 7.4 Contributions and Limitations of the Study ............................................................. 208 7.5 Addressing Race in Schools ........................................................................................ 210 7.6 Areas for Future Research .......................................................................................... 211 References .................................................................................................................................. 214 Appendices ................................................................................................................................. 249 Appendix A ............................................................................................................................ 249    ix List of Tables  Table 3.1 Research Participant Profiles ........................................................................................ 73	Table 4.1 Class video recording, 22 May, 2014 ........................................................................... 98	Table 4.2 Focus Group, 9 June, 2014 ......................................................................................... 103	Table 4.3 Focus Group, 9 June, 2014 ......................................................................................... 104	Table 5.1 Focus group, 9 June 2014 ........................................................................................... 135	Table 5.2 Samantha, Interview, 13 January, 2014 ...................................................................... 139	Table 5.3 Tournesol Interview, 20 January, 2014 ...................................................................... 145	Table 5.4 Video Focus group, 9 June, 2014 ............................................................................... 150	Table 5.5 Video, Focus group, 29 May, 2014 ............................................................................ 152	Table 5.6 Video, Focus group, 20 May, 2014 ............................................................................ 154	Table 6.1 Class video recording, 29 April, 2014 ........................................................................ 169	Table 6.2 Class recording, 7 May, 2014 ..................................................................................... 193	     x List of Figures  Figure 3.1 Theme of “Difference” with Subsequent Categories and Code………………..…89    xi List of Abbreviations  Conseil scolaire francophone de la Colombie-Britannique (CSF) Drama-in-Education (DiE)    xii Acknowledgements     xiii Dedication  This dissertation is dedicated to the Grade 9 students at École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert and Rose. Without their generosity, collaboration, friendship and trust this work would not be possible. I thank them for the stories they shared with me and accept all responsibility for any errors or misrepresentations.  This dissertation is also dedicated to my family. My children, Leila Carinae and Marcus Xavier, whose love and laughter has kept me grounded and determined to keep going, and to Abinyah Walker, whose sacrifices, support, and companionship have provided someone to share this journey with.     1 Chapter 1: Mobilizing Theory to Disrupt Single Stories in Francophone Minority Language Schools and Drama in Education  Vignette: The morning walk to School On a typical Tuesday morning at 8:20, small groups of youth walk together down the streets surrounding École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert1. The large green lawns and bungalows lining the streets look typically suburban, even though they are located in the middle of a large and growing metropolitan area. The groups of three to six students are diverse regarding race and ethnicity, though they are often segregated along narrowly defined boy/girl gender lines. The youth are dressed in trendy clothes, with high-quality backpacks, and most carry smartphones in their hands or pockets. As they casually walk to school, seemingly unworried about the morning bell that will ring in five minutes, they chat about friends, things that happened the previous night or over the last weekend, or videos they have seen on YouTube. For the most part, the youth speak in English with Canadian accents, though a few groups of older students speak to each other in French. Their French accents are similar to those of speakers in many different countries that make up the world “francophonie.” Overall, the scene epitomizes the archetypes behind Canada’s policies of multiculturalism and bilingualism and a social imaginary that everyone gets along “just fine” in Canada. The streets are safe; the students walk together confidently without fear of danger. They laugh together and clearly bond in spite of their visible differences. It is a picture of inclusion                                                 1 Pseudonyms are used to refer to the school, the students, and teacher throughout this study. For the most part, pseudonyms self-selected by the participants are used without alteration in this dissertation. I chose pseudonyms for the school and participants who asked me to do so on their behalf.   2 and security. When the youth arrive at Gustave-Flaubert, they enter through unlocked doors, are met by other friends, before heading up staircases to their lockers.  However, all this is done under the watchful eye of school staff. They are identifiable by the crossing guard vests they wear with fluorescent X’s across their backs and chests. They watch the students carefully, ensuring that only those who are supposed to be in the school enter, sending those they identify as visitors to the main office to sign-in and receive a visitors’ pass. Staff also monitor the students’ behavior, making sure they respect the school’s rules. Most greet the youth as they enter the school; others stand quietly, watching, and sipping coffee from their travel mugs. When the morning bell rings, the staff lock all but the front entrance, rush up the stairs to remove their vests and enter various classrooms in their primary role as pedagogical assistants. Students arriving late must report to the front desk, situated at the main entrance, and receive a late slip before proceeding to class. Inclusion and safety, it appears, occur best under the watchful eye of “helpful” adults. 1.1 Introduction In her first TED Talk Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2009) warns of the danger of “single stories.” These stories, she explains, are ones we tell ourselves about people and places we do not know and are often ones we have had little contact with. Single stories are simplistic representations that reduce large groups of people and regions to a few key characteristics that fail to capture the rich diversity, differences, and endless possibilities that exist within all groups of people and in each region of the planet. Adichie explains that the danger of these “single stories” is that they limit our capacity to imagine and expect great things from the people and places we do not know. Stereotypes produced by “single stories” limit our capacity to imagine new possibilities and explore the complexities of human existence and relations.   3 This dissertation troubles the “single stories” that are told about diversity and inclusion in Canada by focusing specifically on the ways that race talk—discourses of race that appear in everyday speech—mattered at one Francophone minority language school in British Columbia (BC). As the vignette above suggests, the “single story” that Canadians, including minority language Francophones, frequently tell is that students of different races, ethnicities, cultures, classes, genders, and sexual orientations are seamlessly integrated into public schools and/or that the differences between students do not impact the relationships they forge with one another. Today’s youth, the story insists, are more concerned with individual actions and characteristics than with antiquated and false ideas about racial difference. This single story of inclusion and diversity is upheld and readily promoted by Canada’s multicultural policy (Simpson, James & Mack, 2011), an organizing structure for managing intergroup relations, developed by a colonial government, that has had the effect of minimizing the significance of race on peoples’ lived experiences (A. Henry, 2012; F. Henry & Tator, 2006; James, 2011) and undermining Aboriginal sovereignty (St. Denis, 2011). Furthermore, this dissertation also troubles “single stories” about the role of drama pedagogies in cultivating “safe spaces” in schools, and creating the inclusive and respectful environments that educators often seek. Presenting data from a year-long ethnography conducted at École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert, this thesis reveals the complex, intersecting, and multilayered discourses of difference that were entangled in students’ interactions about race and Indigeneity, and how the use of drama-in-education (DiE) generated opportunities for informal discourses of race to surface in the classroom. DiE refers to the use of creative art-forms used in theatre, such as role-play and the creation of imaginary worlds and fictitious images, for the purposes of meaning-making and enhancing learning experiences in educational settings (Bolton, 1986; Nicholson, 2005; NYU-Steinhart, 2016).   4  From September 2013 to June 2014, the academic school year, I collaborated with a social studies teacher, Rose, to teach the Grade 9 socials curriculum through the use of DiE. Our work was propelled by our individual and shared creative and political impulses. We spent hours brainstorming drama activities that would stimulate the students and complement or enhance the curriculum proscribed by the Ministry of Education of British Columbia, planning out the structure and order of activities and, most importantly, improvising as we faced the unknown and unexpected hurdles and rewards that emerged from our approach. Our shared goal was to deepen the students’ understandings of social differences such as race, ethnicity, gender, class, language, and culture that are presented in the social studies curriculum, but often overlooked or inadequately addressed in schools. We also wanted to bring historical stories to life in ways that would be relevant to the lived experiences of the students in Rose’s two Grade 9 socials classes, whom she described as kinesthetic learners.  For my part, this work was inspired by research exploring the intersections of race, ethnicity, and culture and how these categories structure the experiences of secondary students in Canada (Collet, 2007; Dei, 1993, 1994, 2007; James, 2001, 2011; Schick & St. Denis, 2003; Yon, 2000). This project follows the findings of my Masters in Interdisciplinary Studies (Schroeter, 2009), in which I facilitated a Theatre of the Oppressed (Boal, 1979) workshop for students with refugee backgrounds in a Francophone minority language school. During the workshop, the students staged a counternarrative (Delgado, 2001) about life in Canada’s so-called inclusive multicultural society, and revealed how the racialization they experienced influenced their schooling experiences (Schroeter, 2013; Schroeter & James, 2015). Building on this work, I was interested in exploring the discourses of difference used by youth attending a Francophone school. I was curious to examine how discourses relating to race, ethnicity,   5 indigeneity, class, and gender circulate among students. As others note (Gallant & Denis, 2008; Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Jacquet, 2009), there is a pressing need for research about race and inclusion within Francophone minority language schools because this area has not been closely scrutinized and these schools increasingly cater to diverse student populations (Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Jacquet, Moore, Sabatier, & Massinda, 2008). Informed by critical theorists of race who identify race as a central feature and organizing principle of life in North America (Crenshaw, 1991; Delgado & Stefancic, 2001; Gillborn, 2005/2009; Henry, 1998, 2015; Henry & Tator, 2006, 2009; James, 2001, 2007, 2011; Ladson-Billings, 1998/2009; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995; Leonardo, 2000, 2004/2009; Lund & Carr, 2007, 2015), this study offers a timely intervention by attending to the discourses of difference employed by students in a Francophone minority language context and exploring how race, indigeneity, and racialization affected teaching and learning in this classroom. This research project was also driven by a curiosity about the affordances and limitations of drama for telling stories about race and indigeneity and deconstructing these categories in classrooms with differently positioned students. Drawing on research about drama’s potential for meaning-making (Bolton, 1986; Gallagher & Booth, 2003; Lenters & Winters, 2013), as counternarrative (Hanley & View, 2014; Schroeter, 2013), as critical multimodal literacy (Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2011; Schroeter & Wager, 2016), and as embodied pedagogy (Perry, 2010; Perry & Rogers, 2013) I sought to study what occurs when drama is used as a (post)critical (Lather, 1992) approach to teaching social studies. (Post)critical pedagogies (Lather, 1992) acknowledge that critical pedagogies (Freire, 2008; Giroux, 1986; McLaren, 1998; Shor, 1992) do not always succeed in making education empowering for all students. Disparities exist between the social locations of students and teachers in classrooms, and dialogue may be   6 inadequate for resolving incommensurable experiences and divergent perspectives (Ellsworth, 1989; Lather, 1992). However, (post)critical pedagogies remain invested in the desire and practice of working toward an educational system that is more just; they simply use the impossibility of perfect understanding and shortcomings of critical pedagogies as their point of departure. The decision to use this approach was made because literature in drama education often promotes the idea that drama develops empathy among participants (Diamond, 2007; Yassa, 1999) and suggests that it can facilitate intercultural communication (Élodil, 2013), without accounting for the ways in which participants’ bodies are differently racialized and how power circulates in the classroom. (For exceptions see Gallagher, 2007; Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013; Schroeter, 2009; Schroeter & Wager, 2016). This study turns to critical theories of race and Foucauldian understandings of power, discourse, and governmentality in order to problematize and disrupt common portrayals of learning in research in drama-in-education because it is important to critically investigate how dominant power structures circulate and are reproduced even as youth work to collectively create imaginary worlds or explore social situations from imagined vantage points. Collaborative and artistic processes rarely occur without conflict and it is incumbent upon us to examine the underlying reasons for these conflicts, rather than being satisfied when participants report that conflicts were “worthwhile” because they led to the creation of interesting dramatic output.  For her part, the teacher, Rose, was familiar with multiple intelligences (Gardner, 1983) and was interested in integrating drama into her teaching practice in order to reach students who might be alienated by other methods she employed. She believed that varied teaching methods form the backbone of good pedagogy and felt she lacked experience and training in drama, a sentiment expressed by many teachers I have met. Drama was not an approach that came   7 naturally to Rose and she was eager to learn more about it. Our goals were decidedly ambitious and wide-ranging; however, we forged ahead with a healthy mixture of uncertainty and enthusiasm. This dissertation provides a glimpse of the work Rose and I did together with her Grade 9 social studies students. As with any ethnography, there are many stories that could be told about our collaboration and the time I spent learning with the Grade 9 students at Gustave-Flaubert. However, using my research questions as the point of departure, this dissertation follows how thirty-three students discursively took up categories of difference (Hall, 1997) over the course of one academic school year. It unpacks how these predominantly mixed heritage students were positioned and positioned themselves and others by and through intersecting discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class, and gender, and how these discourses are linked to on-going colonial projects. This thesis also explores what was revealed by the drama pedagogy that Rose and I adopted, and the possibilities this offered and forestalled for deconstructing categories of difference with the students. The study concludes by suggesting that greater emphasis on the aesthetic aspect of DiE and the overt adoption of anti-racist (Dei 2006; Dua, 2008; Schick, 2010; St. Denis, 2007) and decolonizing (Battiste, 2013; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Tuck & Yang, 2012) approaches might better enable educators to deconstruct power and racist representational practices with students.  Three central themes flow through this dissertation, tying together the theoretical engagements and pedagogical desires that inform my research questions, methodological approach, and the ensuing analysis. The first is the theme of power and its relation to the establishment and maintenance of categories of difference and “single stories.” Building on the work of Michel Foucault (1969; 1980; 1990; 1994; 1995) this dissertation examines the links   8 between the circulation of power and discourse in Rose’s social studies classroom, in École Gustave-Flaubert, and in the wider British Columbian and Canadian societies. The webs of relations in which power circulates are examined by presenting the ways the youth identified with, resisted, and reinforced categories of difference that were established at the height of European colonial expansion (Hall, 1996, 1997). Attention is paid to the ways these categories are maintained through colonial relations that continue to be perpetuated and reiterated in education. Specifically, this dissertation unpacks the role that national and popular discourses relating to multiculturalism, bilingualism, race, gender, sexuality, and class played in shaping or disciplining (Foucault, 1995) Rose’s students’ ideas about race and belonging in Canada.  Liminality and play is the second theme that runs through this dissertation. Liminality refers to a state of in-betweenness, of ambiguity, where boundaries may blurr. It is a space of vulnerability and risk taking (Smithner, 2011), where new insights can be revealed, without necessarily becoming or creating something that is permanently changed or new. This can happen, but the existence of a liminal space is not dependent on a permanent change. Pedagogically, that is in our approach to the art and science of teaching and learning, play was significant as Rose and I invited the students to think and learn through drama. “Play” and “games” were the words the youth predominantly used in reference to DiE. Play was deeply embedded in the process of students taking on different roles and identifiers that were assigned to them or of their own imagining. This liminal space of drama and theatre—to play at being another while simultaneously being oneself (Schechner, 1985)—is integral to this study as it sheds light onto the representational practices used in the classroom. Liminal spaces were also significant in bringing forth the students’ informal discourses of race in the classroom, discourses that were characterized by play. Finally, liminality was central to the ways that the students,   9 Rose, and I examined the social and political constructs in the Grade 9 curriculum from the space in-between past and present; our study of history was guided by lenses shaped by present day concerns and preoccupations.  The third theme is the links between race, racialization, and indigeneity and how colonial relations are problematically rendered invisible by the curriculum and Eurocentric teaching practices. In 2014, the British Columbia Ministry of Education mandated the teaching of first contact between the Indigenous peoples of North America and European colonizers in Grade 9. Throughout the Grade 9 textbook available at the school and in some of the secondary resources that Rose and I used, Indigenous customs, ways of knowing, and ways of life were presented as things of the past, frozen in history (T. King, 2003), with little relevance to the Canada of today. Furthermore, colonialism was presented as being divorced from contemporary political processes, such as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and Indigenous revitalization movements calling for self-determination (Battiste, 2013). This dissertation explores how whiteness and White supremacy benefit from such methods of content delivery, or indeed from the very notion that curriculum is a “thing” to be delivered. Failure to acknowledge curriculum as lived experience can serve to reinscribe White dominance. My analysis of the ways that race, racialization, and indigeneity were intertwined in student interactions, their engagement with classroom activities, and in the pedagogical approach Rose and I adopted, and the teaching methods we used reveals the unjust power structures that persist in education.  1.2 Research Questions Two major research questions were developed to gain an understanding of the discourses of difference used by Rose’s students as we incorporated drama into her social studies classroom throughout the year. They are:   10 1) What discourses of difference do Grade 9 students in a Francophone minority language school use in and out of class and during drama activities? 2) What are the affordances and limitations of drama, as a (post)critical pedagogy, for deconstructing difference in social studies classes? While the second research question was integral to the research design, as data analysis progressed the central focus of this dissertation became the students’ discourses of difference, specifically their discourses of race. However, the insights gained about how discourses of race circultated in the school were significantly enriched by drama. This dual focus also shed new light on the ways that drama can operate as a complex space in which discourses of race can be reified and challenged in the classroom. In what follows, I flesh out the theoretical framework, methodology, and analytic lenses adopted in this study. I do so by explaining my orientation toward power and governmentality, discourse, subjectivity, and categories of difference. Within this latter section, I provide definitions of the categories of difference that are most salient for this study: race, gender, and youth.  1.3 Theoretical Framework The theoretical framework developed for this study draws on the work of scholars with different theoretical orientations who have helped me to creatively think through the complexities of my fieldwork and the data it generated. Among them are Michel Foucault’s (1968, 1978, 1980, 1995) conceptualization of power, discourse, and governmentality, Stuart Hall’s (1996, 1997) insights on race and categories of difference, Aboriginal understandings of colonialism in Canada (Battiste, 2013; T. King, 2003; St. Denis, 2007), and feminist ideas about gender (Butler, 1990/2006, 1993), intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991; Hill Collins, 2000;   11 Williams, 1991), subjectivity (Davies, 2000; St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000), embodiment (Ahmed, 1998; Butler, 1990/2006) and pedagogy (Ellsworth, 1989, 2005; Lather, 1992). Although the scholars I think with differ in important ways, their work stems from an era of critique that arose following the disillusionment with European humanism (Braidotti, 28 January, 2015), the brutal impacts of settler colonialism in Canada, and setbacks to the Civil Rights movement in the United States. Moreover, the tensions that arise from the convergence of differering worldviews encompassed within critical, Indigenous, and poststructural theories have been productive for me in reflecting on and analyzing the circulation of multiple intersecting discourses in Rose’s Grade 9 social studies classrooms. In fact, such theoretical convergence is increasingly necessary for those seeking “anti-colonialism and racial justice” (Simpson, James, & Mack, 2011, p. 285) and also for educators seeking pedagogical approaches that are anti-racist and committed to decolonizing education in Canada.  One of the main differences between critical, Indigenous, and poststructural theories lies in diverging approaches to the subject and subjectivity. Critical and Indigenous perspectives engage in critiques that emerge from particular epistemologies and standpoints, whereas poststructural theories questions the possibility of essential standpoints (Sarup, 1993). However, critical, Indigenous, and poststructural theories often share a critique of the colonial projects inspired and justified by European humanism; this is particularly true in feminist articulations of these paradigms (Butler, 1990/2006, 1993; Davies, 2000; Spivak, 1988; Williams, 1991). Several scholars I draw on express ambivalence about the stability of identity and explore its limitations by plumbing the boundaries of categories of identification (Butler, 1990/2006; Davies, 2000; Hall, 1996, 1997; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; St. Denis, 2002; Yon, 1999, 2000). However, critical race scholars (Dei, 1994, 2008; Hill Collins, 2000; James, 2001, 2010; Ladson-Billings,   12 1998; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995) convincingly argue that race is central to the lived experiences of racially marginalized people, and is particularly significant in schooling. Given that many participants in this study did not belong to the dominant White group, I have also turned to scholars whose epistemologies are undeniably grounded in particular standpoints and ways of knowing (Battiste, 2013; Crenshaw, 1991; A. Henry, 1998, 2015; Hill Collins, 2000) and others who seek ways of working with poststructual ideas even as they take them up from specific positions (McKay, 2015; St. Denis, 2002, 2007; Tuck, 2010). The uneasy coherence I find in this work comes, in part, from the fact that, although some poststructural feminist writing and research emerged from within Western modernist traditions (Bailey, 2010), it uses similar displacing and interrogative techniques found in standpoint-based work, like critical race theory, and postcolonial theory. I propose that there are ways of drawing on differing epistemological and theoretical traditions in research, if scholars remain attentive to the contradictions and tensions of doing so. This is particularly relevant in contexts where differring viewpoints are important in the sites where research is conducted.  This uneasy coherence was reflected in how the youth in this study identified in ways that asserted particular standpoints, but simultaneously troubled the existence of these standpoints. Over half of the youth in Rose’s social studies 9 classes identified as having a mixed ethnic, racial, cultural, and linguistic heritage. Furthermore, they often questioned the possibility of essential standpoints in their interactions with each other and with me, even as they sometimes reasserted particular standpoints. While poststructural articulations of subjectivity (Davies, 2000) create possibilities for people to shift in and through multiple belongings, this dissertation explores how social discourses and material factors limited the ways the youth in this study could position themselves in Canada due to social structures and powerful discourses that   13 reassert White dominance. For this reason, and in light of the topics that generated rich talk about race and indigeneity in and out of Rose’s classroom, it is important for this dissertation to engage with critical, Indigenous, and poststructural theories. In their reviews of Theory and Educational Research: Toward Critical Social Explanation (Anyon, 2008), Michael Apple (2010) and Zeus Leonardo (2010) separately analyze why it can be productive for scholars to rub seemingly incongruous theories together in order to produce new insights about social behaviour. Leonardo (2010) suggests that the theories used in critical social analyses find strength: not because they have elite or even trendy status, but because, in their ability to intervene, theories confirm the power of language to expand our understanding of social and educational life rather than narrow it through reductive analysis. To enlarge our capacity to explain educational life, we must, like the best hip-hop artists and Shakespeare before them, keep searching for new language games to name the world (p. 162). In writing that social scientists must work like “the best hip-hop artists,” Leonardo implies that scholars cannot thoughtlessly grasp at theoretical straws to support their arguments. Rather, like the “best” wordsmiths, researchers must carefully study and analyze the theoretical concepts they use to describe the phenomena they observe and employ them creatively, while being mindful of the possible contradictions that can emerge. This is not a matter of blindly “sampling” theory, which could lead to incongruous perspectives being thrown together in ways that do not contribute to the production of knowledge or the development of new teaching practices. Rather, it is about carefully following cues in data that point to the necessity of finding points of convergence in existing theories with the hope of contributing to the production of new ones.  Following those who paved the way ahead of me, I proceed with care and caution in my attempt to expand existing theoretical lenses by presenting a (post)critical analysis of my year at   14 École Gustave-Flaubert. In so doing, I draw inspiration from Daniel Yon’s (1999; 2000) work on the role that ambivalence and fluidity play in questions of race and culture because this work is important for understanding the ways in which the mixed-heritage youth who participated in this study navigate relationships in light of dominant discourses about identity. This work is also influenced by Loutzenheiser (2005), who wonders whether research grounded in poststructural theory might “make room for a contingent use of a critical embodied experience” (emphasis in original, p. 28). Specifically, I seek ways of addressing the role of the nation, that pillar of modernity, and nation-building from a poststructural perspective. 1.4 Power and Governmentality  Foucauldian (1990, 1995) understandings of power are central to this dissertation because at Gustave-Flaubert power circulated in ways that cannot be explained by dualistic relationships between the powerful and the powerless. According to Foucault (1990), power circulates widely and cannot be defined as a force that is either negative or positive; it can have multiple and simultaneous impacts. Foucault (1990) asserts: “power is everywhere; not because it embraces everything, but because it comes from everywhere” (p. 93). It has no original point, cannot be described as one thing, but as the series of relationships that has been shaped and influenced by others. Power, Foucault insists, “is not an institution, and not a structure; neither is it a certain strength we are endowed with; it is the name that one attributes to a complex strategical situation in a particular society” (p. 93), therefore, power operates where it is perceived and is rendered significant by the way it is named, and produced through the exercise of strategies that have varying consequences in different contexts. Furthermore, power has a particularly close relationship with discourse (Foucault, 1969). In Rose’s social studies classroom, multiple forces were at work in each situation in which the youth, Rose, and I uttered discourses of difference,   15 and power manifested in complex ways that cannot be explained by binary relations between any two actors. Closely linked to power are questions of empowerment, a central concern for feminist scholars and closely linked to understandings of the subject and interrogations of voice and agency (Ellsworth, 1989). Many feminist scholars in education base their analyses of power in critical theory. From this perspective, agency is taken as an inherent feature of human existence and it is believed that a committed teacher can “give voice” to marginalized students, or that they can help them find their voice. For, “within the humanist discourses that predominate in the social sciences, agency is synonymous with being a person” (Davies, 2000, p. 55). However, poststructural feminists do not view voice as something that can be given, and they question studies that claim to present the “authentic voices” of participants—“real” thoughts revealed by the “true” self—as well as the idea that the ability to construct coherent, rational stories signifies empowerment. Building on this critique the words of others should neither be forced into linear narratives in which they may not fit, nor should they be presented as anything more than snapshots captured from a situated perspective at one moment in time because people change, relationships shift, and subjectivities are reconfigured in relation to new and constantly evolving circumstances. How can researchers ever know whether or not they are hearing someone’s  “authentic voice” and would they be able to present their own “authentic voice”?  As noted above, Foucault (1990) proposes that power is not bound by the dualistic and negative vision set forth by class-based critical thinkers like Marx (1867/1906) or Freire (1970/2008). Instead, power is understood as a productive force operating from multiple positions (Foucault, 1990; Janks, 2010; St. Pierre, 2000) and producing internal resistance as well as “relationships of force,” such as families and institutions, that “bring about   16 redistributions, realignments, homogenizations, serial arrangements, and convergences in the force relations” (Foucault, 1990, p. 94). Power is always present and circulates in webs of relations and, wherever it is exercised, through different regimes and technologies, it encounters resistance and domination resulting from the internal contradictions and confrontations that work to support a particular hegemonic allignment. This is not to say that power cannot be exercised for negative reasons such as oppressing others. Foucault (1990) sees this manifestation of power as but one of power’s productive possibilities. He views the power nation-states exercise, “sovereign power,” through laws and regulations as one such form of negative, disciplinary power. However, Foucault writes that disciplinary powers work in conjunction with more positive forms of power like “regimes of truth,” mythologies that propagate ideas about nations to which people subscribe; people then self-govern, or self-discipline themselves in order to (appear to) comply with these mythologies. In schools, this may be viewed as the interplay between institutional rules imposed by a school board, implemented and administered by a school’s administration, teachers, and staff, and the ways in which individuals within the school subscribe to those rules through independent actions. This is conceived as “positive power” because it does not require the use of external force to achieve compliance. While this process may not describe something that we customarily view as a “positive” manifestation of power, because it does not bring about the empowerment of different subjects, Foucault’s belief that this is a positive manifestation of power is significant because it reveals the complex ways through which power operates, illustrating the strength of words and ideas. This understanding of power necessitates self-knowledge, the awareness that people participate in the circulation of power.  Foucault (1994) understands government as “the techniques and procedures for directing human behaviour” (p. 81). Therefore, the concept of “government,” in Foucault’s work, is   17 distinct from the duties of running a sovereign state and pertains instead to human engagements. Knowledge of the self and interactions with state and social institutions, other subjects, and discourses are what Foucault (1994) refers to as governmentality. This concept refers to the “techniques of self” through which subjects modify their behaviours in relation to the environments within which they interact with others. Governmentality does not only refer to the ways one regulates one’s own behaviour, “self-discipline” can also be exercised by policing what others say or do. It is “the art of acting on the actions of individuals in order to correct, guide, develop, or shape their behaviours” (Lesko & Talburt, 2012, p. 4). In other words, governmentality encompasses all the ways in which discipline is exercised by subjects who have internalized ideas about the state or society without the need for external powers to impose those ideas on them. Malinda Smith (2010) explains: new governmental rationalities may be internalized and become common sense so that, over time, the governed will come to think of institutionally generated rationalities as self-regulation or self-governance (emphasis in original, p. 44).  Self-governance often comes to be seen as the exercise of free will, but it is the internalization of dominant discourses. This understanding of self-governance is significant to this study because it suggests that individuals are not always free to choose the ways in which they position themselves in relation to discourses of difference. Rather, some acts of self-positioning or self-regulating are articulations of discourses that may serve to reinforce dominant relations.  Governmentality is not something that is implicitly imposed by a ruling body (i.e. a state or a powerful figure); rather, it is the ways in which power operates on individual and subjective levels. The diffuse, non-unitary nature of power is revealed in the fact that it operates “in between” institutions and the people they serve (Foucault, 1994). This can be understood as the   18 ways that subjects self-discipline, exhibiting characteristics that correspond to popular constructions of femininity, in order to fit into normative conceptions of sociability or acceptability. Power, therefore, can be understood as a constantly shifting struggle over the control of the terms of discourse.  Elizabeth St. Pierre (2000) suggests that freedom is not the process of becoming aware of one’s existence, “self-knowledge,” but by resisting the ways in which one has already been defined and classified. Power, or emancipation is found by deconstructing the foundations of discourses that construct an individual as a unitary subject (Davies, 2000). This understanding of power and freedom grounded the pedagogical approach adopted in Rose’s social studies 9 classes, as drama was used to deconstruct the categories of difference present in the curriculum. Self-determination, resistance, and deconstructing the ways in which people have been classified by others reveals the intimate connection between knowledge, discourse, power, and subjectivity.  1.5 Discourse Discourse, Foucault (1969) argues, is everywhere and encompasses everything. More specifically, he writes that discourse is a series of utterances (énoncés) that have been distributed and spread about through language, signs, actions, beliefs, processes and social structures (Foucault, 1969). Discourses cannot be traced to one statement or assertion, but must be taken together with all those that precede and follow. For instance, jokes about particular groups of people are linked to other social discourses that precede them and those that will follow, whether expressed in jest or not. Evaluating the value or humour of the joke rests on how people interpret the ways it engages other discourses. For this reason, Foucault advocates genealogical analyses of discourse in order to illustrate the technologies of power through which discourses are   19 generated and how they are linked to prior ones. Foucault (1969) further elaborates that discourses are complex systems that circulate systematically in society in order to bring sets of repeatable relations into existence. Certain images, words, and movements are repeated in systematic ways that structures the relations between people and objects and the relationships that differently positioned people can have with each other. For instance, ideas about Canada as an inclusive society that respects individual rights and freedoms are written into the legal text of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms (1982). As was the case in Rose’s classroom, the Charter is often hung on the walls of social studies classrooms and referred to in teaching, perpetuating the idea that Canadians respect difference—the existence of the text serves as evidence of this “fact.” Highlighting the Charter serves to signal to students that they are all equal, respected, and that they have recourse to protection under Canadian law; however, it does not acknowledge the discrimination that many students experience nonetheless as a result of their affiliation or a perceived affiliation with marginalized groups. Discourses, then, are intrinsically linked to power, circulating within complex relations of power, whilst also producing them.  Analytic process, according to Foucault (1969), is a particularly interesting element of discourse, as the analysis of one discourse can reveal others that might have otherwise been hidden. Foucault contends that analyses of particular discourses must carefully examine the contexts in which they emerge and ask why that particular discourse surfaced over all the others that could have taken its place. Therefore, close attention to context is necessary for producing rich discursive analyses in a particular setting. For this reason, the data presented in this dissertation are provided with a concerted effort to explain the context out of which they emerged. However, Foucault insists that this work is interpretive and dependent upon the analyst and their decisions. Accordingly, analysis is but another construction among socially constructed   20 circumstances and relations. Self-conscious presentations and analyses of the researcher’s role in co-constructing data can, therefore, be useful in situating discursive analyses. The analyst is an active subject in the production and circulation of discourse, much as the analyst and research participants’ subjectivities are also constructed and contested through discourse. Therefore, a discursive analysis is itself an exercise in power. Highlighting the analyst’s power in discourse analysis is significant because it makes explicit the fact that the analysis presented in this dissertation stems as much from the subject positions I took up in relation to the data as it does from the data itself. A Foucauldian approach to discourse analysis also reveals the importance of considering impact of wider social contexts in analyses of discursive practices in classrooms and school settings.  1.6 Subjectivity Feminist scholars who draw on Foucault’s work reject the unified, rational subject of the Enlightenment (Davies, 2000). Critiques of how ideas about reason and rationality, inherent in humanism, position irrationality as its binary opposite lie at the heart of their deconstructions of patriarchy. These scholars ponder the historical effects of reason and rationality, and question how these constructs have worked to marginalize women and non-dominant racial and ethnic groups (St. Pierre, 2000). Because irrationality is traditionally presented as a female characteristic (Davies, 2000; St. Pierre, 2000; Weedon, 1987), the binary opposition set-up between rationality and irrationality positions women as the Other of the rational, unitary subject. In other words, women do not get to be the subject of humanism because they lack the fundamental characteristic of subjecthood: reason (Minh-Ha, 1989; St. Pierre, 2000). Therefore, for these scholars, the struggle for subject status must not remain the condition for empowerment. Gaining recognition as a subject is an insufficient grounds for judging   21 “empowerment” because it restricts women and other “Others” by forcing them into humanist understandings of rationality and subjecthood, which deliberately place women and Others on the outside.  Feminists gathered under the poststructural umbrella have gone to lengths to overcome the perception that this imagination of empowerment brings about the “death of the subject” (Davies, 2000; McLeod, 2008; St. Pierre, 2000), particularly because poststructuralism gained popularity at a time when women and other marginalized groups had finally found ways of making their plight visible, or “voicing” their oppression (Henry, 2006; Hill Collins, 2000; McLeod, 2008). The difficulty was that letting go of the subject could undermine the strides made by various anti-oppression movements by claiming subjecthood. Bronwyn Davies (2000) explains that the “original” poststructural writers, like Foucault (who rejected the poststructural mantle), did not “abandon the human subject, though they made that subject problematic” (p. 136). Judith Butler (1990/2006) has made similar arguments about her own work.  Rather than abandoning the subject, poststructural theories reconceive it as a social construction that is constantly evolving and in process (Davies, 2000). Chris Weedon (1987) explains that thinking in terms of “subjectivity” is to think about the “conscious and unconscious thoughts and emotions of the individual, her sense of herself and her ways of understanding her relation to the world” (p. 32). In other words, subjectivity is how individuals situate themselves in relations to various social, economic, legal, and historical powers. What we define as “identity” are constructions and imaginations that are largely based on an individual’s narrative, as well as on the social constructions that surround them and the relations in which they are entangled. This reconceptualization questions the idea of a fundamental essence to human experience (Davies, 2000), thus rejecting the primordial importance placed on consciousness in   22 much critical theory. Instead, poststructural feminists posit that there exists “a gamut of possibilities for subjectivity” (Henry, 2006, p. 286). These subjectivities involve the interplay of conscious and subconscious drives, such as desires (Tuck, 2010) and other forces imperceptible to outside observers. These ideas about subjectivity are important because Rose’s Grade 9 students were constantly negotiating and articulating, or re-articulating, their subjectivities through their interactions with each other, their work in class, and the interviews they granted me. Providing a glimpse of the ways the youth positioned themselves helps to shed light on the possibilities that were and were not open for their particular subjectivities. While the possibilities proposed by poststructural feminist articulations of subjectivity appeal to my desires for restructuring discourses of difference and forging new relations, it is possible that these endless possibilities are only available to some. 1.7 Categories of Difference My theorizing about and with difference is informed by scholars who explore its discursive production, as well as that of the nation, the colonial subject, and its Others (Bhabha, 1994/2004; Stoler & Cooper, 1997; Hall, 1997). This literature considers how some characteristics (e.g. White, middle class, and male) came to be constructed as the norm, whereas others (e.g. Indigenous, Black, lower class, and female) were considered irrational and inferior deviations in the colonial imaginary. Much of this work builds upon Fanon’s (1952/1970) thesis that Black men (his term) are not only Black, but also “must be black in relation to the white man” (p. 77). As Fuss (1994) writes, racial Others come to embody difference and the fantasies of White men. The construction of a colonial center—previously defined as modern European or Western nations—could not exist without its Others (Fuss, 1994). Yet, once colonized peoples were defined as such, “his or her difference had to be defined and maintained” (Stoler & Cooper,   23 1997, p. 7). Fuss (1994) adds that using “Other” as shorthand to indicate the production of difference precludes the possibility that there are "other Others -- subjects who do not quite fit into the rigid boundary definitions of (dis)similitude, or who indeed may be left out of the Self/Other binary altogether" (p. 22). Discursive analyses of the production of difference under colonialism thus paved the way for understanding the constructs of self and Other as shifting ideas, the meanings of which are never fixed (Hall, 1997). These postcolonial understandings of the construction of difference are central to my study, because they inform my view that the construction and maintenance of differences are important to the ways people identify and how societies organize. This in turn fuelled my curiosity about how such categories are created, reinforced, and resisted in a Francophone minority language school. However, Hall’s (1997) theorizing about race and the self and Other also acknowledges that categories are not stable. In this study, I take the approach that discourses of difference, such as those of nation, language, race, class, gender, and sexuality are always present in the classroom, even when students do not have diverse racial, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds (Schick & St. Denis, 2005). It appears that once there are bodies in the room that can be easily identified as “different”—though we must question the criteria on which such judgments are based—we become concerned about the reproduction of nationalist, racist, classist, and sexist ideas. This focus on “bodies of difference” (Ahmed, 2009) is problematic as it requires particular bodies to represent difference and speak for it, while ignoring the invisible differences (e.g. class, sexuality, ethnicity) within seemingly homogenous groups of students. This may limit understandings about the reproduction of categories of difference in schools as something that only occurs when differently positioned students interact, as opposed to something that also occurs when there is an attempt to create a collective identity.    24 As with any interactions that occur in social settings, many categories of difference are significant to the setting under investigation in this study. Below, I define three categories of different that are significant to this study: race, gender, and youth. While I limit my focus to these three categories, I am not suggesting that these categories do not intersect with others, particularly class or nation. Indeed, my theoretical framework and analysis indicate how categories of difference are deeply entangled and mutually defining. 