MacKinnon took on the role as the lead for clinical operations with the Manitoba First Nations COVID-19 Pandemic Response Team with the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs. The team “blurs organizational lines,” MacKinnon explains, and includes professional leads for social supports, economic supports, public safety, child and family services support, and mental health and addiction.

“My role in particular assisted with the creation of the rapid response team, coordinated through Ongomiizwin Health Services, which is responsible for rapid testing, outbreak management and additional public health support,” she explains.  

More recently, MacKinnon’s team opened the Indigenous testing and contact tracing site with wrap-around social supports, in partnership with Ma Mawi Wi Chi Itata Centre and the Winnipeg Health Region. “We are really proud to also support urban Indigenous community members as well.”  

The latest challenge faced by the team has been timely vaccination rollouts and distribution. “Similar to the rapid response team, we knew that access to surge vaccination supports was going to be limited for Manitoba First Nations communities, as our current Indigenous health workers are gainfully or overly employed,” she says.

Despite the limited access, MacKinnon says they’ve expanded their roster of vaccinators through our networks within RFHS and First Nation health organizations, and are on track towards completing the first round of doses to all 63 First Nations communities and 21 adjacent Northern Affairs communities by mid-April. 

Much of MacKinnon’s contributions to Indigenous health during the pandemic has garnered her recognition as the 2021 Frontier Achievement Award recipient, as well as the NHL’s Co-First Stars of the week.   

Building community connections

MacKinnon credits the 15 years of community and relationship building in her career as the foundation that prepared her to step into the role of executive director at Ongomiizwin– Indigenous Institute of Health and Healing, as well as her work on the COVID-19 response team.

After graduating with a bachelor of nursing, MacKinnon spent six years as a primary care nurse. Shortly after, she was asked to take on a leadership role by the First Nations and Inuit Health Branch and quickly learned about the broader clinical operations at an administrative level. She also worked with the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs in a policy and political advisory role for health care and sovereignty, and took on private consultations that extended her community relationships before returning to the University of Manitoba.  

MacKinnon was recuperating from partaking in a Sundance Ceremony in summer 2010 when she received a call from Dr. Catherine Cook, current vice president (Indigenous) at UM.  

“I spent my time at ceremony praying for guidance to continue helping where I may be needed most.” At the time, Dr. Cook offered MacKinnon a one-year term position at what was then called the Northern Medical Unit. “I was the first nurse and the first First Nations person to take on the role,” she says. “It was a step forward for the unit, and I think it paid off.”  

Just over a decade later, MacKinnon has been a part of much growth within the unit, including the launch of Ongomiizwin within the Rady Faculty of Health Sciences in 2017 that included “a mandate to provide leadership and advance excellence in research, education and health services to achieve health and wellness for Indigenous peoples and to implement the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada’s Calls to Action within the Faculty.” Soon after the department’s launch, MacKinnon stepped into the role as the full-time head of Ongomiizwin in April 2020. 

“I am really fortunate to come from a family of leaders and a bloodline of matriarchs and strong women, and was always raised to be that helper, that leader, and to be of service as my grandmother and mother were for their communities,” she says. 

During her leadership, MacKinnon is reminded about how rewarding health careers can be. “There is so much room along the professional continuum, from clinician, to administrator, or teacher, or policy-maker, or systems change agent, or advocate.” 

As for students considering a profession in health care, MacKinnon shares the advice from her father that continues to inform the entirety of her career: “Don’t forget where you come from, be who you are, and look after your people.” 
 

Gunn was born and raised in Winnipeg. She is Métis and her family comes from just north of the city. She obtained a bachelor of arts at the University of Manitoba, and pursued a law degree in Toronto and a master’s in law in Arizona. After articling in Toronto and working in Guatemala, Gunn returned to Winnipeg to be close to family and start a career at Robson Hall Faculty of Law at UM.

She sat down with UM Today to share insight on her career path, as well as what the implementation of UNDRIP would mean for Indigenous peoples moving forward. 

