July 1, 2017 will be the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of confederation – the union of Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia as provinces in the Dominion of Canada. The formation of Canada as it now exists took place over time, but we typically identify the day of confederation, July 1, 1867, as Canada’s “birthday”. As Canada’s 150th birthday, 2017 will no doubt be filled with celebrations of Canadian history and gestures to a unified vision of Canadian identity.

freestyling-feminism

It wouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me to find that I don’t particularly approve of patriotism. Patriotism relies on uncritical historical narratives, assumes a homogenous national identity[1], and fuels imperialistic/colonial nationalism. But I still have a nostalgic fondness for Heritage Minutes and get that weirdly smug kick out hearing a joke about Canada on an American sitcom, somehow confirming that someone on the writing team must be Canadian and Canadians are funnier than Americans.[2] While I tend to be cynical about state and/or corporate-sponsored celebration of Canadian identity and history, and (probably like many Canadians) I root my personal identity more in my immediate communities/regions of origin and adopted residence than in my national citizenship, I do have enough attachment to the idea of Canada to understand some of the pleasure and meaning many people take from their “Canadian-ness”. At the same time, it’s important to remember (and acknowledge, and act upon) the fact that the political, social, and cultural systems that make up Canada, and give the varied communities and individuals within Canada this sense of loose national connection, have also operated to oppress and fracture communities and cultures that exist on the land outlined by Canadian borders, and often to divide them from their histories prior to the existence of those borders.

I want to propose that it is possible to observe, even celebrate, Canada’s 150th in a non-patriotic manner; in other words, in a way that may take personal meaning and sense of connectedness from aspects of “Canadian-ness” but also works to resist the oppressive imposition of a single “Canadian-ness” on others. A way to do that is to engage in discussion and learning about Canadian histories and identities (plural!) without trying to create something unified. Part of that learning means learning the dark parts of those histories – not just the nationalistic narratives that affirm a Canadian identity of tolerance, liberalism, and harmonious diversity. The complex, conflicting, and downright bad parts of our histories have as much to do with what Canada is now as a society, nation, and culture, as the more uplifting episodes do. If you are invested in Canada, whether through personal identification as a Canadian, or simply because you are a citizen or resident of Canada as a social-political entity, then you should want to learn and grapple with the problematic aspects of Canada in order to understand how to move it forward in a positive way.

Since we are still at the beginning of January and I am a believer in New Year’s resolutions (harness the power of an arbitrary delineation of time and that brand new day planner for good!!), I have a suggestion for a New Year’s resolution that can help Canadians (especially settler Canadians) mark Canada’s 150th year in a meaningful way, which is to read the Truth and Reconciliation Commission report on the history and legacy of residential schools over the course of the year. The final report is long and multipart, so it might help to find or form a reading discussion group with a schedule, or even to just select a year’s worth of reading for yourself. The history component begins with the origins of European colonialism and goes up to 2000, so those volumes alone can provide a long view of Canadian history from a perspective that many of us only got a partial introduction to in school. All the volumes are available to download as pdf. I’ll be reading it and be participating in a dis

[1] Even when that national identity includes the keywords “multicultural” and “diverse”.

[2] I have no idea if this is a relatable Canadian experience, or just me.


lizElisabeth came to Edmonton to do a Masters degree in History at the University of Alberta after completing a Bachelor of Arts degree in Art History at the University of Victoria. Her research interests include medieval and early modern social and cultural history, especially issues around medical history and persecution. In the first year of her Masters degree, Elisabeth received the Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada, followed by the Walter H. Johns Fellowship, Queen Elizabeth II Graduate Scholarship, and the Field Law Leilani Muir Graduate Research Scholarship.She  presented at the HCGSA Conference at University of Alberta in 2016 and will be writing the entry on Leprosy in World Christianity for the De Gruyter’s Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (forthcoming). She has worked as a Research Assistant at the University of Alberta, and as a contract researcher and writer for the Government of Alberta’s Heritage division. In addition to her work as a writer and researcher, Elisabeth works with the Art Gallery of Alberta.