1.7.1 Race and Racialization Following Hall (1996), race is understood as a “floating signifier” and is but one discursive category that emerged during the Modern era, a time characterized by European colonialism and imperialism, to classify people according to a system of difference that placed White Europeans on top. Europeans were positioned as the model of “civilization” and everyone else was inferior. Yon (2000) writes: “modernist obsessions with classification and ordering [was] a strategy for control” (p. 10). Hence, although race is understood as a floating signifier, it is also “a constructed category that justifies dominance and privilege and other forms of oppression” (Battiste, 2013, p. 125). The establishment of the category of race was an exercise in positive power (Foucault, 1990), as it created ideas about racial differences that European colonial subjects internalized and used to justify the use of negative, disciplinary power against those they colonized. As a signifier, race has no predetermined meaning. Rather, sense emerges through the meaning-making function of language, which is largely dependent on history and culture. Therefore, because cultures constantly evolve, the meaning of a signifier can never be “finally fixed” (Hall, 1997). Winant (2004) elaborates:    25 Race is a concept that signifies and symbolizes sociopolitical conflicts and interests in reference to different types of human bodies. Although the concept of race appeals to biologically based human characteristics (so-called phenotypes), selection of these particular human features for purposes of racial signification is always and necessarily a social and historical process (emphasis in original, p. X).  Race is thus a historically and politically constructed category that is used to produce ideas about difference, cued by visible signs that are arbitrarily selected, and becoming the basis by which to classify, repress, and control people. James (2007) adds that racial identities are forever evolving as individuals construct and reconstruct their identifications amid changing cultural and structural circumstances. These understandings inform the perspective brought to this study. Notably, categories of difference, such as race, can and do change over time and in different social circumstances. Acknowledging the instability of race is not meant to deny the persistence of ideas about race and the material impacts that such ideas have on individuals and for the ways societies organize (Hall in Jhally, 1997). In fact, concepts of race are deeply ingrained and integral to the ways that individuals interact with one another and to their interactions with institutions. Racialization is a social and historical process that is brought about through the interplay between discursive practices and established material social structures (Omi & Winant, 1994). It refers to the practices through which individuals and institutions come to be associated with racial groups based on physical characteristics, social practices, and identifications. While the interplay between discursive practices and material structures is generally acknowledged as the process of racialization, the way this concept is taken up differs significantly across different contexts. In Canada, recent theorizations emphasize the ways in which all people are racialized   26 (Rogers, 2014) by and through procedures set-up under the country’s colonial regime in order to subordinate Aboriginal people and maintain the White settler image of the nation (Battiste, 2013; Simpson, James, & Mack, 2011). This conceptualization of racialization is advanced in an effort to highlight how the social processes involved in racialization work on everyone and render visible those whose race is constructed as the invisible norm in Canada’s White settler society.  Racism has been variously defined across different locations and different times. Grosfoguel defines it as:  a global hierarchy of human superiority and inferiority politically, culturally and economically produced and reproduced for centuries by the institution of the ‘capitalist/patriarchal western-centric/Christian-centric modern/colonial world-system’ (Grosfoguel cited in Grosfoguel, Oso & Christou, 2014, p.2). From this broad definition, racisms are the processes of categorizing human beings established during the imperial project of colonialism and through which people who are racialized as non-White continue to be subjected to discriminatory policies and practices. This differs from commonplace understandings of racism as overt actions that reassert White dominance in accordance with this classificatory system. Racism is a powerful ideology that has justified, and continues to justify, innumerable acts of discrimination, violence and policies carried out against Indigenous and racially marginalized groups around the world (Razack, Smith & Thobani, 2010). These concrete actions that have significant material consequences have been carried out in the name of ideas about race that necessitate the fluidity of racial identifiers. This dissertation explores how popular ideas about race as a stable and unchanging biological fact persist among youth in a Francophone minority language school. This widely discredited understanding of race remains in place in spite of the prevalence of students with mixed heritage in the school and how   27 the students often questioned simplistic racial representations. Specifically, throughout the dissertation I examine how the youth participating in this study are acutely aware of the existence of racism, sometimes experiencing it themselves, yet they struggled to identify racism in the discursive and representational practices they engaged in. Whiteness and Supremacy as Products of Racial Thinking As a study undertaken by a White researcher who collaborated with a White teacher and that investigates discourses of difference relating to race, this project must also provide a discussion and analysis of whiteness. According to Leonardo (2002), “‘whiteness’ is a racial discourse” (p. 31) that should not to be confused with the socially constructed category of “White people.” Scholarship on whiteness “is an assault on the socially constructed and constantly reinforced power of white identifications and interests” (Gillborn citing Ladson-Billings & Tate, 2005/2009, p. 54). Building on the work of Ruth Frankenberg (1993), David Roediger (1992), and Leonardo (2000), David Gillborn (2005/2009) defines three central features of whiteness. First, whiteness is an unwillingness to name racism and the ways in which White people are complicit in it. Second, it is the ways in which White people avoid naming their membership to a racial or ethnic group, making ethnicity the domain of Others. Gillborn explains that whiteness has been naturalized because it is not presented as belonging to one group; rather, it is the neutral norm against which all others deviate. Third, whiteness often minimizes racist legacies so as to argue that past wrongs are something that racialized groups should “get over,” as though there were no contemporary material inequities and policies resulting from societies structured around old ideas about race.  Accepting these features of whiteness, I add that another inherited from the imperialist impulse that propelled European colonialism (Said, 1979; Stoler, 1995), is the practice of naming   28 and labeling of Others. This feature is linked to Gillborn’s (2005/2009) second and third features; however, it differs in the fact that it is a repeated cultural habit of naming and classifying those perceived to diverge from the unnamed White norm. This study sheds light on how the students, their teacher, and I engaged in such practices as we worked together throughout the year and how this was linked to the perpetuation of whiteness a dominant discourse in education.    Picking up on the centrality of dominance, Leonardo (2004/2009) argues that critical explorations of White privilege ought to be accompanied by explorations of White supremacy. Examining how privilege characterizes whiteness and is intertwined with supremacy is central to any work on discourses of difference. White subjects hold privileges as a result of being constructed as such and often lack knowledge about the extent of their racial privilege. Moreover, Leonardo adds: “despite the fact that white racial domination precedes us, whites daily recreate it on both the individual and institutional level” (Leonardo, 2004/2009, p. 263). This idea highlights the ways in which the youth who participated in this study, Rose, and I participated in reasserting whiteness in the social studies classroom, even as we endeavoured to critically deconstruct it. Indigeneity, Imperialism and Race The concept of indigeneity is significant to this study because this work is situated in British Columbia, on unceded lands and the concepts that were was present in the Grade 9 social studies curriculum and in Rose’s classroom. I understand indigeneity as a discourse of difference that is related to, but distinct from race. In Canada the term Aboriginal is used to designate the First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples of Canada (Little Bear, 2009). This term is sometimes   29 used interchangeably with the term Indigenous, as it is throughout this dissertation. Smith (1999) writes:  ‘Indigenous peoples’ is a relatively recent term that emerged in the 1970s out of the struggles primarily of the American Indian Movement (AIM), and the Canadian Indian Brotherhood. It is a term that internationalizes the experiences, the issues and the struggles of some of the world’s colonized peoples” (p. 7).  In other words, Indigenous encompasses a larger group than the term Aboriginal, and signifies common experiences of colonization shared by Indigenous peoples around the world. Smith notes that the plural form “Indigenous peoples” is insisted upon in order to represent the diversity and the large number groups encompased by the term. The term has been used to garner symbolic political presence internationally as a way to help local Indigenous groups fight against the oppressions they face. However, while the term has political strength, it is also problematic because it subsumes all varieties and different experiences of imperialism found in different places, with different colonizers, at different times (Smith, 1999).  According to Smith (1999) and Brayboy (2005), to be Indigenous is to have a history in a particular place, and to be able to trace one’s lineage back to people who lived in various parts of the world before the advent of European imperial expansion. Smith (1999) writes that there is no separating the experiences of contemporary Indigenous peoples from imperialism because, “imperialism frames the indigenous experience” (p. 19). Therefore, there are clear links between colonization and Indigenous peoples. Among other reasons, this is why the concept of indigeneity is also linked to a politics characterized by a struggle for self-determination (Battiste, 2013; Brayboy, 2005; Smith, 1999). Culture, which includes ritual and ceremony, and language are understood to be central to Indigenous identities and ways of knowing. Culture has   30 sometimes been explained as values, customs and paradigms about what is known about the world (Little Bear, 2009). This vision is inherently linked to Indigenous knowledge, which has been articulated as relational, centering the connection between all living beings.  Recognizing the situated nature of Indigenous knowledge and cultures, scholars like Delugan (2010) critique fixed notions of Indigenous cultures and argue for a more open and flexible conception of culture that accounts for changes and adaptations within Indigenous communities around the world. In her work on the transnational migration of Indigenous peoples, Delugan (2010) writes: “[t]hroughout the idiom of indigeneity, a shared discourse recognizes that the Other, though different, is like one’s self and that all people are meaningfully related to each other in an animated, spirit-filled world” (p. 86). Some shared underlying Indigenous spiritual and philosophical principles can work as a unifying force among diverse Indigenous communities and in spite of different histories, shifting practices and relationships. However, sharing some beliefs does not prevent the tensions that can emerge when working to find common ground. The term indigeneity, therefore, is not synonymous with race. However, because indigeneity is deeply intertwined with imperialism and colonization, it is also linked to European/settler ideas about race. As Battiste (2013) writes: “racial difference and superiority became the ideological handmaidens of European slavery, imperialism, and colonialism” (p. 131). The superiority of White Europeans was firmly asserted as part of the colonial enterprise and European beliefs about race and racialization are deeply embedded in Canada’s history and in curricula across the country (Battiste, 2013). While Indigenous does not refer to a “race,” Indigenous peoples have been racialized and experience racism on a regular basis. In addition, schools are institutions charged with socializing individuals to the values and culture of the state   31 (Battiste, 2013; Bourdieu, 1995; James, 2001) and they often perpetuate the idea that Indigenous ways of knowing and being are incompatible with Canadian values (Battiste, 2013). A framework that is informed, in part, by Indigenous scholars can help to identify the ways in which indigeneity and race intersect and the ways in which colonial ideals and interests are reinscribed in classrooms. Furthermore, there are increasing calls to rethink anti-racism through the lens of indigeneity in Canada (Dua, 2008; Simpson, James & Mack, 2011) and conversely to think about the ways Aboriginal people might benefit from critical race analyses (St. Denis, 2007). Because discourses of race and indigeneity predominantly surfaced when the students were engaged in discussions about Indigenous peoples in Rose’s classroom, this dissertation analyzes these discourses from a perspective that is informed by critical theories of race and indigeneity.  1.7.2 Gender  Gender is indivisible from race in the sense that gender always intersects other social factors (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981). Its analysis, therefore, cannot be undertaken without consideration of gender and the ways in which race, gender, and sexuality are entangled. Drawing on Judith Butler’s (1990/2006; 1993) work, gender is understood as a socially and discursively constructed category that is performative, in that it is brought about through repetition and ritual (Butler, 1990/2006). Building on the work of other feminists who challenge the binary relationship between men and women and question how “womanhood” can be expressed differently (de Beauvoir, 1973; Riley, 1988; Wittig, 1997), Butler explains that the anticipation of male and female characters bring about their existence; “what we take to be an internal essence of gender is manufactured through a sustained set of acts, posited through the gendered stylization of the body” (1990/2006, p. XV). This articulation of gender seeks to   32 separate it from biological sex in order to illustrate that there are no essentially “male” or “female” characteristics, and show that there is in fact no need for biological concordance in order for a person to identify as male or female.  Butler (1990/2006) argues that gender is performed on the body through public acts, challenging the notion that gender is innate and something that exists internally to individuals. Butler writes that when the innate nature of gender is exposed as a fabrication that plays out on external bodies “it seems that genders can be neither true nor false, but are only produced as the truth effects of a discourse of primary and stable identity” (p. 186). In this way, Butler’s work also critiques the concept of a unitary or stable subject and has made significant contributions to contemporary understandings of gender. Butler’s writing has also added new insight to arguments about the performative nature of categories of difference such as gender and race in recent scholarship. She writes: “gender is an identity tenuously constituted in time, instituted in exterior space through a stylized repetition of acts” (1990/2006, p. 191). What this means is that various acts like speech acts or gestures are important because they bring certain relations into existence; they produce effects by reinforcing or repeating discourses and performative acts that have accumulated over time (Ruitenberg, 2008). Ruitenberg (2008) explains that Butler’s elaboration of performativity does not mean that sovereign actors deliberately enact, or perform certain identities; rather, the things individuals say and do contribute to the accumulation of discursive norms and productions in order to bring certain identities into being. Gender was an important social category for the youth who participated in this study and it often intersected race in their descriptions of their social practices. It also informed much of what the youth did and how they behaved. For these reasons, Butler’s notion of performativity has been useful to my analysis of the maintenance of categories of difference in this school.    33 Explaining how power is implicated in creating the idea that gender categories ought to match biological sex and a sexual desire for those of the opposite sex, Butler (1990/2006) writes:  The institution of a compulsory and naturalized heterosexuality requires and regulates gender as a binary relation in which the masculine term is differentiated from a feminine term, and this differentiation is accomplished through the practices of heterosexual desire (2006/1990, p. 31).  The discourse of heteronormativity is an organizing discourse in contemporary North American society, the coherence of biological anatomy and gender are taken as a norm and sexual desire for those of the “opposite sex” are presented as scientifically natural. This normative, yet invisible, construction of gender and heterosexual desire operates in a similar manner to the way that whiteness is forever present, but rendered invisible by its naturalization and “unmarkedness.” So-called “difference,” the practices and bodies which are perceived as deviating from heterosexual norms are “marked” and remarked upon in order to govern or discipline their non-conformism.  1.7.3 Youth As with all discursively produced categories of difference, the category “youth” has had varying material consequences for those who bear this label and the schools and teachers charged with educating them (Lesko, 1996). In Canada, being between the ages of twelve and twenty-five is often sufficient criteria for being labeled a “youth.” Attending a secondary school solidifies this categorization and, formally, the government esteems that people reach adulthood at the age of eighteen. Complicating matters, the government, insurance companies, and many non-governmental organizations also label people between the ages of eighteen and thirty as “youth” for the sake of providing various social services and employment initiatives. “Youth” is thus   34 another “floating signifier” (Hall, 1997) and teenagers cannot be assumed to be the only ones who populate the category of youth (Rogers, Winters, Perry & LaMonde, 2015). These varying practices also highlight some of the economic and social challenges faced by many youth in Canada, such as underemployment, inadequate housing, and uncertain access to quality education (Gallagher, 2014).  As an identifier, youth is prized, idolized, and heavily policed in contemporary North American settler culture. Consumer capitalism aggressively encourages adults to “stay young” and maintain a youthful appearance. The vigor and vitality of youth are thus celebrated even as young people are pervasively constructed as being “at risk” or dangerous in the media, in psychology, and often in education (Coffey, Budgeon & Cahill, 2016; Gallagher, 2015; James, 2013; Lesko, 1996). These paradoxical representations illustrate how youth are commonly conceived as contradictions. Nancy Lesko (1996) argues that youth “occupy border zones between the mythic poles of adult/child, sexual/asexual, rational/emotional, civilized/savage, and productive/unproductive” (p. 455). Constructed as such, youth are thus placed under the tutelage of adults. This subservience to adults renders youth unable—misconstrued as incapable—of making important decisions about their lives and bodies. Lesko adds that predominant discourses of youth present them as being in need of protection and education.  There are similarities between masculinist and racializing discourses of the colonial era and those used to describe youth (Lesko, 1996). Lesko argues that scientific adolescence was defined in the United States under the same imperial impulses that created modern conceptions of gender and race. Because scientific communities of the time were interested in development and becoming, adolescence was presented as a time when individuals and societies grew into the final state of being fully “developed.” Therefore, youth are perceived as needing adult protection   35 because they are “at risk” of falling prey to a range of social ills (Coffey, Budgeon & Cahill, 2016). However, some argue that “at risk” discourses surrounding youth should to be reframed as discourses about the “risky societies” societies of late modernity, characterized by increasing economic and social instability, the pressures of which are intensified for youth whose subjectivities do not conform to dominant norms in intersecting categories of race, class, and gender (Coffey, Budgeon & Cahill, 2016). Amid neoliberal policies and ideologies, structural problems have been re-positioned as independent “issues” that people must overcome on their own. Youth are responsible for the problems they face, which is complicated by their construction as immature and liminal beings for the last two centuries.  Researchers working with youth argue that it is important to trouble the problematic ways the bodies and decision-making capacities of youth have been conceptualized and argue that youth must be recognized as complex, capable, and thoughtful participants or collaborators in research (Gallagher, 2014; Wager, 2014). Complexity, slippage, and instability are key to providing more nuanced representations of youth, and other categories of difference, in research. While most participants in this study identified as youth or teenagers, they played varying roles in their families and respective communities, including some that might be viewed as “adult roles.” Moreover, these “youth” articulated complex ideas throughout the year and thought critically about their schooling, social behaviours, and society. In this dissertation, I try to capture some of this diversity and complexity in order to resist representing the participating youth as belonging to one all-encompassing category.   1.8 Conclusion The theoretical framework designed for this dissertation purposely draws from different fields in order to explore the how the Grade 9 students at École Gustave-Flaubert used discourses   36 of difference and were constituted by them (Foucault, 1990) in their identifications, social interactions, classes, and drama activities. Engaging with ideas about subjectivity, fluid categories of difference, and the possibility of simultaneous and multiple belongings enables this project to capture and analyze the complexity of the research site and the subjectivities of the youth who participated in this study. Drawing on critical race studies and Indigenous perspectives necessitates a consideration of the material conditions and relations that are produced by discursive categories and the impacts these have on peoples’ lives. Furthermore, while Foucault’s (1980; 1990) ideas about power propose that it is constantly shifting, this perspective does not deny the possibility that power can be used to maintain dominance.     Chapter 2 will situate this study in literature on schooling in Francophone minority language schools, on diversity and inclusion in Canadian education, and in drama-in-education. Chapter 3 explains how the concepts presented in this chapter have been taken up methodologically, and how they helped to create the analytic frame that was used in this dissertation. Chapter 4 presents how race talk emerged at Gustave-Flaubert, by examining the ways the youth used racial humour in their social interactions in class, out-of-class, and in the spaces in-between, and how this humour was a form of governmentality that restricted what students said and how they could identify. This chapter also explores why the youth perceived race talk as an unauthorized discourse at the school and presents their ideas about how questions of race should be discussed with friends and at school. Chapter 5 further examines the ways that race mattered at Gustave-Flaubert by focusing on the Grade 9 students’ identifications. It analyzes how these identifications revealed the slippery nature of categories of difference by showing intersections between categories of gender, race, and class. Chapter 6 presents how DiE was used as (post)critical pedagogy in Rose’s social studies classes and the opportunities for   37 learning that this approach created. This chapter also analyzes how drama work facilitated the creation of liminal spaces in the classroom in which informal discourses of race began to emerge. Chapter 7 concludes by highlighting the key findings of this study and proposing areas for future research, including the challenges of exploring race in Francophone minority contexts and how DiE may not be an ideal method for exploring difference in the classroom.   38 Chapter 2: A Review of Research in Francophone Minority Language Schools, Diversity and Inclusion, and Drama This chapter situates the study within the literature on Francophone minority language education in Canada, by focusing specifically on how these schools are particularly situated within discourses on multiculturalism and bilingualism in Canada. This chapter also presents how demographic changes within Francophone minority language schools have been taken up in research in this area. Second, this chapter presents how myths of diversity and inclusion in Canadian schools have been examined by educational researchers. Particular attention is paid to the role that research with youth racialized as non-White and from diverse linguistic backgrounds have exposed the fallacy of seamless integration. Finally, a brief review of literature in drama-in-education (DiE) and how it this work has come to be seen as a (post)critical, embodied, and liminal pedagogical approach. This section presents why this project offers a timely intervention in the field by exploring the ways that differently positioned students interact in drama and how they are positioned by drama work done in the classroom. 2.1 Francophone Minority Language Schooling in Canada  As noted in Chapter 1, education plays an important role in nation-building processes by promoting the culture and values of the state. In Canada, language has played an equally significant, interesting, and contentious part in nation-building because of the ways that language rights have been negotiated in order to accommodate different linguistic and cultural groups. This has primarily occurred through negotiations between the two colonizing groups: the English and French. Some enduring impacts of these negotiations are the federal government’s Official Languages Act (Canadian Department of Justice, 1985) that established English and French as   39 the country’s two official languages and rights to education in both throughout the country, as stipulated by the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (1982). Importantly, this is not necessarily the case in Quebec, as the province has not signed the Charter. There is increasing awareness and mobilization surrounding the role that Canadian nation-building/colonization, particularly in relation to language policies, has played in the attrition of Aboriginal languages and cultures (Battiste, 2013). Claims to equal language rights are at the center of Aboriginal cultural revitalization movements across the country. Similarly, the possibility of immersion education in other languages is being pursued by other linguistic groups in Canada (Swain & Lapkin, 2005). Clearly, the establishment of language policies and the right to Francophone minority language education in Canada has not been innocent, and is directly involved in the establishment of social and linguistic hierarchies. This is important because Francophone minoritiy communities occupy a privileged place in Canada as a result of this legislation, one these communities vigorously  protect and defend. One of the causes of social inequity stems from the fact that sovereign power (Foucault, 1990) provides protections and validates claims to majority or minority status, whereas the same technique of power prohibits others from making such claims. These concerns have transcended recent work on citizenship rights, which call into question the idea that marginalized groups have access to full and equal privileges of citizenship in Canada (Battiste, 2013; Cooper, 2012; Razack, 2010). The policies that enabled the establishment of Francophone schools in Canada, outside Quebec are inseparable from a nation-building project that sought to protect the privileged status of French and English groups. Eve Haque (2012) suggests that the discourses around language in the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism (1963-69), which led to the establishment of French and English as the official languages of Canada:   40 provide a convenient basis for racial differentiation because, even as the universal nature of language is claimed, the deterministic and immutable origins of separate language provide the basis for dividing and hierarchicalizing groups of people along cultural and racialized lines. (p. 15)  Whereas the Commission attempts to establish language as a universal, ideas about each language being distinct and originating in different locations sets up conditions for thinking about a language as having one point of origin. It follows that the dialect spoken in this point of origin would be pure, whereas others are presented as being mere variations. Hence, the hierarchizing Haque refers to along racialized and cultural lines. In their separate analyses of Canadian multiculturalism, Himani Bannerji (2000) and Haque (2012) write that the term “multicultural” subsumes all people identified as non-White and non-native speakers of English or French into one all-encompassing category. This monolithic group has little political power because their particular linguistic, cultural, and racial rights are not protected in the language of the policy (Bannerji, 2000; Haque, 2012; James, 2001). The Royal commissioners established a hierarchy of languages, maintaining that English and French should be the only official languages of schooling in Canada while allowing for the possibility of learning other languages in public schools (Beynon, Dagenais, Ilieva, LaRoque, 2005; Haque, 2012).  Although Francophone and Acadian minority language communities have been legally privileged by the Charter and other policies that established the equality of French and the rights of linguistic minority groups, Francophone communities have nonetheless engaged in lengthy, concerted, and sometimes coordinated legal challenges in order to secure substantive minority rights (Landry, Allard & Deveau, 2007), ensure the regeneration of their communities, and   41 obtain school governance across the country (Behiels, 2004). Moreover, because the policies asserting the equality of the French language are federal, each province sets its own laws and implements different practices for servicing Francophone minority populations (Landry, Allard & Deveau, 2007). The challenges of maintaining Francophone cultures in anglo-dominant Canada, surrounded by the United States—a substantial exporter of English popular culture—are well-founded (Behiels, 2004). For decades Francophone communities in and outside Quebec have struggled to find solutions to the dilemma of encouraging the continued use and growth of French in North America amid the dominance of English in a large part of the continent (Spanish is the second most spoken language, after English, in North America). In Quebec, this resulted in the controversial Charter of the French Language (Bill 101) (1977), asserting the preeminence of French in the province and, among other policies, extending as far as regulating the size of text that must be used for French and English signs in public places. Outside Quebec, this dilemma has been addressed, in part, by seeking the creation of Francophone minority language schools and school boards and autonomy over their governance (Behiels, 2004; Beynon et al., 2005; Landry, Allard & Deveau, 2007) because schools are viewed as key sites for forging a sense of linguistic and cultural belonging and resisting linguistic assimilation (Heller cited in Levasseur, 2016). In British Columbia, the Conseil scolaire francophone de la Colombie-Britannique (heretofore referred to as the CSF) and Francophone parents’ associations throughout the province have continued to pursue their childrens’ rights to equal education in French through political mobilization and litigation, which has resulted in several cases against the province being heard by the Supreme Court of Canada (Conseil scolaire francophone, 2016). Therefore, the challenges of asserting and obtaining minority language rights persist in the province and are far from being resolved.     42 Several studies have examined the place of multiculturalism and multilingualism in minority language contexts (Dagenais, 2013; Heller, 1999, 2003: Jacquet, Moore, Sabatier, & Massinda, 2008; Levasseur, 2016; Sabatier, 2010); however, few have specifically explored how these issues are entangled with racialization in Francophone schools (for exceptions see, Carlson-Berg, 2010, 2011; Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Jacquet, 2009; Ibrahim, 1999; Schroeter, 2013; Schroeter & James, 2015). Ideas about multiculturalism and the increasing diversity of students in Francophone schools sit uncomfortably with their purpose of maintaining a cultural identity as Francophones. Monica Heller (2003) writes that Francophones have been hesitant about embracing multiculturalism because it creates the possibility that they will lose their position as a founding group in Canada and threatens their identification as a “colonized people,” following the defeat of the French by the British army in 1759. Conflicting discourses of multiculturalism and Francophone cultural identities thus circulate simultaneously within Francophone schools (Heller, 1999; Schroeter & James, 2015; Levasseur, 2016). This creates interesting conundrums for students and teachers whose identities are not based on a sense of belonging to historical Francophone groups in Canada. Changing demographics in Francophone communities in British Columbia and other provinces have meant that minority language schools must now contend with issues related to increasing diversity. Initially, Francophone minority language schools serviced a student population that hailed predominantly from Québécois and French backgrounds (Heller, 2003; Levasseur, 2012). As a result, Francophone schools have traditionally focused on French language teaching and the political investment of parent associations have been grounded in advocating for linguistic minority rights (Gérin-Lajoie, 1995; Heller, 2003; Jacquet, 2009; Madibbo, 2007). In recent years this has created some tension within Francophone schools, as   43 increasing attendance by students whose parents immigrated from other parts of the world francophonie has complicated understandings of Francophone cultures (Levasseur, 2016; Prasad, 2012). This has also created a “double minority” position for those racialized as non-White (Prasad, 2012; Madibbo, 2007), as they are both a minority in terms of language and race within Francophone communities. In British Columbia, an influx of students arriving from sub-Saharan Africa since the late 1990s has brought to the fore issues related to ethnic, linguistic, and cultural diversity within CSF schools (Moore, Sabatier, Jacquet, & Massinda, 2008). Further complicating matters, the growth of Francophone minority communities is now largely dependent on international immigration (Statistics Canada, 2011b). Gail Prasad (2012) notes that the inclusion immigrant and non-native speakers of French into Francophone minority communities has been paradoxically presented as a challenge for Francophone schools, all the while factoring into their continued growth. Consistent with trends across Canada (Statistics Canada, 2011c), there has been an increase in children from mixed unions in Francophone schools. (“Mixed unions” refers to unions between two people from different ethnic or racial backgrounds, though Statistics Canada recognizes that other kinds of mixed unions exist). In the past two census studies (Statistics Canada, 2006, 2011c), British Columbia exceeds the national average in the number of mixed unions. This is reflected in the composition of families sending their children to CSF schools, which hold a reputation, among parents, as being more diverse than comparable schools in the province. As a result of these changes, teachers and administrators in the CSF have been searching for ways to make the curriculum relevant to students of varied backgrounds and life experiences (Jacquet et al., 2008; Schroeter & James, 2015). However, much of the research conducted in   44 minority language Francophone schools has focused primarily on linguistic identity and cultural integration from the perspectives of parents, teachers, and community workers (Jacquet et al., 2008). Few studies have considered these issues from the perspective of students or examined how other categories of difference intersect with ideas about language and culture (for exceptions see Carlson Berg, 2010, 2011; Heller, 2003; Ibrahim, 2000; Schroeter, 2009). Marianne Jacquet (2009) writes that although educators in English schools in British Columbia are willing to name race and acknowledge that it impacts student experiences, such awareness is not present in the discourses of teachers or research conducted in the province's Francophone schools.  This presents an interesting dilemma for Francophone minority language education in the British Columbia, given the diversity of students now attending schools in the CSF. How can these schools meet the needs of all their students without naming race? This study sought to have the Grade 9 students at Gustave-Flaubert name their identifications without placing particular emphasis on language in order to uncover the categories they deemed important to their experiences. Furthermore, this study fills a gap in existing literature by exploring how the youth took up and resisted categories of difference in their identifications, social interactions, and in their social studies classes and by specifically exploring intersections of race, indigeneity, gender, and class against the backdrop of linguistic minority status.  2.2 The Myth of Diversity and Inclusion in Canadian Schools  Diversity and inclusion emerge as prized Canadian values in educational research as a result of how pervasive these ideas are found in the literature (Carlson Berg, 2011; Prasad, 2012). What is meant by “diversity” or “inclusion” is not always clear. Both are umbrella terms that have been used to refer to differences of ethnicity, culture, race, socioeconomic class,   45 religion, gender, sexuality, language, physical and intellectual ability, and creating an environment in which all are represented and able to participate safely. Such values reflect those expressed by the Charter of Rights and Freedoms (1982) and the Multiculturalism Act (Canadian Department of Justice, 1988). The latter was meant to establish the political and legal framework intended to recognize and promote the cultural and racial diversity of Canada, as well as protecting the rights of Canadians regardless of their cultural, ethnic, or racial heritage. However, by not addressing race directly (James, 2010) multiculturalism perpetuates the myth that harmony and racial equity exist. The policy has been widely critiqued by scholars who note how it: perpetuates colonialism, defines a cultural core to which other cultures are merely “added,” creates competition between different ethnic groups as they vie for political power, overemphasizes culture at the expense of recognizing and combatting racism, and has resulted in problematic displays of cultural food and folklore in ways that racialize difference (Bannerji, 2000; Dei, 2007; Gunew, 2004; Henry, 2012; James, 2010; Kubota, 2015; Taucar, 2009; Wright, Singh, & Race, 2012). Moreover, it provides a powerful discourse that minimizes calls for anti-colonial approaches to state relations and claims of racism (Simpson, James & Mack, 2011). This discourse and the myth of inclusive education based on the principles of multiculturalism are alive and well in education, in spite of ample research pointing to ongoing exclusionary practices and beliefs.  Whereas some have studied race, racialization, and racism in Canadian schools for decades (Codjoe, 2001; Dei, 1993, 1994, 1996; Galabuzi, 2006; Henry, 1993; James, 2010, 2013; Schick & St. Denis, 2003; Smith, 2010; Walcott, 2003; Yon, 1994; 2000), these issues remain largely undertheorized, ignored, or considered secondary in much of the mainstream educational research in the country (Codjoe, 2001; Dei, 2007; H. Shin, 2015). However, scholars   46 increasingly acknowledge that schooling cannot be adequately studied without considering the particular ways that race, racialization, racism (Carlson Berg, 2011; Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Lund & Carr, 2015; Simpson, James & Mack, 2011; Stanley, 2011), colonialism (Battiste, 2013; Dua, 2008; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Simpson, James & Mack, 2011; St. Denis, 2007, 2011), and heteronormativity (Dalley & Campbell, 2006), among others, operate in Canadian schools.  Living in a White settler society impacts all Canadian students, at every level, whether or not this is acknowledged. Studies highlighting lower levels of educational attainment for youth who are racially marginalized, including Indigenous youth, (Braithwaite & James, 1996; Dei, 2007; Bigelow, 2010; Corak, 2011; Collet, 2007; Kanu, 2008; Sadler & Clark, 2014), point to the structural and attitudinal barriers faced by these youth (Codjoe, 2001; Yon, 1994), and documents the experiences of scholars of colour in universities (A. Henry, 2015; F. Henry & Tator, 2009; Monture, 2010; Smith, 2010) exemplify the material and affective impacts of contending with the normalization of whiteness. According to Yon (1994) and James (2010), the failure of educational institutions to adequately address pervasive structural racism and the differential treatment of racially marginalized students exacerbates the problem of unequal achievement and opportunities, because schools do not acknowledge the particular challenges that racialized youth encounter in education. In Francophone schools this is significant because the overarching discourse of multiculturalism and emphasis on linguistic identity can obscure the particular challenges faced by racially marginalized youth. The impacts and dominance of whiteness are particularly felt by those racialized as non-White, “visible minorities” according to the Canadian government, and those whose first or “heritage” languages are not English (Ibrahim 1999; Madibbo, 2007; Schroeter, 2013; J. Shin,   47 2016). In a study of 1.5-generation2 and 2nd-generation Korean-Canadians, Jeeweon Shin (2016) concludes that 2nd-generation Korean-Canadian heritage language learners had internalized White norms. Shin notes that the literature on 2nd-generation Korean-Canadian finds that they often have trouble being accepted by and fitting into Canadian and Korean societies, an experience that is echoed in the wider literature on youth who have experienced immigrant and refugee trajectories, revealing that many feel they are in-between two cultures (Kanu, 2008; Lee, 2005). Furthermore, this literature consistently finds that some of the major obstacles these youth face in forging a sense of belonging to Canada are race, ethnicity, and language (Corak, 2011; Galabuzi, 2006; Ibrahim, 1999; Kanu, 2008; Kilbride & Anisef, 2008; Liboy & Venet, 2011; Madibbo, 2007; Moore et al., 2008; Schroeter & James, 2015). Shin’s (2016) study is telling in that she finds that exclusion is more prominent among 2nd-generation Korean-Canadians born in Canada.  According to Shin, the difference in these experiences stems from different levels of internalized messages about White supremacy and culture that are transmitted through Canadian culture and in schools, where White dominance remains the norm (Schick & St. Denis, 2005). For 2nd-generation students, their racialization as “Asian” marked their Otherness and they perceived this more negatively than those who had attended school in Korea. Shin explains: “(w)hat they [2nd-generation Korean-Canadians] experienced while socializing with their White friends is a sense of racialized exclusion from established conceptions of being Canadian” (2016, p. 37). The term “Canadian,” therefore, was reserved for White people, as was the case in an                                                 2 In Shin’s study, “1.5 generation” refers to people who immigrated to Canada after receiving some formal schooling in their country of origin. Second generation youth were born to immigrant parents in Canada.   48 earlier study I conducted with African-born students with refugee experiences (Schroeter, 2009, 2013; Schroeter & James, 2015). Despite curricula espousing the benefits of inclusion and multiculturalism, White people continue to be presented as the quintessential “Canadians” in schools and popular discourses.  In a study of the artifacts placed on the walls of a shared classroom in Nova Scotia, Rogers (2014) reinforces the conclusion that a White “quintessential Canadian” is promoted in schools by illustrating how White settler dominance determined the selection of visual images displayed in the room. Noting that the presence and size of a Mi’kmaq Band flag was contested by a social studies teacher who worked to reassert the prominence of the Canadian Dominion in the room, Rogers’ study reveals that White dominance manifests through symbolic violence (Bourdieu, 1991) in many aspects of schooling in Canada. Rogers’ study also highlights the impact symbolic violence can have on students of non-dominant heritage. Interestingly, although Whiteness and settler dominance appears to be a Canadian value by the way it is perpetuated in schools through multiculturalism (Schick & St. Denis, 2005), racialization and colonization are not overtly taught as issues that are current and enduring, though they are present in the curriculum. In contrast to studies exploring the difficulties youth experience by feeling “caught in-between two worlds,” Yon (2000) finds that the youth in his study were not troubled by having to navigate the fluidity of their various, often mixed, racialized identities. This is significant in light of the increasing number of Canadian youth with mixed heritage (Statistics Canada, 2011c), as it suggests that the boundaries between different cultures, ethnicities, and races are not necessarily rigid. Furthermore, it suggests that such differences must not necessarily be perceived as a problem or an obstacle that some youth must overcome. Yon’s conclusion,   49 however, does not disavow the power of myths about multiculturalism and inclusion and the complex ways these might impact youth in Canadian schools.  This study builds on recent research examining notions and practices of inclusion in Francophone minority language settings (Carlson Berg, 2011; Dalley & Campbell, 2006; Levasseur, 2016; Prasad, 2012) in order to unpack what inclusion looked like at Gustave-Flaubert. It is unique in the ways it analyzes youth discourses of difference by examining intersections and tensions between racialization and colonization in the context of Francophone minority language schools. Furthermore, it problematizes the ways in which drama was implicated in creating and limiting possibilities for differently racialized youth to represent race and ethnicity and how drama worked to bring about certain kinds of relations in the school.  