Tell us about your early education, and how that led you to your position as associate professor in the Faculty of Law.

When I was in high school, my older sister was in university and was part of the women’s centre, that encouraged me to be more politically aware and want to do something to make a difference. I decided to pursue an undergraduate degree in women’s studies and Native studies to gain a strong understanding of systemic oppression. When I learned that the law was one of the largest contributors to oppression, I decided to go into law school to make change there.

What are some of the things you invested energy on researching throughout your career?

In my second year of law school, I looked to see how international human rights could help address the challenges in Canada. This continues to guide my work to bring change to Canadian law. My work with UNDRIP is definitely what I am known for, but I’ve also looked at international law more broadly. My master’s thesis was on the impacts of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) on Indigenous peoples’ rights.

Over the years, I have advocated before various United Nations bodies for Indigenous peoples’ human rights. I also was part of a five-year research project looking into Métis treaties—including between Métis people and First Nations, as well as Métis people and the Crown.

Tell us how your background in women’s studies [now women’s and gender studies] plays a role in your present work.

Women’s studies provided a clear framework to understand systemic oppression. I still remember my first course with Dr. Janice Ristock and her explanation on how individual experiences of racism or sexism are not just separate incidences, but rather how systems, such as law, work to oppress groups in interlocking and intersecting ways. I try to include a gendered analysis in my work to this day. I have work coming out next year about how Métis rights affect Métis women, and previously, I’ve written on Indigenous women and self-determination.

Briefly describe what UNDRIP is and tell us how this became the primary focus of your work.

UNDRIP is an international human rights instrument that builds and elaborates on how basic human rights and standards apply to Indigenous peoples.

I first learned about UNDRIP when it was being negotiated. I was still in law school. In 2004, I attended the meetings to participate in the negotiations. So really, from the beginning of my legal career, UNDRIP has played a significant role in my thinking about Indigenous peoples’ rights. My biggest contribution early in my career was the handbook I produced in 2013 through a funded project in collaboration with the Indigenous Bar Association.  

What are some common misconceptions surrounding UNDRIP?

There are segments of Canadian society that still view UNDRIP as giving rights to Indigenous peoples, or at least giving special rights. People fail to recognize that human rights are inherent. Indigenous peoples experience violations of human rights in particular ways, and UNDRIP addresses these experiences. UNDRIP also recognizes that Indigenous peoples’ rights are grounded in their own laws, customs and traditions.

Another one relates to the right to free, prior and informed consent, where Indigenous peoples’ rights are especially impacted by government decisions. There is a misconception that this right to consent gives Indigenous peoples special rights that other Canadians don’t have, or worse, that it will stop all kinds of development in Canada. In reality, the right exists to protect Indigenous peoples’ rights, including their special relationship to their lands, territories and resources. And the right ensures that those who are most directly impacted by developments participate in the decision-making processes.

We are seeing some resistance from various grassroots organizations to the federal bill to implement UNDRIP. They raise valid concerns about whether or not Bill C-15 is going to change things in Canada or whether it is going to continue to subjugate Indigenous peoples’ rights to Canadian sovereignty. It is important that we ensure Indigenous peoples have an active role in defining the rights and determining how UNDRIP is implemented. Indigenous peoples must be full participants at all stages of implementation.

What would it mean to see UNDRIP implemented?

Canadian law already accepts international human rights as a valid source of law. To me, implementation recognizes Indigenous peoples as partners in confederation and there are no longer socio-economic disparities. Implementation means that there is real space in Canadian law for Indigenous peoples to protect their rights as they understand them according to their own laws. It means Indigenous peoples are no longer living under government control where the government decides things for them, but rather Indigenous peoples determine their own futures and have all the tools they need to realize those futures.

What advice do you have for Indigenous students considering law?

One of the things that Indigenous students learn early on, is that law doesn’t always mean justice. There is a lot of work that needs to be done to the legal system in Canada before it can be an effective tool in achieving Indigenous peoples’ aspirations. Luckily, there are more Indigenous students in law in Canada and the students are increasingly organized and working together across the country. There are more Indigenous law professors than when I started 10 years ago, and there are more Indigenous lawyers, judges and politicians. That also means there are a lot more supports available to students.