Last week, I spoke about Reconciliation to a room full of white people. I was invited by a local holistic health clinic to come speak before their keynote lecturer because a friend of mine that works there had let them know I am raising money in support of the Young Indigenous Women’s Circle of Leadership Cree cultural camp at the University of Alberta. I have done many talks for a variety of different audiences before, but this was the first time, in a very long time, that I was only one of four people in the room who belong to a visible minority. And I was certainly the only apparent Muslim in the room.

You can imagine my trepidation at suddenly realizing what I was about to do: I was about to stand in front of these people from a dominant socio-economic and racial strata of society, and I was going to talk to them about being on Treaty 6 territory, about our responsibility as settlers and refugees on Indigenous and First Nations land, about why adopting the language of reconciliation is important but why putting that language into action is even more critical to moving forward. About why this was their responsibility. About why someone like me –an ally – should not be ignored. This is difficult enough for anyone to do, never mind me as a Muslim.

I think the latter point is where my nerves kicked in: would this group of people see me – a veiled, Muslim woman – as an ally of the process of reconciliation and Indigenous peoples? Would I be harming the cause by appearing in front of such a group when so many view me and my Islam as a social adversary already?

Of course, I am not speaking to anxieties about this group of people in particular, but systemic uncertainties that made me think twice before talking to them – anxieties I hadn’t really had in over a year as a public speaker. The actual people in the room were friendly and inviting, and when I started speaking, I could see heads nodding as I acknowledged Treaty 6 and touched on points about our duties as people sharing this space with regards to how we could support the creation of safe spaces for young Cree women “to just be free to be Cree.”

After I spoke, the keynote was introduced and the main lecture began. I had to take off but I left an envelope on the side that people could put donations in, reminding myself not to be too disappointed if it came back empty. Yes, heads had been nodding, but no one clapped when I was done talking. And maybe my veil was just too much of a barrier for people to get past, even if they agreed with the words coming out of my mouth.

In the end, people did donate – enough, in fact, to cover all of the costs of food and crafting supplies for one young girl attending the camp for its two-week duration. But even if they hadn’t, I came to realize how powerful the whole experience was socially, if not monetarily. Rather than being anxious about talking to white people about reconciliation as a Muslim woman, I should have viewed it as an incredible opportunity to challenge what it means to stand in solidarity with one another.

I stood there as a Muslim woman calling for sisterhood, regardless of where our sisters come from, how they look and the culture they practice – a sisterhood that celebrates those origins and appearances and cultural elements. I stood there as a Muslim woman, enjoining people to what is just and compassionate behaviour – to contemplate their social position and what responsibilities it entails to others around them. I stood there as a Muslim woman imploring people to learn about one another and help create spaces for Indigenous people to learn about themselves. I didn’t do this in spite of my Islam, as I belatedly realized: I did this because of my Islam. Because respect, protecting the freedom to worship, enjoining what is just and kind, and seeking knowledge are all cornerstones of my way of life. In standing before a group of white people, talking to them about reconciliation, I was unintentionally dispelling misconceptions about my own people. And any chance we have to share with one another and explore intersections of knowledge to come to greater mutual understanding should never be taken lightly.

For some, what happened last week may have only been a ten minute fundraising speech to garner funds for social change. To me, it was the change itself that we are all looking for.

In solidarity,

Nakita

To donate to my campaign in support of the YIWCL’s Cree Women’s Cultural Camp, please visit: www.gofundme.com/creewomenscamp. Our next group run is on December 4th – pledge a runner today.

Image Credit: “Over Time We Come Together 2015″ by Cassie Leatham”


nakitaNakita Valerio is an academic, activist and writer in the community. She is currently pursuing graduate studies in History and Islamic-Jewish Studies at the University of Alberta.  Nakita was named one of the Alberta Council for Global Cooperation’s Top 30 under 30 for 2015, and is the recipient of the 2016 Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, as well as the Walter H. Johns Graduate Studies Fellowship. She has also been honoured with the State of Kuwait, the Queen Elizabeth II and the Frank W Peers Awards for Graduate Studies in 2015. She has been recognized by Rotary International with an Award for Excellence in Service to Humanity and has been named one of Edmonton’s “Difference Makers” for 2015 by the Edmonton Journal. Nakita is the co-founder of Bassma Primary School in El Attaouia, Morocco and the Vice President of External Affairs with the Alberta Muslim Public Affairs Council.