2.3 Drama as (Post)critical, Embodied, and Liminal Pedagogy  (Post)critical pedagogies (Lather, 1992; Perry, 2010) have been developed by feminist scholars who take the limitations of Freirean (2008) critical pedagogy as their point of departure. As noted earlier, while undeniably influenced by critical pedagogy’s call to ground education in the lives and experiences of students and sharing a commitment to social justice, these scholars are wary of the patriarchal roots of critical pedagogy and underlying ideas about rationality, dialogue, and claims of empowerment (Ellsworth, 1989; Lather, 1992, 1998). Building on Ellsworth’s (1989) feminist critique of the ways that critical pedagogies can problematically reassert dominant power structures in the classroom, Lather (1998) argues that critical pedagogies are impossible to implement in schools. (Post)critical pedagogies, however, engage this impossibility by exploring the places where critical pedagogy gets stuck. Citing Jones, Lather notes that feminist pedagogies interrogate pedagogical encounters that “go wrong”—such as instances when members of the of dominant groups desire to engage in “dialogue across   50 difference” but merely end up “consuming” the stories of Others and intensifying unequal power relations in the classroom—in order to expand our ideas of what socially just education looks like. Although a mind/body split is emphasized in Cartesian thinking, as it has traditionally been in education (Ellsworth, 2005; Perry, 2010), Ellsworth (2005) argues that learning is influenced by what can be absorbed by minds/brains as they interact and exist in the sensate body moving through time and space, and interacting with social discourses. The way that drama re-centers the body in learning (Perry & Medina, 2011) requires acknowledgement of the affordances and limitations that bodies offer. Bodies impose physical limitations that constrain our ability to perform certain physical acts and also to have our bodies read in ways consistent with our identifications. Yet, bodies also amaze and inspire, proving highly adaptable, expanding our ideas of what, at times, appears to be physically impossible. Butler’s (1990/2006, 1993) work sets the foundation for scholars to play with social readings of the gendered body by arguing that the body does not contain gender. Such play has long been explored in the theatre, as this embodied art form brings about confrontation between discourses about the body and its possible readings (Gorham, 2011; Daniel, 2010). Although some specialists in drama education turn to drama to explore diversity (Gallagher, 2007; Grady, 2000; Saldaña, 1995), this work has not used embodiment as a way of deconstructing discourses of difference with students. In conceptualizing DiE as a liminal space of play I draw on the work of Ellsworth (2005), and that of theatre theorists and drama educators (Finneran & Freebody, 2016; Gallagher, 2007; Nicholson, 2005; Perry & Rogers, 2013; Schechner, 1985). By encouraging educators to be attentive to the ways that the body’s movement through time and space impacts what and how things are learned, Ellsworth (2005) highlights the significance of architectural design in   51 meaning making and the indivisible link between mind, body, and knowledge. In other words, the presence of the body and its engagement in different spaces impacts what can be learned. Similarly, the subjectivities encompassed within different bodies will learn differently in various settings. This is in no small part linked to the ways that bodies are represented in particular spaces of learning (Hall, 1997; Rogers, 2014) and, conversely, how different forms of knowledge and experiences of power are scripted onto the body (Boal, 1979). These aspects of embodied learning should not be ignored in studies about DiE and remind us of the constant interplay between being and not being, movement in time and space, and the affective and embodied significance of these dynamics. By exploring drama as an embodied (Ellsworth, 2005), (post)critical (Lather, 1992), and liminal pedagogy as well as a multimodal way of making meaning (Jewitt & Kress, 2008), my project aligns with the work of others who have studied how drama supports literacy development in students of all ages (Booth, 1994; Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2011; Medina 2004, 2010; Perry, 2010; Winters, Rogers, & Schofield, 2006). Moreover, Mia Perry (2010) and Janice Hladki (2003) show how contemporary theatre practices can inform (post)critical pedagogies. Furthermore, Jill Dolan (2001) reveals that poststructural concepts explored in contemporary theatre can inform educational practice and have potential for examining the slippery terrain between Self and Other. To my knowledge, little research has been conducted on the use of drama for examining discourses of difference with youth in minority language Francophone schools in Canada (for exception see Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013). This project asks whether engaging with the artistic medium of drama can provide a vocabulary for exploring categories of difference, and whether such explorations are possible in schools where fixed notions of difference have been long maintained.    52 2.4 Conclusion Building on research conducted in Francophone minority language schools and with racially marginalized and linguistically diverse youth in Canada, as well as research in drama and theatre, this study offers a timely intervention about the discourses of difference that emerged when DiE was adopted as (post)critical pedagogy in Rose’s Grade 9 social studies classes at Gustave-Flaubert. This study is innovative because it explores how race talk matters in Francophone minority language schools, extending work that has been done in majority language schools throughout the country. Such work has only just begun to emerge in research in minority language contexts and it is important that the differences and similarities in the ways that racialization occurs in different contexts. Furthermore, this study makes a significant contribution to the study of drama education in Francophone minority language schools, where there has been little written on the topic. In addition, it adds to current discussions in DiE about the role of subjectivity in classrooms with differently positioned students and the impossibilities of perfect understanding in drama (Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013).       53 Chapter 3: Methodology This dissertation is concerned with the discourses of difference that students use in their social studies classroom, and dramatic work to make sense of the categories of differences circulating in their social landscape, including those embedded in the curriculum. In addition, this study contributes to conversations in theatre and drama in education exploring the representational practices and tropes that are used as shorthand for difference in dramatic art forms (Daniel, 2010). Focusing on drama as an embodied aesthetic and kinesthetic form of meaning-making enables exploring how discursive and material practices interact in ways that bring about certain sets of relations in the classroom. A discursive focus also enables looking at pre-existing understandings of difference that influence the youth’s learning and how these discourses help to shape the youth’s identifications and how they shift over time (Yon, 2000; Youdell, 2000). In so doing, this dissertation presents the ways that drama educates, while also deconstructing some of the potential shortcomings of this art form as a strategy for teaching from a social justice orientation 3. This analysis is undertaken from a perspective informed by critical understandings of race, Indigenous understandings of colonization, and feminism. I am simultaneously interested in understanding how drama contributes to learning, and unpacking the discourses of difference that structure educational interactions, creating or impeding possibilities for equity in education.   Working as an interdisciplinary scholar, I draw on various fields such as education, theatre, social anthropology, and sociology to develop my theoretical framework and research                                                 3 Social justice has become a catchall term to refer to anything that is meant to be progressive and change oriented. I use this term because my orientation was driven by anti-racist and feminist politics, whereas Rose drew on feminism and Indigenous perspectives.    54 design. The methodology designed for this study draws from traditions in anthropological and educational research, while turning to the feminist theories presented in Chapter 1 to highlight the way that research is shaped by the subjectivities located within complex relations of power in a research site. My analytic focus is on the discourses of difference that circulated in the classroom, a microcosm of the school, focusing particularly discourses of race and ethnicity and how they intersected with discourses of indigeneity, gender and class, as well as the networks of power in which they were entangled. 3.1 Research Design This ethnography was carried out over the course of one school-year at a Francophone secondary school in British Columbia. Ethnography has been variously described as a form of research that produces “thick descriptions” of a culture or cultural setting from the perspective of those who inhabit it (Bogdan & Bicklen, 2007; Gallagher, 2007; Geertz, 1973) and as the process of directly studying what people say and do in their everyday lives (Emerson, Fretz & Shaw, 2011; Hammersly, 2006). Initially developed as a way for anthropologists to study and document the social worlds of Others (individuals from communities to which they did not belong), ethnography involves a researcher’s extended presence and engagement in a cultural setting, followed by a detailed written account of the ways people live and interact in that community. Traditionally, ethnographies attempted to describe cultures from the perspective of local inhabitants (Britzman, 2000; Buch & Staller, 2007). However, it is now commonplace to acknowledge that researchers can only gain partial understandings of other social worlds (St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000; Pillow, 2003; Villenas, 2000), as they will always be guided by their own social location.   55 Feminist (Behar, 1995; Gallagher, 2008; Visweswaran, 1994), postcolonial (Said, 1979; Smith, 1999), and poststructural scholars (Britzman, 2000; Lather & Clemens, 2011; St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000) have raised concerns about ethnographers’ claims of representing the realities and perspectives of research participants (Emerson et al., 2011). Highlighting the impossibility of adequately representing the lives of others, these scholars observe that ethnographers have been complicit in making truth claims, exoticizing women and non-European or Eurocentric cultures—at times producing the very cultures they purport to describe (see for example critiques of Margaret Mead’s work). These critiques draw attention to the fact that “ethnography, like fiction, no matter its pretense to present a self-contained narrative or cultural whole, remains detached from the realms to which it points” (Visweswaran, 1994, p. 1). In their reimagining of ethnography, James Clifford and George Marcus (1986) illustrate that writing an ethnographic text is a revisionist project that the author’s subjectivity plays a significant role in shaping. This is not to say that ethnographic writers necessarily create works of fiction; sound ethnographic work must be based on observations, recordings, and artifacts that are not the researcher’s invention. However, these critiques draw attention to the ways in which the ethnographer’s subjectivity are entangled with the cultural representations they produce. “New Ethnographies” (Behar, 1995; Goldstein, 2008) attempt a more self-conscious look at the ethnographer’s role in representing research contexts and participants. Ethnographic research has also increasingly been taken up by scholars who identify as “insiders” to the cultures they study (Narayan, 1993; Smith, 1999; Villenas, 2000). It has been argued that researchers belonging to groups that have traditionally been the object of the scholarly, male gaze (i.e. people of low socio-economic status, women, and Indigenous peoples) are better suited to conduct research within these communities because they share important insights and points   56 of reference (DeVault, 1999). This perspective suggests that outsiders cannot adequately represent different cultural settings because they lack the shared embodied and historical experience to do such work justice. However, Narayan (1993) and Smith (1999) argue that shifting power relations, educational attainment, and affiliations with universities always affect the way participants perceive researchers as insiders and as outsiders at different moments during a research project. While “insider ethnographies” have sometimes been useful in changing perceptions of “other cultures” (Narayan, 1993), understood as non-European and non-White, they should not be uncritically perceived as providing more truthful accounts of those cultures because even insiders have different perspectives and can produce representations that could strike others as “untruthful.” Revisionist practices and subjective interpretations that are required for producing written accounts of a cultural setting remain constant, even though “insider ethnographies” may add complexity and provide more nuanced representations than those produced by ‘outsiders.’  My approach to ethnography draws on feminist research practices that express a concern with the ethics of representation (Gallagher, 2007) manifested in self-conscious reflections about power imbalances between the researcher and participants, positionality, and the role of intersubjective dialogue in creating or co-constructing data (Buch & Staler, 2007; Gallagher, 2007; Naples, 2003). Such concerns are related to the qualitative research “crisis of representation” (St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000), questioning how to represent others when researchers can, at best, only gain a partial and limited understandings of participants’ experiences, views, and feelings (Pillow, 2003; Villenas, 2000). Although gender is not the primary focus of this project, my research questions reflect feminist interests in “the ways difference is organized across lines of gender, race, class, and sexuality" (Buch & Staler, 2007, p.   57 194). Moreover, I do analyze the ways that gender discourses intersect discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and class. Poststructural feminist approaches to methodology view qualitative research as a non-linear, fluid process (Britzman, 2000; Gallagher, 2007; Jackson & Mazzei, 2012), with fieldwork and analysis stages overlapping. This approach reflects my experiences conducting this study, as I started forming preliminary analyses about the discourses circulating in the school and different kinds of social interactions in the early stage of my time at the school. These analyses fed subsequent observations and temporarily narrowed my focus, while further observations and analyses generated new insights and invited other theoretical concepts into my study.  3.2 Postionality and Negotiating Multiple Roles   As explained above, feminist, Indigenous, and forced migration scholars have explored the insider/outsider researcher polemic in great depth (Collet, 2007; DeVault, 1999; Kumsa, 2006; Naples, 2003; Narayan, 1993; Smith, 1999). They convincingly argued that researcher positionality and the experiences one brings to the topic of study have important consequences for the ways that participants are represented and how data is interpreted. Buch and Staller (2007) write: Because of the critical role the self plays in generating ethnographic knowledge, each feminist ethnographer must also carefully attend to the ways in which his or her position in the world might impact what and from whom he or she is able to learn. Since individual history and identity patterns what can be learned, any individual ethnography can offer only one possible window of understanding into the lives of the people it portrays (p. 108).   58 As a White, heterosexual, French and English Canadian woman, mother, and university researcher, I did not share age-specific cultural references or educational and life experiences with the youth who participated in my study4. In addition, White skin privilege makes it possible that students racialized as non-White perceive me as an outsider. However, my experiences attending a different Francophone secondary school in British Columbia and my position as the mother of a “mixed-race” child attending an elementary school in the district (there are 30 CSF schools in BC) appeared to make me more of an insider in the eyes of several students. I had assumed that being a parent would distance me from the youth by highlighting my “adulthood” and fading youth. However, on a few occasions when, due to lack of childcare 5, one or both of my children accompanied me to the school the and participating youth had opportunities to meet my children. To my surprise, it became evident that several students were able to better relate to me after these occasions.  Nevertheless, feminist (Buch & Staller, 2007; Madison, 2005; Pillow, 2003; St. Pierre & Pillow, 2000) and critical youth researchers (Best, 2007) write that it is important to remain reflexive about the ways power is implicated at all times in research and that the potentials of exploiting participants when “researching down” are ever present. As an adult and university researcher, I had power and a status that placed me on unequal footing with the youth in my study. Because I did not wish to exploit them, I tried to engage them in conversations about my                                                 4 Although I seek to trouble “fixed categories” and identity markers, I acknowledge the way my body is read in Canadian society, the resulting privileges I benefit from, and how this has shaped my positionality. While I remain dissatisfied with the limitations of naming these identifiers, it is a paradox I accept as part of my theoretical orientation and feminist methodology.  5 These were brief moments at the end of a school day or at extra-curricular events and school performances that I participated in for the sake of observing the discourses that circulated more widely in the school.   59 research and analysis of their interactions; however, I recognize that this was insufficient for guaranteeing that my use of their stories does not exploit or make them vulnerable. Loutzenheiser (2007) reminds us that research is never completely ethical, particularly when done with youth. As much as I attempted to develop a project that would benefit the students’ learning in social studies, I cannot deny that I am the individual who stands to benefit most from this research. There were several moments during my stay at the school that drove the unethical aspect of research home. I often likened my work as ethnographer to that of a spy. I listened attentively to conversations, including ones that I was not a part of, carefully observed the ways students interacted in and out of the classroom, and kept detailed notes of all I saw and heard. The ways in which this might be unethical became evident near the end of the year, when the class was studying a unit on the Indigenous peoples of Canada. To better explain the terms “anthropology” and “ethnography,” the teacher and I re-explained6 that my research was ethnographic, and that I had been studying the class and school’s culture all year. Following this explanation, the students seemed to be more self-conscious about their activities in class and they began to take a keen interest in the field notes I took in class. In one instance, I overheard a student tell his friends: “Shhh! Don’t speak so loud! She’s taking notes. See, she looks like she’s paying attention to something else, but really she’s listening to us” (R. Kelly, 12 May, 2014). Overhearing this comment, made me feel dirty and uncomfortable about my presence and role in the classroom. It also forced me to come to terms with the voyeuristic nature of ethnographic work. I started to                                                 6 This had been clearly presented when I obtained consent, and was re-explained throughout the year. Although my research was no secret, exactly what it entailed remained somewhat of a mystery for many students throughout the year.   60 question which student interactions I could or could not ethically include as “data” for my study. Clearly, the hushed conversation among friends out of which this comment emerged, the nature of which I ignore, was not to be included. Proceding with caution, I decided to include the students’ social interactions in loud conversations that occurred in class or in public spaces and that did not appear to be of a private nature7. In other words, many of the private discussions I overheard, that impacted the ways I observed and analyzed events in the field had to be excluded, as were conversations about things that might embarrass the youth, particularly ones related to budding romances and other personal relationships.  Although these conversations are not analyzed in this study, they were important in helping me understand the students’ use of discourse and recognizing assumptions I made about the youth based on my own experience in Francophone minority language schools. As mentioned above, reflexivity is an element of qualitative research to which feminist researchers have dedicated much thought (Berger, 2015; Pillow, 2003; Villenas, 2000). Reflexivity is commonly defined as a researcher’s ability to constantly ask questions about how their positionality and subjectivity shapes the biases they bring to their research questions, field experiences, and analysis (Berger, 2015; Pillow, 2003). Acknowledging these factors and how they may shape data generated throughout the process of research is thought to provide transparency about the research process (Berger, 2015). However, how this transparency might mitigate the potentials for misrepresentation and exploitation is up for debate. Particularly in cases where members of                                                 7 The boundaries between “public” and “private” spaces are not clear and I am not convinced that any real division exists, particularly in secondary schools. Many of the youth often had very loud conversations in the school hallways about matters I would consider “private” or intimate. I have relied on my judgement and the conversations I had with the youth to determine what they might consider “private” or “personal”.    61 dominant groups conduct research with people who have less social and economic capital. Supposedly reflexive examinations of a researcher’s biases could be read as little more than a “settler moves to innocence” (Tuck & Yang, 2012) or “recentering whiteness” (Bonnett in Steyn & Conway, 2010). I try to avoid these pitfalls throughout this study, while clearly positioning myself and indicating my biases by way of highlighting things that surprised me during my fieldwork, such as the little importance the students attributed to speaking French, Rose’s position about race, and the academic standing of several female students. I tracked my reactions to events in personal notes that kept along side my fieldnotes. These were coded along with the rest of my data in the way that will be presented later in this chapter. The social studies teacher, Rose8, and I shared many interests and identifications, despite the fact that I am not a schoolteacher. We are both White, middle class women from the same part of Quebec, close in age, and in relationships with men who speak French but are from Anglophone backgrounds. Both of us have lived in different parts of Canada, have been politically active, and are committed to social justice education. We recognize that education is responsible for perpetuating oppression (Freire, 2008; Kumashiro, 2002; Schick & St. Denis, 2005), particularly the oppression of Indigenous peoples and those who do not identify with White, masculinist, heterosexist, able-bodied norms. We seek ways of teaching that address systemic inequities and create environments in which students’ subjectivities are acknowledged and respected. There are differences in our cultural affiliations and values, but we got along well and were able to engage in stimulating conversations about our differences. Our collaboration                                                 8 The names of all participants have been changed to protect anonymity. The participants were invited to choose their pseudonyms, and most opted to do so. Some students who identified as girls chose names commonly associated with the male gender. I have not altered the youth’s choice of names, their spelling, or the gender pronouns with which they identified.   62 came to feel as one between two “insiders;” anyone who was not in the social studies 9 classes felt like “outsiders” to our work. Although I emphasized my non-teacher status when recruiting youth for the study and stressed that their participation would not impact their grades, my role as drama facilitator made me teacher-like. As Heller (1999) explains, any association with teachers and administrators is likely to impact the ways students relate to researchers. My collaboration with Rose and our developing friendship certainly impacted the data I was able to collect and the ways the students perceived me.  While my dual roles as a parent and researcher were relatively easy to negotiate with the students, it was more complicated with the school’s staff. In my role as researcher, it was evident that I took great interest in the school board’s approaches to pedagogy, curriculum, and cultural, racial, and ethnic diversity, more so than the average parent who was not present at the school all day long. In addition, I often felt that my role as a researcher limited my ability to participate fully in my daughter’s education, for fear of damaging the relationships that were important to my research. The Research Site Francophone schools in British Columbia (BC) have grown steadily since 1995, when the Francophone Education Authority of BC (CSF) was established. As a result, schools within the district are facing challenges associated with rapid expansion such as adequate space, recruiting and retaining qualified teachers, offering a variety of curricular programs, and meeting the needs of all students. École Gustave-Flaubert is one of thirteen Francophone secondary schools in the province that was built to provide a homogenous context for students to complete their secondary education in French. Students take public transit from different parts of the city and neighbouring municipalities in order to attend the school.    63 École Gustave-Flaubert is a small school located in an affluent neighbourhood. Apart from its size, which is considerably smaller than most urban secondary schools, the most striking feature of Gustave-Flaubert is how well the building is kept. The grounds are small but manicured, there is rarely garbage littering the grounds, the walls are free of graffiti, and the floors are always sparkling. A recurring fieldnote remarked: “I can’t get over how often they buff the floors! It feels like the janitor is doing this every time I enter the school in the afternoons. They even have a miniature Zamboni-like machine for this purpose” (fieldnote, 4 March, 2014). The students often commented on the school’s relative safety; indeed, visitors enter through an unlocked front door and are required to report to the front desk and receive a visitor’s badge before proceeding further into the school. Staff members closely monitor all exits between classes and at lunch hour in order to ensure that the students do not leave without permission or that unauthorized persons do not gain access to the school via unguarded doors.  Safety and “security” were a primary concern for the school’s administration, one that extended from protecting students from outside dangers, to limiting their movements and interactions in school. The result was that a large number of adults were charged with supervising the students throughout the school day. I was struck by how this resembled Foucault’s (1995) musings on discipline and surveillance:  “[t]he exercise of discipline presupposes a mechanism that coerces by means of observation; an apparatus in which the techniques that make it possible to see induce effects of power, and in which, conversely, the means of coercion make those on whom they are applied clearly visible” (p. 170-171).  At lunch, staff members would strategically position themselves on the mezzanine, above where the students ate, and call out to students who behaved in ways they deemed inappropriate,   64 reprimanding them from their perch. Surveillance was the primary strategy through which “security” was enforced at Gustave-Flaubert and it was viewed as an effective way to elicit  “correct behaviour” (Foucault, 1995) from the students and instill this behaviour as a desirable social value in them. An aura of surveillance resonated throughout much of the socializing that occurred in the school; several teachers said they believed there were too many adults watching the youth in and out of classes, and the youth also monitored and disciplined each other in their peer interactions. This peer disciplining will be explored in greater depth throughout this dissertation. Interestingly, because the teachers were not usually responsible for hallway monitoring, some of their ideas about how the youth should and should not be disciplined in informal educational spaces were overlooked. In designing the school, the architects seem to have been as preoccupied with the school’s small size as were the students—when asked to describe the school to someone who had never been there, the youth unanimously answered: “small.” Little thought seems to have been placed on the idea of expansion and how to accommodate increasing enrolment. (This may prove to be quite an oversight since the school has experienced 10-20% growth every year since it opened.) As a result, the hallways often feel overcrowded and there is little space for the students and teachers to move about between classes and at lunchtime. The teachers regularly commented on this lack of space, and felt that the students did not have enough places to “hang-out” during lunch hour, or before and after school. Almost all the teachers and staff I spoke to about space issues said that they felt the students coped well with it, which is to say that the students were generally conscientious of others’ needs to get by Classes were predictably small at Gustave-Flaubert, and rarely exceeded 25 students. In the senior years, from Grade 10 on, some students participate in the International Baccalaureate   65 (IB) program. This results in smaller IB classes with approximately 10-15 students and larger “regular” classes of approximately 30 students. The IB program was relatively new to the school and the source of some contention among teachers. Some felt that it did not benefit a majority of students and believed that it created cliques. Significantly, when there were not enough students enrolled in senior-level classes, some had to be offered online and the administration often opted to have IB classes taught in person, while students in less academically rigorous streams had to take their courses independently online. Another striking characteristic of Gustave-Flaubert is how well the school is equipped. The main floor houses a large gymnasium, a bright library with a robust collection of books and Apple desktop computers, a vending machine stocked with healthy snacks, several classrooms, a large music room with excellent acoustics, a multipurpose room for smaller classes, a fully-equipped shop room, and a state-of-the-art 200 seat theatre. Although the theatre is a first-rate venue for theatrical performances and film screenings, the school does not regularly offer drama, theatre, or film classes. As with the senior classes, optional subjects like drama are offered on the basis of enrolment and, contrary to music and art, there is no specialized drama, theatre, or film teacher at the school to develop programs that would generate and sustain student interest. It is frequently challenging for Francophone minority language schools to find and retain qualified teachers, as many arrive on an extended stay abroad or away from their home province and choose to return after a few years. In specialized areas, like arts education, this challenge leads to situations where professional artists fluent in French will teach on special letters of permission issued by the CSF; however, these educators are not permitted to stay on after two years, unless they agree to obtain a professional teaching certificate. As a result, drama courses are only consistently offered to Grade 7 students, where drama is included in the curriculum. Teachers   66 who specialize in other disciplines, and who may or may not have formal training in drama or theatre, teach drama courses. Students who are serious about the performing arts regularly transfer to other secondary schools in Grade 8, as do many others for various of reasons.9  The school’s second floor is where most of the classrooms are located. There is a small mezzanine overlooking the main foyer that is decorated with student art and has sectional couches and tables for students to lounge on outside of class time. The second floor also has a guidance suite with private offices and a larger section where students go to receive additional support during classes. In addition, there is a small staff room, a large media studies room, science labs, and a very large and bright visual art studio. Each student at Gustave-Flaubert is assigned an Apple laptop to use for throughout the school year.  3.3 Participants  Rose, one of the social studies teachers at École Gustave-Flaubert, and thirty-three of her thirty-six Grade 9 students consented to participate in this study. I chose to work with Rose at the recommendation of one of the school’s guidance counselors with whom I had a preexisting relationship. When I was negotiating access to the school in the spring before beginning this study, I learned that Rose had a keen interest in social justice and a disposition that might lend itself well to taking on the drama-based pedagogy that I was interested in exploring. Rose was also responsible for supporting the school’s Aboriginal students and the guidance counselor thought that she would be especially interested in a process drama I had devised on first contact between Aboriginal peoples and Europeans. After meeting, Rose expressed an interest in collaborating with me and said that she felt my study would be particularly useful with her Grade                                                 9 Reasons for transferring range from seeking a greater variety of academic and extracurricular programs, to desires for wider social circles, and proximity to home.     67 9 students the following year, whom she described as kinesthetic learners. Rose invited me to attend and participate in her Grade 9 classes beginning in the second week of September 2013. Together, we designed and co-facilitated drama-based lessons and units for her social studies 9 classes throughout the 2013-2014 academic year.  As I got to know Rose, I observed the qualities and practices that made several of her colleagues describe her as an exceptional educator. Rose displayed an openness toward her students that helped to establish a warm environment in her classroom and forge trusting relationships with many of the youth she taught. She was curious about her students and accepting of the various ways they expressed their identifications. Rose worked hard to avoid imposing her own beliefs and agendas on her students and wholeheartedly accepted their identifications as Francophones, Anglophones, Allophones (people who do not speak English or French as a first language), and speakers of other languages. Contrary to standard practices in the CSF, English was not forbidden in her classroom, though the use of French was encouraged and Rose stimulated a curiosity about the French language. Rose was not overly concerned with policing student behaviour, though she was required to do so, to some extent, in order to manage her classroom. Rose also worked to ensure that current events and multiple cultures, ethnicities, and races were represented in her classroom and in the school. Among other activities, Rose hung photographs of Indigenous leaders, values, and philosophies in her classroom, she created two wall-length displays of members of Canada’s diverse Black communities and their work during Black History Month, and she discussed the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Pride week, and Nelson Mandela’s death with her students. Though the school’s administration benefitted from this work, celebrated, and even expected it, Rose received little institutional support in these endeavours.   68 The Grade 9 curriculum in place in BC when this research was undertaken presents many opportunities for examining the discourses of differences that were circulating in the school and in wider Canadian society. The course’s focus on the British Civil War, French Revolution, democratization in Europe, the Napoleonic Wars, and the colonization of North America had the potential to engender many discussions and activities about religious, gender, class, racial, linguistic, cultural, and ethnic difference. The specification that students are to learn about the ways that identities—the term used by the Ministry of Education—are formed based on multiple factors such as family, gender, belief systems, ethnic origin, and nationality (BC Ministry of Education, 1997) provided another way to gage student thinking about difference. Once I obtained ethics approval from the University of British Columbia (UBC), the CSF, and the principal of Gustave-Flaubert, I recruited student participants from both of Rose’s social studies 9 classes. I intended to work in the class with the most participants; however, Rose introduced me to the students as someone who would be working with both classes throughout the year and we started co-facilitating both classes in early September. By the time I obtained consent and was ready to narrow the focus of my study, I was overwhelmed by the level of interest in the study (all but three students and their guardians consented to participate), and had developed strong, but different, relationships with the youth in both classes. I felt that pulling out of one class would be unfair and believed that working with both classes could enrich my study. One such benefit is that it enabled Rose and me to become more comfortable with the co-facilitation of drama activities, revise them, and reflect on how they worked differently in each class. This also afforded the possibility of observing how different groups of students engage with arguably the same drama activities and the discussions that could be had in varying classroom dynamics, even though this comparison is not a central focus of this dissertation.   69 The students in Rose’s Grade 9 classes were between 13-16 years of age and of Canadian, Indigenous, immigrant, and refugee backgrounds, reflecting the diversity of the school’s student body during that academic year, as well as the kinds of diversity that are specific to the CSF. This study focuses on this age group because, as Heller (1999) notes, the youth were at a stage in their lives when they were beginning to contemplate their lives in and out of school, starting to prepare for life after school, and interrogating how their lives related to the larger social context. Of the 33 participating students 20 were born in British Columbia, the remaining 13 were born in other Canadian cities: Chicoutimi, Montreal, Ottawa, and several other countries: Algeria, Brazil, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Kenya, Mauritius, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, and Tahiti. Thirteen students came from “exogamous families.” Exogamy is defined as “a union between two people with different mother tongues” (Fédération des parents francophones de la Colombie-Britannique, n.d.). The school board uses this term to refer to families where one parent is a native speaker of French, and the other is not. The youth participating in this study were at minimum bilingual, if not multilingual; between them, they spoke at total of 25 different languages. The result was a wide range of racial, ethnic, linguistic, national, and religious origins within each class. The students’ family histories were indicative of the kinds of movements, hybridity, and diasporic or transnational relations that are characteristic of globalization in the postmodern era (Bhabha, 1994/2004). Nine participants claimed “Canadian” heritage (French, English, or other) on both sides, and three had Aboriginal heritage. Based on their statements in interviews, the students who claimed “Canadian” heritage generally meant that their families were of European descent and had been in Canada for at least three generations.    70 During my initial analysis, I created the following table to gain a sense of the demographic profile of the Grade 9 youth. While my theoretical interests seek to resist fitting people into constructed demographic categories, I realize that it might be difficult for readers to understand the complex and varied backgrounds of my participants without a chart.   71  Participant Age Gender Birthplace Family origins or Ethnicity Georges 14 M BC Ecuador; Canadian Callie 16  F Kinshasa (5 years in Canada via Democratic Republic of Congo and Uganda) Congolese  Danielle 14  F BC Chinese; Scottish; French; First Nations; and possibly Austrian Genevieve 14 F Pretoria, South Africa  Burundian Mélodie 14  F BC French; English Nagihcim 14 F Mauritius (4 years in Canada) Mauritanian (Chinese) R. Kelly 14 M Tahiti (4 years in Canada) Laotian (Chinese); Croatian Kirke 14  M Algeria (12 years in Canada) Algerian Théo 14 M BC Canadian; Congolese (Congo Brazzaville)  Sarah 14 F BC Canadian – Québécois on both sides Stacey 13  F BC  Mexican   72 Participant Age Gender Birthplace Family origins or Ethnicity Blair 14  F BC Senegalese Jade 15 F BC Lebanese; Syrian; Canadian Eric 14 F Ottawa French; British Samantha 14 F BC Canadian, unspecified Jamie 14 Prefers gender neutral pronouns  BC Scottish; First Nations  Cléo 14 F BC French Canadian; Ethiopian Tournesol  14  F BC French Canadian; Egyptian; some Scottish  Bob 14 F Saudi Arabia Egyptian; Tunisian Banana Man 14 F BC Korean Nadia 15  F Kenya Democratic Republic of Congo; Burundi Anna 15 F BC  Canadian; French Canadian Fleur 14  F BC French (South/Corsica); Canadian Brook 14 F BC Canadian (grand-parents & parents from Vancouver) – Québécois; First Nations; British   73 Participant Age Gender Birthplace Family origins or Ethnicity Roger 14  M BC Jamaican; Barbadian; Québécois Tigalor 14  M BC Ontario, originally Quebec; British; African  Sherlock 15 F Paris, France (in Canada for 5 years) Iranian; French Mike 14 M BC Uruguay (mom raised in Montreal) Jacob  14 M Chicoutimi (moved to BC in Grade 4) Québécois Matthieu  15 M BC Québécois  Kelsey  15 F Brazil (moved to Québec at 5 yrs – moved to BC at 9 yrs)  Brazilian Japanese Nico 14 M BC Italian; Filipino  Mia 14 F BC Japanese; Congolese Rose  32  F Montreal French Canadian Table 3.1 Research Participant Profiles  74 3.4 Research Methods  Multiple methods of data collection were used to gain an in-depth understanding of the ways discourses of difference circulated in Rose’s social studies classroom and at École Gustave-Flaubert, and the significance of those discourses to the participating youth. My first role was as a participant observer in Rose’s classroom, meaning that I was both closely observing the interactions and social life that occurred around me, while also participating in them (Buch & Staller, 2007; Emerson et al., 2011). Therefore, my data were composed in large part of visual data (Pink, 2012; Saldaña, 2016) in the form of field notes about the events I witnessed and participated in, video footage, drawings, and other student-produced work I collected. These data were supplemented by interviews transcripts, audio recordings, and other secondary documents. Interview transcripts, fieldnotes, video footage of focus group interviews and classroom activities during a unit on first contact between Indigenous and European peoples were most useful to my analysis of discourses of difference because they captured the ways I observed the Grade 9 students interacting and some of their thoughts about race. While discourses of gender and class, and tangentially race, arose during other units, the complex entanglement between differences of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, gender, and class—real and/or imagined, contemporary and/or historical—that I was interested in unpacking arose more during this unit. The student work and artifacts I collected were not as helpful to this focus, though they did reveal important insights about social groupings and the ways that the students were able to represent their knowledge aesthetically.  3.4.1 Participant Observations  Participant observation, the long-established method in social and cultural anthropology (Buch & Staller, 2007; Emerson et al., 2011; Gallagher, 2001; Geertz, 1973), was the primary   75 method of data collection for this project. My presence in the school inevitably influenced what I observed, as I participated in classroom activities by helping Rose, following lessons with students, and planning and facilitating drama activities. This method and the feminist orientation of my study made it impossible to adopt the "invisible observer” stance advocated in traditional ethnographic research. The former position on ethnographic research encouraged researchers to wash themselves of their values and political investments in order to understand the local culture from the perspective of locals (Bogdan & Bicklen, 2007). Instead, my approach alternated between participating fully in classroom activities and sitting back to observe and take extensive field notes about classroom activities, the students’ and Rose’s interactions, and their use of discourse (Emerson et al., 2011). The dual responsibilities of participant observation—being both involved in the classroom and evaluating what was going on, how participants responded and reacted to discussions and events—required jotting down quick notes about what I saw and heard so that I could reflect and expand on these ideas in greater detail later on (Emerson et al., 2011). I usually typed up my fieldnotes right after classes, though there were times when I had to wait a few hours before I was able to write. At those times my jottings and class recordings were indispensable to my recall.  My observations were never intended to provide a complete picture of what went on throughout the course of my fieldwork; rather, they are my best attempt at recording what I deemed important. I view all the data I collected as partial and fragmented representations of complex social sites (i.e. the classroom and school) that could never be captured in their entirety because the interactions that occurred in these spaces were multi-layered and temporally dependent, and thus fleeting. These fragmented data facilitate the creation of the portrait that I paint, through the limited medium of words in these pages.    76 3.4.2 Audio and Video Recordings I obtained consent from the participating youth and their guardians to audio and video record classes and focus group interviews. I did not film all classes because the demands of filming often took away from my ability to participate fully and facilitate drama activities. Much of the video recording and all audio recordings were collected on my iPhone. For the sake of data security, this meant that I had to disenable Cloud Sharing from my phone for the duration of my fieldwork and delete data once it had been transferred to my computer’s hard drive and USB sticks. Filming on my iPhone proved preferable because the students were accustomed to the use of smart phones and often did not notice when I was recording on my phone, nor did they appear to view it as an intrusion. However, when I brought in a video camera and left it on a tripod in a corner of the classroom near the end of the year, it caused a significant disturbance to the flow of activities. The students became visibly self-conscious by the camera’s presence, despite its decidedly limited ability to capture classroom interactions and drama activities. The students did somewhat adjust to my use of the camera, but it remained my least preferred means of data collection. When facilitating drama activities, I often relied on Rose to video and photograph the activities I facilitated. Therefore, these activities were captured from her perspective and offer insights into the fieldwork that are not necessarily my own, adding another level of depth and complexity to my data, rather than “contaminating” it. The youth rarely expressed concern about being photographed or filmed by their teacher.  Building on my experience in my Masters research where I only gathered audio recordings of the youths’ dramatic work, I chose to use video because I found that the analysis in my previous study was limited by its reliance on audio data. As an embodied art form and multimodal literacy practice, drama involves sound, gesture, facial expressions, gaze, and   77 movements in time and space that cannot be captured audio recordings alone. In representing video footage, I have included a column with verbal transcripts and a column with visual transcripts that track the participants’ gestures and gaze. However, while gestures and expressions may be “captured” on video, the visual data I collected were not viewed as “triangulating” my data or providing an accurate record of events. I share the critique that visual data has been undertheorized and used as a realist representation of research contexts (Holliday, 2000; MacLure, Holmes, MacRae & Jones, 2010), when there are often practical limitations and theoretical motivations behind the video footage that are recorded in research contexts. For example, my use of a fixed video camera when I was facilitating drama activities left out anything that was not in the frame. Similarly, when I was holding the camera and focusing on some students, other simultaneously occurring events were missed as a result of my focus on filming. 3.4.3 Interviews  Semistructured (Kvale, 1996; Spradley, 1979) interviews were conducted with all 33 participating youth twice throughout the year, and one was conducted with Rose. The primary purpose of the first interview was to learn more about the participants’ backgrounds and gain insight into the discourses of difference they drew on in their identifications. These first interviews were intended to be individual; however, some of the youth became visibly uncomfortable at the thought of meeting with me alone. Students who were otherwise bubbly and forthcoming in their interactions with me became tense and ceased making direct eye contact with me at the mere mention of individual interviews. For this reason, I gave students the option of meeting with me alone or with a friend. It is impossible to evaluate how the presence of a friend impacted all the youth who selected this option; however, some appeared to be more at   78 ease and, in a couple instances, the presence of a friend generated significantly more talk than interviews conducted with individual students. There was, of course, significant variation in the way each student spoke whether their interview was conducted individually or with a friend. As a result, 21 of the first interviews were conducted individually, and six were done in pairs. Some of the students who opted to do their interviews individually asked to be accompanied by friend. It took two and a half months to complete these interviews, which lasted an average of 20 minutes and took place during lunchtime or after school. To have some privacy, I used Rose’s classroom, the guidance suite, and the library, when these rooms were unoccupied.  