You have a lot on the go. What are some ways you rejuvenate, refresh and recharge?

Getting outside as much as possible, even if it’s chilly. The fresh air helps clear my mind. I prioritize spending time with my family, and rewarding myself to various locally made goods.

When it came time to enroll in university, Carrière said he did not have a clear idea of what he wanted to pursue.

“My mother asked me what I wanted to do and I told her I wanted to be an ‘Imagineer,’ or someone who imagined things,” he told UM Today. As a starting point, Carrière enrolled in an undergraduate general arts program at Simon Fraser University. By doing so, he was able to take a wide selection of courses, including a political science class. “The course was taught by an amazing professor whose teaching style ultimately influenced me to pursue a career in the field,” he recalled. “[The professor] made me want to be an innovative teacher.”

Leaving his home community for post-secondary proved to be difficult and lonely. “Going to Vancouver was quite a shock because it was such a big city and the weather was completely different from what I was used to,” he said. Carrière joined the First Nation Student Association on campus and cited it as a community that kept him grounded in otherwise very new territory. “They became my family and I still keep a connection with them to this day.”

After gaining a sense of political science, Carrière decided to blend his formal post-secondary knowledge with his childhood upbringing in Indigenous knowledges while obtaining his PhD through Ryerson University. “I became driven to protect Indigenous knowledges and utilized Indigenous methodologies in my research, and eventually, into my teaching,” he said.

Attracted to an institution that housed a large Indigenous student population, Carrière and his family relocated to Winnipeg and he began his teaching position in political studies in the University of Manitoba’s Faculty of Arts.

One of the ways that Indigenous methodologies plays out in Carrière’s teaching style is through exploring the foundation of Indigenous governing structures. Starting by dismantling the concept that Indigenous people are homogenous, Carrière works to unravel the dynamic worldviews in varying nations. “I do this to show students that Indigenous governance needs to be thought of as multiplicity governances,” he said. “Only when students see the diversity, do I start to look at how Indigenous governance has influenced and interacted with western governance.”

Carrière recently began exploring the different philosophical interpretations of Treaty 1 in the classroom. “Anishinaabe treaty philosophy views treaty as an agreement to cooperate and share, whereas western treaty philosophy viewed treaty as a land ownership transfer,” he noted.

Outside of the classroom, Carrière is an avid canoer. His interest in the sport has taken him all over North America, but his preference is canoeing around Manitoba. “I am always excited to attend canoe races in Manitoba because most of them are in Indigenous communities,” he said. Aside from that, he is busy writing a book for University of Toronto Press on Indigenous understanding, methodology and research paradigms, due for publication in May 2021. He is also the lead on a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) funded project called Nistotumowin Nehinuwak Okimahin: Developing a Deeper Understanding of Swampy Cree Political Theories and Practices – a project that centres Indigenous knowledges and their role in politics.

Most importantly, Carrière’s passion is based in creating a learning environment that explores the many layers of Indigenous politics. “I want Indigenous students to know that UM has Indigenous people teaching Indigenous politics,” he said. “I believe it is important for all Indigenous students to take the intro courses to Indigenous politics to learn about how they impact our daily lives.”

“Digital technology allows us to continue to share stories about Indigenous ways of being and knowing,” he said, “which is primarily what my research is rooted in.”  

Growing up in the community of Six Nations of the Grand River Reserve, Dr. Henhawk comes from a Mohawk family and is a member of the Bear Clan. He is an Indigenous Scholar in the faculty of Kinesiology and Recreation Management with a passion for understanding the ways in which communities are engaging in and utilizing land-based education as a means of cultural resurgence.

Decolonizing sport

Dr. Henhawk’s pursuit of post-secondary education started him on a journey of deconstructing the idea that Indigenous peoples were not participating in sport in the way that Canadian society normalizes or defines participation. By the time he was working on his master’s degree, his research focused on his family’s participation in sport and the significance of race relations and power dynamics.

