Rights and Responsibilities: Free Speech and Academic Freedom as Social Values

Historical Context and the Principles at Issue

Three recent controversies have raised questions about the value and limits to free speech and academic freedom.  The first involved the paintings of Canadian artist Amanda PL.  She claims that her paintings were  inspired by the work of the Anishnabe artist Norval Morisseau.  She has been criticized by the Chippewa artist Jay Soule as coming close to committing an act of  “cultural genocide.”  The second concerns an editorial penned by now-former editor Hal Niedzviecki in Write magazine.  He called for a “cultural appropriation prize”  for the author best able to write characters not of their own culture.  The third concerns a paper published in the journal of feminist philosophy Hypatia.  The paper argued that there was an analogy to be drawn between trasnsexualism and transracialism:  if people celebrate Caitlyn Jenner for changing sexes, then they should, by analogous reasoning, celebrate  Rachel Dolezal, (a white woman who lived for years as a black woman), for wanting to change races.  The article provoked an unprecedented public campaign that demanded the journal retract the article.

I will work through each of the criticisms in turn.  However, before any useful light can be shed on the controversies, the historical context of the emergence of the principles of free speech and academic freedom need to examined.  One of the most lamentable facts about public discourse in the age of Twitter is that even thoughtful people do not– indeed, cannot, because immediate comment is demanded– stop to think through the historical process through which contemporary political values  have emerged.  When we do stop and think things through historically, the political implications and limitations of the value in question become clear, and we are then better able to negotiate controversies and work out appropriate forms of response to controversial instances of their use.

On February 17th, 1600, the philosopher Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake in Rome.  His execution was ordered by the Pope because Bruno’s teachings:  that matter itself could be understood as the active, self-forming principle of reality and that an all-powerful god would create a universe teeming with other forms of life were deemed heretical.  One hundred and fifty years later the Enlightenment would confront the violent dogmatism of theological authority with the rational principle that disagreements be settled by the better argument.  My point is not to compare critics of potentially offensive speech to the Inquisition, but to remind everyone that the right to free speech was (and should still be) a social value.  It defended the right of individuals to question orthodoxy and repressive  power.  As such, it was a powerful tool in the struggle against all forms of oppression.  It is not–as it is sometimes thought of today– a right to say whatever one wants and give offense just because one can.  Rather, it was a right, in its origins, to explore alternatives and criticize; to expand the scope of human understanding; to protect the voices of the less powerful; to create a social space for the formerly voiceless to speak; and to catalyze non-violent forms of social and political change.

Academic freedom is a species of the genus free speech.  It has no constitutional grounds but is protected only by convention and faculty collective agreements.  In Canada its origins date to the firing of Harry Crowe.  In 1958 the history professor was fired for criticizing the religious authorities who ran United College (today the University of  Winnipeg).  His firing spurred the formation of the Canadian Association of University Professors, whose core mission includes protection of academic freedom from threats inside of and outside of the academy. The only reason any critical voices are heard in universities anywhere today is because of the space academic freedom protects.  Marxists, feminists, trans-activists, and critical race theorists would all be gone if academic freedom did not protect their right to criticize established structures of power, gender and racial norms, and anything else that can be made the object of critical scrutiny.  Struggles around free speech, free expression, and academic freedom have often been led by the most marginalized and oppressed groups.  Their struggles to give public expression to their realities and needs  has radically transformed the cultural landscape of liberal-democratic-capitalist society for the better.

That free speech has been an important vehicle for the struggles of oppressed groups does not mean that it should never be limited.  What principles should govern its limitation?  If the basic social value of the right to free speech is that it allows for the expression of perspectives that would be silenced otherwise, then the basic limitation on free speech, expression, and academic freedom is the opposite:  when one group’s free speech actively silences another group or explicitly targets them for destruction (as in anti-Semitic hate or racist hate speech that calls for the extermination of the demonized group) then the speech is no longer properly understood as falling under the category of free speech, but becomes an expression of oppressive ideology.  Merely giving offense does not pass this test.  To be offended is not to be silenced (if it were, no one would know that someone is offended, because the offended party would be unable to express their displeasure).

Cases in Point

I think that of the three cases, only the case of Amanda PL comes close to crossing the line towards forms of expression that are justly censured.  However, even in this case I think the gallery was wrong to cancel the show.  The case of Niedviecki is a case of misinterpreted satire that was then exploited by right-wing forces who have nothing to do with Niedviecki.  The Hypatia case is a debacle of the highest order and a serious threat to academic freedom.

1. The artist at the centre of the controversy, Amanda PL, studied at Lakehead University and claims inspiration from Anishnabe artist Norval Morriseau.  From what I have seen of her paintings, they would be better described as vastly inferior mimicry rather than works of art.  The colours, the motifs, the enclosing of structures within coloured spheres all linked together with curving tendrils are obviously reminiscent of Morriseau and other Anishnabe artists.  But as Soule points out, in PL’s case, it is all surface and no cultural-spiritual depth.  Morriseau, according to Soule, was giving painterly expression to stories that PL did not know and whose spiritual depth she could not understand.