The youth were given the option of being interviewed in French or English. It was hoped that this choice would put them at ease when answering my questions. Surprisingly, the students I believed to be less comfortable in French insisted on being interviewed in French, whereas others who had greater fluency in French often chose to be interviewed in English. These choices point to the significance of language choice in self-expression and self-representation; several students opted to represent themselves as bilingual or multilingual by selecting a language other than their first language, demonstrating that they could express themselves well in their non-dominant languages. Throughout this dissertation, excerpts from interviews and classroom interactions that occurred in French are presented in French first, with English translations in a separate column. As in other studies conducted in Francophone minority language schools, English was the preferred language of informal casual talk for the Grade 9 students, whereas French the official language of schooling (Heller, 1999; 2003; Levasseur, 2016). These first interviews also enabled me to learn more about the students’ reactions to the themes explored in class and what they felt they had learned from the drama activities. Interested in learning about ways in which drama might facilitate interactions between differently   79 positioned individuals and contemplate differences between Self and Other (Dolan, 2001), I asked the youth if they could identify moments where they felt connected or disconnected from their peers during drama activities. In my experience, collective drama work can be a time of heightened emotional investment that unites some groups of students, produces antagonistic relationships, or a combination of both. These dynamics are also explored in Gallagher’s (2007) multi-site ethnography. Even when drama activities are debriefed as a group, students are often more willing to discuss their reactions to these moments in one-on-one conversations (see Schroeter, 2009; Schroeter & Wager, 2016). I also find it useful to get feedback from students when they are removed from the influence and opinions of their peers, and their immediate investment in the drama or reaction to classroom events. Following Gallagher (2001), delaying interviews allowed time for the students’ reflections on drama activities to develop. This delay also called on students’ abilities to recall what stood out for them about the drama activities, rather than recording an enthusiasm for a change in classroom routine caused by the introduction of drama that might have been momentary. Finally, I paid particular attention to the discourses the students took up and resisted in the interviews.   I also interviewed Rose about her experiences implementing drama-based activities in her the social studies 9 classes. I was interested in learning whether she perceived a change in the kinds of discussions that occurred in the drama-based lessons from those that arose in regular lessons. Moreover, I was interested in knowing whether she felt that there was a difference in the ways that the students make links between historical events and their contemporary lives when drama was utilized from when it was not. Here, my interest was in exploring Rose’s perspective on how drama might work as (post)critical pedagogy (Lather, 1998).    80  While the individual interviews were useful for learning about the youths’ backgrounds, I found them limiting for gaining insight into their use of discourses of difference. I did not find their answers rich, in that they provided fewer details and theoretical musings than the casual conversations I heard them having with each other and the informal ones they had with me. In contrast, the responses generated by the interviews done in pairs were more interesting as they generated conversations about the meaning of categories of difference and the relevance of these categories to the students’ identifications. I had planned to conduct follow-up interviews at the end of the year to track changes in the ways the youth responded to my questions; however, realizing the importance of casual talk in revealing the students’ ideas and theories about categories of difference, I decided to conduct focus groups for the second interviews. I figured that creating situations that were more socially oriented would generate more talk between the youth and allow them to build on the thoughts and ideas of others.  From the middle of May and into early of June, I hosted a lunch or after-school snack for 9 groups of four or five students during which I asked questions about social groupings and race, and invited the youth to talk about their experiences doing drama in their social studies class. I provided the students with food for two reasons: first, this was one way that I could thank them for their participation in the study; second, socializing often takes place around food and I believed that this would help to generate talk amongst the youth. These conversations were video recorded to facilitate analysis and ability to distinguish different speakers. In creating the interview groups, I made sure to base the groups on friendship circles and checked my groupings with Rose and with the students. I approached students who were particularly shy and asked who they would like to be grouped with in their follow-up interviews. This strategy proved effective, as the students were more relaxed than they had been in individual interviews. They were also   81 excited about the food I brought in, and were more willing to casually theorize with each other in response to my questions.   According to Kvale (1996), interviewers have “access to the world of the interviewee; the interviewee’s lived meanings may be immediately accessible in the situation, communicated not only by words, but by tone of voice, expressions, and gestures” (p. 125). While it is true that meaning is conveyed through more means than talk in interviews, and I took care to listen attentively to participants and attend to the ways they may have been made uncomfortable by my questions. Everything said in the interviews should not be taken at face value, as the participants may have been trying to please me or represent themselves in ways that reflect how they wanted to see themselves or be seen, rather than in ways that were “accurate.” In other words, I resist the idea Briggs (2002) proposes, that researchers gain access to participants’ unedited “private selves” in interviews.  In accordance with how my theoretical frame draws on Foucault’s (1969) understanding of discourse, the interviews have been read and analyzed by placing as much importance on their context and the process through which knowledge was generated in interviews, as was on what interviewees said. Interviews are thus conceptualized as another layer of data, rather than revelations about what the participants “really thought.” In my coding, I have focused on moments when the youth resisted the questions I asked and how they reacted to the things I said. During the interviews I also paid close attention to their body language, studying their gaze, movements, and emotions that struck me as relevant.  3.4.4 Artefacts and Documents  Artefacts collected during the fieldwork are largely composed of photographs that Rose and I took in class. Because the focus was to gain an understanding of the discourses circulating   82 in the school, these photographs include pictures of student artwork, posters, and bulletins posted in Rose’s classroom and the hallways of École Gustave-Flaubert. Work the students produced in their social studies classes, such as projects, portfolios, drawings and essays written for the class, and drawings made to illustrate ideas during interviews were also collected for analysis.  3.5 Data Analysis 3.5.1 “Freezing” the Analytic Moment  In her research with former refugees, Kumsa (2006) draws on poststructural theory to describe her analysis as “freezing the fluidity only to gain an analytic moment” (p. 239). Kumsa’s theoretical framework and her identification as a former refugee enable her to freeze the analytic moment without fixing the identities of her research participants in the moments they became “refugees.” This way of conceptualizing analysis appeals because it is an apt way of highlighting the temporality and contingency of “data” generated from interpersonal interactions that are situated, yet constantly evolving social relations. By providing details about on-going conversations that the students, Rose, and I had throughout the year, documenting different ways the students positioned themselves and their peers, explaining how various conversations may have been influenced by the units covered in the social studies class as well as making my subjectivity and researcher position visible, I hope to show that the moments presented in this dissertation were not all-encompassing for the youth participants. In fact, the moments selected for analysis may have had little significance for them. However, by focusing my analysis on the ways discourses of difference emerged in and out of the classroom, I wish to show how momentary use of these discourses relates to power and the wider circulation of ideas about difference. Such relations mean that discourses circulating in schools can have a lasting impact on students; even if they only surface momentarily, they settle down and become sediments on   83 the bed of students’ learning experiences. The “frozen moments” presented throughout this dissertation were selected because they shed light on the ways these youth took up discourses of difference in, out, and in-between formal and informal educational spaces at Gustave-Flaubert. They also illustrate how categories of difference intersected with one another, and demonstrate ways the students participated in disciplining and resisting the boundaries of constructed categories. 3.5.2 Analytic Lenses Two analytic lenses are used in my analysis of discourses of difference, specifically discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class, and gender that circulated among the Grade 9 students at École Gustave-Flaubert. The first draws on Foucault’s (1969) concern with the ways discourses are produced, the circumstances in which they emerge, how they are implicated in the circulation of power, and the techniques of the self operating in individuals’ use of discourse. Following Foucault’s directive to consider the specific context in which discourses emerge, I provide description about the context surrounding the moments that I “freeze” for the sake of my analysis. It is worth quoting Foucault (1972) at length as to the shape of my analysis:  The analysis of statements, then, is a historical analysis but one that avoids all interpretations; it does not question things said as to what they are hiding, what they were ‘really’ saying, in spite of themselves, the unspoken element that they contain… … … … but on the contrary, it questions them as to their mode of existence… what it means for them to have appeared when and where they did --- they and no others (p. 109).  This is methodologically and analytically significant because I resist the impulse to uncover speakers’ “true meanings” and make claims about what was “really happening” when my   84 perspective is inherently limited. Rather, my interest lies in how discourses of race emerged from particular histories and intersected (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981) with other discourses of difference circulating in Rose’s classroom.  Cautious of the way that Foucauldian analyses can remain stuck in a worldview that is undeniably male and Eurocentric (Bailey, 2010; Said, 1979; Stoler, 1995), the second analytic lens seeks to trouble the discursive turn by focusing on the role of materiality in discursive exchanges, and looking at embodiment in these exchanges by exploring the ways in which particular bodies were positioned through discourse in Rose’s classroom. This is done to illustrate the enduring impacts of race and colonization that manifested in the relationships and interactions I participated in and witnessed at the school. This analytic lens draws on critical race studies in education (Dei, 1993, 1994, 2007; Henry, 2015; Gillborn, 2005/2009; James, 2001, 2011; Ladson-Billings, 1998/2009; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995; Leonardo, 2004/2009; Lund & Carr, 2015; Schick & St. Denis, 2003; St. Denis, 2007; Yon, 2000) in order to centralize the roles that race, gender, and colonization played in the frozen moments selected.  My analysis centers on primarily instances where the students at Gustave-Flaubert reproduced and resisted categories of difference related to race, ethnicity, indigeneity, class and gender in their social interactions in and out of class. Following Yon (2000), a focus on discursivity works “against the practice of simply representing the culture as a set of attributes. It pays attention instead to the qualities of discourses that circulate and which open or foreclose the different ways people can imagine themselves” (p. 125-126). To ground my understanding of students’ discourses of difference in their social studies classes, I draw on my observations of their interactions outside of class time in order to assess how their in-class interactions replicated or diverged from their casual social conversations. Heeding Foucault’s (1969) description of   85 discourse as a complex system circulating within complex relations of power, I place the students’ discourses of difference into thick descriptions of the contexts from which they emerged. This is done to provide a detailed account of the relations of power in which their interactions took place, and how the students reproduced or resisted modernist categories of difference in order to make meaning.  According to Foucault (1969), discursive analyses must take l’énoncé, the utterance, as the primary unit of analysis. However, he writes that the utterance is a not an easily definable “unit” in the manner of a phrase, a proposition, or a speech act; instead, Foucault explains the utterance as a function that vertically cuts through these diverse units and that can say whether or not such units exist. The utterance belongs to different signs, and from it we can determine if they “make sense” by determining the rules by which utterances operate and how they bring different units into relation. This kind of analysis differs significantly from linguistic forms of discourse analysis that focus on the words uttered by particular individuals. A Foucauldian analysis of discourse may momentarily settle on a particular speech act, but only in so much as this enables the analyst to bring it into conversation with other speech acts, phrases, and propositions, illustrating how they work together to create a discourse. The analyst’s work is to elucidate the rules operating within a given discourse and demonstrate how all units and individuals are governed by those rules as they interact within it.   I do not provide a linguistic discourse analysis focused on the words people used to express ideas, or how these formulations came into being. Rather, I wish to highlight the network of relations in which discourses came to be used during my fieldwork, and point to the discursive resources and strategies the Grade 9 students, Rose, and I drew on in our interactions. For example, I examine how the students drew on cultural discourses, particularly forms of racial   86 humour derived from popular comedians, films, and YouTube videos in my analysis of the students’ use of and resistance to discourses of difference to illustrate that these were discursive resources available to the youth. Popular cultural discourse was thus a strategy the youth used and it also forms part of the analysis I offer. I present this analysis with a desire to make visible the fact that this analysis is an interpretive act, based on my situated and inherently limited perspective.  3.5.3 Initial Analysis My analysis began while I was still conducting observations and interacting with the students and teachers at Gustave-Flaubert. I made analytic notes (Saldaña, 2016) while writing jottings and typing up my fieldnotes. These notes commented on my ideas about patterns of interactions that I noticed, and often focused on statements the youth made about categories of difference, specifically race and gender. Once the first round of interviews was completed, I began listening to them in order to discern different themes that appeared to be important to the youth. During this careful listening, I realized that some students spoke openly about race, whereas others were more hesitant to name this category of difference. This led me to focus my attention more keenly on discourses of race for the remainder of my fieldwork and ask the students direct questions about race in the focus group interviews at the end of the year.  3.5.4 Coding Textual Data Although St. Pierre (2012) critiques fitting research that uses poststructural theories into methods that emerged from positivist sciences, such as using coding software, there are many benefits to working through data systematically. All the data I gathered were visual and oral in nature, but once written up in fieldnotes and transcribed, they become textual objects (Emerson et al., 2011). Going over these texts multiple times not only creates the possibility for fine-tuning   87 analytic categories and themes, but also for revealing new insights (Sumara, 2002). As a visual and kinesthetic learner, I found it useful to work my data by hand, manipulating the physical objects of interview transcripts, fieldnotes, jottings, student drawings and portfolios. Writing on these documents and moving them around my office floor helped me visualize the relationships between the codes and categories I developed to describe and analyze my data. Saldaña (2016) explains a code as “researcher-generated construct that symbolizes and thus attributes interpreted meaning to each individual datum for later purposes of pattern detection, categorization, theory building and other analytic processes” (p. 4). I began my analysis by reading through fieldnotes and interview transcripts and making notes in green ink for this first reading. To track changes and shifts in my interpretations, I made notes of my second reading in purple. On the third reading, I started using different coloured highlighters to track different themes, like Difference, Play, Drama, and Space and categories, like race, ethnicity, gender, and youth. Saldaña (2016) describes this as First, Second, Third Cycle coding, and in line with my own experience, he writes that most qualitative researchers go through their data and the coding process multiple times before finally settling on the categories and codes that best describe their data.  My First Cycle coding was descriptive; I made notes in the margins of fieldnotes and interview transcripts describing classroom activities, categories of difference that were mentioned, and anything else that seemed important. A list of potential codes, categories, and themes was kept in a separate notebook. During Second Cycle coding, codes focused more on spaces, the modalities used in interactions, and the students’ statements of emotions or values. This was a combination of coding that was both affective (Saldaña, 2016) and interaction-based. Attention to discursive emergence and deviance guided Third Cycle coding, as I tried to pinpoint   88 instances when discourses of difference surfaced in the youths’ talk and how the youth were positioned by those discourses. This pass at coding also focused on power, by noting at instances of agreement, resistance, and times when people talked over others or ignored what certain people said.  Seven themes emerged from my coding of fieldnotes and interviews; they were: Difference, Play, Drama, Space, Literacy, Relationships, and Academic Success. Several of these themes had many categories within them, and each category contained a number of individual codes. For example, codes that I identified as being linked to race were placed in the category “race,” which eventually became one of six categories under the theme of difference. Figure 3.1 illustrates the categories and codes that I placed in the theme “Difference” following these three cycles of coding. The coding process did not produce a definitive set of themes, codes, and categories that I used without fail or deviation as I deepened my analysis throughout the writing process. Rather, the lists generated from this process functioned as an analytic heuristic that enabled me to visualize what I perceived to be significant in my fieldnotes and interview transcripts, and informed the beginning of my theorization. I quickly narrowed the focus of my dissertation to theme of “Difference” and proceeded to write up initial data chapters from that perspective. As my work progressed, I began to focus more specifically on the category of race and added categories for ethnicity and indigeneity. The central focus of my dissertation then became the examination of discursive practices and resistance to categories of difference, such as race, ethnicity, and indigeneity and how these categories were entangled with power relations and intersected with other categories like class and gender. Other categories of difference, such as youth, remained present, but functioned as more of a backdrop.    89  Figure 3.1 Theme of “Difference” with Subsequent Categories and Codes    90 This method of coding enabled me to trace the moments and academic spaces in which discourses of difference emerged throughout my study. Furthermore, I was able to observe how power relations played out in the interactions between the youth, with their teacher and me, and in the wider social context of the school and British Columbian society. Finally, and significantly, the coding revealed that discourses of race surfaced most in the Grade 9 social studies classes while studying the colonization of North America, suggesting that issues of race and indigeneity are closely connected.   3.6 Conclusion The feminist ethnography selected for this study enabled me to observe and interact with the Grade 9 students at École Gustave-Flaubert and Rose for an extended period of time. This time spent in the school and the constant attention to power relations allowed me to develop an understanding of the school’s culture, its daily rhythms, activities, practices, and values. The use of multiple methods of data collection enabled me to gather a breadth of data. This was useful to my analysis, as it allowed me to see and hear how discourses of difference manifested in multiple ways throughout the course of my fieldwork, and gain an appreciation for how the youth used discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, gender, and class as manifestations of friendship and in order to govern the boundaries of these categories and social groups. Although negotiating different roles proved challenging, as the co-facilitator of drama activities throughout the year I was able to establish relationships with the students and with Rose, which eased my task as researcher. Rather than sitting in the back of the classroom as a silent observer, I was active and involved, thus giving the students many opportunities to get to know me and ask me questions which, I believe, compelled them to continue to participate in this study. This engaged approach follows a theoretical frame that insists on the partiality of all data and the impossibility   91 of researchers being able to know everything about a research site. Certainly, such a situated and contextually specific study cannot make generalizations claims about all multiracial youth in Francophone minority language schools across Canada or about drama. Instead, this study provides a thick description of “frozen moments” and the discursive practices of these thirty-three students, their social studies teacher, and myself during those moments as we explored the Grade 9 curriculum together.      92 Chapter 4: Race Talk at École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert  I’m standing outside the classroom before Rose arrives to open the door. Brook is the first student to arrive at the door. She greets me in her usual way, mumbling hello without making direct eye contact. Several boys, including Roger, come to line up behind her. They start chatting about things I don’t follow until the ensuing exchange takes place:  Brook: “I don’t like Indian. We’re not Indian.”  R.K.: “Racist!”  Brook: “No, I mean we’re Native American or Indigenous.” She goes on to explain that this term means that they (Indigenous people) are native to North America. (Brook identifies as half Tlingit, a West Coast Indigenous tribe, and a quarter French Canadian and British, respectively.) Mike: “But where were they from before?”  Brook: “Asia.”  Mike: “So we should call them Native Asians.”  Brook: “No, we should call them Native Africans because originally, everyone was from Africa.” Brook changes subject and says that there are all these people who think that Jesus was White, but he was from the Middle East, so he was really darker.  Cléo: “Yeah, he was like me.” (Cléo’s ethnicity is Ethiopian and Quebecois. She has brown skin and straight black hair, and is often identified as Black by her peers. Sometimes she identifies as Black, while at others she identifies as mixed.)  Brook: “So all these people who use Jesus and don’t like people who aren’t White are wrong because Jesus wasn’t White.”    93 Rose arrives and opens the door. The students and I follow her into the classroom; their conversation ends.          (Fieldnote, Wednesday, 8 April, 2014) Sara: Okay. Um, do you guys ever get to talk about race, like in class, or… R. Kelly: No. Théo: Only when, like, someone gets in trouble… R. Kelly: Yeah, probably.      (Focus group interview, 29 May, 2014) This chapter provides an overview of the ways the youth in Rose’s social studies 9 classes used discourses of race or engaged in “race talk” as moved through different educational spaces at Gustave-Flaubert. The chapter illustrates how the students’ discourses of race, ethnicity, and indigeneity in the classroom differed from hallway discourses, and how hallway discourses emerged in liminal spaces in the social studies classroom —including ones created by drama activities. These variations in discursive practices are significant because they reveal the youths’ awareness of authorized discourses (Bourdieu, 1991) of race in a social environment structured by the ideals of multiculturalism and how youth knowingly edited their talk in these contexts. Furthermore, the discursive slippage that occurred in liminal spaces created in the classroom reveals their pedagogical potential for unpacking discourses of difference. Frozen moments drawn from fieldnotes and recordings that exemplify the students’ hallway discourses of race are juxtaposed with other moments in the classroom where the youth avoided talking about race. These data are substantiated by ideas the youth shared during focus group interviews about how race should to be discussed. Using Foucault’s (1990, 1995) ideas about power and governmentality, the discursive resources the students drew on in their informal discourses of   94 race are analyzed to explore how these practices positioned some bodies as “newcomer bodies,” ones not traditionally associated with Francophone schools or Canada, within the school. This chapter concludes by proposing that race talk occurred constantly at École Gustave-Flaubert and that the ways this talk emerged matters, even though addressing race and racialization was not prioritized by the school’s administration or in the curriculum. 4.1 In the Hallway as in Vegas One of the benefits of ethnographic research is that it allows a researcher access to a social setting for an extended period of time and in a variety of ever-changing capacities. This enables ethnographers to gain a sense for routines and common modes of interaction, and facilitates the tracking of changes or disruptions to the usual flow of activities or patterns of interaction. I observed the students’ social interactions in the classroom as situated engagements that related to and reflected the cultural context of Gustave-Flaubert. In my informal observations of the larger social context, mostly in the school’s hallways, I often overheard students’ discourses of race. This became a source of frustration because I was never recording in those instances. Furthermore, because I was quickly swept into classroom activities once I left the hallways, I could rarely recall the specifics of the hallway exchanges I had overheard when I typed my fieldnotes. The verbatim exchange that opens this chapter, and others like it, became the catalyst for thinking about how discourses of race emerged in Rose’s classroom. Vegas became a metaphor for the hallways because what was said about race in the hallways stayed in the hallways. These hallway discourses of race rarely, if ever, officially emerged in the formal classroom space. Yet, liminal spaces of play were created by drama and other activities. In those spaces the boundaries between acceptable classroom discourses and unauthorized hallway discourses began to fade away. Chapter 5 will explore in greater detail how hallway discourses   95 of race surfaced during and immediately following drama activities, and how this eventually became a formal intervention during class. 4.2 The Sounds of Vegas: Race in Informal Spaces  The dialogue that opens this chapter is an example of a hallway discourse of race at Gustave-Flaubert. It exemplifies the “sounds of Vegas.” The interaction began with Brook stating that she did not like the use of the term “Indian” in reference to Indigenous people. R. Kelly either misunderstood or sought to tease Brook by calling her a “racist.” She clarified: “we’re Native American or Indigenous,” indicating that she was talking about the use of “Indian” in reference to a people she identified with, as signified by her use of “we.” Significantly, Brook did not take the bait R. Kelly and Mike offered to turn her comment into a playful joke. Instead, she asserted a desire to be named as a “Native American or Indigenous” person, a political act of self-naming in a context in which Indigenous people were improperly called “Indians” by European colonizers, a misnomer has persisted for centuries (T. King, 2003). Brook’s speech act was political because she named herself as an Indigenous person in a context of White supremacy (Leonardo, 2004/2009), where whiteness is equated with power and having proximity to whiteness is often perceived as a virtue. Furthermore, affirming one’s distance from whiteness is transgressive and subversive (see for example Arvin, Tuck & Morrill, 2013 discussion of Native feminism not being included as a part of mainstream feminism), ever more because naming practices have long been denied for Indigenous people and people of colour (Henry, 2015; Smith, 1999). Brook also addressed her comments to R. Kelly, one of the loudest boys who frequently labeled people and enjoyed playing with labels. Standing in the informal educational space of the hallway, anticipating the social studies class where the students were   96 studying the Indigenous peoples of North America, Brook’s thoughts were drawn to the politics of naming practices and representation and she felt compelled to assert her position.  When Brook shifted the conversation to other representational practices, specifically ones surrounding Jesus, she found an ally in Cléo who appeared to share her thoughts. Cléo joined the conversation by affirming Brook’s thoughts about the colour of Jesus’ skin. Significantly, Cléo took Brook’s thoughts seriously and extended them by making a link to her own skin tone. After Cléo’s contribution, Brook’s thoughts became more immune to ridicule or being turned into a joke. Instead, the youth participating in this conversation, particularly R. Kelly and Mike, fell silent and appeared more serious and started nodding their heads in response to what the girls said. Brook was teased when she made her first comment, but once she had obtained Cléo’s support, her comments were attributed more significance by the group. Brook was also taken more seriously after she expanded her thoughts from the specific issue of naming Indigenous people to wider representational practices surrounding race and religion. Most of the youth in Brook’s class appeared uninformed or misinformed about ongoing cultural, political, and representational issues facing Aboriginal people in Canada. Brook’s peers either perceived her first comment as a “Brook issue” or dismissed it as one that was not important, whereas Brook’s second comment resonated more widely. This repeats a historical and global pattern of ignoring and dismissing Indigenous issues as ones that do not concern everyone (Battiste, 2013), without acknowledging the ways our relationships are entangled in colonial processes and relations. Although Brook’s thoughts about Jesus’ skin tone were not new (they form part of a wider discourse highlighting the unknown nature of Jesus’ race [McVee, 2005; Glinton, 28 September, 2012] and how he has been portrayed as White man in White dominant cultures), the link she made between religion and racism was poignant: “people who use Jesus and don’t like   97 people who aren’t White.” This link called forth the dual purposes colonization: to establish imperial dominance and spread Christianity (Hill Collins, 2006; T. King, 2003), complicating Brook’s earlier comments about naming by illustrating how religious beliefs are entangled with ideas of race. Read together, Brook’s comments served to question who has the power to name and how religion is entrenched in particular racial demographics (Hill Collins, 2006; Mattis, 2002). In the informal hallway space, Brook was thus able to talk through and theorize issues that troubled her related to ethnicity, naming, representational practices, and race. She was able to do this work in the hallway, yet below I will show that Brook and other students were not willing to formally engage in this kind of discussion during their social studies classes. The hallway was a space where naming oneself as Indigenous and casual discussions about the links between race, ethnicity, and indigenity could occur, whereas these speech acts were less likely to arise in the classroom.  4.2.1 Racial Humour in Informal Spaces The joking that that R. Kelly and Mike attempted in the frozen moment discussed above is typical of the students’ hallway discourses of race. However, in that moment, Brook was not interested in turning her musings into jest. Brook’s insistence to be taken seriously in that instance contrasted with other exchanges I observed in which racial or ethnic humour was used to discuss race, often with one person meekly objecting to the stereotyping inherent in this form of humour. The following exchange between R. Kelly and Mike provides a glimpse of the kind of racial humour Brook had sought to avoid.  Verbal Gestures and gaze R. Kelly: Lucky! … … … I couldn’t get Off camera.   98 Verbal Gestures and gaze away with that shit. Mike: (Inaudible response) Off camera. R. Kelly: But you actually get to be like, ‘cause you have White parents! Off camera. Mike: They were so mad at me! Camera pans onto students.  Sherlock waves at camera. R. Kelly, Mike, Roger, and Jacob look at Sara. Table 4.1 Class video recording, 22 May, 2014 Although this conversation occurred during class time, it took place in a liminal space created by an impromptu walk around the school grounds that Rose took the students on. This space that was both a part of class, but was not in the classroom, nor was it monitored in the way most classroom activities were. This allowed the students to casually chat with their friends in the language of their choosing. The fact that most students chose to speak in English on this walk, particularly those furthest from Rose, indicates that the students did not consider the walk to be a formal classroom activity. The exchange between Mike and R. Kelly is therefore akin to “hallway discourses of race” because it occurred in a liminal space and it was not meant to be overheard by their teacher.  The exchange between the two boys occurred in a context of playful storytelling and a kind of one-upmanship that the youth in this study often engaged in with their friends in informal spaces. According to the participants, humour was a foundation upon which their social groups were built.    99 Jade: Mostly, in my opinion, it’s all based on humour. Like, if you don’t have the same humour, you don’t hang together. (Focus group, 9 June, 2014) Furthermore, consistent with Kuoch’s (2005) analysis of humour, a common vocabulary, and shared understandings were central to the students’ ability to speak openly about race. Having friends who “got” their sense of humour was key. The kind of lighthearted humour exemplified in the exchange above was an important medium through which the students discussed race. The youth explained that their informal race talk was largely based on telling inappropriate jokes.  Cléo: Humour is key. Like we tell inappropriate jokes all the time. But, like, we know that they are inappropriate. (Focus group, 10 June, 2014) Bob: Race comes up as a joke, but people know that we don’t mean it.  Sherlock: Like if we can talk about it, then you’re okay with it.      (Focus group, 20 May, 2014) Jade: We make stupid, stereotypical jokes, like probably racist jokes… but only in a way—like I would do it to Gen, but I wouldn’t do it to, say… Blair, yeah. Because I don’t know Blair, I don’t talk to Blair, I don’t know what she’s like. But I would do it to Gen because she would know that it’s a joke. (Focus group, 9 June, 2014) The importance of humour in social relationships and saying the unsayable is undeniable. For centuries the role of the court jester, clown, and comedian has been to hold a sardonic mirror up to society, drawing on humour, spectacle, and performance in order say that which is forbidden, or deemed unacceptable (Hirji, 2009). Some believe that comedy provides a necessary release   100 when dealing with complex social issues, such as differing value systems and racism in multiracial societies (Billig cited in Hirji, 2009). Certainly, racial and ethnic humour was an important means through which these youth talked about race and humour can be an effective way of highlighting social contradictions and stereotypes. However, it is also possible for racial humour to work against a critical analysis of the society that upholds racist values and structures by focusing the analysis on the individual making the jokes. In other words, the individual’s motivations and relationships face more scrutiny than the social context they reflect on or seek to critique and in which the ideas they express might be judged to be humorous. Whereas Rubin, Conroy, Chen, and Cornell (2016) propose that attending to the use of absurdity, grammar, and punctuation can help to decipher the difference between a real and satirical news stories, LaMarre, Landreville, and Beam (2009) found that both conservative and liberal viewers believed they were addressed by the satirical news program The Colbert Report. According to the authors, only more liberal viewers were able to detect the satire in that comedy show (LaMarre, Landreville, & Beam, 2009). The challenges of discerning false versus real news have been further brought to the fore following the 2016 American presidential election; pundits have in fact named this time a “post-truth” era. Therefore, it is possible to simultaneously refute and reinforce stereotypes in racial humour that makes use of satire and irony because these are difficult forms of humour to judge. Jade’s comments above reveal that the students were careful not to use racial humour with those who were not close friends because the latter might not “get it.” This form of humour thus also enabled the youth to govern (Foucault, 1995) the borders of their friendships: “I wouldn’t do it to, say, Blair, yeah. Because I don’t know Blair, I don’t talk to Blair, I don’t know what she’s like.” Those with whom the students did not joke about race were outside of their   101 close social circles, whereas those who laughed and were not offended by their jokes were in a closer friendship circles: “But I would do it to Gen because she would know that it’s a joke.” Since the students admitted that their jokes were sometimes racist, would it not be appropriate for someone to be offended by them? The answer to this question lies in the link between power/knowledge (Foucault, 1980), agency, and audience. Knowing that racist humour was intended as a joke was a form of social capital (Bourdieu, 1991) because it enabled the youth to be “cool” and share a laugh with their friends; however, those telling the jokes held a power denied to those who found the jokes offensive. It would not be cool for the audience to name subjectivities that differed from or problematized the named stereotype in the moment, as doing so might prevent the joke from being funny. This further illustrates how racial humour performed a disciplinary role in the youth’s social relations (Foucault, 1995) because every student in each group was not fully free to voice resistance or objections, as this would break group dynamics that were based on the ability to laugh together.  Some students felt they were sophisticated in their use of racist stereotypes and believed that their jokes were a form of satire.  Verbal Gestures and gaze Jade: Like if I told Gen a racist joke about her race, or something, but we’re both laughing about it. But then a teacher hears. Looking and gesturing across the table at Genevieve.  Genevieve returning gaze, then looking down. Genevieve: Yeah! Eyes brighten, looking up at Jade. Jade: They get angry about it, even though Looking at Genevieve. Gesturing away when   102 Verbal Gestures and gaze she’s not angry.  referring to teachers, then at Genevieve. Genevieve: I’m not angry. Looking at Jade and pointing to herself. Jade: It’s a joke. We understand each other. But then they butt-in… Looking at Sara. Genevieve: Like she’s a racist or something, but like, no. Looking at Sara and gestering toward Jade. Jade: …and they start giving a lecture about how it’s horrible to be racist, but they don’t know… Looking at Genevieve and Sara. Genevieve: You joined it at the wrong moment. Looking across the table at Jade. Jade: Yeah, I wouldn’t go around yelling racist jokes. Looking at Sara. Making circular motion with hands. Mia: No, like we know that saying that stuff to other people is wrong, but we say it to Gen because Gen understands. But we wouldn’t say it to other people. Looks up from table.  Looking at Sara. Gesturing with hands from Jade to Genevieve. Genevieve: Yeah, like you meant it. Looking at Jade and Mia. Kelsey: I think the teachers don’t understand that we understand. Turns toward camera to face Sara. Jade: They kind of butt-in when it’s not Looking up, addressing Sara.   103 Verbal Gestures and gaze really their business. Gestering up and down with hands. Genevieve: Like they [the other students] don’t mean it. Looking toward Sara, but mostly at Jade. Jade: Like if Gen got offended, that’s okay, I get it, but we’re both laughing about it. Looking in distance. Motioning across neck with hand. Mia: At least ask if she felt offended, but they don’t even, they just… Looking at Sara. Motions toward Genevieve. Table 4.2 Focus Group, 9 June, 2014 However, as Hirji (2009) notes, humour, particularly racial or ethnic humour, stands the risk of solidifying stereotypes. I presented this perspective to Jade, Mia, Kelsey and Genevieve, explaining that their teachers might be concerned that their jokes were reinforcing stereotypes. In response, they said: Verbal Gestures and gaze Jade: Definitely when we use racial stereotypes I don’t think it’s a good thing to do. I think it’s bad, but we have our limits, like we know where to stop. Head in hands. Looking at Genevieve, then at Sara. Lifting arms off table, shifting gaze downward.  Looking at Genevieve. Genevieve: Yeah. Looking down at table. Mia: I feel like it’s not bringing [racial stereotypes] back because it’s sarcasm.  Head resting on one hand.  Looking at Sara.   104 Verbal Gestures and gaze Moving one with one hand. Genevieve: Kind of like, accepting…  Looking at Mia. Gesturing out with hands. Mia: We know it’s not true… (Inaudible) Hands in animated motion. Jade: We know it’s there. Looking at group then down and away from group. Mia: Kind of like, evolving, I don’t know… Looking at Sara. Stops motioning hands and puts head back on hand. Table 4.3 Focus Group, 9 June, 2014 Successfully subverting racial stereotypes is difficult work, even for the most skilled comedians. Without complexity, stereotypes are reified and unproblematized, as in the exchange between R. Kelly and Mike. Moreover, when Jade, who identified as White albeit of Lebanese, Syrian, and Irish heritage, uses a racial slur in joking with Genevieve, a Black African-Canadian, there is no subversion. As Kuoch (citing Jacobs, 2005) notes, there is a significant difference between someone whose pride in their racial or ethnic heritage cannot be questioned makes a joke about a group they belong to. It is another thing entirely when someone whose body and social position reaffirms domination (Leonardo, 2004/2009) makes a stereotypical joke about a group they do not belong to. According to Jade and Mia’s statements: “we have our limits” and “I feel like it’s not bringing [racial stereotypes] back because it’s sarcasm,” some of the youth believed they were playing with racial stereotypes so as to subvert them when they were used in informal spaces like the hallways and within the confines of their friendship circles. However, the conditional way Jade and Mia answered my question about reifying stereotypes indicates that they were not   105 certain about theses statements and that they sometimes struggled to identify stereotypes, which would make it difficult to effectively subvert them. For these youth, racial humour was a way to highlight their awareness of problematic racial stereotypes and determine the lines of close friendship circles, based on who was able to laugh at their admittedly racist jokes. Audience was thus decidedly important in racial humour and its ability to subvert stereotypes; nevertheless, some students expressed ambivalence or uncertainty about whether their attempts at subversion were successful. The positionalities of the joker and receivers of the jokes went a long way to determining whether subversion or humour was successful and it is possible that the youth sometimes reasserted dominance through this form of humour. What became clear through our discussions of racial humour was that the youth agreed that their teachers did not understand this form of humour or take the time to learn why it was an important form of social discourse for these multiracial youth. It is possible that since most of the youth who participated in this study were multiracial and/or multiethnic, racial humour was a way for them to disrupt stereotypes about racial purity and White dominance. While they were reaching toward satire and irony in their humour and were sometimes successful in their execution, the youth were not yet fully aware of what they were doing or able to explain what made their humour satiric or ironic which could easily lead to reinforcing stereotypes or social norms they sought to trouble. 4.3 The Sounds of Whiteness in the Classroom  In contrast to hallway discourses, the Grade 9 students seldom named race in their social studies class or brought up the racial and ethnic stereotypes they knew, used, and debated out of class. In the formal academic setting—delimited by the walls of the classroom, the ringing of bells, Rose’s presence and attention, and the activities at hand—the students did not discuss notions of race and ethnicity that they encountered in mainstream and social media, school, and   106 the communities they interacted with out of school. This was true even when they were asked to do so. During a unit on the European invasion of North America, Rose asked the students what they believed European colonizers had thought about the Indigenous people they met. Her question was met with silence. After a long pause, Kelsey raised her hand and asked:  “Oh, didn’t they refer to them as “savages?” Because that’s what they did in Pocahontas.”  (Class recording, 23 April, 2014) This tentative reply was the only response Rose received from her otherwise talkative students. While my out-of-class observations indicated that several students knew of more stereotypes, Kelsey was the only student willing to name one.  Kelsey was careful not to make it appear that the sentiment she presented had come from her. Drawing on Pocahontas (Pentecost, 1997), a Disney animated film, to ground her comment strategically distanced Kelsey from the prejudice to which she referred. Despite using this strategy, Kelsey felt comfortable enough to name a prejudicial view in class. She was a good student whom I never observed being disciplined. This is perhaps why Kelsey felt it was okay to speak up and believed that Rose would be receptive to her idea. However, the way Kelsey answered the question stood out for three reasons. First, the racism portrayed in Pocahontas is what can be defined as “overt racism.” This form of racism is easy to identify, name, and is linked to laws and policies that are obviously discriminatory and predicated on ideas of racial superiority. By contrast, “covert” forms of racism that can be more difficult to detect and have been characterized as “hidden; secret; private; covered; disguised; insidious; or concealed” (Coates, 2011, p. 1). Because covert racism is subtle and difficult to identify, it is also pervasive and insidious (Roberts & Molock, 2013). Therefore, by naming the racism in Pocahontas, Kelsey was safe. If she had named a more subtle, currently relevant stereotype, she might run the   107 risk of being associated with it. As Tatum (1994/2009) argues, many students experience shame in being associated with racism. Secondly, this moment struck me as an instance when a student tried to help her teacher by answering a question when no one else would speak. The answer becomes more of an exasperated statement suggesting: “someone has to say something!” rather than necessarily making a substantive contribution to the discussion. In this case, Kelsey’s comment was a significant contribution to the class discussion. Thirdly, Kelsey’s hesitant suggestion and her use of the distancing strategy can also be read as “doing gender” (Butler, 1990/2006). Kelsey and other students who identified as “girls” regularly couched their statements in class in conditional terms, suggesting that they were unsure of the validity of their arguments. This was true even when their points were well grounded and valid, as Kelsey’s was. This gender performance was so pervasive that I mistakenly thought that several of the girls in Rose’s classes, including Kelsey, struggled academically. I was stunned when Rose later explained that they were among her strongest students.  