This sprouted an interest in understanding the relationship between colonialism and leisure through studying how he was personally affected through sport. He wanted to know how colonization has impacted Indigenous people’s understandings of the western concept of leisure. This led to his PhD work at the University of Waterloo where Dr. Henhawk conducted interviews with people in his community about their relationship to sport and recreation.

“There were a lot of tensions between people’s understandings of what sport and recreation was and what I was reading in the literature around how colonization has perpetuated the stories and narratives that we know,” he said. He found himself particularly drawn to narratives that reflected a colonized understanding of sport – and Indigenous society’s subsequent participation in sport – that reflected an internalized colonization.

Dr. Henhawk uses lacrosse as a common example. He explained that the meanings and roles attached to lacrosse as it was traditionally played are very different than how we see the sport in present day. “Today, the modern version of lacrosse is reflective of current mindsets related to sport, yet many would argue it still has its roots based in Indigenous philosophies,” he said. “The challenge, however, is making sense of historical knowledge in the present that hasn’t been influenced through colonization.”

Through this journey, Dr. Henhawk struggled internally with coming to know himself and his role within a westernized understanding of sport and leisure, and subsequently, how to decolonize his work.

Land-based education as resurgence

Growing up, Dr. Henhawk wasn’t entrenched in land-based upbringing, which only furthered his interest in land-based education and how communities began engaging in and utilizing this style of education as a means for cultural resurgence. He began focusing on what communities are doing on the land and how it impacts their emotional, spiritual, and mental well-being.

“Land-based learning is often seen as being about survival skills, but it is so much more than that,” he said. “It is very much about values and a relational way of being for Indigenous peoples.”  

Through his research, Dr. Henhawk has learned that a lot of community members are slower to embrace the terms land-based learning or land-based education because they don’t capture the reality that what people do on the land is actually a way of life or living.

“Land-based learning is about being able to survive, prosper and maintain Indigeneity,” Dr. Henhawk explained.  “It’s about taking one’s Indigenous identity and putting that identity and values into practice and being able to somehow make sense of that older knowledge of who we are. The relationships that we have are everything in the world.”

Dr. Henhawk said that culture is not monolithic or static, but rather it is constantly changing, which influences how people think and live. A common example is how Indigenous people may not be able to be on the land as much as they would like or be able to pass survival skills on to their children because they need to work a job to be able to afford to survive. This compromises a piece of their Indigeneity because they are forced to live a certain way under capitalism.

With culture changing, Dr. Henhawk explained that Indigenous people fundamentally still have a sense of who they are. This has created a desire for more land-based education in communities and he is interested in how the incorporation of more land-based education can affect the emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being of communities.

Embracing a new way of learning

“This is a new way of learning for me and it feels like one of the first steps towards re-engaging Indigenous ways of knowing and being,” he said. “It is definitely gaining momentum in communities as a means of cultural resurgence and healing.”

With the help of colleagues and relationships he has developed, Dr. Henhawk’s hope is to host an international land-based education conference to get students excited and engaged in land-based education. He is also revising his curriculum to incorporate land-based learning in a meaningful and interactive way for the students he engages.

As head of the department of Native studies, Dr. Miller is responsible for making sure the department grows in ways that support the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action, the Manitoba Collaborative Indigenous Education Blueprint, the University of Manitoba Strategic Plan 2015-2020 and other local and provincial agreements. She has worked to make Anishinaabemowin, Cree, Dakota and Michif language classes available on campus. Dr. Miller has also served as a University Senator, on the Faculty of Arts executive, and on numerous committees such as the committee that put forward the recommendations on Indigenous senior leadership, a Task Force on Equity, Diversity and Inclusion and the Senate Planning and Priorities committee.

UM Today had the pleasure of sitting down with Dr. Cary Miller to ask her a few questions.

Tell us where you came from.