Soule is right to criticize her for cultural appropriation.  Even though she acknowledges the source, the source is so obviously grounded in a cultural tradition that informed the work, and which has not become internationalized (in the way, say, that the blues or jazz have) that her mimicry is illegitimate.  Cultural appropriation is different from being influenced and inspired by a foreign culture.  Beckett wrote in French to make language seem strange, to force himself to think about the task of writing, but he lived in France and learned the language.  Amanda PL has not served any sort of cultural apprenticeship amongst the Anishnabe, has not tried to get inside the culture to learn the stories or the connection between style and story.  She has tried to advance her art career with derivative paintings that nevertheless look enough like admired Anishnabe work that it might sell.

That said, I cannot agree with Soule that the work counts as cultural genocide.  The United Nations defines genocide as:

Genocide is defined in Article 2 of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948) as “any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national ethnical racial or religious group, as such: killing members of the group; causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its
physical destruction in whole or in part; imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; [and] forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.
Cultural genocide would then be a set of practices, imposed by the dominant group upon the oppressed which is designed to systematically eradicate their culture.  The forced teaching of English in residential schools would be a clear example. There is nothing in PL’s work to suggest that she intends to destroy the Anishnabe way of painting, or to prevent its transmission and teaching. Her work is bad, but it does not prevent Anishnabe painters from continuing their traditions.
Because it does not directly prevent Anishnabe painters from painting, or criticizing her for her derivative work, I would argue that the gallery was wrong to cancel the show in response to criticism.  The show perhaps should never have been offered on grounds that the work is not good enough, but, once offered, it should have been seen through.  The principle here is: fight back with the weapons with which you are attacked.  If the weapon here is derivative art and the attempt to make a name for oneself by superficial copying of others’ traditions and practices, the response should be to publicly call attention to the problem and critique the work. Force her to answer and to become a better artist,  to find a way to creatively give expression to influences genuinely felt without just copying their surface appearance. Argue and critique, don’t ban.

2. The Niedzviecki controversy overlaps with the Amanda PL problem because it to concerns the matter of who speaks for First Nations, Inuit, and Metis.  From my perspective it seems much less serious a violation of their voices than the Amanda PL case. Niedzviecki was clearly being satirical when he called for the creation of a cultural appropriation prize. The main thrust of his editorial was not about cultural appropriation but the importance of imagination to literature.  Literature is not just recounting stories, it is the invention of literary worlds.  Invention forces authors to go beyond their own private experiences to create worlds that do not exist in material reality.  Dostoyevsky did not have to murder a miserly slumlord in order to explore the psychology of guilt and the ethics of redemption in Crime and Punishment. If we limit art to mere description and representation, we destroy art, whose truth is the invention of worlds and not the accurate description and proportional representation of real members of this one.

Part of that invention has to be the imaginative occupation of perspectives different from one’s own.  If not, every work of literature would be nothing but monologue (but maybe even not that, since we are not transparent to ourselves but have different sides).  All writing therefore takes us beyond what the self has directly experienced. That was the main philosophical and artistic point he was making, but it got lost completely in the critique of an obviously satirical call for cultural appropriation and the cultural appropriation prize.

In humourous utterance, intent matters.  Niedzviecki intended to provoke, no doubt, but to provoke thought about the role of imaginative transposition, not to support cultural appropriation.  Now, I say this as white male philosopher not aware, from the inside, of what it feels like to suffer deprivation of voice. I am sure my history influences my reading. At the same time, I am not saying that Niedzwiecki is beyond criticism, but only that reasoned criticism takes time:  our world demands instant response, and instant responses are rarely wise.  A more productive conversation and critique might have been had had a moment’s reflection on context and intentions preceded the calls for retraction and resignation.  These do little to solve the deeper problems of First Nation’s and Inuit and Metis lives, but they do engage/enrage the right wing (like former national Post publisher Ken Whyte) who did intend to harm and humiliate by offering to fund the prize.

Niedzwiecki’s comments might have hurt the feelings of members of vulnerable cultures, but they were included in an edition of Write! given over to First Nation’s writers.  Clearly, in terms of actions, Niedzviecki was their ally, not their enemy.  All satire, all humour, runs the risk of giving offence to someone.  Do we really want a world without satire?  A world where everyone has to triple guess themselves before they speak lest some ears take offence? I’ll book my ticket for Mars — I’ll take a room in the Don Rickles suite, please– if jokes, satire, hyperbole, farce, and laughter are forbidden on earth.