Kelsey’s distancing strategy makes sense in the context of the social studies classroom because the overarching principle governing classroom interactions was respect. Specifically, differences were to be respected and disparaging comments were to be avoided. Moreover, the youth repeatedly stated that it was wrong to treat people badly on the basis of race in response to my question about whether it was okay to talk about race: Samantha: Yeah, it’s okay to talk about it if you’re not being mean about it. Fleur: If you’re not being racist.      (Focus group, 15 May, 2014) Jamie: As long as you’re not insulting people. (Focus group, 10 June, 2014)   108 According to Samantha, Fleur, Jamie, and others who echoed their thoughts, being racist or insulting was understood to be wrong. However, none of the students explained what they meant by “racist.” Their answers suggest that they understood racism as individual prejudice rather than a historical process that set-up the systemic and structural domination whiteness (Leonardo, 2004/2009). Given how widespread the idea that people had to be respectful when talking about race, at least in formal educational spaces, it is understandable that Kelsey cited a film to make her point. This strategy enabled her to let her peers know that she did not think Aboriginal people were savages, or that she had independently come up with the idea that Europeans might have thought so.  Citing the film was, therefore, strategic and performative. It was a way of “doing girlhood” (Butler, 1990/2006) in the classroom and also a performance of multiculturalism and ineffective anti-racism. Gunew (citing Philip, 2004) notes that Canadian multiculturalism is ineffective unless it is tied to anti-racism policy. The result is that in the Canadian popular imaginary, multiculturalism is perceived as a virtue because it purports to “celebrate diversity” and promote equality; however, as noted earlier, discursive moves in this direction occur without effective actions to bring about racial justice. Like the policy that informs their actions, Canadians often recognize and decry overt acts of racism, yet avoid engaging in meaningful discussions about covert racisms, the structures that maintain it, how individuals are complicit in perpetuating it, and the ways this impacts persistent social and material inequities.  Whiteness and multiculturalism are deeply connected. Many of the critiques of Canadian multiculturalism noted above overlap with one of Gillborn’s (2005/2009) central features of whiteness: the refusal to acknowledge the participation of White people. Furthermore, multiculturalism is set against the backdrop of an English and French founding mythology. The   109 predominance of these European groups is maintained by the Multiculturalism Act (Gunew, 2004; Haque, 2012) that was clearly laid out “within a bilingual framework” (James, 1995, p. 34). Therefore, what is normalized in Canada is Anglo-Celtic whiteness. When Quebecers make claims of ethnic and cultural difference from this norm, their claims are met with skepticism because ethnicity is racialized by Canadian multiculturalism as something that, according to Gunew (2004), belongs to non-White people or non-“European” Europeans10. The fact that language also has a history of being racialized in Canada escapes many Anglophone observers11, as does the way that multiculturalism served the nation-building purpose of rendering Francophones a part of the White European core of the national imaginary. Canadian multiculturalism is a liberal policy for managing difference (Bannerji, 2000; Gunew, 2004) that is linked to colourblindness (Hayes & Juárez, 2009) because it subsumes race in the category of culture (James, 1995, 2010). However, colourblindness, like multiculturalism, fails to bring about racial justice (Anderson, 2015), because it denies the fundamental impact that racialization can have on the lives of individuals, whether by way of systemic privilege or disadvantage. Colourblind ideals are often iterated in dominant portrayals of multiculturalism which are devoid of critical engagements with the limitations of “multiculturalism” and “tolerance,” (Dei, 2007; Henry, 2012; James, 1995, 2010; Taucar, 2009). Focus on race, rather than cultural or ethnic                                                 10 Gunew refers to the ways in which different European ethnic groups, the Irish, Scottish, Ukrainians, Italians, etc., have historically been constructed as "not White" in the Canadian context and how the material racism they suffered in consequence was also real and makes "White" a difficult and complicated label in Canada. 11 Domination and privilege are intertwined in complex ways on the Canadian landscape. For example, speaking French was not perceived as “White” in Canada for many years, as explored in Michèle Lalonde’s (1974) poem “Speak White,” which has recently re-surfaced in the French and English Canadian consciousness through Robert Lepage’s (2016) play 887. This is also true of Pierre Vallière’s (1968) Nègres Blancs d’Amérique.   110 differences is perceived as a betrayal of the ways that Canada has “resolved” the problem of racism by embracing diversity through multiculturalism (James, 2010).  The general lack of response to Rose’s question and the students’ comments about not saying racist things suggests that Kelsey was not the only student who wanted to avoid being labeled a “racist.” Elsewhere (Schroeter & James, 2015), Bourdieu’s (1991) notion of authorized discourse is applied to how students in another school strategically edited their talk to avoid mentioning race and racism in front of teachers. Viewing Rose’s classroom and Gustave-Flaubert as institutional, architectural, and discursive forms of sovereign power that restrict what can and cannot be said about race in these spaces (Foucault, 1976), it becomes possible to see how similar forces were at work in this instance. The school, as a state institution, is charged with educating and socializing youth to Canadian values (Battiste, 2013; Bourdieu, 1991; Foucault, 1995; James, 2001). Therefore, schools are responsible for disseminating the state value of multiculturalism, which, with its ties to whiteness and colourblindness, denies White complicity in racism and refuses to acknowledge race and enduring colonialism (Simpson, James & Mack, 2011; St. Denis, 2011). Students learn that race is not something that can be easily discussed in class from the authorized discourse of multiculturalism, whether or not it is significant to their educational experiences.  Race clearly mattered to the students, even though many struggled with contradictory feelings about its significance. On the one hand, the idea that it was acceptable to talk about race “as long as you aren’t insulting anyone” speaks to a desire for agreed upon rules of engagement for talking about difference. Such ideals are also found in false promises of “dialogue across difference,” based on Hegelian ideas of the dialectic, that are advocated by critical pedagogies (Ellsworth, 1989). The idea that respectful dialogues across difference can be realized by   111 following prescribed rules is closely linked to the idea of an equal playing field that is upheld by liberal policies (James, 1995; Ladson-Billings, 1998/2009) like multiculturalism. The belief is that policies and procedures can be put in place to prevent disrespectful or racist attitudes and ideas from being expressed. However, such discussions often fail to be empowering, even when the “rules” for respectful dialogue are respected (Ellsworth, 1989; Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013; Schroeter, 2009). On the other hand, as is revealed below, the students knew that race was important to their identifications and impacted their lives, even if they were not always able to articulate how and why. There were few opportunities in formal school spaces to discuss these contradictions. The variation I observed in the students’ discourses of race the youth when answering questions about identification versus their answers to questions about the acceptability of discussing race can be attributed to a personal desire for race not to impact their lives and the simultaneous acknowledgement that race was a significant factor in many of their social interactions. Contrary to some of his peers, Matthieu expresses a hesitance to talk about race in school: “Like sometimes I’ll hold back because I’m afraid that people will interpret it as being racist even though I’m not trying to offend anyone”  (Focus group, 2 June, 2014).  While Matthieu appeared to agree with his friends’ assessment that race is an important part of identity, by expressing his fear Matthieu revealed the complexities of talking about race in multiracial groups, like the social studies classroom in a context of the Canadian multiculturalism promoted in schools. His thoughts also corroborate what other participants expressed, the belief that racism is an individual trait, not a systemic issue. In contrast with Jade, Mia, and Genevieve’s contention that the students believed that they knew the boundaries of   112 appropriate and inappropriate racial humour, Matthieu stated that recognizing the boundaries between acceptable and inacceptable discourses of race was difficult. While it is common for White people, like Matthieu, to be nervous about revealing prejudicial views and being labeled “racist” (Frankenberg, 1993; Tatum, 1994/2009), it is interesting that the multiracial students in Rose’s classes, who said it was important to talk about race and did so freely outside of class, were so hesitant to bring it up in class. The features of whiteness (Gillborn, 2005/2009) were in the classroom insofar as they provided an organizing structure for class discussions about European colonization, by avoiding substantive discussions about the racist stereotypes that were central to colonial nation-building endeavours that endure to this day. White normativity and liberal ideas about respectful exchanges of ideas structured the discursive practices in the formal classroom space.  4.3.1 Race in the Classroom at Gustave-Flaubert It is critical to note that Rose’s Grade 9 students were keenly aware of the editing they did when it came to talking about race and ethnicity in the classroom. In focus group interviews, the students provided a surprisingly consistent explanation for their discursive shift.  Sara: …do you guys ever get to talk about race, like in class, or… R.K.: No. Théo: Only when, like, someone gets in trouble… R.K.: Yeah, probably.      (Focus group, 29 May, 2014) This sentiment was echoed by Genevieve, Jade, and Cléo in two separate focus group interviews. Jade: We talk about race if we’re in trouble, like if someone has done something wrong.   113 Genevieve: It’s always in a broad way, but never specifically about anything and never positive. Kelsey: Well Rose has brought it up a few times Genevieve: When was it ever about something she wasn’t upset about? Kelsey: … Jade: Sometimes, the teachers just hear us say something out of context and they give us a big lecture about it. Like they don’t even know what we’re talking about or that we’re okay with it.      (Focus group interview, 9 June, 2014) Cléo: We only talk about race if someone said something bad.      (Focus group interview, 10 June, 2014) According to the students, teachers at Gustave-Flaubert only brought up race in the context of reprimanding what they deemed to be racist discourse; as a result, the youth did not feel that they could talk about race with their teachers. In the statements above, the youth only alluded to instances when someone had been reprimanded for talking about race without providing concrete examples; however, the hypothetical scenarios they presented resonated with most of their peers. Kelsey argued that Rose’s class was an exception to this rule. However, when Genevieve pressed further, Kelsey struggled to provide a specific example and the perspective that race was only brought up in class when it was linked to discipline dominated the conversation.  Race and racialization are not explicitly part of the social studies 9 curriculum in British Columbia. However, categories of difference like ethnicity, indigeneity, gender, class, culture, religion, and language are in the curriculum and all intersect with race. Furthermore because multiculturalism is part of what Canadian youth are taught in school, race does form part of the   114 unofficial curriculum since multiculturalism is entangled with racialized (Bannerji, 2000; Gunew, 2004) and other categories of difference. Gunew (2004) explains that in North America multiculturalism has come to stand in for racialized difference. When an event or artifact is referred to as “multicultural,” it connotes the presence of racialized groups or content. Therefore, in learning about multiculturalism in schools, Canadian youth also learn about how the government manages racialized difference without naming race or ethnicity (Derkson cited in Gunew, 2004). Teachers are not required to address the entanglements between multiculturalism, race, and subsequently colonization, and since race is often considered “risky” (Tatum, 1994/2009), many do not. Foucault (1990) argues that power is exercised through its denials, and prohibitions. Given that representatives of power in the school (i. e. the teachers and administrators) did not speak of race or only brought it up in the context of reprimand, it is not surprising that the students spoke differently about race and ethnicity inside the social studies classroom.  The students’ unwillingness to share their thoughts about race in class was likely exacerbated by the fact that they believed their teachers did not understand their use of racial humour. By their own account, their jokes were often racist and thus would not be acceptable for classroom discourse. The youth also did not appear to differenciate between individual acts of racism and structural racism, which made it challenging for them to comprehend why their jokes might be unacceptable in the classroom but discussions about race, racialization, and stereotyping would not be. In fact, there were times when Rose explicitly asked the youth to name stereotypes; however, this invitation occurred in a context where race was rarely ever named. Combined with the stigma associated with being labeled “racist,” race talk in the regulated, disciplined, and therefore governed (Foucault, 1995) space of the classroom was   115 generally avoided. Interestingly, by avoiding race talk in the classroom, there were few opportunities, if any, for the students to discuss and learn about the subtleties of satire with their teacher and figure out ways of subverting racial stereotypes through humour. Such opportunities might have enabled the youth to share their insights about race, racialization, and racism as well as their critiques of schooling and Canadian society with their teachers and other audiences.  4.4 Discourses of Race and Ethnicity in Liminal Spaces It was fascinating and frustrating to observe how the students’ commonplace discourses of race seldom emerged in class discussions throughout the year. As the following excerpt from my fieldnotes illustrates, there were several instances where hallway discourses of race were observed long before I was able to record them.  The best conversations about race always take place when there are no cameras running or recordings being made. Every significant conversation about race has come up at these times, unless there’s more in my fieldnotes and interviews than I remember…         (Fieldnote, 6 May, 2014) Fortunately, the interviews, focus groups, and my fieldnotes revealed that I had observed substantial comments about race being made throughout the year. However, a significant change occurred during the unit on first contact between the Indigenous peoples of the Americas and European colonizers. It is impossible to discuss first contact without addressing indigeneity, and this was the only unit in which racialization was broached. During this unit, there were several instances when the students’ discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and gender emerged in class. This often occurred during or immediately following drama activities and it always occurred in liminal spaces between formal instructional time and informal “student time.” Chapter 6 focuses explicitly on the discourses of race and ethnicity that emerged during and after   116 drama activities and exploring the possibilities that arts-based pedagogies offer for talking about race in schools. This section illustrates how race talk occurred other liminal spaces created in Rose’s social studies classroom. Marvin Carlson (1996/2004) explains the significance of ideas about liminality for social scientists, such as anthropologists and theatre practitioners alike. Carlson describes that for Victor Turner (1969, 1982), liminal spaces serve the function of temporarily disrupting established social orders. For Turner (1969, 1982), liminal rituals mark the passage from one state of being to another, which allows for subversion and discovery. Turner (1969) further theorized that liminal activities opposed normal cultural processes in which cultural codes could be questioned. The idea that liminal spaces disrupt social orders was further developed in Brian Sutton-Smith’s studies about play (Carlson, 1996/2004). Sutton-Smith (1997) posits that play is ambiguous and can represent “letting off steam” from overly governed orderliness. Play involves disorder because there is something to be learned from it (Sutton-Smith cited in Carlson, 1996/2004, p. 19). The liminal spaces created in Rose’s classroom served similar purposes by temporarily disrupting the authorized discourses and codes of conduct; however, order was quickly reestablished because the students usually chose not to share their playful disruptions to authorized ways of discussing race for fear of discipline. The youth appeared to think that challenging normative discourses of race was not something that could be safely done in formal schooling spaces. As part of the unit on first contact, Rose and I organized a field trip to the Museum of Anthropology and the First Nations House of Learning at the University of British Columbia (UBC). Significantly, the campus is located on the traditional unceded and ancestral territory of the Musqueam people, an issue we discussed at length with the students, as we examined how   117 much of modern British Columbia is situated on Aboriginal land. The day spent in these informal “places of learning” (Ellsworth, 2005) provided the most prolonged opportunity to observe students’ interactions and gain a better sense of the ways that discourses of race and indigeneity figured in their informal talk. The field trip also allowed me to observe the students deliberately editing their talk for school and adopting a register that they deemed “classroom appropriate.”  We are standing by the steps outside the Museum of Anthropology, Rose has just explained the rules of the scavenger hunt that the students have been assigned while we are at the museum, and placed them in pre-determined groups of three or four. The first task the students are charged with is to come up with a group name. I walk over to Genevieve, Stacey, and Théo to see what they are doing. Stacey is holding the group’s worksheet. I notice that “The Dark Shelled Tacos” is written as their group name. “The Dark Shelled Tacos?” I say jokingly, “What does that mean?” The three students start laughing. Genevieve grins at me and says: “Well, it obviously doesn’t have anything to do with race!” Théo retorts, in his best stuck-up (White middle-class) sounding voice, “That is demeaning, racist, stereotypical and I don’t think it’s appropriate.” Stacey is laughing, nervously, and says, “Well, it’s who we are…” She points to their skin (Genevieve is of Black African heritage and dark skinned; Théo is half Black African-half White Canadian and more fair-skinned than Genevieve; Stacey is of Mexican heritage and is the fairest of the three). I try to engage the students in a conversation about the way they came up with their name. Genevieve is the most willing to share her thoughts with me, while Théo addresses me indirectly, through the jokes he makes for Genevieve. He also seems to be ignoring Stacey, without being overtly mean about it (in front of me at least). Genevieve explains that it’s a play on their race and ethnicity and it’s funny.   118 Then she asks, “Does it have to be in French?” I tell her that I don’t know and that it doesn’t bother me if they use an English name. I inquire about who came up with it and she tells me that it was Stacey. This surprises me because Stacey is younger and part of the group of girls who are not as popular as Genevieve and Théo. I had assumed that she would be shy with her more ‘popular’ group-mates. I had suspected Théo of coming up with the name. However, my assumption ignored the fact that he is very concerned about getting good grades, despite his ‘cool’ performance and that he doesn’t like to be the center of attention—at least not in class. Stacey, who had strayed away, returns and says, “Guys, I think we need to change our name. I erased it.” I move away because I don’t want them to ask me whether or not they should keep the name, I am curious about the decision they will make on their own. I hear Genevieve and Théo ask why, and Stacey explains that she thinks Rose might not like it. The other two protest a little, but go along with a name change in the end.        (Fieldnote, 6 May, 2014) This exchange between Stacey, Genevieve and Théo illustrates how students edit their talk to make it appropriate for the classroom by choosing to erase a group name that made explicit reference to race from a school document. Joking and inferences about race are standard in this informal interaction. As noted above, the students felt that their teachers often misinterpreted their ways of talking about race and the ways they liked to play on stereotypes. In this informal and playful space, Stacey, Genevieve, and Théo felt comfortable momentarily turning on its head the unwritten rule that race should not be explicitly named in class. By naming racial identifiers, they were calling out some of the racial stereotypes they or people of non-dominant races are subjected to. These students briefly rejected White supremacy   119 (Leonardo, 2004/2009) and claimed the stereotypes as theirs to suit their own purposes. Making race visible was a symbolic and political gesture, something that was rarely acknowledged at school or in the curriculum. Every act of naming oneself and one’s experience with institutional racism is political (Henry, 2015); echoing Brook’s act self-naming at the beginning of this chapter. Furthermore, by giving themselves an English group name, the students made their flouting of authorized school discourses ever more evident, as they refused to conform to the CSF’s expectation that French was the sole language of schooling. Although this exchange did not occur during a drama activity, it occurred in a liminal space (Schechner, 1985; Turner, 1982)—informal group work during a field trip—and reproduced a playfulness similar to the one that characterized drama work. However, mention of race was eventually edited off the worksheet, a formal school document. When Stacey decided to change the name to something more “acceptable”—I never learned their new group name—she effectively took race out of play. Order was thus reestablished (Turner, 1982) and the authorized discourse of colourblindness (Schroeter & James, 2015) was restored. In the process, the full extent of her group’s knowledge about difference, race, culture, colonization, and power was withheld from Rose. Feeling like they could not use their everyday registers, or ways of interacting limited the discussions about race that could occur in class.  It is possible that my questions about the group name served as a reminder of educational power and authorized discourse. While I was not a “teacher,” I was co-teaching the social studies class and Stacey may have been intimidated by my questions. Particularly since she had suggested the group name and Genevieve told me it had been her idea. It also is possible that Stacey proposed the name in an attempt to show Genevieve and Théo, students who were perceived as being “popular,” that she shared their sense of humour and that she was also   120 capable of being subversive. In other words, the name may have been more a symbol of proximity against the boundaries of social groupings withing the grade 9 classes. My interactions with different groups of students were also markedly different. Whereas Genevieve, Théo and their friends were often more open with me, spoke to me about race, and had figured out my interest in studying differences, Stacey’s group of friends were more reserved and tended to treat me more like an adult outsider. The lack of a more casual relationship between Stacey and I may have also contributed to her unwillingness to keep “The Dark Shelled Tacos” as the group name. 4.5 Conclusion This chapter revealed the different educational spaces in which discourses of race emerged during my time at école Gustave-Flaubert. By exploring the circulation of discourse of race and ethnicity in these spaces, this chapter illustrates how a clear distinction between informal and formal educational spaces translated into the emergence of particular kinds of race talk that were deemed appropriate or inappropriate in each space. However, this distinction was disrupted by liminal spaces that were created in the classroom, as the students’ informal discourses of race emerged in those spaces. Although these informal discourses of race surfaced in liminal spaces, they were not intended to make formal contributions to class discussions. Chapter 6 will expand on this idea by examining how drama functioned as a liminal space, also enabling informal discourses of race to enter the classroom, but with the distinction of surfacing as a part of the youths’ formal class work and questions directly addressed to me and Rose.  Racial humour was the primary means through which the Grade 9 youth articulated discourses of race in formal and informal spaces. This chapter revealed that the youth were aware of the problematic nature of racial of humour (Haygood, 2000; Hirji, 2009; Kuoch, 2005) and its reliance on racist stereotypes. The youth clearly indicated that they believed that many of   121 their jokes were “racist;” however, they also believed that they were making use of irony and making fun of these stereotypes when they joked with their peers. Indeed, they often made good use of satire and exposed instances of hypocrisy, abuses of power, and inappropriate stereotyping through their humour. However, the youth were not always able to identify what qualifies as effective uses of irony and satire in order to subvert powerful discourses. This is consistent with the literature on racial humour (Haygood, 2000; Hirji, 2009), noting that the identification of the person telling the joke as well as those of the joker’s audience are important in determining whether or not stereotypes have been subverted. This chapter also shared insight about the ways that racial humour was used as a way to govern (Foucault, 1990) friendship circles and behaviour within those circles. The use of racial humour indicated a kind of close proximity between the youth, but it also served as a reminder that in order to “be cool,” the students had to acquiesce to this form of humour, even if they sometimes found it insulting. The data presented in this chapter suggest that the inclusion and integration of youth who were diverse in terms of race, ethnicity, gender, and class was not seamless. Diversity was sometimes a source of tension and may have contributed to what the youth found funny; as the youth said, humour was the basis upon which friendship circles were established. By exploring the different kind of race talk that took place in the classroom, this chapter also illustrated how whiteness (Gillborn 2005/2009; Leonardo, 2004/2009) was reinforced and reproduced in the classroom. In formal educational settings, the students were only willing to mention race in ways that ignored or side-stepped the complicity of White people in maintaining racist structures in the present. This is likely something they had learned from years of schooling in an educational system in which whiteness continues to dominate. Moreover, the students used discursive strategies that distance them from the historical forms of racism they were willing to   122 discuss. These moves reinforced a discourse of colourblindness that is endemic in Canadian schools and fails to bring about racial justice (Anderson, 2015; Gunew, 2004; Simpson, James, & Mack, 2011). Chapter 5 will expand on this finding, by exploring the intersections between race, gender, class and youth in the students’ identifications.   123 Chapter 5: Talking About Identification  This chapter fills a gap in existing literature on Francophone minority language schooling by focusing on discourses of race, ethnicity, indigenity, gender, and class circulating at Gustave-Flaubert and approaching the youths’ identifications, from their perspectives. Unlike most research that has been done in this area, the youths’identifications were approached in an open-ended way that did not privilege linguistic identity or language use. This data is set in the context of changing demographics and research within urban Francophone schools in Canada (Carlson-Berg, 2010, 2011; Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Heller, 1999, 2003; Ibrahim, 1999; Jacquet, 2009; Levasseur, 2012, 2016; Prasad, 2012; Madibbo, 2007; Moore, Sabatier, Jacquet & Massinda, 2008). Certainly, the existence of minority language schools stimulates research into the politics of language use and linguistic identity; however, Diane Gérin-Lajoie and Marianne Jacquet (2008) note that approaches to diversity that have assimilationist tendencies are rife within Francophone minority language schools, rendering other aspects of identification and “diversity,” such as race, topics that require greater scrutiny. Open-ended approaches to examining students’ identifications are thus useful and necessary to resist privileging categories of difference that may not be important to the youth attending these schools. This approach to identification and a focus on the spaces in which race talk occurred at Gustave-Flaubert enables a closer look at which categories of difference were important to the youth and unpacking the ways in which these categories intersected others. Furthermore, this allows for an analysis of how the Grade 9 students governed (Foucault, 1990, 1995) and resisted the boundaries of categories of difference in their talk. Next, this chapter presents ways the Grade 9 students identified, by drawing on codes that emerged from Second and Third level coding. Finally, drawing on concepts of intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981) and contingent primacy   124 (Loutzenheiser, 2005) the categories of difference that the youth identified as significant to their subjectivities are analyzed to explore the complex ways that ideas about race intersect with other categories of differences and how categories were important in some instances and not in others. Weary of research practices that name and inappropriately label participants, I asked the youth and Rose how they identified during the first round of interviews. Because they did not always understand what I meant by “identification,” I provided an example by naming some of my identifications. Although my desire was to redress some of the power imbalances involved in ethnographic research, the question and naming remain problematic as these practices set-up hierarchies and power relations that I am ultimately interested in deconstructing. Theoretically and methodologically, it was important that I refer to the youth by using the terms they used to identify themselves. However, in asking this question, I placed the youth in the awkward situation of having to label and classify themselves according to classificatory systems that I recognize and critique as colonial and oppressive. Moreover, the process of naming and classifying can be seen as the ongoing work of colonization, and as a characteristic of whiteness and domination (Gillborn, 2005/2009; Leonardo, 2004/2009). My discomfort led to attempts to destabilize the categories of difference I named in my own identification, in order to demonstrate the shifting nature of identifications for the students. Sara: … … So, for instance, I identify as a White, middle-class woman, uh of French and German background—or, well Québécois and German background. Um, sometimes I identify as um being in a heterosexual relationship, sometimes I identify as being a mother—depends on the context that I’m in.       (Théo, Interview, 21 January, 2014)   125 Sara: That’s like sometimes my Québécois identity is sometimes stronger than my Scottish, Irish, whatever… quarter.       (Mélodie, Interview, 27 January, 2014) Diana Fuss (1994) understands identification as a concept that is neither universal nor politically innocent. Identification has a colonial history which “works in part by policing the boundaries of cultural intelligibility, legislating and regulating which identities attain full cultural signification and which do not" (1994, p. 21). Therefore, while identities are conceived as fluid, context-dependent, and resulting in endless hybridization, they are also marked by closures (Yon, 2000). Even as identification creates possibilities for individuals to name themselves, for some those possibilities are limited by social exclusions and structures that seek to limit. These understandings of identification are important to contextualize the complex work that was involved when the youth and I attempted to name our identifications.  The excerpts above reveal the limitations and foreclosures that arose when I named whiteness, portrayed as the invisible norm in Canada (Lund & Carr, 2015). Naming my White privilege was also an act of erasure that obscured the possibility of mixture. In explaining my mixed European heritage, the qualifiers “French” and “German” did not adequately reflect the place I was born or my cultural belongings. However, by naming my heritage as “Québécoise” I participated in a discursive strategy through which European settlers stake claims to North American land by naming it as our place of origin. This move ignores and effectively displaces the pre-existence of Aboriginal people on this land and works to discredit their claims to it and political sovereignty over it (Battiste, 2013). Furthermore, identifying as “Québécoise” calls forth a nationalist project for which I have ambivalent feelings and one I do not identify with. As Davies (2000) argues, individual agency is constrained by the networks of power in which it is   126 deployed. There was no way to name my privileges while un-problematically introducing the possibilities of mixture and fluidity that I wanted to acknowledge. Doing so might also be considered a “settler move[s] to innocence” (Tuck & Yang, 2012), whereby settlers try to expunge their guilt by distancing themselves from their European heritage and consequently the violence and injustice of colonization. Although this was not my intent, my attempts to destabilize inadequate categories were problematic and incomplete. The interview excerpts presented in the rest of this chapter reveal how the youth similarly placed themselves within categories, such as girl, boy, White, Black, and Canadian, while simultaneously trying to resist or trouble some of these categories and the “Others” produced by them.  Using “Other” as shorthand to indicate the production of difference precludes the possibility that there are "other Others -- people who do not quite fit into the rigid boundary definitions of (dis)similitude, or who indeed may be left out of the Self/Other binary altogether" (Fuss, 1994, p. 22). Discursive analyses of the production of difference under colonialism pave the way for understanding the constructs of Self and Other as shifting ideas, the meanings of which are never fixed. Such analyses are productive for contemporary examinations of discourses of difference because the so-called “postcolonial era” does not mean that colonialism is over (Gunew, 2004; Hall, 1996); rather, we live in a time that acknowledges colonialism’s many enduring impacts. Enduring colonialism is central to this study because it explores how colonial projects of differentiation are carried on through the discourses of difference that circulated at Gustave-Flaubert. 5.1 École Gustave-Flaubert’s Grade 9 students identify It was intriguing to watch Fuss’ (1994) understanding of identification and Davies (2000) and St. Pierre’s (2000) conceptualization of agency as resisting unitary subjecthood materialize   127 in the ways Rose’s students named their identifications throughout the year. The following excerpts provide a glimpse of the ways some of the thirty-three participating youth responded to the question: “How do you identify?” Um, African… and fourteen years old, so still in school, and um… uh… … …older sister, so I have a lot of responsibility, and um… I’m also Canadian… ‘cause I was born here.       (Blair, Interview, 22 January, 2014) Um, like questions that have to do with, like, find, like knowing myself, I really don’t know myself well enough to find like adjectives to define myself ‘cause… I know it’s going to sound really cheesy… you know, I’m fourteen, I’m not really sure who I am.      (Genevieve, Interview, 14 January, 2014) I identify myself… I would be a kid, with Asian blood, who was born in an African country, who lives in a White country.      (Naghicim, Interview, 29 January, 2014) Well, teenage girl, Canadian, also, yeah middle class, like I live well, I don’t need anything more but I’m not suffering… … … family comes from Europe… dancer… sister, I guess, um, yeah like bilingual person ‘cause sometimes it is really important to speak two languages, especially for our future and stuff.       (Anna, Interview, 6 February, 2014) I’m a young, teenager boy, I guess.       (Théo, Interview, 21 January, 2014)   128 Half White, half Black, from… Half White, half Black male from the Jamaican—Caribbean… Caribbean and Canadian heritage… um, mostly student… son… and teammate.       (Roger, Interview, 18 February, 2014) Banana Man: Asian? Sara: You’re Asian. Okay. That’s how you identify? Banana Man: Korean. Or, like… Sara: Do you say Asian, or do you say Korean, or do you say both? Banana Man: Well, I say Korean. Yeah, Korean Sara: Okay… Banana Man: I guess, like my age, like fourteen… something like that. Sara: Teenager maybe? Banana Man: High school kind of stuff. Sara: Okay, and you? Bob: I would say my name, and sometimes, I would say where I’m from. Sara: Where do you say you’re from? Bob: Like I’d say, I’m half Egyptian, well I usually say Egyptian, ‘cause, Tunisian, it’s okay, well it’s not that I don’t really like it, I do, it’s just… Sara: So you have a stronger Egyptian identity than a Tunisian identity? Bob: ‘Cause I was mostly around my Egyptian family.       (Interview, 27 January, 2014) Jamie: Okay, well, Caucasian, um, pheff! I go by, uh, gender neutral pronouns, but you know, if it’s a hassle, I won’t go and tell people, but I’m fine if anybody switches   129 that up, um, of course, sure, I’d say I’m Francophone, but it’s not necessarily the biggest part of life, so I’d just say bilingual Cléo: I’d say I’m African, ‘cause at home, I do a lot of … African things… But then, when I end up talking to my mom’s side of the family, or like, anybody at school, I just say I’m from Quebec because, like, that’s just like my family. We’re like super Québécois and everything, but… and, I just, I don’t really say I’m Caucasian or Black or… I just say I’m mixed.     (Jamie and Cléo, Interview, 8 January, 2014) These responses speak directly to the diversity and mixed backgrounds of students attending Francophone minority language schools in urban centers throughout the country. Most of the students identified as youth (Lesko, 1996; Lesko & Talburt, 2012), specifically as “teenagers,” “boys,” and “girls” by virtue of their age or doing “high school kind of stuff,” as Banana Man said. Cléo, Roger, and Bob identified as having “mixed,” or hybrid (Bhabha, 1994/2004) racial, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds. Bob spoke feeling a stronger sense of attachment to her Egyptian background than her Tunisian one because she spent more time with her Egyptian relatives. Cléo reinforced the idea that relational and cultural proximity resulted in creating a stronger sense of belonging to one ethnicity among the youth. When addressing the fluidity that came with her mixed heritage, Cléo said she felt: “African, ‘cause at home, I do a lot of … African things,” yet she also identified as “Québécois,” depending on whom she was speaking with or the context in which her identifications became relevant. When Nagihcim said she identified as “a kid, with Asian blood, who was born in an African country, who lives in a White country,” she succinctly presented her transnational (Basch, Schiller & Blanc, 1994) movements and belongings. Furthermore, Nagihcim’s answer revealed an awareness of the ways   130 that race and racialization are tied to the modern nation-state (Battiste, 2013; Gunew, 2004; S. Hall, 1996; Omi & Winant, 1994). She identified Canada as a “White country,” drawing attention to the country’s history as a White settler society (Razack, Smith & Thobani, 2010). Meanwhile, Roger, Cléo, Blair, Banana Man, and Bob’s identifications addressed feeling attachments to several diasporic communities (Anthias, 1998; Cohen, 1997) that exist in Canada, be they Caribbean, African, or Korean. Jamie’s12 preference for “gender neutral pronouns” expressed gender fluidity (Butler, 1990/2006) and non-conformism, and revealed that Jamie felt comfortable enough with this identification to reveal it to me, in front of one of their peers.  Most students initially placed themselves into specific categories, and then changed their minds mid sentence or upon further reflection, when the categories proved limiting and inadequate for capturing the complexity of their subjectivities. These youth, whose parents had come from many parts of Canada and the world—sometimes accompanied by them—contained stories about different migratory trajectories, like Naghicim, and multiple senses of affiliation belonging, and unbelonging (Ahmed cited in Venn, 2009), like Blair, Cléo, and Roger, in the ways they named their identifications. Race, ethnicity, gender, class, and culture intersected in many ways, so as to rupture the possibility of a unified subject, revealing the instability and ambiguity of the very categories of difference the youth named. Some of these intersections are explored in greater depth in the discussion below, in order to reveal the complex interplay between inadequate categories of difference and how the youth also governed artificial boundaries between them.                                                 12 Jamie expressed a preference for gender neutral pronouns. Consequently, I refer to Jamie by using the plural pronoun “they.” It was not clear whether Jamie’s peers were aware of their preference, though one student was.   131 It is also important to note that there was resistance to categories and to my question in some of the answers I received. Genevieve’s response “stands out” because she was the only student who actively pushed back against my question (Briggs, 2002) by stating: “I’m fourteen, I’m not really sure who I am,” resisting the act of self-categorization altogether. This is not to say that she never used categories of difference, like race, to self-identify during the year, Chapter 4 revealed that she did in fact use race as an identifier. Genevieve simply chose not to when I asked her to think about her identification. From her facial expressions—Genevieve smiled as she spoke in a way that suggested that she knew what I was getting at, but was unwilling to give the answer I sought—and the rapport we had established during the year—we had several candid conversations about babysitting, race, dating, and marriage in which Genevieve identified as a Black, teenage girl—Genevieve’s response struck me as an act of resistance. Her resistance in this instance speaks to an ambivalence (Yon, 2000) with regard to classification and contains the possibility of a frustration at being asked to classify herself by a researcher (Smith, 1999), even though she displayed none. Genevieve strategically drew on a popular discourse of youth as a transitory period when identities are not-yet-forged (Lesko, 1996) in order to evade my question. This strategy illustrates Genevieve’s discursive intelligence, which I understand as the ability to avoid answering questions by drawing on powerful social discourses that render the refusal acceptable. Interestingly, only two of the students above, Anna and Jamie, said that language was an important aspect of their identifications. While the examples provided are not an exhaustive list of all the students’ the responses, this glimpse is representative of the answers I received. Roughly twenty percent of students said language was significant to their identifications. By comparison, roughly seventy percent of the students named race and nationality as part of their   132 identifications. According to what the youth said, language was important, but not central to their identifications. When Jamie said: “I’d say I’m Francophone, but it isn’t the biggest part of life, so I’d just say bilingual” she indicated that, for her, linguistic affiliation was not a central preoccupation. However, being bilingual was significant. As Anna explained, speaking multiple languages was highly valued: “‘cause sometimes it is really important to speak two languages, especially for our future and stuff.” A few students repeated what Anna said and explained that multilingualism was an important value that had motivated their parents to place them in a Francophone school. Jamie and three other students’ preference to identify as “bilingual” rather than “Francophone” may have been a push back against the school and school board that place much significance on the French language. This finding is consistent with Catherine Levasseur’s (2012) conclusion that a broader definition of “Francophone” is needed to include the bilingual and plurilingual identities expressed by the children in her study of students in a Francophone school in Vancouver. Following Davies (2000) and St. Pierre (2000), the youth in this study claimed agency by resisting the ways others had already labeled them as Francophones, and naming bilingualism as central to their identifications instead. This suggests that the French language was more significant to the adults in the youths’ lives—parents, guardians, teachers, and school administrators—than it was for them. 5.2 Identifications of Race In this study, race emerged as a significant and complex category of difference that was not being addressed by the school’s administration and staff in a concerted way. This stood in contrast to the ways that gender fluidity and homophobia were being addressed, at least in a cursory way, by the administration, guidance counselors, and some teachers as important areas of intervention. This was displayed through presentations by Out in Schools, a program that uses   133 film to facilitate dialogue about issues affecting LGBTQ youth in classrooms (http://outinschools.com), on-going conversations in classes and with the guidance counselor, and anti-homophobia posters placed around the school. These activities and the on-going conversations about gender and sexuality that I observed partially account for my decision to analyze discourses of race and ethnicity circulating in the school and how these discourses were entangled with other categories of difference like indigeneity, class, and gender. These discourses were as present as discourses of gender and sexuality, yet they were not clearly addressed by the school’s administration in a visible way. The students even noted that gender and sexuality seemed to be a “social justice” issue at the school. However, as mentioned earlier, race and gender intersect in multiple ways, rendering these two categories of difference mutually constituting. It is therefore impossible to examine discourses of race without considering how they intersect with discourses of gender, and other categories of difference. Ideas about colourblindness, neoliberal practices of recognizing individuals separately from their raced bodies that purport to overcome racism by rendering race invisible (Hayes & Juárez, 2009), were iterated in some student responses to the question about identification. These youth suggested that racial and ethnic differences should not matter and some said that race was not central to their identification. Such ideas are advanced by Canadian multicultural policy and discourse (Simpson, James & Mack, 2011).  I don’t know if this is weird, but I forget that I’m half Black, half Asian. Like, I really—this generation, it doesn’t really matter what you are. … Like, if you’re like Indian, you’re Chinese, you’re like White… it doesn’t really matter. We don’t—it’s not like the first thing we look at is your colour or anything, it’s mostly what you’ve done to get my attention, and stuff    134       (Mia, Interview, 12 March 2014) Mia indicated that forgetting about her race represented a generational shift in attitude. Referring to her generation highlighted her identifications as a “student” and “girl,” who was an informant for an adult woman and researcher. Her statement suggests that racial preoccupations were a thing of the past, and possibly an irrelevant concept for mixed-race youth of her generation. That is, youth like Mia who have grown-up as neither Black, nor Asian, but a mixture of both and whose identifications are based on the premise of mixture and multiraciality. Mia’s statement was performative (Butler, 1993), in the sense that it was “an authoritative speech” (p. 225) wherein she spoke for her generation. This speech act reinforced muliticultural policy and ideals of meritocracy (James, 2010; Schroeter & James, 2015). Mia indicated that racial and ethnic differences do not matter to contemporary youth, what matters are people’s accomplishments, the things they do to obtain interest and, possibly, respect: “it’s mostly what you’ve done to get my attention and stuff.” Furthermore, Mia distanced herself from categories of race and ethnicity: “I forget that I’m half Black, half Asian.” Like Jamie and Genevieve, Mia resisted being defined or categorized in terms that did not fit her, or that she found problematic. While a generational shift in attitude is possible, Mia iterated a colourblind discourse that positions race as immaterial to peoples’ lives and their interactions with others. This perspective can also be viewed as an “idealist” understanding of race (Delgado cited in Anderson, 2015), focusing on racism as a problem that relates to a state of mind, in contrast with materialist understandings that examine race on the basis of how privileges are systemically allocated (Anderson, 2015). According to critical race theorists, this idealist perspective feeds colourblind discourses and practices that fail to problematize and challenge the dominance of whiteness in North America and maintains the status quo (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001: Howard, 2008).   