My heritage is from the St. Croix communities in Wisconsin and Leech Lake in Minnesota. I was adopted in 1970 by my non-Indigenous parents. My parents never hid my background from me. They worked as educators and were very kind. I was adopted into a community, which consisted primarily of blonde Scandinavian kids. It was really tough. I remember I would get asked at the playground to do an Indian rain dance. My parents never knew how to talk me through it because they had never experienced racism.

I always knew that I would learn about myself and identity as an adult. I started doing this in my 20s. During my undergraduate degree, there were no Indigenous classes. This is part of what motivated me to get graduate degrees and bring those classes into the academy. I finished my MA in 1995 and PhD in 2004. I would say between 1995 and 2004 is when Native studies departments and courses started becoming much more common.

What brought you to the University of Manitoba?

I felt like I was just a checked box, even after teaching at the University of Wisconsin for 15 years. I had trouble getting the opportunity to teach graduate courses on Indigenous content history because the history department did not consider this important for their graduate students to learn. In 15 years, I was asked to do one guest lecture in a U.S. history course. It was very much, “We are so glad you’re in our department and have all this Indigenous history, but we don’t see what that has to do with U.S. history.”

Reconciliation in Canada has changed that narrative. As colonial nations, both the United States and Canada have taught history that is not complete – history that is an origin myth rather than a true accounting. Reconciliation embraced as widely as it is in Canada holds the possibility that we may move to an honest narrative of the historical past from kindergarten to higher education. Helping us move toward that goal is something I really wanted to be involved in.

What are your priorities for the department and/or campus?  

I am strongly involved in providing education for faculty members across the university. It is part of the university’s strategic plan to increase the infusion of Indigenous content into courses across the curriculum; however, many of our faculty have not been trained in this content and so are hesitant to adjust their syllabi, justifiably fearing that they could misstep and unintentionally reinforce misconceptions out of unintentional ignorance rather than move reconciliation forward.

To address this, our faculty has been involved in delivering training across the university through workshops, drop-ins, book clubs and teach-ins, but none of our initiatives has been as important or as effective as the Summer Institute. We held it last summer over 10 weeks from April through June for 30 faculty members. Exit surveys show that most will be revising courses as a result. We did sessions on culture, historical context, common academic stereotypes, fragility, privilege, microaggressions, barriers faced by Indigenous students, as well as a full day in the community at Turtle Lodge at Sagkeeng First Nation. Each week, faculty had assigned readings and the opportunity to write response papers to address topics they missed raising during class. I have applied for funding to run this institute four times within the next three years during the summer and the school year so more faculty will have the opportunity to participate.

The department of Native studies also has drop-in hours every other week for faculty and staff to come and ask questions about reconciliation and decolonization, their course content and assignments, and other questions they may have concerning Indigenous content. Through such programs, we are helping faculty to see that infusion of Indigenous content is more than just cultural awareness – it requires an Indigenous content literacy that will help them see where they need to adjust the narrative not just since 1492, but wherever settler colonialism is expressed in western sources. The impetus to colonize and exploit did not spring forth as a new thing at contact; it has deep roots that we need to more consciously and critically engage with in our classrooms.  So while some are modifying their classes to include discussion of Treaty 1 signers or Louis Riel’s inner circle, others are discussing Roman expansion in terms of settler colonialism – and that is part of reconciliation too. Reconciliation is not just reframing how we discuss Indigenous people; it is about how we reframe discussions around power relationships in history, in classrooms, in practicums and in contemporary Canada.

What advice would you have for Indigenous students?

Believe in yourself. Every day, we are making the university a more inclusive place for Indigenous students, where you don’t have to leave your identity at the door but can be your full truest self on our campus. We may not be there yet, but we are getting there. Know that folks like myself, Christine Cyr, Catherine Cook, Ruth Shead and many others are here working for you daily.

Eager to learn more about reconciliation? Check out the book club hosted by the department of Native studies. Dr. Miller will present at the next event on her book, Ogimaag: Anishnaabe Leadership 1763-1845, on Dec. 11 in room 111 in St. John’s College.