Again, the principle is: fight back with the weapons that attack you (although in this case I do not see an attack).  If someone makes fun of you, make fun in turn.  It is better to laugh at each other than to destroy each other.

3. The cases of Amanda PL and Niedzwiecki at least raise important questions about cultural appropriation.  Hopefully these questions will generate on-going dialogue that explores the crucial issue:  how can members of dominant groups speak responsibly when exploring  problems stemming from histories of cultural oppression, and how can members of historically oppressed groups criticize that history as forcefully as they need to, without in effect silencing satirical voices.  The Hypatia affair has no such virtues.

The signatories to the letter demanding the retraction of the Tuvel piece are in open violation of the norms of academic freedom, and really over a paper that is eminently reasonable, whether or not one agrees with her conclusion.  The paper proceeds from the principle that thought must:

hold open a space for real intellectual curiosity, for investigations that deepen our understanding of how identity claims and processes function, rather than rushing to offer well-formed opinions based on what we already think we know” (Stryker 2015, quoted in Tuvel, p. 264)

The paper unfolds according to this logic of respectful inquiry and is sensitive to the ethical and political complexities involved.  Others may disagree:  they should do so and respond, but there is nothing in the paper that would warrant its retraction.

If we conspire to undermine academic freedom in the way proposed by the signatories of the letter we will all suffer.  I subscribe to the American Association of University Professors’ electronic bulletin.  Almost everyday it relates a horror story of a professor fired for running afoul of administrations or governments.  Turkey is in the midst of a purge which has seen thousands of academics lose their jobs.  The Turkish government’s position is clear:  academics serve at the pleasure of the President. Anyone who criticizes his line forfeits their job.

We cannot mince words here:  the principle that underlies the demand to retract the Tuvel piece is identical:  conform your thought to a reigning orthodoxy (or some self-elected group’s definition of orthodoxy)  or be placed on the Index.  That Hypatia is a path-breaking journal of feminist philosophy makes the demand all the more disgraceful.  Hypatia would not exist unless feminist scholars had successfully contested academic orthodoxy.  Academic freedom was a vital principle  in that struggle.

Philosophers, as philosophers, simply cannot call for any other to be silenced.  Ever.  Philosophy responds to untruth with better argument, always, everywhere, in all cases,  or it is not philosophy.  Not every political problem can be resolved by argument, but when we are active as philosophers, whatever our identity, we argue, we do not silence.  If people’s sensibilities and anxieties make it impossible for them to hear certain arguments, then philosophy is not for them.  “The study of philosophy is much hindered,” Hegel wrote,  “by the conceit that will not argue,”  a conceit which “relies on truths which are taken for granted and which it sees no need to re-examine.”  The truth in philosophy is always contested:  argument is the means of contestation:  no limits, no hurt feelings allowed.  Philosophers listen, think, criticize, accept criticism, re-think, revise, and re-argue, forever if need be.

The actual criticisms articulated in the letter may very well be sound. They should be developed into a rebuttal and published, perhaps with a response from Tuvel.  Maybe a special issue of Hypatia could be devoted to the controversy.  But the demand to retract smacks of the worst sort of moralistic Maoism.  Shall we have re-education camps next (or maybe just mandatory training)?  Thinkers who want to be taken seriously as philosophers have to speak out against this reactionary and repressive politics in the most forceful terms.

Labour and Democracy

Two recent labour events re-emphasized for me the continuing relevance of unions to the on-going (and threatened) project of building democratic societies.  On May Day, I attended the Workers’ Roundtable, sponsored by the Windsor-Essex local of the Ontario Secondary School Teacher’s Federation.  On the weekend of May 5th and 6th, I was a delegate to the Spring Council of the Canadian Association of University Teachers (CAUT).

The Workers’  Roundtable brought together several dozen labour leaders, rank and file members, and community activists to share information on key issues and the current state of struggle.  The good news:  there remain main hundreds of unionists and community leaders who understand that the core problem of Canadian society is the private ownership and control of universally needed life-resources.  Moreover, they are up to the challenge of fighting back against the manifestations of that structural problem.  Whether the issue is pervasive feminized and racialized poverty, the erosion of investment in public goods, the loss of autonomy of institutions of higher learning, lack of access to housing, the privatization of public goods and services, loss of freedom to determine our own life-projects to corporate culture and values made compulsory for the entire society, there are unions and community groups fighting back.

That is the good news, but it is also the bad news.  We are fighting back.  We are either trying to hang on to the shrinking fruits of old struggles, or demanding just the most basic services and goods (health care and housing).  We are not advancing a coherent, unified, positive vision of a democratic society, because we do not have one as a movement.  Indeed, it is difficult to say that there is a labour movement at the moment.  There are unions, and they have their local battles.  There are unions that have developed provincial and national struggles and projects (the Ontario Public Service Employees Union  OPSEU and the Canadian Union of Postal Workers CUPW, for example).  But there is no political unity expressed in a  common program that asserts a transformational set of demands.  Nor is there any political entity capable of either contesting for power or pushing the government of the day to change course.  There was no representative of the NDP at the meeting (which, given the current state of both provincial and federal parties, was a good thing).