135 Whereas Mia said that she would often “forget” she was “half Black, half Asian,” her statements in response to my questions about race talk during the focus group interview indicate that there were many instances when race and ethnicity were central to her interactions.  Verbal Gestures and gaze Jade: Like if I saw Gen, I wouldn’t think is she from Kenya, is she from Congo? I’d just be like: oh she’s African, she’s Black. But if I saw someone with like, you know, like Mia, I might start to wonder where they’re from. Points at Genevieve.   Shakes her hands, miming uncertainty. Mia: Yeah, a lot of people when they see me they’re like: “I wonder what she is.” And I’m like.  Looks at Sara.  Places hands under her chin and gives a radiant and mock-innocent smile. Jade: Indian? Laughs knowingly. Mia: Yeah. I get that a lot actually. Looks down. Table 5.1 Focus group, 9 June 2014 The forgetting Mia referred to might speak more of a desire (Yon, 1999, 2000) to belong to a society that does not impose limitations on individuals on the basis of their presumed race, rather than an actual belief that race does not matter. While Mia maintained neoliberal discourses of colourblindness in her first statement that “colour” was not what attracted her attention, by her own admission, colour frequently mattered in her interactions with others. The difficulty of placing her mixed-race body, or phenotype drew the attention of others and led to speculation   136 about her ethnicity and race, revealing enduring social ideas about colour, identifiable ethnicity, categorization, and purity. The way that Mia placed her hands on under her chin and grinned as she recalled these interactions suggested that she was required to play the part of the specimen or icon (Gilman, 1986) representing the exotic, or to be the “poster child” for multiculturalism in these encounters. People only recognized her hybrid phenotype and ethnicity, not the person behind it. Furthermore, Mia’s gestures and facial expressions suggested that she would “smile and grit her teeth” through these social performances she was frequently made to bare. Mia’s body thus became an “other Other” (Ahmed, 2009), a sort of “newcomer body,” in the sense that her body is misperceived as the “new” result of postcolonial relations, racial and ethnic mixing in  multicultural and multiracial societies. A prevailing social obsession seems to be that such “other Others” who do not fit into the antiquated ideals of racial purity, must be classified, an idea to which I will return shortly. Mia’s hesitance to name race and ethnicity as significant parts of her indentification and lived experience was echoed by others.  Théo: … I don’t really, like, label myself by my background (Congolese and Canadian, or Black and White)       (Interview, 21 January, 2014)  Brook: White? Is that how you say it?       (Interview, 2 February, 2014) Théo and Brook’s ambivalence at identifying race and ethnicity can be read as an indication of the pervasiveness of neoliberal discourses of colourblindness (Anderson, 2015; Bonilla-Silva, 2006; Hayes & Juárez, 2009; Simpson, James & Mack, 2011) and how this is linked to the invisibility and erasure of whiteness from the White social imaginary (Gillborn, 2005/2009).   137 Brook indicated that she did not know how to name her race: “White? Is that how you say it?” While it is possible that she was unsure whether to say White or “caucasian,” as Jamie had, her uncertainty indicates that naming her race was something she had rarely done. Unlike Mia, Brook’s apparent whiteness sheltered her from questions about her phenotype and ethnicity because people who appear White are not usually made to address their race. Race and whiteness thus become dissociated in the White social imaginary, whereas race and non-White phenotypes are viewed as inherently linked (Gillborn, 2005/2009; Gunew, 2004; James, 2007), and racialized people are often asked to explain the presence of their bodies in Canada.  As my conversation with Théo continued, I asked what he said when people asked where he was from. He replied “Canada.” Curious about how prominent this question might be, I inquired further.  Sara: … Do you get those questions a lot? Théo: Uh, I used to. Like when I go to new places people will ask me and stuff. Sara: Yeah. Do you like those questions, or do they annoy you? Théo: Kind of annoying.  (Interview, 21 January, 2014) This response indicates that, like Mia, Théo’s mixed physical appearance drew questions about his nationality and ethnicity. Such questions were a source of frustration. Therefore, Théo’s ambivalence about naming race and ethnicity as part of his identification, when said: “I don’t really, like, label myself by my background,” can be read as a reaction to being regularly asked to account for his phenotype in a “White country.” The questions “where are you from?” and “what are you?” serve to mark the boundaries of the nation (Bannerji, 2000), identifying who fits in the social imaginary of Canada as a “White settler nation.” Jade’s earlier comment: “I’d just   138 be like: oh she’s African, she’s Black. But if I saw someone with like, you know, like Mia, I might start to wonder where they’re from” positions Black and mixed bodies as unbelonging (Ahmed, 2009) in the nation, or as “newcomer” bodies in Canada.  Théo and Mia’s ambivalence and denial of race indicate a desire to render these categories insignificant to their lived experience; however, their disidentification along racial and ethnic lines indicates that race and ethnicity were important. They simply desired them not to be. Race and ethnicity were thus framed something that had been important in an imagined past in which people were less mixed, but race was no longer relevant because the youth discursively distanced themselves from these identifiers. Nevertheless, the youths’ retellings of their lived experiences indicate that race and ethnicity often, if not always, mattered. Brook’s uncertainty about naming whiteness was equally tied to her heritage, and lived experiences. After naming whiteness, Brook added that she was also Aboriginal. Her uncertainty thus invokes other questions: How is whiteness named? Can a person be White if they are only partly White, but appear White? Brook’s hesitation implies that, like the nation, “White” is a category that is highly regulated and disciplined (Foucault, 1995). In Canada, as the United States, sovereign governmentality disciplined the category “White” through the adoption of the “one drop rule” (Battiste, 2013). Furthermore, the 1876 Indian Act also dictated that Indian status could not be passed on by mothers who married White men. Therefore, indigeneity came to be passed through patrilineal lines. Conversely, because of the “one drop rule,” whiteness also cannot be “claimed” by anyone. Brook’s comment suggests caution about identifying her race because questions of purity could also arise regardless of how she positioned herself.  A further possibility for Brook’s hesitance to name “White” also exists; it is possible that identifying as White was viewed as undesirable. Tatum (1994/2009) writes that White students   139 often feel ashamed or embarrassed about their association with white supremacy when claiming a White identity. Tatum’s explanation is a possibility, and several students I identified as having White skin privilege indicated some insecurity about being associated with whiteness:  French English Sara : Est-ce que ça t’arrive de t’identifier en terme de race ou d’ethnicité? Sara: Do you ever identify in terms of race or ethnicity?  Samantha : Moi, je ne fais pas ça. Samantha: I don’t do that.  Table 5.2 Samantha, Interview, 13 January, 2014 Not naming whiteness as an affiliation or an important part of the way one lives in the world leads to the idea that race, albeit a socially constructed category, is the “problem” of racialized minorities (Gillborn, 2005/2009; James, 2007; Leonardo, 2004/2009). By distancing herself from race, Samantha indicated that it was desirable to do so. Liberal discourses of colourblindness inform the idea that, in a context of ethno-racial diversity, mentioning race can be offensive and should, therefore, be avoided. For Brook the matter was more complex, as she was trying to name her race based on visual cues, even though “White” did not account for the complexity of her mixed heritage. There were several other students, like Mia, Théo, and Brook, for whom common racial categories were problematic. In exchange between Mike and R. Kelly in Chapter 4, R. Kelly told Mike that he was lucky because he had “White parents.” At that time, Mike did not reject the way R. Kelly’s comment positioned his parents and by extension Mike as White, even though this was not how he identified.  Sara: How do you identify? Mike: South American, well Uruguayan, I dunno a normal guy.   140 Sherlock: Asian looking guy? Mike: Asian looking, um. Sara: Do you really identify as Asian looking? Mike: Sort of. Sara: Or do your friends identify you… Mike: Friends mostly. My eyes are like my dad’s and he doesn’t look Asian.        (Interview, 25 February, 2014) Mike’s race was contested because his physical appearance did not neatly fit into common racial categories the youth named (i.e. White, Black, Asian). Sherlock, one of Mike’s closest friends, identified him as “Asian looking” rather than South American. This characterization is not entirely surprising in British Columbia, where nearly ninety percent of people who identify as “visible minorities” on the Census claim Asian heritage (Statistics Canada, 2013), and a general misunderstanding of the ways phenotype work. The difficulty of placing Mike into an identifiable racial category in the British Columbian context further illustrates the arbitrary and slippery nature of racial categories (Hall, 1996). A “Uruguayan,” with fair skin and dark features does not fit easily into popular constructions of racial groups as White, Asian, Brown, and Black. Although Mike could be identified as “brown” in some contexts, in British Columbia this signifier usually denotes South Asian descent13 (Frost, 2010). While Mike’s Uruguayan heritage was central to his identification, it could easily pass unmarked due to the privileges he enjoyed in the local context: being born in Canada, speaking English and French fluently, having fair skin,                                                 13 I have also heard this term used in reference to Aboriginal people. Because “Brown” is a floating signifier (S. Hall, 1996), its meaning shifts in accordance with different speakers and the situations to which the term is applied. In the United States, particularly California, “Brown” is often used to signify people of Mexican and other Central or South American origin.   141 and belonging to an advantaged socioeconomic class. Mike’s unmarked ethnicity, phenotype, and the way they were intersected by other privileges enabled him to benefit from White skin privilege (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001) in Canada. Furthermore his identification as a “normal guy” indicates proximity to whiteness in a context of White supremacy (Leonardo, 2004/2009). Consequently, R. Kelly drew on these factors to classify Mike and his parents as “White.” Mike’s ethnic difference from the European norm and the complexity surrounding the way his ethnicity and home language created some ambiguity about this racialization were lost in R. Kelly’s statement. Significantly, several youth felt that identifying along racial lines was not negative. Callie, Sarah, and Matthieu offered the following opinion when asked if it was okay to talk about race:   Callie: If it’s not in a bad way, then yeah. If you’re, like, offending someone, then no. But if you’re not offending someone, not hurting someone, then it’s okay. Sarah: Because it’s part of your identity and there’s no shame in saying… Callie: Yeah. Matthieu: ‘Cause it’s not insulting. Like sometimes I’ll hold back because I’m afraid that people will interpret it as being racist even though I’m not trying to offend anyone.       (Focus group, 2 June, 2014) Callie iterated the requisite statement about the importance of polite talk about race explored in Chapter 4. However, unlike Mia and Théo, Callie and Sarah positioned race as an integral part of a person’s identity, “it’s part of your identity and there’s no shame.” As several of the examples of the youths’ identifications presented above suggest: “Half White, half Black.” (Roger), “Caucasian” (Jamie), “Asian blood” in a “White country” (Nagihcim), many participants said   142 that race was important to their identification, and named it without hesitation. For others, questions surrounding the appropriateness of race or their desires not to be constantly racialized as Other in the context of White supremacy led them to disavow the significance of race. These differences are attributable to the ways the students’ bodies were variously positioned by power and discourses of race pertaining to recognizable racial groups. Students like Mia and Théo were positioned as “newcomer bodies,” or other Others (Ahmed, 2009), meaning that they were frequently asked to place themselves into racial groups or categories that did not capture their identifications, or explain which groups had mixed to produce them. These youth preferred not to name race as an identifier. Students like Nagihcim, who were positioned as identifiable Others (e.g. “Asian”), did not appear to have a problem with racial identification. Students who were positioned as belonging to the invisible norm, like Samantha, were more uncertain about naming race, and how to claim it as part of their identifications. Making visible that which is construed as an invisible position of power and privilege appeared to be uncomfortable for some of these students. 5.2.1 Intersections of Gender, Race, and Class Curious to know how the youth understood categories of difference I often asked them what a “girl” or “boy” meant to them when they identified along these lines. These questions were often met with laughter and answers like: “I don’t know, a girl!” Sometimes, however, these questions led to fruitful discussions that provided insight into the ways these youth used the categories and how they were entangled in complex webs of relations. French English Tournesol: J’suis un enfant, un « teenager » Tournesol: I’m a kid, a teenager   143 French English Sara: OK, adolescente Sara: OK, teenager Tournesol: Adolescent, um, j’sais pas, fille typicale?14 « Typical. » Tournesol: Teenager, um, I dunno, typical girl? Typical. Sara: OK, typique… … … ‘Pis qu’est-ce que ce serait une fille typique? Sara: OK, typical… … … And what would a typical girl be? Tournesol: Y’a comme une expression, « typical White girl », comme tu aimes Starbucks, tu aimes le maquillage, tu aimes les cheveux, t’as un iPhone… Tournesol: There’s like an expression, “typical White girl,” like you like Starbucks, you like makeup, you like hair, you have an iPhone… Sara: OK, je l’ai jamais entendue celle-là. Sara: OK, I’ve never heard that one. Tournesol: Uh, ça va, ben, pour beaucoup de gens ça va comme ça. Comme si tu aimes Starbucks, les iPhones, les MacBooks, t’as une chambre comme, toute belle, ‘pis tu mets pas le linge de l’année passée, c’est comme… Tournesol: Uh, it, well, it goes like that for a lot of people. Like if you like Starbucks, iPhones, MacBooks, you have a room that’s all pretty, and you don’t wear clothes from last year, it’s like… Sara: OK. Sara: OK. Tournesol: …ils t’identifient comme ça Tournesol: …they identify you that                                                 14 Tournesol’s dominant language was English and there are traces of it in the variant of French she spoke. This is common of people in minority language settings, and many students said things that might not be considered grammatically correct, such as “fille typicale” rather than “fille typique.”   144 French English way. Sara. OK, hmm! Tu m’apprends quelque chose, c’est bon, c’est très bon. Euhm, est-ce qu’il t’arrive de t’identifier, euuuhm… ben en fait, si tu t’identifies comme « typical White girl » ton identité ce serait, tu te vois en tant que fille blanche? Sara: OK, hmm! You’re teaching me something, that’s good, that’s really good. Um, does it happen for you to identify… uuum… well, in fact, if you identify as a “typical White girl” your identity would be, you see yourself as a White girl? Tournesol: Wwwwwelll… well, c’est pas vraiment, comme, à propos de la race. Tournesol: Wwwwwelll… well, it’s not really about race. Sara: OK. Sara: OK. Tournesol: Ils disent plutôt que si tu as la peau noir tu vas pas être comme, Starbucks et iPhone, Cléo des fois elle dit comme « Argh! You’re so White! » C’est juste les gens Blancs ils font ça apparemment, j’sais pas pourquoi. C’est comme, t’sais quand tu vois dans les films, y’a comme la belle blonde… Tournesol: They mostly say that if you have Black skin you wouldn’t be like Starbucks and iPhones, Cléo sometimes she says, like, “argh! You’re so White!” It’s just that White people do that, apparently, I don’t know why. It’s like, you know when you see in a movie, there’s like the pretty blond… Sara: Ouais. Sara: Yeah.   145 French English Tournesol: …elle est souvent blanche, ‘pis comme ça, ça c’est un peu où ça vient de. Tournesol: …often she’s White, and it’s like that’s, that’s kinda where that comes from. Tournesol : Façon de vivre, j’sais pas. Comme parfois, Cléo, elle veut comme un iPhone ‘pis elle a [incompréhensible]… ‘pis elle veut aller à Starbucks, ‘pis elle est comme… moi parfois j’suis plus comme « tough », ‘pis comme, Black, comme elle est, parfois… Tournesol: A way of life, I dunno. Like sometimes, Cléo, she wants like an iPhone and she has [incomprehensible]… and she wants to go to Starbucks and she’s… sometimes I’m more like tough, and like, Black, like her, sometimes… Table 5.3 Tournesol Interview, 20 January, 2014 Tournesol’s answer about what it means to identify as a “typical White girl” reflects how “knowledge is linked to power by the microprocesses through which individuals construct their sense of self and their relations to others” (Popkewitz, 2000, p. 17). Tournesol examined her social practices in order to answer my question about her identification, suggesting that she understood what Foucault spent years explaining, that “subjectivity is not a state we occupy, but an activity we perform” (Taylor, 2011/2014, p.173). Her social practices—buying drinks from Starbucks and wearing the latest fashions—where construed by various institutions and social values as expressions of “typical White girlhood,” therefore, Tournesol identified in those terms. This identification was entangled in powerful discourses of heteronormative sexuality, gender binaries, whiteness, and social class. While Tournesol was not obliged to identify in this way, her knowledge of these norms and values was an effect of power (Foucault, 1990; Popkewitz, 2000;   146 Taylor, 2011/2014) that worked with her desires and influenced her relations with her peers by enabling her to identify who was and who was not “White.”  Race, class, and gender were quickly revealed to intersect in Tournesol’s definition of a “typical girl.” By identifying as a “typical girl” she identified with normative ideas of “typical girlhood” that racialize that category, rendering it and her identification that of a “typical White girl.” In a society where whiteness dominates (Gillborn, 2005/2009; Leonardo, 2004/2009), to be “typical,” was to be White. This idea surfaced in other interviews, when students identified as: “average” (Fleur & Anna, Interview, 6 February, 2014), “normal” (Mike, Interview, 2014), and “not mainstream” (Mia, Interview, 12 March, 2014). Fleur and Anna also identified as White, whereas Mike’s class and fair skin enabled him to benefit from some privileges associated with whiteness, even though he felt distanced from whiteness in other ways. Mia did not identify as White, hence “not mainstream” can also be read as not White.  Tournesol said she drew her ideas about whiteness and girlhood from popular culture, like movies featuring “the pretty Blond.” In many popular teen movies, “typical White girls” are often portrayed as being spoiled, materialistic, helpless, ignorant, and petty (Kelly & Pomerantz, 2009). This is echoed in Tournesol’s comments, where “White girls” are said to like “Starbucks, iPhones, MacBooks,” products known for being over-priced or top-of-the-line and that are unaffordable for a large percentage of the population. White girls also “have a room that’s all pretty, and you don’t wear clothes from last year.” Therefore, not only is gender racialized in Tournesol’s identification and definition of a “typical White girl,” wealth is also racialized. Having a disposable income is associated with whiteness, specifically White girlhood. Notions of girlhood thus intersect ideas about class and material wealth, which were intricately entangled in Tournesol’s racial identification, that she claimed was “not really about race.” Indeed, for   147 Tournesol, to identify as a “typical White girl” appeared to signify identifying with dominant gender, class, and racial norms. Writing about the classic teen movie Mean Girls, Deirdre Kelly and Shauna Pomerantz (2009) explain: “popularity is implicitly coded as white, middle class to upper middle class and heterosexual” (p. 5). The students at Gustave-Flaubert could not agree on whether or not there was a “popular group” in Grade 9. There was a core group of students who were consistently identified as being “popular;” however, these assertions were always followed by disavowals of that moniker. One student explained: “They aren’t really “popular,” in the sense that we all like them, but they are “popular” in the sense that they really like themselves” (Sarah, 2 June, 2014). Nevertheless, the definition of popularity articulated by Kelly and Pomerantz (2009) held true in the social imaginary of the Grade 9 students at Gustave-Flaubert. They drew many of their ideas from popular culture, citing Mean Girls among their influences, and the discourses about the intersections of gender, race, and class were commonly held in the students’ identifications and explanations. This influence imbues popularity with White and capitalist, read imperialist, values as exemplified by Tournesol’s identification. Significantly, Tournesol and Cléo both had White Québécoises mothers and African fathers. However, Cléo was more readily associated with Black culture and racialized as Black by her peers than Tournesol. This difference can be partially attributed to the fact that Tournesol’s father was from Egypt, popularly construed as “North Africa” or le Maghreb, whereas Cléo’s was from Ethiopia, a country that is more frequently associated with the part of Africa that is referred to as “Black Africa.” This distinction is important because, in spite of the geographical proximity of the two countries, North Africans are often not racialized as Black in Africa and in Canada. In Canada, North Africans are often racialized as “Middle Eastern” or   148 Arab. In addition to her fair skin, this may be why Tournesol identified more as White. However, at times, Tournesol also identified with stereotypical ideas of Blackness: “sometimes I’m more, like, tough, and like, Black, like her.” In contrast to ideals of delicate femininity inscribed in Tournesol’s description of “typical White girls,” “Black girls” were characterized as “tough.”  Earlier, Cléo identified with ideas of African culture, “at home we do a lot of African things.” Yet, even as she asserted this, Cléo was reluctant to identify solely as “African” or “Black,” by juxtaposing those identifiers with “Québécois things” and her Québécois heritage and relations. Both Cléo and Tournesol expressed ambivalence about belonging to one racialized group or the other; however, Cléo more readily identified as “mixed.” As the youth related their identifications, they were forced to negotiate the contradictions that might arise from having mixed heritage and feeling a sense of allegiance to multiple racialized groups, ethnicities, and cultures. For some, this might mean resisting being identified in ways that acknowledge only one of their backgrounds. Barbara Tizard and Ann Phoenix (1993/2002) argue that many people of “mixed” heritage feel pressure to identify as either Black or White and that this may be changing, something suggested by Cléo and Roger’s identifications, and to a lesser extent Mia and Théo’s. The students’ responses revealed the tensions of racialization in a globalized world, and within a local school culture characterized by the hybridity (Bhabha, 1994/2004) of cosmopolitanism (Gilroy, 1993). The ways they named their identifications also revealed the slippery nature of categories of difference and the complex ways in which race, class, and gender intersect and complicate those categories. 5.3 Governing Racial Ambiguity and “Mixing”  The ways that the students governed the borders between different groups was marked by ambivalence (Yon, 2000), performativity (Butler, 1993), and performances that revealed how   149 techniques of the self (Foucault, 1990; 1994) served to construct and deconstruct those borders. Within Francophone schools outside of Quebec, distinctions between majority and minority status is positioned as clear-cut and it is set-up in terms of linguistic and cultural dominance (Heller, 2003; Madibbo, 2007), read linguistic culture. Linguistic differences that fall outside the English-French binary and differences of ethnicity, race, religion, class, etc. within Francophone communities are often not prioritized within minority language school communities (Madibbo, 2007). It is possible that the students at Gustave-Flaubert had particular interest in debating boundaries since they were already entangled in debates about linguistic cultural dominance by virtue of attending a Francophone school. It is also possible that this is merely a common preoccupation among youth, who are often characterized as existing on borderlands (Lesko, 1996).  Thinking with Ellsworth (2005), I have come to view the end-of-year focus groups as pedagogical encounters. Taking up Winnicott’s notion of “transitional space,” Ellsworth calls these encounters “pedagogical pivot points… their times and places of putting self in relation to self, others and the world” (2005, p. 57). The youth did this during the focus group interviews when they answered questions together. For example, during the focus group presented in Chapter 4, when Genevieve, Mia, Jade, and Kelsey discussed whether they ever discussed race with their teachers, the girls were confronted with their differing views on the matter. Kelsey, Genevieve, and Jade realized that they experienced their social studies classes and the things discussed in them differently, possibly leading them to think about how they were differently positioned in the classroom. The focus groups also provided students with a rare opportunity to discuss and theorize their ways of talking about race with an adult. As I watched videos, I was struck by the richness of these conversations, how several students had already seriously   150 contemplated categories of difference, and the ways I sometimes used the youths’ theories as opportunities to talk to them about the social construction of race and the complexities of identification. Verbal Gestures and gaze Sara: I mean, it depends on how you’re defining race. [Off camera.] Genevieve: Hunh.  Exhales and looks away from Sara.  Sara: What is race?  Genevieve: Wow! That brings out, like, a whole new field. Smiles, looks up to ceiling, and makes circular motions with hands in front of her face. Then looks down. Sara: Yeah. I mean, like, what is race?  [Off camera.] Genevieve: I always base it on, like, skin tone. Looks at Sara. Table 5.4 Video Focus group, 9 June, 2014 What is interesting about this brief interaction is that Genevieve’s gaze and gestures relate that she may have never thought about race as a category that might have multiple definitions, or one that is socially constructed. Her actions, looking up and gesturing with her hands, suggested that her mind had been opened by the possibility of multiple definitions of race. As she spoke, Genevieve’s eyes were opened wide and animated, as though she was mentally running through the possibilities that multiple definitions of race could create for her identification and relations (Foucault, 1990; Popkewitz, 2000; Taylor, 2011/2014). Recall that Genevieve had refused to identify during the first interview.    151 Although several of the Grade 9 students found racial categories inadequate for capturing their identifications, their discussions suggest that they sought to understand the limitations of boundaries and control when one could and could not belong. Verbal Gestures and gaze R. Kelly: Yeah, I don’t know, like, race is basically, nothing. You know, like, everyone is really… Looking at Sara Théo: Whoa, deep. Looking at R. Kelly.   Théo, R. Kelly and Sherlock laugh. Sara: No, you know what? That really is deep. And it’s also, really the way, at the university, how we theorize and talk about race as being a floating signifier. It can mean one—it can mean many, many things. Looking at R. Kelly and reaching a hand out to him. Gesturing up with hands. Looking at all five youth and making circular motion with hands. R. Kelly: Yeah. Just because you have that colour or you have that culture doesn’t mean you couldn’t be something else.  Looking at Nico, George, and Théo.  [Blocked from view.] Théo: [Inaudible.] Looking at R. Kelly. Nico and Georges are listening and watching R. Kelly and Théo. R. Kelly: Wow, wow! Everyone laughs. Sara: Uh-hunh. Laughing.   152 Verbal Gestures and gaze R. Kelly: Except for Carlton  Looking at Théo. Sara: Except for Carlton… Are you talking about Fresh Prince now? Laughing. All youth start laughing. Georges: It’s Roger. Laughing and looking at Sara. R. Kelly: We call Roger, Carlton. Looking down at fingers. Théo: No we don’t. Looking down and then up at R. Kelly. Tilts head to side. R. Kelly: Oh we do… It’s a joke, but we start playing the music (The Tom Jones song “It’s not unusual to be loved”), but then he gets mad at me!  Looking back at Théo.  Does the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air Carlton dance, snapping fingers. Laughs hard. Théo: But you can’t really tell if he’s mad or not. Looking at R. Kelly. R. Kelly: No, he is, that’s the thing. He gets really mad.  Looking down at lap. Table 5.5 Video, Focus group, 29 May, 2014 Based on my observations of the boys’ interactions, it is likely that Théo and R. Kelly’s teasing did upset Roger. Théo’s behaviour during this focus group appeared guarded. While he would joke with the others, he also tried to present himself in a positive light when he addressed me directly or when R. Kelly said things that might implicate him in bad behaviour. Théo seemed intent on showing that his jokes were not mean. However, after nine months observing the   153 students, I knew that Théo’s humour was frequently mean and mocking. In fact, students often singled Théo and R. Kelly out as students who excluded others and made jokes at other peoples’ expense during focus group interviews. Significantly, Roger identified as Black and White and said he believed that race was important. By calling him Carlton, a character mocked for not being “Black enough” or identifying with White culture on the 1990’s sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air that had recently become available on Netflix, Théo and R. Kelly disciplined Roger with their gaze (Foucault, 1995) as to the possibilities for his identification. Their gaze or “joke” suggested that Roger should not identify as Black because he was mixed. Embedded in this thinking are defunct, yet discursively persistent, ideas about racial purity (Tizard & Phoenix, 1993/2002), which place Black and White categories in binary opposition. By this logic, to be “mixed” was to be neither Black, nor White, but something in-between.  It is possible that Théo disidentified with Blackness by “siding” with R. Kelly, who held a lot of power and race privilege. However, Théo was arguably the most popular boy in Grade 9, and he also held a lot of social power within the school. Together, Théo and R. Kelly performatively iterated a form of heteronormative masculinity through the ways in which they disciplined the behaviour of their classmates, from telling girls they should “put some clothes on,” when they wore shorts, to indicating that Roger was not “Black enough” to identify as Black. Furthermore, Théo identified with Blackness in his taste in music—he preferred “Old-school” Hip Hop—and cultural references. It is possible that Théo was making his own claims to Blackness by likening Roger to Carlton.  The difficulty of “mixed” youth identifying with one racialized group also surfaced during another focus group.   154 Verbal Gestures and gaze Bob: Like if someone is half something. Like, example, half Black and half White, they probably take, like, the one half more seriously than the other half, and then they just exaggerate, like pretend they’re, like, full Black… Looking down at food in hands. Looking at Sara. Looking down, bending body suggesting discomfort or uncertainty. Looking at Sara. Sherlock: [Names someone. Inaudible.]  Sherlock and Bob giggle and look down. Nadia: Well, it’s how they identify themselves, like, they don’t want to be more White than Black.  Glancing at Bob. Sara: Interesting. … … … OK. So you think that there are people who … … are just performing different parts—sides of their identity? Writing notes. Looking at Bob. Bob: Um-hmm. Nods. Sara: Is that, like, a problem? Looking at Bob. Bob: Um-um. But they just, like, overdo it, I guess  Shakes head, no. Table 5.6 Video, Focus group, 20 May, 2014 Bob judged those who overtly identified with one racialized group as disingenuous performances of belonging. According to her, while such performances were not a “problem,” she felt that they   155 were forced and artificial. Like Théo and R. Kelly’s joke, Bob’s judgment worked as a kind of disciplining gaze for the other students participating in the focus group. Although Nadia proposed that maybe a person simply identified more strongly with one racialized category, Sherlock agreed with Bob and Nadia’s comment was not examined in greater depth as presenting an alternate view. However, if we return to the way Bob identified, as half Egyptian more than Tunisian, we see that her discursive disciplining was also a technique of the self (Foucault, 1990), a form of self-discipline that served to remind her that she should not fully identify as Egyptian. In other words, the boundaries between different racial and ethnic categories were constantly policed by the youth as they named themselves and performatively expressed their identifications. 5.4 Conclusion The way the youth named their identifications reveals that they did not perceive language, or French, as being particularly significant to their identifications, at this point in their lives. This suggests that research focusing exclusively on the linguistic identities of youth in Francophone minority language schools might miss important information about the ways that other categories of difference might intersect with language. For the most part, the youth in this study did not identify as Francophones, rather they held a stronger allegiance to bilingualism or plurilingualism (Levasseur, 2012). Other categories, like race, gender, class, ethnicity, and personal attributes were cited as being more significant to their subjectivities. For some, identifying along racial or ethnic lines was challenging because it brought up tensions between their feelings of belonging to different racial, ethnic, and cultural groups and their proximity or perceived proximity to them. For Mia, Théo, and Mike, there was a mismatch between the ways that others positioned them as not easily fitting into racial, ethnic, or national categories and   156 discourses of colourblindness that were pervasive in their social surroundings. Furthermore, the youth illustrated the inadequacy of racial categories for capturing their complex identities and revealed how these categories positioned many of their bodies as “newcomer bodies” in Canada and in a Francophone minority language school that were traditionally perceived as catering to a dominant group in Canada.  The students’ identifications also revealed the intricate ways that discourses of gender intersect discourses of race and class and how these discourses are entangled in the ways that some of the youth, like Tournesol, identified. Intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981) was important. For example, for Roger, this meant that he was teased for identifying as Black, but this teasing was a discursive sanctioning that worked to remind him that he was not “fully Black.” Once again, joking proved to be a powerful way of governing social boundaries through a disciplinary gaze cast on others. However, informal conversations about race also revealed how social talk about racial categories could become a technique of the self (Foucault, 1990), as was the case for Bob. Naming privilege, whether class or race privilege proved difficult for the Grade 9 students. With a few exceptions, they were transnational or even cosmopolitan subjects due to the fact that their parents had had some choice and agency in their movements from one country to another (Ladson-Billings, 2005); often from one metropolis to another. These youth were connected through wealth and structures of power that enabled them to enjoy significant privilege on local and on global levels and their multiple belongings and transnational identifications were, in part, fed by the privilege of cross-continental travel. However, language was another thread that linked the youth to past colonial enterprises, in the ways that many of   157 their parents had come from former French colonies and enduring Canadian colonial projects like the Official Languages Act (1969) that is responsible for the existence of their school.   158 Chapter 6: A Drama-Based Approach to Social Studies and Difference Vignette: Another day in the field  27 November, 2013 Pre-Revolution France “Borders, Taxes and Trade” Activity The classroom is boisterous. The room vibrates with a palpable energy. The students are haggling with each other, trading or selling goods (coloured pieces papers representing crops produced in pre-Revolution France), while also attempting to move between the desks that are enclosed in a twelve square grid created by two ropes that I have strung around them. The students have to move fast so that they can complete as many trades as possible before winter comes. However, they can’t step over the ropes that represent borders at will. They have to flag me or Rose down before they can roll a dice and find out how many “borders” they will have to cross before being allowed to trade with someone in another grid. Amid the bargaining and laughter, the students are yelling out “Madame!” and “Sara!” to get our attention.  Life is hard in pre-Revolution France. Rose and I run between the ropes, trying to get to each student as quickly as possible to witness their dice rolls and collect the subsequent “border tax” for each “border” the students have to cross. Rose, in role as a bishop, is also arbitrarily collecting “la dîme," a religious tax, from students she crosses along her way. Meanwhile, as the “douanier,” border patrol, I have to make sure that I collect the appropriate taxes. I keep checking the timer I have set on my iPhone and yell out how many days (minutes) are left before “winter” falls. The students become more frantic with every minute that passes. They know they have to get home (the grid they started on) to their spouses/fathers/brothers/sisters, whoever they have imagined their partners to be, to amass their money and the goods they have each collected to try to survive through another winter.    159 Suddenly, Rose catches two students breaking the law (rules of the game). They have crossed borders without rolling their die or paying taxes. Rose promptly throws them in jail, which she improvises in a corner of the classroom. The students protest that this is unfair, that they are just poor peasants who can’t afford to pay so many taxes. Rose accuses them of stealing from the King and says that they will be sent to “la Chambre des étoiles,” the King’s court, to be judged by him. This is such fantastic role-play! I hadn’t anticipated how desperate the students would become by having to survive a second “winter” with only the money and goods they had remaining after the first “winter” had passed. I also hadn’t expected that making the activity harder would provoke the students, and Rose, to embrace their roles more fully. With the understanding that race talk occurred constantly at École secondaire Gustave-Flaubert, and that race was a category of difference that was significant to the ways the students identified, this chapter focuses on the interventions and interactions that resulted from the drama-based pedagogy that Rose and I adopted to explore the social studies 9 curriculum with the students. At times, our work involved extensive planning and strategizing as we brainstormed and devised ways of using the multiple modalities employed in drama in order to engage the students in in-depth explorations of differences present in the Ministry-issued curriculum. At other times, particularly toward the end of the school year, our planning was more rushed. In these instances, drama activities were sometimes integrated to serve the purpose of content delivery or revision, instead of helping to facilitate new conversations about difference and the hidden curriculum.  As discussed in Chapter 4, drama was not the only liminal space in Rose’s social studies classes. Other activities—a spontaneous walk around the school, a field trip to the Museum of Anthropology, watching a movie—also disrupted the classroom routine and created liminal   160 spaces. However, the difference between those liminal spaces and the ones created by the use of drama was that in the former the students used hallway discourses in ways that were not meant to be heard by Rose, or taken up as part of the youth’s formal contributions class discussions. In those liminal spaces, the students made comments primarily for each other’s benefit. In contrast, comments about race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and representational practices made during drama activities were more formal in nature; either surfacing in the students’ embodied work—their physical portrayals of historical figures—or as formal questions or complaints directed at me and Rose. While there are undeniable parallels and slippages in the ways the students used hallway discourses of race in all liminal spaces, the drama space appeared to offer the students a way of formally addressing or reiterating the hidden curriculum: the teaching of race, racialization, and colonization in Canada. In contrast to focus group interviews wherein students lucidly explained the parameters of appropriate interactions about race and the students’ careful editing during class discussions, they did not appear as preoccupied about following these guidelines in their comments and in the representational practices they used during drama activities. Embodiment and the multiple opportunities for informal group work in drama created conditions in which the students took less care to edit their discourses. These interactions more closely resembled the playful and joking nature of their out-of-class interactions. Play, embodiment, the informal nature of group work, and the movement between the real and imagined scenarios resulted in the expression of messier, unauthorized, if not racist or ethnocentric, discourses of difference. Using examples drawn from fieldnotes and interviews this chapter illustrates the possibilities and limitations created by this arts-based approach to teaching the social studies 9 curriculum. This chapter presents the kinds of the drama activities that Rose and I facilitated in   161 order to illustrate how they created varied learning opportunities for the students and eventually created spaces for race talk to emerge during class. This chapter also explores the ways in which the youth were less careful to edit their discourses of race during drama activities and examines the problematic ways that these discourses emerged in class. It also delves into the part that Rose and I played in reinforcing whiteness in the classroom and how opportunities to deconstruct categories of difference and stereotypical representations were sometimes missed. Finally, by focusing on the experiences of one student, this chapter demonstrates how Othering occurred in the classroom and the ways in which processes of racialization are entangled with other categories of difference, such as ethnicity and gender. The chapter concludes by examining why it important to scrutinize these practices and the possibilities and limitations of using arts-based pedagogies, like drama-in-education (DiE), to explore categories of difference in schools. 6.1 Drama: An Embodied Pedagogy of Possibilities As a pedagogical approach that seeks to use imagination and aesthetic embodied practices to facilitate learning, DiE affords many possibilities for teachers and students. The vignette above presents an example of how Rose and I used role-play to engage with different aspects of the social studies curriculum. In this instance, BC’s Ministry of Education was still using curriculum written in 1997, which stated that students were to “analyse the contributions of the English, French, and American revolutions in the development of democratic concepts” (BC Ministry of Education, 1997, p. A-5). Rose and I created a drama-based unit that made deliberate use of multiple modalities in order to explore French society of 18th Century and the social and political changes that occurred at that time. We felt that the students would not appreciate why French peasants resorted to extreme violence to install a more representative form of government if they could not appreciate to the difficulties of life before the Revolution. The vignette above   162 presents an activity we devised, “Borders, taxes, and trade,” where students took on the role of peasants and were tasked with traveling across France and trading goods with peasants in other regions, while having to pay the various tolls and taxes imposed on French peasants at the time. In this activity, the students had to work together, with a partner to divvy up the money and goods they were allotted in order to trade with others and survive two winters. One student had to stay put on the team’s “land,” while the other traveled to other regions. The youth said that this activity forced them to work together as a team and negotiate with others: “we had to discuss with our partner what food we would take for the winter and stuff” (Anna, Interview, 6 February, 2014), “you and your partner had to communicate a lot” (Stacey, Interview, 4 February, 2014). Collaboration is a central element of DiE (Berggraf Sæbø, 2011; Gallagher, 2001, 2007; Neelands & Nelson, 2013; Wilhelm & Edmiston, 1998) because youth must work together to create images, tell stories, and explore scenarios, as in this activity. However, collaboration is not always easy or peaceable and drama can also uncover the multiple and contradictory perspectives that exist in a classroom (Gallagher, 2001). One student explained that he sometimes found the group work involved in drama activities frustrating because “everyone argues” (Nico, Interview, 4 March, 2014). Nico explained that while he felt that drama was useful for gaining new perspectives about course content, he experienced moments of connection and disconnection with the peers he collaborated with on each drama activity we facilitated. Therefore, drama facilitates working together and the expression of multiple opinions. Gallagher elaborates: “part of the strength of this kind of collective process is its inclusion of voices and its overt position that there is not just one way to experience a story” (2001, p. 69). However, this can be challenging and students must learn to negotiate differing opinions as they collaborate with each other during drama activities.   163 The vignette also reveals how imagination and creativity work in DiE to help students and teachers draw lessons from embodied experiences. We did not tell the students that their groupings represented families, nor was this necessarily intended. Nevertheless, several students created such stories as they got into character: “the one where we had to like move around and one person had to be like the husband and one person had to be the wife.” (Blair, Interview, 22 January, 2014). The backstories the students created helped them to invest in their roles. For some, the embodied aspect of the activity helped their learning: “the physical type… really helps learning when you’re actually doing something related to it (Naghicim, Interview, 29 January, 2014). Genevieve explains that stories she imagined enabled her make connections to history. I was thinking maybe like, like somebody would steal food from me, so I was thinking maybe back then maybe that’s how they had to get through the winters and seasons. Like that’s how they had to do it.         (Genevieve, Interview, 14 January, 2014) The embodied learning and collaboration required in this activity led the students to create stories that facilitated the development of their historical consciousness, in other words, their ability to glean lessons from historical content and relate them to the present day. The vignette above illustrates that as the students became more desperate to survive the second winter, several broke rules: “Suddenly, Rose catches two students breaking the law (rules of the game). They have crossed borders without rolling their die or paying taxes.” Interestingly, the students’ rule breaking increased Rose’s investment in her own role and led her to improvise a prison in the classroom. This also enabled her to revisit and reiterate the unjust nature of the judiciary system that existed in pre-Revolution France.    164 The students’ rule breaking can be read as an act of resistance against two authoritarian systems imposed on them: the semi-feudal system of pre-Revolution France, and the contemporary school system. In breaking the rules the students resisted feudalism and their teachers. While Rose’s spontaneous role-play was a way to engage with the students’ ideas and extend the drama, it was also a way of restoring order in the classroom. However, the drama was changed by the students’ improvisation and they appeared to be pleased with their power to direct classroom activities.    Improvisations like these, as well as the opportunity to visually or physically represent their thoughts were what the youth reported liking most about drama.  “another one of the good things about the drama activities, I feel like, is that, um, you… there are unexpected bursts of intelligence and creativity, and that people express themselves and you didn’t really know that they could do that”  (Stacey, Interview, 4 February, 2014). Several students agreed with Stacey and said they were surprised to see the depth of thought their peers displayed as they worked through drama activities. In this respect visual and verbal modalities were especially useful in revealing the youth’s thought processes to the group: “like seeing different people’s ideas to like, uh, symbolize like the power… with chairs” (Georges, Interview, 15 January, 2014). The students’ ability to express abstract concepts through the manipulation of their bodies and concrete objects enhanced their ability to communicate their thoughts and perspectives to their peers. Furthermore, the class discussions generated by these activities developed the students’ visual, oral, and textual literacies as they created images and talked through their ideas as a group.   165 …when we did the, um, chair representation activity, and then like everybody started putting their input and I think we really clicked on that cause we all like agreed on something and added more information, so it all helped in learning        (Naghicim, Interview, 29 January, 2014)  According to Naghicim, the talk generated an activity exploring abstract representations of power, worked to forge a stronger classroom community. The discussions generated by the youths’ abstract representations of power (through statues they created with chairs) enabled the youth to learn about the thought processes of their peers and support each other in the making their statues.  6.2 Drama as Liminal Space Richard Schechner (1985) theorizes the nature of performance as “a paradigm of liminality” (p. 123). The performer, he writes, “no longer has a “me” but has a “not not me”” (p. 112). According to Schechner, the double negative is important because this is precisely the space that performers occupy. Students participating in drama activities in the classroom also occupy this liminal performance space. Rather than exploring what it is like to be other people, or take on another person’s (or an Other’s) identity, students engage in role-play neither completely as themselves nor completely as another person, as Schechner explains: It isn’t that a performer stops being himself or herself when he or she becomes another—multiple selves coexist in an unresolved dialectical tension” (Schechner, 1985, p. 6).  This is an important, if challenging, distinction to make in DiE, because students often report learning what it is like to be someone else from drama.  “I think it’s good that we do these things ‘cause we can really be in a person’s place and understand how life was.”   166       (Anna, Interview, 6 February, 2014) This claim is so insidious that drama education practitioners often make claims about the empathic possibilities of drama education (Diamond, 2007; Yassa, 1999) by stating that drama enables people to “know” Others. However, it is the liminal space between self and Other that drama capitalizes on in order to create rich learning experiences for students (Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013; Heathcote & Bolton, 1995; O’Neill, 1995). Students may gain empathy for others through role play, but this is not always the case. Thinking with Schechner, I argue that learning through drama is more complex than gaining understanding for another person’s perspective. Students interact in the “as if” world of DiE by taking on roles that are informed by their outlooks, biases, and social locations. In response to a process drama where she had played a low status role, Jade said she enjoyed it because: … it was, like, I almost, like, I kind of wanted to be the witch, just kind of to be on that end, and see what it’s kind of like, you know?       (Jade, Interview, 5 February, 2014) While she was excited to learn what it would be like to experience a social status that differed from her own, Jade’s reflections did not indicate that she had gained empathy for people with low social status. In fact, she said she would not want to experience such low status in the so-called real world because: “Oh my God, it would suck.” Therefore, while students may gain an appreciation for an imagined perspective they may not have considered before, they remain ignorant of what it is like to be someone else. Responding to the empathic and transformative claims often made about applied theatre, Nicholson (2005) picks up on the idea that DiE participants are transported rather than transformed by “going into another world and coming   167 back with gifts” (Etchells cited in Nicholson, 2005, p. 13). Sometimes, these “gifts” can take the form of new insights that challenge participants’ previously held assumptions or the normative structures of their societal context. However, drama can also reify stigmatized representations of different social groups. The data presented in the rest of this section shows how discourses of race and indigeneity emerged in the liminal space created by drama.  One day, the students were asked to dramatically present historical figures that they had written biographies about in groups. It took a while to get through the activities planned for the day, and the students had to rush through their presentations at the end of class. Paroles mot à mot Verbatim Speech Actions and Gestures Sara: OK! Sara: OK! Genevieve runs past the camera. Mia directs Kelsey to go stand somewhere else. Mia, Kelsey, et X: Oh-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo! Mia, Kelsey, and X: Oh-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo! The girls run toward the performance area from different directions with their arms held over their heads as though they are holding something. They tap their mouths with their hands, mimicking the “Indian” sounds from antiquated childhood games of “Cowboys and Indians.” They come together and stop.) Mia: Un, deux, trois. Mia: One, two, three.  The girls all stomp one foot and   168 Paroles mot à mot Verbatim Speech Actions and Gestures simultaneously plant the object that they mime holding in their hands – I interpret this as a spear – into the ground. Mia: Je suis le chef de Stadaconné, un des peuples de l’Amérique du Nord. J’ai rencontré Jacques Cartier pour la première fois à Québec, quand il faisait un voyage par bateau et nous faisons la pêche. Mia: I am the chief of Stadaconné, one of the peoples of North America. I met Jacques Cartier for the first time in Quebec when he was making a trip by boat and we were fishing.    The girls mime fishing. Mia: Sur son retour, il m’a kidnappé pour montrer aux gens ce qu’il avait trouvé. Ils m’ont très bien traité. Mia: On Jacques Cartier’s return, he kidnapped me to show people what they had found. They treated me very well. Genevieve runs in, places her arms around Mia, and pulls her away from the other girls. Genevieve pats Mia on the head. Mia: Mais je me sentais toujours très Mia: But still, I felt very uncomfortable. Mia slowly moves away from Genevieve toward Kelsey and X.    169 Paroles mot à mot Verbatim Speech Actions and Gestures inconfortable. (Bell rings announcing the end of class) Mia: Plus tard j’ai mourru en 1539. Mia: Later, I died in 1539. Mia laughs. Table 6.1 Class video recording, 29 April, 2014 The girls’ decision to fall back on a stereotypical representations of Aboriginal people illustrates some of the limitations of dramatic art forms. Ferdinand de Saussure’s theory of language posits that, “language is a system of signs” (Culler, 1986, p. 19). As aesthetic and communicative art forms, drama and theatre rely heavily on easily identifiable material and auditory cues, or signs, to signify and portray various concepts and ideas (Elam, 2002). Of course this is not unique to theatre: Hall (1997) explains that advertising, film, television, etc. also trade in signs and signifying practices in order to convey messages to large audiences. However, as the skit above illustrates, and Hall’s (1997) work attests, the use of signs and symbols to stand in for concepts or a group of people can easily lead to stereotyping by flattening out the diversity that exists within each constructed category. By tapping on their mouths and chanting as they ran in, the girls used a visual, auditory, and material short-hand to signify Aboriginal people of North America, even though this representation may not have been an accurate portrayal of Donnacona’s tribe.  Interestingly, their representation could be seen as making fun of Aboriginal people, which would have made this portrayal inappropriate for the classroom according to the students’ own rules for talking about race. This would have been an important moment to unpack with the students in order to discuss the effects of representing Aboriginal people in this way. However, as the video indicates, the bell rang and the students fled the class once they had guessed who the   170 girls had interpreted. My fieldnotes reveal my frustration at the fact that we did not get to address this representational decision with the class. Time constraints are often a limitation in drama work and it can be difficult to gauge the amount of time necessary for unpacking the things that come up during role plays and improvisations. This was a challenge Rose and I often encountered in our work throughout the year. On the day of the field trip to the Museaum, I facilitated a process drama on first contact between Aboriginal people and European colonizers that was inspired by John Marsden’s book, The Rabbits (1998), illustrated by Shawn Tan. The students only read the book after the process drama was over. During the process drama Brook asked me questions that she expected me to address during the lesson, though not necessarily with the entire class.  Both classes are spread out on the grass. They are sitting or lying in groups of four, developing arguments in favour or against letting the Rabbits enter their village. Rose, a pedagogical assistant, and I are circulating among the groups, checking that the students are on task, and helping them develop their arguments, if necessary. We don’t have to intervene much; the students are engaged in playful conversations about whether or not to let these ‘foreign Rabbits’ into the village. Some students are clearly not taking the possible threat posed by the Rabbits seriously, while others are trying to get into character as villagers, and making compelling arguments within their groups to convince their peers. Whether or not the students are taking the activity seriously isn’t that important at this stage, nor does it matter that their small group debates are interrupted with personal conversations that have no relation to the topic at hand.  As I am walking around, Brook calls me over and tells me that she doesn’t understand. Thinking that she’s referring to the process drama, I ask her what she   171 doesn’t understand. We are speaking in French, and she says that it’s hard to explain, but she doesn’t understand the way that Aboriginal people are portrayed. Part way through her explanation she asks “Can I just say it in English?” I say yes, of course, and she immediately switches languages and asks: “How come we all have different skin colours if we all live in the same place and we’re all acclimated?” While she was speaking, Brook motioned with her hands to indicate the students sprawled across the lawn. I think she means ‘acclimatized,’ so I ask and she answers “yes.” (I’m not sure that Brook was entirely sure of what words to use because the thoughts seemed to be coming to her quickly and spontaneously.) I don’t have a chance to respond before Brook goes on to say that she doesn’t get why they (she) all have different skin colours because they are all acclimatized to the region. Brook wants to know why, if they are all acclimatized, their skin colour hasn’t changed to be the same.         (Fieldnote, 6 May, 2014) Brook questioned discourses of race and racialization, as well as the material and visual aspects of biology and evolutionary development during the process drama. This interaction is the most explicit illustration of how questions about unauthorized classroom discourses began to surface while the students were engaged in the liminal space of play created by drama. Although this moment technically occurred outside the classroom, it happened during class drama activity based on the curriculum. Brook’s questions entered the “formal class space” when she called me over and addressed them directly to me. She was not content to mumble her questions under her breath, as I had observe her do many times before in class. In the informal and social environment created by the field trip and our work in-role outdoors, Brook felt comfortable putting these questions to me.   172 During the Rabbits process drama, Brook continued her contemplation of the bodies in her class and how they were and were not reflected in the curriculum, and how those bodies were represented when they did appear in the curriculum. This contemplation had started at least a month earlier during the hallway conversation that was presented in Chapter 4. Brook’s on-going process of observation, reflection, critique, and theorizing did not necessarily come from the process drama. However, the embodied work she did on that afternoon was clearly linked to ideas about Aboriginal societies before colonization and incited her to raise her questions during the role-play that occurred in the informal, outdoor, and liminal space of drama. Ellsworth (2005) writes that Brian Massumi’s (1995) work on how thoughts are activated by the body’s movement “challenge(s) educators to shift how we make bodies matter in pedagogy” (emphasis in original, p. 17). Echoing Ellsworth and Massumi, as well as Perry and Medina (2011), I argue that this is precisely what drama compels educators and students, to consider. As an embodied medium, drama necessitates attention to the bodies and subjectivities involved in learning, as well as a reimagination of learning spaces in order to create curricular engagements that elicit creativity (Nicholson, 2005) and a deep engagement with the topics being investigated. Brook’s questions point to the way drama can bring deep questions to the surface. Her questions also illustrate how embodied dramatic work can provide an entry point to conversations about racial and ethnic representational tropes that are present in the curriculum.  As much as drama involves bodies in motion, it also requires the constant movement through time as students and teachers shift back and forth between real and imagined pasts, presents, and futures. Even as they interact in the “as if” (Heathcote & Bolton, 1995) world of drama, students’ engage the imaginary from perspectives drawn from their situated subjectivities and the complex relationships they have with other students, teachers, and the objects in their   173 classrooms or informal learning spaces. Brook drew on all of her interactions with her teachers, peers, myself, and with the formal and informal spaces of schooling to engage me in a discussion about race, racialization, representation and signifying practices. By demanding answers from me, the drama facilitator and teacher-like person, Brook demonstrated her knowledge of inaccurate portrayals of Aboriginal people and showed how the curriculum and our teaching of it failed to address her and the complexities of the students’ subjectivities. In that moment Brook brought the unspeakable hallway discourse and theorizing into the “classroom,” which was and was not a classroom. Working in an informal space, where she could easily observe the bodies of her peers laid out on the lawn, enhanced by the embodied dramatic work she was doing, Brook felt able to raise her questions about incongruent racial representations with one of her educators. The process drama and informal spaces it facilitated served as catalysts for Brook to make formal and informal discourses of race matter in her social studies class. 6.3 The Uncontrollable Nature of Discourse Discourse, and by extension social discourses of difference are always present in the classroom (Foucault, 1995), whether in the curriculum, the spatial arrangement of the classroom (Rogers, 2014), or in the knowledge systems that students and teachers draw on to inform their discussions (Battiste, 2013; Freire, 2008). Social discourses of difference are particularly relevant in social studies classrooms where society is the unit of study. The particular challenge for educators is that these discourses, their emergence, and the others they call forth are co-constructed and difficult, if not impossible, to control. The following excerpt from an in-class interaction illustrates how these complications emerged when Rose tried to introduce a new idea to her students.  Rose tells the students that Aboriginal groups have the highest birth rate in Canada,   174 so they are growing fastest. The teaching assistant checks Rose’s meaning by asking: “So they are reproducing?” “Yes,” Rose answers. Sherlock says: “Oh, I thought you meant that they are the biggest group (motions with her hands to indicate height).” Rose says, “Oh, no! No, I mean they are reproducing.”  While everyone is laughing, Bob turns and calls: “Brook!” R. Kelly is sitting behind Bob, and he perks-up exclaiming: “Yeah Brook is, like, pregnant right now.” He laughs and looks at Brook expectantly. Is he searching to get a rise out of her? Rose either doesn’t hear his comment or chooses to ignore it. Brook appears to laugh off R. Kelly’s comment. She rolls her eyes and replies something I can’t hear.  Rose clarifies her meaning. During this time, Samantha turns to the back of the room and says: “Brook, you’re gonna have four kids!” Brook appears to say that she doesn’t want to have any children. It looks like this statement is made for Samantha and R.Kelly’s benefit, even though she is addressing Cléo, who is sitting in front of her. Samantha retorts: “Yes you do, you’re gonna have, like, eight!”  Rose isn’t paying attention to this exchange. She wants to make sure that the students understand that the Aboriginal peoples of Canada are different from the depiction presented in the “Heritage Minute” video and that they have changed a lot since the period the students are studying. She says she wants to be very clear and make sure the students understand that Aboriginal people don’t wear feathers on their heads or live in igloos anymore. However, she adds that some still know how to build igloos and do, at times, sleep inside them. She says that just like people of European descent no longer dress the way they did in the video, progress and technology have also impacted   175 Aboriginal peoples.  After the bell rings R. Kelly, Samantha, and Brook are talking at the back of the room. I don’t pay attention to what they are saying, but they all seem to be laughing.  As the last students are leaving the room, Brook drops an Easter egg that I gave her. Samantha says: “Brook lost her egg, so now she can’t have four kids.” Brook retorts: “I don’t want to have kids!” Then Samantha says: “Yes you do. You want to have, like, ten.” They walk out the door laughing.         (Fieldnote, 16 April, 2016) However inadvertently, Rose’s comment about the growth of Aboriginal communities introduced a widely circulating discourse and stereotype about Aboriginal peoples into classroom. This discourse, repeated daily in mainstream media, in the comments sections of online news stories, in the social geography (Frankenberg, 1993), and casual conversations, portrays Aboriginal peoples as irresponsible for having large families despite poor economic prospects, surviving on “government handouts,” and living in over-crowded houses (Furniss, 1998). Conditions depicted as being of Aboriginal peoples’ own making, unrelated to larger structural and political projects of colonization and nation building in Canada. Although Rose wanted to introduce an interesting fact about population growth among Canada’s Aboriginal communities to the students, possibly hoping to make a point about cultural revitalization. However, this “fact” was introduced in a way that became enmeshed with pervasive social stereotypes that are far from neutral. Rose’s decisions to introduce this information in the way she did, without careful planning, and to ignore the “off-topic” conversation that was taking   176 place between the students also reaffirmed White supremacy (Leonardo, 2004/2009) in the classroom.  Because Rose was filling time unexpectedly left free by a drama activity that I had facilitated, she had not planned how to introduce the Heritage Minute videos and facilitate a critical discussion about them. Intended as a review exercise, the activity I facilitated had been ineffective in that it had lead to competition, othering, and possibly reinforced ideas of indigenous cultures as things of the past. Because the students did not respond to the activity in the way we anticipated, I cut it short. Based on what Rose had said in prior discussions and ones that have occurred since then, in the frozen moment captured above she had wanted to address the stereotyping and problematic representations of Indigenous peoples in the Heritage videos and simultaneously tell the students that Aboriginal communities are now growing following centuries of colonization and cultural genocide carried out by the Canadian government (Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015). However, because she brought it up spontaneously, Rose did not think about how such ideas might call forth circulating misrepresentations of Aboriginal people and plan how to carefully unpack them with the class.  This kind of forgetting is common among people with White privilege who often fail to see how their practices reify the marginalization of racialized groups in a context of White supremacy and how they participate and “invest in practices that obscure racial processes” (Leonardo 2004/2009, p. 268). In the moment, Rose did not think about how casually mentioning this “fact” could open the door for other racialized discourses about Indigenous peoples to enter the classroom and the consequences this might have. Furthermore, because she was distracted and possibly surprised by the way the students and teacher aid misinterpreted her meaning, thus obfuscating the point she intended to make, Rose missed or dismissed as “off-topic” the   177 conversation occurring simultaneously between a few students. In that discussion Brook and her body were labeled as the Indigenous Other, a “newcomer body” within the schools in general, and the Francophone school in particular. Indigenous bodies can be viewed as “newcomer bodies” because Francophone schools were not initially created to serve Aboriginal students who might also seek French education.  Although Francophone minority language schools were established to serve the needs of all Francophone students, these schools were initially conceived to serve students whose parents were from Quebec and France (Gérin-Lajoie, 1995; Heller, 1999, 2003; Levasseur, 2012). Though the initial parents and students were far from being a homogenous group, in their infancy, the CSF and individual schools in the district appear to have placed little thought into the needs of other minority groups that might attend them. Although recent efforts have been made to recognize Aboriginal students, meet their needs, and establish a policy for Aboriginal education in the CSF, these efforts are partial because they remain dependent on the work of individual teachers, like Rose, who receive little institutional support. To my knowledge, there were no Indigenous staff at Gustave-Flaubert at the time of this study.  In the above exchange, schooling was reasserted as the rightful domain of White people because Brook’s body was called out as being a deviation from the norm. Rose was distracted by several factors—having to step-in unexpectedly when the activity I facilitated did not go as planned and ran short, the students misunderstanding her, and the teacher’s aid’s interruptions—and she did not hear or process the racialization and stereotyping that was occurring in the classroom. Rose’s inability in this instance to stick with her initial intent of making a radical point about enduring colonialism demonstrates the tensions between the desire to actively confront White supremacy and whiteness and placing that desire into everyday practice.   178 Significantly, the comments that R. Kelly and Samantha made about Brook, and her responses to them were not intended as formal interventions in the lesson. The students created a space in the classroom where they could use informal discourses of race, while Rose’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Without their teacher’s attention on them, Samantha and R. Kelly engaged in a kind of talk that would normally be forbidden, or at least considered risky in the classroom and, in so doing, were constituted by (Foucault, 1990) a racial discourse ordaining that race determines behaviour and life choices. This interplay between formal classroom discourse and hallway discourses of race is key because it is in this discursively liminal space that Brook was racialized and that White dominance was reasserted in the classroom. Section 6.4 will further explore the problematic nature of this exchange. 6.3.1 Race in Québécois and French Cultures The background of this frozen moment was an on-going conversation Rose and I were having about my use of race as a category of difference, and my interest in the ways the students conceptualized race. Rose once asked why I use and am invested in the concept of race. She explained that when she started a Masters degree in anthropology, she was instructed not to use race as a category because of its biological emptiness (Banton, 1972; Laurent & Leclère, 2013; Winant, 2004). Consequently, she explained that she teaches students that there is one human race that encompasses many different ethnicities and cultures. Rose felt that it was more productive to talk about ethnic, cultural, and linguistic differences than to talk about race, since race is a concept that is deeply rooted in colonialism. I found Rose’s position curious because it seemed to be incongruous with her commitments to social justice and her efforts to ensure that the contributions of Aboriginal, Black, and Chinese Canadians were recognized within the school generally and specifically in   179 her classroom. Her activities and teaching methods indicated an awareness that difference and representations matter in multiracial and multicultural contexts. Yet, Rose’s position on the use of race is one that has been widely critiqued by those who argue that the oft-touted “postracial” moment is a fiction (Goldberg, 2015; Henry, 2012; Winant, 2004). If race is understood as a social and historical process, that influences peoples’ lives and shapes the way societies organize, then it becomes an important sociological or anthropological category. However, Winant (2004) explains that the biological irrelevance of race has made it “a suspect social classification”(p. 188) that serves opposing political ambitions. On the one hand, it feeds neoconservative ideals invested in maintaining the historical dominance of White people by dispersing colourblind discourses and arguing that race does not factor into social structures (Winant, 2004). On the other hand, colourblind discourses are compelling to progressives devoted to social justice causes and interested in finding ways of uniting across difference in order to achieve common political objectives. Critically, George Sefa Dei (2007) observes: “white people maintain the power and privilege to ignore and dissociate themselves from the experiences of others who are more directly affected or marginalized by racism” (p. vii). Carl James (2007) adds that the predominant multicultural discourse in Canada, focusing on the country’s cultural composition, promotes the idea that Canada is a raceless society. He further argues that the questions of race become equated with “race culture,” which are portrayed as issues for “visible minorities” and having nothing do with their racialization within Canadian society or with White Canadians. A person’s identification and racialization as White can thus greatly impact the importance they attribute to factors such as race, and deep divisions about the salience of race and racism have emerged within social movements, such as the feminist movement (Brah & Phoenix, 2004/2009; Combahee River Collective, 1979; Crenshaw, 1991;   180 Davis, 1981; Hill Collins, 1990; Razack, Smith & Thobani, 2010). The position Rose articulated15 was marked by White privilege. Because whiteness is constructed as the social norm and White people are not adversely impacted by policies and procedures that limit and restrict the actions and movements of people of colour, it is easier for White people to resist acknowledging the impacts of racialization and claim that there is only a “human race.” Rose’s introduction to anthropology contrasted starkly with my own. I wondered what might account for these differences since it was during this time that I was introduced to critical race theory (CRT) and scholars working in critical race studies. However, I should not have been surprised because colourblind discourses are pervasive in Canada (Dei, 2007; Schroeter & James, 2015; Schick & St. Denis, 2005), and also within supposedly progressive academic institutions (Henry, 2015; Razack, Thobani, & Smith, 2010; Stewart, 2009). As our conversation continued throughout the year, I wondered how language might also play a role in our different experiences.  Whereas Rose took her anthropology courses at a French institution in Montreal, mine were offered at an English university in Toronto. These cities are located in different provinces, with different official languages, and are positioned on two sides of long-standing debates about national identity and culture in Canada. Gina Thésée and Paul Carr (2014) note that the Francophone world has been hesitant, if not resistant, to engage with ideas that are central to critical theories and epistemologies such as race, racism, anti-racism, cultural hegemony, oppression, colonialism and anti-colonialism. The roots of this hesitancy can possibly be traced                                                 15 It is important to note that the conversation Rose and I had was deeply reflexive, as we both attempted to articulate and tease out the distinctions between our viewpoints. Significantly, since the end of this study, Rose has started questioning why the teachers and administration at Gustave-Flaubert do not place more emphasis on talking about issues of race and racism.   181 back to the universalist approach adopted by the French Republic16 after the French Revolution. Differences between and among citizens were minimized in order to highlight their shared struggles and interests as “citizens” of the Republic against a brutal and entitled aristocracy. Expanding on this idea, Sylvie Laurent and Thierry Leclère (2013) explain that race is a rejected category within the French Republic because:  la catégorie de « race » implique le racisme, c’est-à-dire la justification biologique et la naturalization des différences à des fins d’oppression, et puisque chacun sait qu’il n’existe aucune justification scientifique à ce concept, alors il faut effacer le mot17 (p. 8).  In Quebec, as in France, this belief has resulted in an “intercultural” approach to diversity, distinct from multicultural or antiracist frameworks and bearing a similarity to notions of colourblindness mentioned earlier with regard to the English Canadian context. In Quebec an “intercultural” approach to cultural and racial differences has been favoured. This liberal policy was adopted in Quebec following the province’s refusal to sign the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and its rejection of Canadian multiculturalism. It is understood as an approach to diversity intent on figuring out how people with different cultural backgrounds can minimize misunderstandings that stem from different cultural locations, in spite of a shared common language (Blanchet, 2007). A key distinction from Canadian multiculturalism is this emphasis on a “shared language,” because Quebec’s model of interculturalism accepts diversity                                                 16 While French and Québécois societies are markedly different, there is a great deal of cross-pollination between them. A shared language means that Francophone Québécois scholars often privilege the work of French scholars over that of their contemporaries in English Canada or the United States.  17 My translation: “the category of “race” implies racism, that is the biological justification and naturalization of differences toward oppressive ends, and since we know that such scientific justifications do not exist, then we must erase the word.”   182 while maintaining Québécois culture and the French language as central features of Québécois society. This approach to diversity is based on the idea that the integration of ethnic and cultural minorities is a reciprocal endeavor, in which a “moral contract” is set-up in the interest of creating a common public society emphasizing a give and take approach to social interaction (Gagnon & Iacovino, 2004). Interculturalism focuses on intercultural communication—learning to interact in a way that minimizes the differences that might further divide, such as race—in search of “common ground” upon which social cohesion can be built (Blanchet, 2007).  DesRoches (citing Bauman, 2014) points out that the concept of community that underlies interculturalism is paradoxical because a shared identity is forged at the cost of sacrificing individual identities. Furthermore, ethnic, racial, and religious minorities are consistently positioned as being outside or troubling Quebec’s intercultural community. The doubled claim of this community is “predicated upon diversity and that all citizens have ongoing and significant contributions to make to the dominant ethos of the province” (DesRoches, 2014, p. 357). Language then, is viewed as the primary cultural and linguistic bond among society members, which is also the case in Francophone minority languages schools. Students and teachers are understood as being connected through their shared language and linguistic minority status. Even though diversity is often named and acknowledged in Francophone minority language schools, ethnic, racial, and cultural differences among students and teachers are not attributed as much significance as language. Racial minorities within the Francophone minority communities are understood as “double minorities” (Jacquet, 2009; Jacquet et al., 2008; Madibbo, 2007; Prasad, 2012) because they are marginalized on the basis of their non-dominant language, like other Francophones, yet issues that concern them as racial minorities are also marginalized within Francophone communities. Racism is thus experienced from both White   183 dominant Anglophone and Francophone communities, and students and teachers of colour within Francophone minority schools continue to be portrayed as “newcomers.”  It is possible that my ongoing conversation with Rose about race made her feel self-conscious about how to introduce concepts of ethnicity or minorities to her class. She has often said that it can be difficult to have another adult in the room when teaching. While these comments have usually been made in reference to how well we collaborated, it is impossible to deny that my presence was also disruptive. In fact, my observations and documentation had become all the more evident the week before the frozen moment presented in the previous section, when I started using a video camera to record the classes. The presence of the camera made the students visibly self-conscious and more cognizant of my research. Rose might have been similarly affected by the camera’s presence. Either way, her decision not to name race, ethnicity, or minorities made it difficult for her to explain her meaning and deconstruct or complicate portrayals of Aboriginal peoples in the Heritage Minute videos.  Significantly, because Rose did not name the concept she was referring to, the students and I were left to fill the gap with our own meanings by drawing on the discourses and categories of difference that were most familiar to us. Furthermore, the way the drama activity that I facilitated had played out set the stage for stereotyping by highlighting simplistic representations of culture and prompting the students to think about ethnic differences in the class. Though it was unclear how familiar the students were with the concept of ethnicity, they clearly had common sense understandings of race and culture and, as Chapters 4 and 5 illustrated race, ethnicity, and culture often intersected. The students drew on these common sense understandings in their “off-topic” interaction.   184 6.4 Embodying Difference: Naming the Indigenous Other  This section further explores how Brook’s indigeneity was called out in the exchange with R. Kelly and Samantha that was presented in Section 6.3 and some reasons why her indigeneity attracted the attention of her peers. I have chosen to focus on this story because I believe that it illustrates well how different social discourses overlap and how the intersection of various categories of difference resulted in the racialization of some students at Gustave-Flaubert. However, I understand that in a context where Indigenous peoples and their stories have been exploited by White colonizers and researchers, freezing this particular moment runs the risk of exoticizing Brook. In addition to being academically successful, Brook was athletic and appeared to be well-liked by her peers. She hung out with other Grade 9 girls outside of class, and regularly played “Manhunt” with the boys at lunchtime. In fact, she was one of the few Grade 9 girls who crossed the widely acknowledged division between “boy” and “girl” ways of socializing that was present in the school. During interviews, “boy activities” were defined as being more play-based, whereas “girl activities” were described as talking, walking around, and shopping. Brook’s style could be described as “girly-sporty,” as she often wore dresses on top of shorts that she paired with Converse sneakers. Unlike many of her female peers, she could neither be labeled “girly” or “sporty.” Brook seemed to march to the beat of her own drum as far as her personal style and behaviour were concerned. In fact, her style choices may have facilitated her ability to cross boundaries without drawing much open criticism from her peers. For all intents and purposes Brook was an insider with her peers. This was true despite the fact that she did not hang out with the “popular” students or, as she said in interview, with any of her classmates outside of school. Brook’s ability to joke with other students as well as her   185 tendency to question and challenge her teachers seemed to make her peers value and respect her. Yet, Brook was more vocal about her First Nations roots than Jamie, often providing anecdotal information about her Tsimshian First Nation and the Aboriginal practices carried out, at some point in time, by her family. Brook was quick to point out times when other students, including Jamie, expressed stereotypical ideas about Aboriginal peoples. She also resisted attempts to turn her into an “authentic native” (Buddle, 2004; T. King, 2003) by explaining that she could not speak for all Indigenous peoples and that she had never lived on a reserve. On the one hand, the other students were more likely to explore their burgeoning understandings of First Nations peoples with Brook because she was their friend. Paradoxically, this proximity made her an easy target for their racial or racist “jokes,” and the curriculum supplemented and possibly solidified their preexisting and common sense knowledge about Aboriginal peoples. Brook’s outspoken nature might be the reason the students focused on her indigeneity; however, this could also be related to the fact that the other Indigenous student in the class, Jamie, was already more of an outsider.  In sharp contrast to Brook and other Grade 9 girls, Jamie was one of the few students in the school who dressed in a style associated with punk rock or retro grunge. Their hair was variously died blue, pink, or bleached blond. Jamie wore fishnet stockings and shorts, paired with ten-hole Doc Martin boots. Jamie identified as “gender neutral” and artistic, and was a quiet student who was often absent. Jamie seemed to only have one good friend in Grade 9 and was identified as a “gossip” by several other students. Therefore, whereas Brook was widely liked, Jamie was less so. Nevertheless, Jamie was friendly and approachable with me, and spoke about having a supportive family and social network outside of school. Like Brook, Jamie was intelligent and articulate, though this was not always reflected in their grades. Although Brook   186 defied some gender stereotypes, Jamie situated themself squarely outside gender binaries, making them more of an outsider in a heteronormative social context that made clear distinctions between male and female characteristics. Brook’s fluency in English and French, her skin tone—recall that she identified as “White” in Chapter 5—and Canadian roots had enabled her to pass as an insider to dominant nationalist discourses of Canadianness circulating in the school; discourses that are actively deconstructed as part of the social studies curriculum (Rogers, 2014; Schick & St. Denis, 2005; Willinsky, 1998). However, as Chapter 4 revealed, she increasingly disrupted this perception by naming her indigeneity throughout the course of the year. For immigrant students and those constructed as visible minorities, the ability to be perceived as mainstream might have been enviable. As Théo and Nico’s interviews revealed, they were frustrated by people constantly asking them where they were from and singling out their bodies as “newcomer bodies:” Sara: How does it make you feel when people think that you’re Mexican? Nico: Kind of awkward      (Nico, Interview, 4 March, 2014) Such questions offended the boys since they were both born in Canada. While calling out Brook’s difference might have signaled a point of contact for some students (i.e. she was also different and “not mainstream”), doing so exemplified how the assimilationist goals of Canadian nation building and colonial education remain incomplete (Battiste, 2013; Truth and Reconciliation Comission of Canada, 2015). Brook’s peers would never again perceive her simply as a “Canadian,” nor did she appear to want them to. She had not been seamlessly assimilated in spite of her European heritage and fair phenotype, and her peers would now also perceive her as somewhat of an outsider. Ironically, Brook’s rootedness in the land constructed   187 as “Canadian” by modernist understanding of the nation uprooted her from nationalist discourses imbued with a White settler identity (Battiste, 2013; Razack, 2002). Brook’s ancestral ties to the land before colonization and her intrepid way of drawing attention to this fact as to racial stereotypes were dissonant with a popular imaginary that constructs Canadian land as justly obtained (Truth and Reconciliation Comission of Canada, 2015) and Canadians as tolerant settlers who turned “wild” land into something productive and profitable (Simpson, James & Mack, 2011). In addition, Brook’s physical appearance and academic success were incongruous with the students’ pre-formed ideas about Aboriginal people; however, they discursively policed the borders of the nation (Foucault, 1995) by placing Brook outside of it, thanks to the new insights they had gained about her. Highlighting Brook’s indigeneity in a society where derogatory discourses about “lazy Indians” (Furniss, 1998; T. King, 2003) circulate widely, worked to diminish the power that her academic success would otherwise merit. Repeatedly calling out her indigeneity was fed by and fed into discourses that present institutional spaces, like the school and classroom as a microcosm of the school, as non-Aboriginal ones (Rogers, 2014). Decisions and knowledge about Aboriginal peoples can be made in such spaces, but such decisions are not constructed as ones Aboriginal peoples can make. As Carol Schick and Verna St. Denis (2005) write: “the construction of racial dominance is a significant part of what students learn in schools no matter who is in the classroom” (p. 298). The curriculum that had once appeared to address Brook was revealed as addressing only those Canadian-born students who fit more comfortably into the White settler model. The way that some students, particularly R. Kelly, constantly questioned Brook about all things Aboriginal struck me as more than an innocent curiosity. Instead, by asking Brook to teach them about her Otherness it appeared that the students were seeking   188 “know” her, so as to consume or integrate her Otherness and make it a part of themselves (Loutzenheiser, 2005), rather than accepting her difference as something that could not be accessed and appropriated by the group.  There was something that was at once divisive and assimilationist in this practice. It positioned Brook as an outsider, but also attempted to integrate a part of her heritage, her Otherness, in order to strengthen the group by encompassing even more diversity. This is similar to the ways dominant discourses of multiculturalism subsume a plethora of different cultures in one umbrella term, without acknowledging intra-group differences (Henry, 2010; James, 2010; Razack, 2010; Schick & St. Dennis, 2005; Wright, 2013). The students appropriated this dominant multicultural discourse in a way that made the group stronger, while denying Brook the social capital (Bourdieu, 1991) that her academic achievement warranted.  Brook’s ability to maintain her popularity without performing a “dumb girl” role was another privilege she experienced. For some reason, her good grades did not attract the scorn of the “in group.” As mentioned earlier, she was not the only girl who got good grades and was popular; however, Brook was not in the “popular group.” Maintaining a high social status while remaining outside the “in group” and being unapologetic for her intelligence was a feat. In interviews, some girls were described as belonging to the “smart group” or as being “sporty,” a status that positioned them clearly outside the group with the highest social status. Conversely, girls in the “popular group” were never described as smart. Stereotypes and gender norms dictate that girls can be smart or popular (Currie, Kelly & Pomerantz, 2007; Kelly & Pomerantz, 2009). Some of the “smart” or “sporty” girls were clearly rejected by the “popular group,” through subtle acts like moving away from them or shutting down their ideas during group work, but this was not the case for Brook.    189 The fact that Brook could hang out with girls and boys without having her sexuality questioned may have been perceived as yet another privilege by her peers. Fourteen and fifteen year-olds often explore their sexuality, which can be difficult in a society, specifically a school, where clear-cut definitions of “girl” and “boy” attributes and activities exist. Brook’s ability to cross this divide was not unique,18 but it was unusual. Heteronormative discourses structured many of the students’ social interactions and their distinctions between boy and girl activities and attributes (Butler, 1990/2006). Heteronormativity factored into the way the students picked up on Brook’s indigeneity rather than Jamie’s, because Jamie appeared to exist outside of the boy/girl binary that structured peer group interactions and activities in the school.  Colonization, and its recent cousin globalization,19 have instilled the notion that White, usually male, people can cross cultural and social boundaries. Acts of cultural appropriation are popularly reformulated as “good White” people communing with Others in order to better know them. From Jesuit priests learning the ways of Indigenous tribes in the 17th Century, to White people appropriating dreadlocks in order to identify with a counterculture, it has become commonplace for White people to attempt to cross rigid social boundaries in a way that makes them appear porous. However, these boundaries become less porous when non-White people try to cross them (Kuoch, 2005). Non-White bodies face more stringent regulation in White supremacist societies (Henry, 2015; Leonardo, 2004/2009; Roberts, 1997). Because the movements and actions of non-Whites are more regulated, their boundary crossings are                                                 18 From my observations, there were two other students were also able to hang out with the boys and the girls without having their sexuality questioned by their peers. 19 Winant (2004) makes similar links between imperialism and globalization, and he describes globalization as “a re-racialization of the world” (p. 131). This is significant because contemporary understandings of race began to emerge during Europe’s colonial expansion in the 15th Century.   190 circumspect and emphasized, which upholds dominant norms. Joyce King (1991) explains dysconscious racism as “an uncritical habit of mind (including perceptions, attitudes, assumptions, and beliefs) that justifies inequity and exploitation by accepting the existing order of things as a given” (p. 135). By emphasizing Brook’s newly revealed difference the students dysconsciously reaffirmed the dominant White norm, reinscribed as Aboriginal or “native”—the term the students used—Brook’s boundary crossing could now be policed and potentially recast as problematic, in the same way that Roger’s identification with Blackness was problematized.  