Dr. Miller will also be a panellist for Visionary Conversations – “What does a decolonized Canada look like?” This event also takes place on Dec. 11 at 7 p.m. at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.

“I think the design process is a very play-based process,” says Bailey, a Métis architect and assistant professor cross-appointed in the University of Manitoba’s faculties of architecture and engineering. “It’s sort of letting go of preconceived notions and following your intuition by using elements within the landscape.”

Bailey attributes his connection to nature – and ultimately, his work style – to his upbringing on a remote island in Lake of the Woods, Ontario, where he often sought inspiration from the natural landscape.

“I was always interested in how the built environment interacts with that landscape – that’s what drove me to look into architecture,” he says.

While completing his master’s in architecture at the U of M, Bailey began to follow his intuition more and more – and in doing so, reconnected with his Métis heritage. “I’m still learning about it,” he says.

Following the completion of his master’s degree, he established Boreal Architecture Studio with two partners, working primarily on cottages in the boreal forest and most recently, focusing on Indigenous projects. The opportunity to work on a design build with Eduardo Aquino from the U of M’s department of architecture led Bailey back to the university for his first teaching position – and in 2018, as an Indigenous scholar.

Communication and meaningful engagement with Indigenous communities have been integral to Bailey’s work, both in the design studio and the classroom. As part of an Indigenous Initiative Fund, he works with Shoal Lake 40 First Nation on a new project that sees architecture and engineering students collaborate with the First Nation to design and build a pavilion for community feasts.

“Even though we’re designing away from Shoal Lake 40 right now, we still engaged our students within the community,” he says, noting the students participated in a pipe ceremony and tobacco tie early in the course. “Through the ceremony, [community members] gave us some visions of what the ceremonial structure would be.”

Concept rendering of ceremonial space

In addition to providing context on Indigenous design principles and concepts on his projects, Bailey plays a key role in bringing together Indigenous and non-Indigenous perspectives and how they can collaborate to work toward a common goal.

“[Indigenous culture] is a really nice holistic way of seeing the world and how it’s interrelated,” he says. “I’m interested in how architecture can respond to that notion. I find that Indigenous ways of thinking are just honest and pure and lighthearted, and I believe that [many] can learn a lot from that.”

The importance of that reciprocal relationship was captured in Bailey’s design thesis, which examined, in part, how Indigenous and non-Indigenous world views can complement each other in architecture. As part of his project, Bailey burned a piece of wood, inspired by the way the light shone off it. After carving the wood and placing it in plaster, he considered how a built assembly could replicate the structure – a process that helped guide the project’s masonry work and was eventually adopted by Bailey’s thesis advisor and used in workshops at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT).

Burnt wood and plaster served as inspiration for one of Bailey’s projects.

“It ended up as a masonry building with timber structures that really responded to the beauties of what the world can allow in – paying attention to the light and the light coming off materials, being sensitive to how the natural world interacts with the building and providing experience as you manoeuver around the space,” he says.

The interplay between Indigenous and non-Indigenous world views is not only an essential component of Bailey’s design work, but also in his teaching style and efforts to bridge the two in the classroom.

“I had the students read Seven Fallen Feathers: Racism, Death, and Hard Truths in a Northern City [by Tanya Talaga] before we started, and it’s always a really great feeling when a student comes back to me and says, ‘You know, I’ve been reading Seven Fallen Feathers and last night, I had a conversation with my children where I explained the stories and how sad they are – and it made a difference,’” he continues. “Making those conversations come apparent is really meaningful.”

Working alongside other design studios at the U of M has also been rewarding for Bailey as he continues in his role as an Indigenous scholar.

“It’s really fun to see everyone’s work and projects, and their excitement,” he says. “The faculties [at the U of M] are really amazing and have been so supportive of me, and I’m really thankful for that.”

That support has allowed Bailey to help guide students to find their own connections and meaning in the design process. He advises students interested in studying architecture to “let go of preconceived notions of what you think and use your intuition to develop your own individual process.”

Fitznor came to the University of Manitoba as a mature student and studied sociology. “It opened my eyes to the level of oppression and colonization that attempted to take place,” she says. “I say attempted, because I don’t feel as though it was successful.”

This observation reads true to the teaching styles of Fitznor. She became a pivotal hire in the U of M’s ACCESS Program in 1982, and later in the Faculty of Education, with a focus on anti-racism, equity and cross-cultural education, and is currently in the process of retiring. Fitznor says she experienced challenges when trying to bring in more Indigenous staff and perspectives while working her roles. “I bumped into a lot of invisible walls. Those walls have to deal with ― what we call in today’s terms ― white privilege, colonization, assimilation or conversion.”

It has always been a high priority for Fitznor to incorporate Indigenous pedagogy into the education system, such as Elder teaching and talking circles. In fact, Fitznor played an influential role when she developed a new position for Aboriginal Education in the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education (OISE) while obtaining her doctorate degree at the University of Toronto. “I am not here to go by anyone else’s course,” she says.

Living in cohabitation with the land

Fitznor’s upbringing plays an influential role in her academic career. As a member of Nisichawaysihk Cree Nation, Fitznor was largely raised in the boreal forests of Wabowden, Manitoba. She immediately learned to respect the land from an early age, and laughs as she recalls her duty to check rabbit snares at 5 a.m. before school.

With a close relationship to the land, she describes herself as “being in cohabitation” with it. While living in the city can compromise or challenge this relationship, Fitznor says we can maintain our connection by working it into academia. “We can write about it, and talk about it. It’s like language,” she says. “If you don’t speak it, you’ll lose it.”

Fitznor’s family has a long history of medicine picking. She and her sister maintain this tradition, and it is high priority that Fitznor’s daughter also learns it. “Medicine picking has been honoured in my family,” she says. “And we do tobacco offerings every time we pick anything or hunt anything on our land.” This is one way Fitznor says she has learned how to be a participant of the land, adding that “if you do not treat the land and water with respect, it will not treat you with respect in reciprocity.”

Institutional improvements and Indigenous relations

While her journey through academia has seen many shifts between her time as a mature student to faculty, Fitznor acknowledges that structural change still needs to occur. “If you do not keep the heart and soul of Indigenous thinking, culture and language at the centre, change is always going to feel Canadian-centric,” she says.

Many universities are in the process of evaluating what changes need to be considered when creating campuses that are positive learning environments for Indigenous students, staff and faculty. Fitznor describes the many ways in which Indigenous people are expected to shift into institutions, and notices that it’s never the other way around. “I think it can happen,” she says. “We need allies and people who have principles that align with ours on certain subjects.” When asked what a good ally looks like, Fitznor says the work needs to go further than the performance alone. “It’s those who are not afraid to get their hands dirty with us.”

Meeting Indigenous students where they are

As Indigenous staff and faculty, it’s important to understand that some students come into institutional settings and academia without their traditional teachings, she says. “We cannot assume that everyone knows their traditions,” she continues, “but we can assume that most have experienced racism.”

Acknowledging that some people have the ability to “pass” – a term used to describe people of colour with lighter features – Fitznor says that once you align yourself as an Indigenous person, you can expect racism to follow. “We need to continue providing strategies, tools and supports that remind [students] that they have their voice, and their resiliency, and to not let the institutionalized racism go to the wayside,” she says.

“I tried to be courageous in my walk and avoided feeling intimidated by my professors or fellow students,” Fitznor recalls of her student experience. “I could see the racism and challenged and countered any oppression I encountered.” Though this wasn’t always easy, Fitznor said she vowed to never let it slip past her.

The future

Laughing when asked what the future holds, Fitznor responds with, “Well, I’ll still be Cree!”

Fitznor has plans to make more time for writing, and perhaps more dear to her, crafting. “I come from a long line of crafters,” she says. “But academia didn’t always allow me time to continue that.” Fitznor acknowledges her mother’s history of crafting while displaying her own modesty as she says, “I could never do it like her.”