Regardless of what the students were consciously, subconsciously, or dysconsciously (J. King, 1991) doing, highlighting Brook’s indigeneity was fed by multiple discourses that position White people as the rightful owners and occupants of academic spaces, “in groups,” and legitimate boundary crossers. I do not mean to suggest that the students intentionally tried to strip Brook of her achievements or the special status that enabled her to cross social boundaries by making her indigeneity more visible. Several students had known that Brook was half Aboriginal all along. However, analyzing this class from the perspective of discourses of difference necessitates a consideration of how pervasive such discourses are, how they circulate, and what relations of power they produce. Therefore, while R. Kelly and Samantha were not trying to be racist, their actions repeated the historical process of policing the presence of Aboriginal bodies in classrooms and silencing them.  Both R. Kelly and Samantha took up positions that reified whiteness as the norm, even though only Samantha could be visibly perceived as White. This illustrates that whiteness is reinforced and brought into being not only through the privileges that people with White skin enjoy, but also through discursive and social practices that can be taken up by non-White people (Kuoch, 2005; Leonardo 2004/2009). Through “technologies of the self” (Foucault, 1990), social   191 practices through which individuals constitute their subjectivity and are constituted by others (Kelly, 2013), R .Kelly accessed whiteness through the performance of heteronormative masculinity (Butler, 1990/2006). R. Kelly and Samantha’s comments on this day, and others made at other times, can be qualified as microaggressions (Delgado & Stefancic cited in Hayes & Juarez, 2009), ways that dominance and racist sentiments are expressed through means that are “innocent, subtle, and transparent, but harmful nonetheless” (Howard, 2008, p. 973). In this way, this incident can be read as perpetuating of the symbolic violence of colonization and reestablishing the racial differences that were developed to create and reinforce colonial order. Brook’s indigeneity racialized her in a way that made her the Other in Canadian classrooms. This racialization was compounded by her identification as a girl, rendering her unapologetic intelligence suspect within dominant norms of femininity and popularity. Brook’s intelligibility as a heterosexual “girl” intensified the attention she received from her peers. It was not her indigeneity that was highlighted in R. Kelly and Samantha’s jokes about her reproductive capabilities, but her newfound position as an Aboriginal girl/woman. The students made assumptions and stereotypes about who Brook was as a girl and as an Aboriginal person, both of which are entangled in patriarchal and colonial discourses and practices surrounding the reproductive capacities of female Aboriginal bodies (Ralston-Lewis, 2005; Truth and Comission of Canada, 2015). Brook actively contested this representation of Aborignial women by asserting that she did not want to have children and introducing the concept of difference into the “Aboriginal” category of difference that was being constructed in the classroom. 6.5 Possibilities Offered by Drama-in-Education Building on Ellsworth (2005), I view drama-in-education (DiE) as creating temporal pedagogical encounters in which students participate “somewhere in between thinking and   192 feeling” (p. 17). Ellsworth describes this as the sensation of mind/brain/being, which I interpret as a neither conscious nor fully unconscious state of being, but something in between. The sensorial engagement of the body activates memories and knowledge buried deep inside the mind. The learning that occurs in this state of liminality can be so subtle that it manifests more as a reaction or experience. The result is that the knowledge acquired in drama is often only acknowledged after the participants have stepped away and had time to reflect (Gallagher, 2001). As Brook explained: It made it more fun, like I wasn’t falling asleep or anything, so that was good. You pay more attention and you also don’t really realize you’re learning something, but you are. And since you’re not really trying really hard to remember it, it kinda just sticks in your brain.      (Brook, Focus group, 3 June, 2014) The fact that drama actively engaged the students’ minds and bodies deemphasized learning objectives, by focusing instead on their experiences and responses to curricular prompts. For Brook, this shift in focus was beneficial because it removed the stress from the requirement to retain information. Several students echoed these ideas, stating that they felt they learned better from drama because it was fun and active. Reflecting on the Rabbits process drama that ended by reading Marsden’s (1998) book, some students said that they enjoyed the process drama, but also found it confusing: “I liked it, but I just didn’t always know what was going on”       (Sherlock, Focus Group, 20 May, 2014) This was a more open-ended activity than others we had done throughout the year, and some students found it difficult to get into character. The students also said that they were unhappy   193 with the way the process drama ended. “It was so sad,” Brook said. On the last page of the book a white rabbit and a numbat-like creature looking at a puddle—all that is left of the formerly abundant lakes—the text asks: “Who will save us from the rabbits?” Rose and I framed this question in the context of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission taking place in Canada at the time. Rose, who had been talking about it since the beginning of the year, asked the students: “Yes, what? What are we going to do about the wrongs committed against Indigenous peoples by our ancestors in the past and those endure today?” Sarah raised her hand and asked: French English “Est-ce qu’on peut en faire un autre [jeu de role] ? Comme, est-ce qu’on peut en faire un autre où on trouve la réponse à cette question ?” “Can we do another one [process drama]? Like can we do another drama where we try to find the answer to that question?” Table 6.2 Class recording, 7 May, 2014 Other students said “Oui!” or nodded their assent. Rose and I looked at each other, perplexed and perhaps a bit thrilled. “Yes!” we replied in unison, “We’ll have to find a way to fit it in, but yes, let’s do it!” After class, Rose and I got to work planning an even more open-ended process drama for the last week of school. Unfortunately, the school year was cut short by lockout and teacher’s strike, and we never succeeded in doing this activity. In that moment, Sarah and other students who agreed with her imparted that they found drama to be a useful way of learning. More importantly, questions about reconciliation and complicity in colonization were complex and overwhelming; however, the students felt that drama would be a useful way to make sense of these issues and try to find ways of addressing them in their real lives. For the students the liminal spaces created by drama helped them   194 theorize their lives and social geography (Gallagher & Lortie, 2007). This moment was reminiscent of Augusto Boal’s (1979) claim that theatre can become “a rehearsal for revolution” when the tools of theatre are placed in the hands of the people, in this case Grade 9 youth. While the Rose’s students had less ambitious goals than revolution, Sarah’s question illustrates how many students came to value drama as a means of meaning-making. 6.6 The Limitations of Deconstruction in the Classroom  Although this study was conceptualized to explore the opportunities that drama might afford as a (post)critical pedagogy for deconstructing discourses of differences with the youth in Rose’s classes, this goal proved elusive. There were times when Rose and I felt we succeeded in using drama to facilitate meaningful discussions about the ways that differences of were constructed and exploited in the past and how those events related to present day forms of discrimination (for a more detailed discussion see Schroeter & Wager, 2016). However, the students so heavily edited their discourses of race and ethnicity for the classroom that it was often difficult to get them to name these differences in class. As illustrated in the frozen moment above, our own actions often reasserted White supremacy, possibly foreclosing possibilities for the students to discuss race and ethnicity in ways that would have enabled us to unpack these categories and explore how they intersected wiyh others. In addition, the students were already socialized to normative ways of thinking. When issues of sexuality and gender fluidity did come up in the classroom, the youth often used humour to reassert heteronormativity, in a way similar to the ways racial humour was used in the discussion above. Drama spaces are not necessarily more ideal for exploring discourses of race with youth than school hallways. What is interesting is that the teacher or adult facilitator mediates the liminal spaces created by drama, which can enable educators to gain access to the students’   195 informal discourses of race and creates the possibility that there will be moments when differences can be deconstructed in the classroom. However, moving to deconstruction is a complicated and sticky process. This can be especially difficult for White teachers who may not realize the multiple ways in which they contribute to reasserting White supremacy in the classroom. In fact, it can be difficult for White educators to realize that the very presence of their bodies at the front of the room may, in itself, be a form of epistemic violence and domination.  Rose and I also found that our work was constrained by a newly introduced 60-minute timetable. DiE involves many logistical considerations that are time consuming—the moving of desks and chairs, explanations, getting into groups, planning, performance, and debriefing. In my experience, effective drama lessons need to be carefully planned in order to complete work within allotted time. While there were numerous lessons throughout the year in which Rose and I made efficient use of class time and had ample time to debrief representations and role-play with the students, this was not the case for the lessons I have analyzed in this chapter. During the unit on first contact, in particular, we often ran out of time. This is likely due to the fact that we spent less time planning lessons at the end of the year than we had earlier in our collaboration. This reveals important insight suggesting that insufficient planning on the part of White educators can easily lead to the reinsertion of White domination in the classroom. This can also happen when the planning has been good, King (1991) and Leonardo (2004/2009) attest that even the most well-intentioned White people can reaffirm White supremacy. However, when teaching about colonization, more careful thought to the timing of drama activities, debriefings, and plans for interrupting activities in order to unpack instances of stereotyping is advisable.    196 6.7 Conclusion This chapter presented an overview of the kinds of learning opportunities afforded by the drama-based pedagogy adopted in Rose’s social studies 9 classes. The youth were provided with multiple occasions where they could engage in collaborative learning and creatively explore historical situations by improvising in-role and using multiple modalities to create and enhance imagined scenarios. While drama activities created rich opportunities for learning through an embodied medium, Nico explained that it also highlighted the challenges of collaboration because conflicts sometimes occurred as groups worked on assignments together. Furthermore, Jade’s comments about learning-in-role revealed that empathy for others was not always gained through participation in drama activities. These statements disrupt oft repeated stories about how drama develops empathy and understanding. While this remains a possibility and does happen at times, community can be fleetingly created in DiE (Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013) and has the potential to fall apart as students realize the ways in which they disagree and how they are differently positioned. It can be a risky pedagogy (Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2013); however, it is also one that provides possibilities for creativity and meaningful engagement with difference. This chapter also highlighted how the liminal spaces (Schecner, 1985; Smithner, 2011; Sutton-Smith, 1997; Turner, 1982) created by DiE enabled the youths’ informal discourses of race to emerged during class time and how this emergence disrupted the neat division between formal and informal discourses of race that was presented in Chapter 4. Although Chapters 4 and 5 revealed that the youth expressed a keen awareness about racial and ethnic stereotypes and expressed interest in disrupting or subverting them, this was not necessarily evident in their dramatic work and role-playing. Dominant norms and stereotypes were sometimes reified by the representational practices the youth used in their creative work. Nevertheless, the sustained use   197 of drama and its emphasis on embodied ways of knowing and learning led Brook to ask pointed questions about race and the representational practices surrounding this concept as a deliberate intervention in the “formal classroom space.” This suggests that liminal spaces created by DiE in the classroom and embodied learning might create opportunities to have meaningful conversations about race and racialization. However, the informal nature of much drama work means that finding ways of structuring class work so that teachers can adequately respond and so that all students can participate in these conversations remains challenging. As was revealed by the classroom interaction between Rose and her students on the topic of Aboriginal population growth, racist and colonizing discourses are always present in the classroom, and in the context of White supremacy (Battiste, 2013; Leonardo, 2004/2009), little work is needed to make the leap from curricular explorations to problematic instances of Othering students in the classroom. In addition, the racial or racist humour that Samantha and R. Kelly engaged in illustrates how discourses of race are deeply intertwined and intersect with discourses of indigeneity and gender (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981). In this instance, the use of racial humour was an example of dysconcious racism (J. King, 1991) that positioned Brook as an outsider in the classroom. Importantly, this Othering occurred in a classroom where the teacher and researcher were committed to anti-oppressive education. Our decisions to ignore certain “off-topic” comments and conversations in the classroom reified whiteness because White supremacy structures educational practices in Canada. Significantly, Rose’s reluctance to name race, ethnicity, or minority status in one particular instance and generally in her teaching revealed the contentious relationship that Francophone communities in Canada have with this discursive and historical category of difference that has real material consequences for students and teachers (Hall, 1996).   198 Far from being an indication of a progressive, post-racial society, the hesitance to address race in Francophone schools ignores the social salience of this category, the importance of race for the youth attending these schools, as well as the material impacts of racism for individuals within school communities.   Finally, this chapter reveals that DiE is not a perfect site for examining difference with youth. The representational practices used to create easily identifiable characters and situations in drama can easily lead to further stereotyping and Othering particular bodies in the classroom, even when the teachers and facilitators wish to deconstruct those practices. This suggests that greater focus on the wide range of aesthetic and representational practices in professional theatre would be beneficial for educators who wish to use drama to complicate categories of difference with students. In spite of these limitations, the Grade 9 students believed that drama was a useful form of learning and meaning-making, and they began to turn to drama in order to find solutions to address contemporary problems and complex social issues, such as searching for possibilities for reconciliation between Aboriginal and settler communities.   199 Chapter 7: Conclusion In this second decade of the 21st Century, much has been said and written about the perceived risks and dangers of living in an era where societies are increasingly defined by their diversity. Nowhere is this fear more clear than in the rise of populist and nativist right-wing governments (Kymlicka, 2010) in many parts of the globe and increasing, overt expressions of racism perpetrated by people who feel emboldened by events like Donald Trump winning the American Presidency. Drama-in-education is often perceived as an antidote (BC Ministry of Education, 2008) to these fears because it is based on principles of community building and the affective exploration of human relationships. However, because drama classrooms and others where drama pedagogies are embraced are microcosms of the societies in which they are situated, it might be naïve to assume that drama holds the secret to peaceable communication and interaction among people who are positioned in significantly different ways. Theresa Rogers (1997) notes that there is no “imagined peaceful place” in public school classrooms, where teachers can create conditions that will be entirely safe for all students at all times. As a result of its foundation in artistic and creative practice, drama proposes is that there is much to be learned and gained from risk. Thinking about the spaces that drama classrooms might create for diverse opinions and subjectivities to be expressed, Kathleen Gallagher and Burcu Ntelioglou (2013) write: What does a drama classroom look like that resists the assimilation of social, cultural and artistic differences? It is a place of risk, we have learned, and a place where differences and disagreements sit alongside fleeting moments of solidarity. (p. 107) Risk was central to the (post)critical (Lather, 1992), embodied, drama pedagogy that Rose and I adopted in her social studies 9 classes at école secondaire Gustave-Flaubert.    200 There is risk in admitting that it may not be possible for the students in Rose’s social studies classes to understand each other. Such a conclusion can seem hopeless or appear to feed into claims about the “end of multiculturalism” that have emerged in recent years, and been exacerbated by the xenophobic campaigning that characterized the recent Brexit referendum in the United Kingdom and the 2016 Presidential election in the United States. However, this is not the case. Acknowledging that there can be no perfect understanding is a call to trouble the idea that there are simple methods teachers can adopt to create classrooms where integration is seamless, where all students are empowered, and that are free of tense and emotional disagreement. While striving to create such environments is a worthy goal, we must carefully examine the ways in which our own subjectivities as educators might impede the establishment of the kinds of inclusive classroom we seek and, in the case if this study, reassert White dominance or reify the racialization and stigmatization we wanted to challenge, resist, and subvert. There is risk in schools admitting such failures; yet, failure is a fundamental part of learning and growth. As Mia Perry (2015) observes “we can’t know success unless we are at least aware of the potential of failure” (p. 142) and our failures of today might lead to our successes of tomorrow and become inspiration for new works of art with the potential to challenge the status quo. Learning is a recursive process that requires time (First Nations Education Steering Committee, 2016) and implementing effective inclusive pedagogies will require multiple attempts and will always encounter “failures” as students, teachers, and the societies out of which they emerge continue evolve and change.  The drama activities that Rose and I facilitated were also “risky” in that they invited open-ended explorations and improvisations-in-role, the outcomes of which we could not predict and were not always able to respond to as well as we would have liked. In order to deeply   201 examine categories of difference and discrimination, there were times when the drama activities we facilitated required the establishment of social hierarchies that positioned students in particular ways, which led Rose and me to question the ethics of our practice (for further discussion about the challenges posed by one process drama see Schroeter & Wager, 2016). This was true even when the students claimed that these activities created rich learning opportunities for them to contemplate links between the past and present. Rose and I insist upon the importance of admitting our failures or “stuck places” in order to bring about the kinds of educational change we desire. I am eternally grateful to Rose for her support in my endeavor to critically analyze our practice, her continued engagement with me as I worked through analyzing data, and her companionship and scholarship as we attended university lectures and workshops about decolonizing education and indigenizing the curriculum together and presented our work at various teacher conferences. Taking risks is easier when done with generous and supportive collaborators who are, nevertheless, always willing to challenge our ideas and assumptions.  In these pages I have endeavored to present an honest and critical account of the work that Rose and I undertook in her Grade 9 social studies classes throughout the year. This dissertation troubled “single stories” (Adichie, 2009) about diversity and inclusion by examining the Grade 9 students’ discourses of race and ethnicity and how they intersected with other categories of difference, such as indigenity, class, and gender. The youths’ “race talk” was entagled in webs of relations and power that extended beyond the social studies classroom, the school, and the province and linked to on-going projects of nation-building with roots in colonialism. While the initial objective of this project was to use DiE to teach the social studies curriculum and explore the possibilities and limitations it offered for deconstructing discourses of difference embedded in it, this study revealed important new insights about the circulation of   202 discourse and categories of difference relevant to the youth in this Francophone minority language school. This final chapter resituates this dissertation in the literature, provides a summary of concluding thoughts, indicates the contributions and limitations of the study, offers suggestions for addressing race and inclusion in Francophone schools, and proposes areas for further research.  7.1 Identifications Beyond Language in Francophone Minority Schools Education plays an important role in nation-building processes by promoting the culture and values of the state. In Canada, language has played an equally significant, interesting, and contentious part in nation-building because of the ways that language rights have been negotiated in order to accommodate different linguistic and cultural groups. This has primarily occurred through negotiations between the two colonizing groups: the English and French. One of the enduring impacts of these negotiations are the laws and policies that established rights to education in English and French across the country. Francophone schools have traditionally focused on French language teaching and the political investment of parent associations have been grounded in advocating for linguistic minority rights (Gérin-Lajoie, 1995; Heller, 2003; Jacquet, 2009; Madibbo, 2007). However, significant changes in the racial, ethnic, and linguistic backgrounds of families sending their children to these schools (Carlson Berg, 2010, 2011; Gérin-Lajoie & Jacquet, 2008; Jacquet, 2009; Levasseur, 2016; Madibbo, 2007; Prasad, 2012) have created new possibilities and raised new tensions within Francophone minority language communities across the country. To date, little research has been done on the identifications of youth attending Francophone schools, from their perspectives, and the links between language, culture, and racialization within these schools.   203 The youth in this study identified in a range of ways indicative of the diversity and mixed backgrounds of students now attending Francophone minority language schools in urban centers throughout the country (Carlson Berg, 2010, 2011; Heller, 1999, 2003: Jacquet et al., 2008; Levasseur, 2016; Prasad, 2012). All the youth in this study identified in terms of at least one of the three following categories of difference: race, ethnicity, or nationality. Of the thirty-three participating youth, only six mentioned language, or more specifically bilingualism as significant to their identification. The ways the youth identified was also marked by intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981) and ambiguity (Yon, 2000). When the youth spoke of gender, they simultaneously spoke of race and class in ways that revealed how interrelated these concepts are and how difficult it is to carve out clear divisions between categories of difference. The youth also identified in ways that highlighted the inadequacy of different categories for capturing their multiple ethnic, cultural, and racial affiliations. Yet, their discussions about race revealed that they simultaneously attempted to govern the boundaries of the categories, disciplining (Foucault, 1995) some students of mixed heritage when it was deemed that they “over identified” with one racial group. Such disciplining was also linked to powerful group dynamics and logics of popularity, which although linked to whiteness in popular culture, operated in fluid and complex ways at Gustave-Flaubert. The perspectives expressed by the students suggest that research in Francophone minority language schools must attend to the multiple ways in which youth identify, so as not to replicate the practice of allowing language to supersede problems of racism and ethnocentrism that exist within Francophone communities (Carlson-Berg, 2011; Madibbo, 2007). While language is an organizing factor of the discourses that circulate within Francophone schools, these discourses are imbued with ideas about nation-building and colonization that are often glossed over by an   204 overemphasis on minority language status (Heller, 2003). Opening up research in Francophone minority language schools to questions beyond language learning, identity, and linguistic practices is key for starting conversations about the ways in which language policies intersect discourses of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and nation-building and how these schools can better meet the needs of all the students attending them. 7.2 The Discursive Power of Racial Humour  Discourses of race and ethnicity circulated constantly, but differently in three educational spaces at école Gustave-Flaubert: informal educational spaces (the hallways), formal educational spaces (the classroom when the students were engaged in course work had Rose’s full attention), and liminal educational spaces (private moments in class away from their teacher’s gaze and drama activities). Informal spaces proved to be the ones in which the youth were most likely to engage in “race talk.” Hegemonic norms and characteristics of whiteness, such as the denial of the participation of White people in maintaining racist structures (Gillborn, 2005/2009), as well as discourses of colourblindness (Anderson, 2015; Gunew, 2004; Hayes & Juárez, 2009; Schroeter & James, 2015) structured formal classroom interactions in a way that rendered the mention of race difficult or taboo. Only explicitly racist ideas and actions, particularly historical ones that did not threaten to label the students or educators as racist or question enduring White supremacy (hooks, 1989; Leonardo, 2004/2009) were addressed in the social studies classroom. The youth further edited their thoughts and beliefs about race and ethnicity for the classroom because they believed that the only interactions they had about race with their teachers occurred in the negative context of discipline. Morever, the youth were unable to name any occasion in which race had been openly discussed or deconstructed with their teachers. The teachers’ reprimands about the ways the youth talked about race contributed to the students’ feelings of   205 being under constant surveillance (Foucault, 1995) in school and the uncertainty some expressed about knowing how to talk about race. The teachers’ actions also illustrate the complexities of fostering inclusive school environments. Ensuring that the youth were not racist by policing their use of language meant that the teachers and staff impeded their ability to have open conversations about discourses of race and processes of racialization with students. Such discussions could potentially explore the use of satire and bring the youth and their teachers to new understandings of dominant discourses of race, ethnicity, and intersectionality and lead to the creation of new ways of resisting inadequate classificatory systems. In this context of monitoring and censure, the most common way the youth discussed race and ethnicity in informal spaces was through the use of racial and racist humour. However, there were times when the youth sought to discuss ethnicity and representational practices surrounding race with their peers without drawing on humour, even dismissing it at times. Racial and ethnic humour can powerfully subvert and critique social norms in a way that enables individuals to resist how their subjectivities are positioned by existing social discourses (Hirji, 2009; Kuoch, 2005; Taylor, 2011/2014). However, satire and irony are difficult forms to master and, while the youth sometimes excelled at it, they lacked the experience and knowledge to explain why it was subversive and to engage in sophisticated critiques of the racial stereotypes they drew on. The youths’ understanding of race as skin tone, and the surprise Genevieve expressed when she realized that race could have multiple definitions suggests that ideas about race as a biological fact prevailed. Therefore, their use of racial humour often, but not always, served as techniques of the self (Foucault, 1994) that disciplined behaviour and discursively reasserted White supremacy (Leonardo 2004/2009) because it made the youth more likely to be governed by dated principles of racial categorization and hierarchies. Heteronormativity (Butler,   206 1990/2006) was similarly reiterated in the ways the youth used racial humour; in one instance this was exemplified in the way it was directed at one half-Indigenous student, Brook, and particularly relation to her reproductive potential. Generally racial humour was used as a disciplining device that provided directives about acceptable and unacceptable expressions identification among the youth.  Just as there is risk in the use of racial humour, there is also a risk in teachers (and researchers) choosing not to hear it or address it when it emerges in the classroom. While moments of racial othering might be fleeting, their impacts can be, and often are, longstanding (for examples of enduring effects of comments made in class about Indigenous people see the videos on this site http://www.whatilearnedinclasstoday.com). In this matter, I am complicit because I acted both a researcher and an educator throughout this study and while I was there to examine the students’ discourses of difference, I was also responsible for much of the course content. On the day when Brook was othered by R. Kelly and Samantha, it is entirely possible that Rose did not hear the interaction. However, I heard it, made a note of it, and was able to find footage of this moment to analyze it in-depth. In the classroom, I chose to act as “researcher” in that moment and study how Rose and the students reacted rather than intervening as a teacher. However, as co-educator, I believe that I had a responsibility to Brook that I failed to fulfill on that day. As a researcher and educator who claims to work for social justice, I must also hone my skills at interrupting moments of exclusion in my classrooms.  7.3 Drama as Liminal Space of Play and Meaning-Making Drama is a pedagogical approach that seeks to use imagination, collaboration, and aesthetic embodied practices to facilitate learning at many levels. As always, drama created a liminal space of play (Schechner, 1985; Smithner, 2011; Sutton-Smith, 1997; Turner, 1982) in   207 Rose’s social studies classroom, which, in this case, broke down the boundaries between informal and formal educational spaces. Although other liminal spaces were also created in Rose’s classes, the liminal space of drama was different because it was intentionally created to suit pedagogical purposes. This meant that the discourses and questions that emerged during drama activities, whether presented to the whole class or not, were a part of formal classroom activities. Since racial humour was part of the ways the youth interacted outside of the classroom and they were hesitant to discuss race during in the formal classroom space, creating an informal space of play inside the classroom allowed the students’ racial humour and the stereotypes they drew on to enter the formal classroom space, creating the possibility for them to be deconstructed. However, this did not always occur because it was difficult for Rose and me to seize on instances when existing stereotypes were reinforced in the students’ dramatic presentations and the comments they made to each other during group work. However, I was able to use things that surface in the liminal space of drama to ask the students questions about race and stereotyping during focus group interviews. These questions did lead to fruitful discussions and some deconstruction of race and racial humour.  Had Rose and I known each other better at the beginning of the year, we might have adopted a pedagogical approach that was explicitly anti-racist and decolonizing. As we have continued to reflect on our work together over the past two years, we have concluded that such a shift in focus might have brought us closer to achieving our deconstructive ambitions. Education is not a politically neutral endeavor. In order to bring about the kinds of changes that are needed to create more inclusive schools, it is important for teachers and the educational researchers collaborating with them to be explicit about the political orientation of their pedagogies.   208 According to Rose’s Grade 9 students, the drama activities we facilitated throughout the year had significant pedagogical value. All the youth said they enjoyed drama activities because it made their social studies classes more fun and engaging. The youth enjoyed learning-in-role and felt that embodied learning helped them remember the material and develop a better sense of historical events. This was true even though Rose and I insisted that these were imagined scenarios and that none of us could know what life was actually like in the past. Most significantly, as the year progressed, the youth felt that they were able to learn from the abstract concepts explored through embodied activities and imagined situations. This culminated in the students requesting to do another process drama in order to find ways toward reconciliation between Canada’s Aboriginal peoples and European descendants. Drama has long been studied as a way of supporting literacy development in students of all ages (Booth, 1994; Gallagher & Ntelioglou, 2011; Lenter & Winters, 2013; Medina, 2004, 2010; Perry, 2010; Winters, Rogers, & Schofield, 2006), the students’ response to drama activities and their desire to do more illustrates how drama can also be valuable for exploring new ideas and forbidden discourses in order to respond to “real world” problems outside the classroom. 7.4 Contributions and Limitations of the Study This study contributes to research in Francophone minority language schooling as well as research in DiE and applied theatre. It contributes to emerging work on issues of race and ethnicity in Francophone minority language schools in Canada (Carlson-Berg, 2010, 2011; Ibrahim, 1999; Madibbo, 2007; Schroeter, 2013; Schroeter & James, 2015), and extends it by looking at ways that processes of racialization intersect with gender, class, nation-building projects, and colonization in these schools. In addition, it fills a gap in existing research on Francophone schools in British Columbia, by presenting youth perspectives on identification,   209 race, and schooling in this context (Jacquet, 2009). Furthermore, this study builds on the extensive research that has been done on race and ethnicity in English schools across Canada (Dei, 1993, 1994, 2007; James, 2001, 2011; Schick & St. Denis, 2003; Yon, 2000) by adding the perspectives of youth at a minority language school and exploring the links between language, nation-building, racialization, and colonization. DiE has been celebrated as a medium for facilitating conversations about difference (Diamond, 2007; Élodil, 2013; Yassa, 1999). While drama is a powerful “tool” for educators to have in their arsenals, it is not without its pitfalls. Drama does not take place outside of the power relations that structure the rest of schooling activities. This study contributes to discussions in drama education by complicating the ways that such work is presented and revealing how drama can also be a place where stereotypes are reified through dominant representational practices. Moreover, it addresses how, by its very informal and embodied nature, drama-in-education can lead to instances of Othering and exclusion in the classroom. Such discussions are important, for, while it is important to advocate for the arts in education, it is also important to prepare teachers for the messy situations that can arise from using the creative arts in schools. This is especially true because such “messy situations” can lead to the most useful discussions about difference and inspiration for future creative work.  As with most qualitative research, this study is limited by its scope. Its detailed focus on one social setting and the experiences of a small number of youth and their teacher. What ethnographies afford in the descriptive depth, they lack in the possibility of making generalizable claims (LeCompte & Goetz, 1982). Furthermore, this study is limited by the inherently partial perspective of the researcher, who did not adopt a “value free” stance (Bogdan & Biklen, 2007). While I began my fieldwork at École Gustave-Flaubert with curiosity and an openness about   210 what I might learn during the course of this study, my epistemological outlook and political leanings always guided my interactions with Rose and the youth and my evolving analysis. This refusal of neutrality follows in the traditions of feminist, critical race, Indigenous, queer, and postcolonial researchers (Dei, 1994, 2007; Ellsworth, 1989; Gallagher, 2007; Henry, 1998, 2015; Kumashiro, 2002; Loutzenheiser, 1996; Rogers, 1997; Schick & St. Dennis, 2005; Wager, 2014; Smith, 1999). These research traditions illustrate that good research can result from a solid understanding of theory and methodology, mixed with a commitment to one’s politics. 7.5 Addressing Race in Schools  I was struck by how willing the Grade 9 youth were to discuss race with me and share their thoughts about how they joked about it and theorized it. This suggests that youth are interested in having conversations about this socially, historically, and discursively constructed category of difference, but lack opportunities to do so in school, with adults they trust. The teachers at Gustave-Flaubert rightfully sought to prevent the youth from using racial slurs, knowing that language and discursive practices can be damaging. However, the practice of sanctioning race talk, in the context of a school where race is not a topic of academic inquiry, had the effect of telling the youth that the teachers were not open to having conversations about race, racialization, stereotypes, racial humour, and satire. Furthermore, because the youth were trying to mimic the kinds of satire they saw in mainstream entertainment or on social media, being disciplined by teachers for talking about race prevented them from exploring and developing their skills in a potentially valuable way of talking back to powerful social stereotypes.  The history of race and racialization in Canada belongs in the social studies curriculum. While such a move would require more teacher training on this subject and certainly lead to   211 tough conversations in schools, it would provide an opportunity for students and teachers to gain an awareness of racialization and explore the material and social consequences of discursively produced social categories. If one of the objectives of education is to make the curriculum relevant to students’ lives, then it follows that the curriculum should cover topics that are central to the ways students identify and interact with their peers. Exploring the mechanisms of racial humour and satire, as well as dramatic plays in the context of units on race, racialization, and indigeneity could provide youth with the foundation they need in order to produce the kinds of counter-discourses that interest them and appeal to their generation. This could enable them to consciously and critically create new knowledge about racialization in Canada. 7.6 Areas for Future Research  Throughout the process of data analysis and writing, a few major areas have emerged that are ripe for further investigation. First, it would be worthwhile exploring the complexities of addressing the concept of race in Francophone minority language contexts in Canada. Although there is growing interest in this area and some Canadian scholars have begun to translate the work of critical race scholars into French (Thésée & Carr, 2016; Jacquet, 2014; Scott, 2014), more research is needed into the complicated relationships that Francophone communities in Canada have with the concept of race. Particularly, attention is needed to address the ways that racialization and racism, including the racialization of Aboriginal students and communities, have been ignored by many Francophone schools and communities. A troubling misperception exists that represents French settlers as having been kinder to Indigenous peoples and more accepting of Aboriginal knowledge systems and ways of being than Brittish settlers. This perspective upholds the problematic idea that Aboriginal and Francophone minority communities share some form of complicity because their common “enemy” is the Anglophone, formerly   212 British, majority. However, this myth is not only wrong, it is damaging for Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal students in Francophone minority language schools because it perpetuates another destructive myth that denies the role that all European settlers played in historic and enduring colonization. Furthermore, this myth appears to serve as justification as to why Francophone communities across the country, including in Quebec, have been slow to  establish criteria for moving toward reconciliation and decolonization. More research is needed into the ways that Francophone minority language schools contribute to racialization processes and a national imaginary where the claims of Aboriginal people are ignored.  Furthermore, more research is needed on the identifications, belongings, and desires of mixed race youth in Francophone minority language schools across Canada. This would contribute invaluable information as to the place of these youth within Francophone minority language schools and in the counry. I believe that further research on mixed race youth in Canada will contribute to creating new theories or developing emerging ones, such as new materialism or posthumanism, that consider the interplay between dialogic categories of difference and the material consequences of their maintenance. Another area for future research is to examine how a greater focus on aesthetic practices in professional theatre might create a path toward more productive and creative deconstructions of difference in the classroom. Helen Nicholson (2005) warns against practices where drama’s sole purpose in the classroom is to serve the function of curriculum delivery as it is a disservice to the rich opportunities that are created by deep engagement in artistic practice. I agree with Nicholson. The moments where Rose and I got stuck during this project were the moments when the drama activities we facilitated merely presented or represented the curriculum, and the categories of difference contained within it, rather than opening up the curriculum to artistic   213 exploration and representation. Open-ended activities that enabled the students to imagine different scenarios, improvise in role, create props and costumes and thus play around with representational practices were the most stimualting. As I reflect on our practice together, I wonder how much more we—Rose, the students, and I—as a community or learners would have been able to learn and unpack if we had engaged in play-building or studying existing plays. Would the creation of a play for an external audience have led to more moments to engage the youth in discussions about their representational practices? How could space for such artistic practice be created in a social studies classroom? More importantly, are there opportunities for rich and multifaceted drama education in Francophone minority language schools? These are the paths that have been opened up by this dissertation. I am eager to continue exploring what it is about the liminal spaces that are created by drama or after-school focus group interviews that lend themselves to discussing race and racialization with youth, whereas formal classroom settings seem to shut these conversations down. I want to examine creative practices within Francophone minority language schools and explore how these might become sites for fruitful discussion about representational practices, belonging, and intersectionality within these communities. I am excited by the contributions that youth in minority language Francophone communities make to existing conversations about race, colonization, and stereotyping and by the potential they hold for complicating local and national discussions about belonging to this multicultural and multuracial country we call Canada, and learning about their propositions for moving towards reconciliation and racial justice.          214 References  Adichie, C. N. (2009, July). Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: The danger of a single story [Video file]. Retrieved on July 25, 2016 from https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story Ahmed, S. (2009). Embodying diversity: Problems and paradoxes for Black feminists. 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Schooling identities: An ethnography of the constitution of student identities. (Unpublished doctoral thesis). University of London, London.      249 Appendices Appendix A   February 2016 Research Journal Entry I have just emerged from Gustave-Flaubert’s auditorium – my daughter’s elementary school’s concert was held there. I’m performing my best adult/parent self, and chatting with other parents in the foyer when I notice some of the youth from my study sitting on the floor at the other end of the hall. I walk over to say hi. They ask whether I’m finished my project yet. “No, not yet,” I reply. “Almost!” I answer, desperately hoping this is true. I ask how they are doing and how they are finding Grade 11. They say it’s good. They wonder what they were doing in “the video” I made of them (the nine months worth of video data I collected) and laugh at the “stupid things” they imagine they said “back then.”  For the most part, they are all taller than me now. When a few other former particants join us, one seems particularly happy to see me and greets me with a big hug. I’m reminded of how much I enjoyed working with these kids and the relationships we developed during our time together. This student asks if what I do is anthropology and whether they could ask me some questions about it because they are thinking of studying anthropology at university. “Sure!” I respond, and I give them my e-mail address.  The kids, young adults really, revert to reminiscing about what they must have said in their interviews. One says: “I remember that four of us talked to you about cliques and stuff.” Another replies: “Oh, there were so many cliques then! Like, I didn’t even talk to most of the people that I hang out with now. There aren’t any cliques anymore. Now it’s just IB and not IB.” “Not really!” another student exclaims. They are the only one standing with this group who is   250 not in the IB program. Generally, the group agrees that IB and not IB are the only two remaining social groups in their grade. I’m struck by the way that defining social groups remains an elusive task. Not just for these students, but for all of us who write about and study them. And yet, we continue to construct artificial boundaries between ourselves and others and figure out how these boundaries come to exist and the significance they have in our lives and those of others… This is the best part of my day! The youth are older and some strike me as being a little more confident. I’m reminded that nearly two years have passed since I finished my fieldwork and I’m so happy to see how they have changed. Even though I try to stay focused on the fact that my analysis only focuses on a few “frozen moments”, my mind plays tricks on me while I’m writing, and I can’t deny that the students have become frozen in my memory as I work my data day in and day out. I revel in this reminder that they have moved on, changed, forgotten the work we did together. I know that my computer, field notes, recordings, and videos await my return, but this reminder that the “data” only provide only a brief snapshot of their Grade 9 selves is comforting. All I am left with are frozen moments, the youth have moved on and changed.   


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