Submitted photo. Beaded artwork by Dr. Fitznor’s mother.

Fitznor also says that Indigenous people never really retire because of the familial ties and support systems they build in spaces they occupy. “There’s still so much to do,” she says. Not concerned about a set schedule, Fitznor ended with a gentle reminder. “We don’t have time. We have the world.”

Dr. Laara Fitznor, (Nisichawaysihk Cree Nation) teaches Aboriginal/Indigenous Education and Cross Cultural Education in the Faculty of Education, U of M.  She grounds decolonizing and bridging pedagogies in her work where people learn to challenge past wrongs, coexist and collaborate in a way of transformative possibilities toward relevance, respect, reciprocity and responsibility.

“My late mentor James Luna once told me, ‘Performance offers us Indians the chance to say things you can’t say in other mediums without compromising who we are,’” she says as she flips through photos of her dear friend. Photography is also of interest to her, as it’s the medium she uses when creating a new performance piece.

Blondeau hails from George Gordon First Nation and was living in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan before moving to Winnipeg this summer. The Cree, Saulteaux and Métis artist and self-labelled “high-tech storyteller” chose Winnipeg’s north end as her home.

“Place is always important,” she says. “My new reality is that I live in Canada’s most dangerous neighbourhood.” The move has shifted Blondeau’s reality, and she says this shift will undoubtedly shape her art moving forward.

Although she does not associate with feminism — citing the major differences in struggles between women of colour and white women — Blondeau’s art reflects the ways Indigenous women are often stereotyped in the media, news and popular culture. Observing the notions of identity associated with Indigenous women, Blondeau says she works to “undo them, deconstruct them and knock them on their heads.”

Two main stereotypical figures in Blondeau’s art include the Indian Princess and the Squaw. In reference to her 1996 piece called COSMOSQUAW, Blondeau said she was inspired to create an image that was specifically for Indigenous women. The photograph, illuminated in a light box, contains an Indigenous woman with full hair and make-up and a red dress as she leans forward for a kiss. Laid out like a magazine cover, the image also includes headlines such as “10 Easy make-up tips for a killer Bingoface!” and “Learn How to Spoon-feed your Man!”

COSMOSQUAW, 1996. Photo credit: Bradlee LaRocque

“I was working at a Native women’s shelter in Montreal, and the women would always come in with these Cosmopolitan magazines,” she says. “I always wondered how they became Cosmo’s audience. That’s when I made the COSMOSQUAW piece – for them.” Blondeau adds that she believes all Indigenous women are cosmosquaws, or “one with the earth.”

When it comes to the Indian Princess narrative, Blondeau says her work is not a reclamation of anything. “Indigenous people shouldn’t have to reclaim anything that was always theirs to begin with,” she says. At the same time, Blondeau types into Google and pulls up an image of a “Sexy Pocahontas” Halloween costume worn by a non-Indigenous woman. “Our society is so desensitized to our missing and murdered Indigenous women,” she says with a sigh.

On a larger scale, Blondeau describes the challenges of pushing back in an institutional setting. She finds parallels in the ways in which the art world and academia operate. As art galleries attempt to fill positions with Indigenous curators, and universities create positions for Indigenous academics, Blondeau explains that this has been a big theme throughout her life. “Institutions are really struggling to reconcile,” she says.

When asked what advice she has for Indigenous students who want to participate in either the art world or in academia, Blondeau stresses that it is important to take up space. “Follow your passion,” she says, “and take up as much space as you can in the institution, whatever institution that may be.”

Lori Blondeau is a Cree/Saulteaux/Métis artist originally from Saskatchewan from George Gordon First Nation in Treaty 4. Blondeau holds an MFA from the University of Saskatchewan, has sat on the Advisory Panel for Visual Arts for the Canada Council for the Arts and is a co-founder and the current director of TRIBE, a Canadian Aboriginal arts organization. Her practice includes both visual and performance contemporary art. Blondeau is an assistant professor in the U of M’s School of Art.