More troubling was the absence of young activists. There was enough salt and pepper hair to season a week’s worth of dinners at every restaurant in Windsor.  The union movement– indeed, any future left movement- is going to have to find ways to make itself relevant to young workers (and creating a Facebook group is not going to cut it).  So long as established unions continue to sell out young workers at the bargaining table, agreeing to two-tier wage structures and giving up defined benefit pensions for new hires, there is no chance of replenishing the cadres of activists.  Failure to cultivate a new generation of leaders and militants will ultimately hit young workers hardest:  the free wheeling anarchism of life on line is fun, but the grey conformity of workplace authoritarianism and precarious labour remains a material reality that cannot be clicked away.

It cannot be clicked away, but it can be changed through concerted and long term effort.  The last forty years of political failure seems to contradict this conclusion, but we need to take a longer view.  Two hundred years ago, women lacked the vote, blacks were enslaved in the United States, and unions did not exist.  Benevolent space aliens did not descend from the heavens to sort our problems out:  self-educated and self-active people joined together to build movements that engaged the energies and imaginations of millions, and the ruling class was forced to yield on issue after issue.

What early feminists and labour activists and abolitionists had which the current left lacks was a positive and unified vision of the society they wanted to create.  They were for women’s suffrage and for equal pay for equal work, and for legal equality for blacks and for the rights of working people to help shape their work lives, and for the right to express opinions that shocked polite society.  More importantly,  these particular demands were unified by a vision of democratic equality and freedom as self-realization that allowed joint efforts between liberal and radical interpretations of those values.  Mass solidarity was the key to building movements of such a scale that they could not be ignored.

Solidarity around a unified project did not mean that there were no differences.  It did mean that those differences became the soil for productive political argument and constructive political problem solving.  Too often the default position today amongst activists who see themselves as progressive is to censor, ban, and shun whatever does not accord with their particular vision of the appropriate.  Faux outrage and taking childish offense to everything is not the sort of liberatory vision that will inspire people to fight.  No one has a right to not be offended.  Belief that such rights exists is reactionary and repressive, and stems from the exact same fearful attitude that drives xenophobia:  what is different as wrong, make it go away.  Intelligent and creative people are soon turned off by narrow-minded dogmatism and they flee from politics as they would any suffocatingly conformist system.

But transformational politics at its best is creative and exuberant and tolerant of different interpretations of the organizing values and principles.  To be sure, there has to be agreement on the principles and values and a willingness to discipline oneself to decisions once  democratically made, but that sort of political discipline after full and free debate is the opposite of the censorious moralism that too often passes for critique today.  However, this moralism will not be overcome by equally abstract criticism, but only around concrete demands that people can be won over to as the concrete goals of a revitalized movement.  From the side of unions, that means freeing ourselves from a defensive and economistic posture and renewing union struggle as a struggle for key elements of a democratic society.

What does that mean?  It means that since work-life remains central to our existence, incessant predictions of a “jobless future”  notwithstanding, the governance and organization of our workplaces remains an essential political problem.  We do not live in a democratic society if most of our active lives are spent in despotic institutions in which we must do what we are told and discarded like trash when it is no longer profitable to exploit our labour power..  The real value of unions, more important than the economic benefits that they bring, is their political value:  by enabling workers to bargain collectively, they advance– imperfectly to be sure– the democratic principle that all affected by a decision should participate in the process of decision-making.  Underlying collective bargaining as its deep justifying ground is the idea of worker’s control over the firms for which they work.

The CAUT Council served as a reminder that the idea of workers’ control is not utopian but in many ways describes academic labour. For more than fifty years the CAUT has been the democratic voice of Canadian academics and a powerful ally of academics around the world struggling against authoritarian violence.  Too often, in our own practice)  tenured academics treat the extensive rights that we enjoy to determine the pace and content of their own work as walls separating us from society, elevating us as a professional elite above the more mundane concerns of lesser workers.  This attitude cuts us off from other workers, as it does from two key truths about the origins and value of these rights:  1)  they do not stem from our exalted intellects, but were won in struggle, and 2)  they stand as examples of workers control of labour that we should promote as a model for other workers to achieve, and whose struggle we should support.

Through peer review we evaluate the quality of each others’ work and decide all-important matters like tenure and promotion.  Collectively, academics decide the priorities of their departments and, where they have majorities on Senate’s and analogous institutions, can determine the policies that regulate teaching, research, and service.  More importantly, workers` control in the university works:  people who understand the demands of the job and its social value work together to ensure that the policies that govern the institution serve the values that define it:  the production and dissemination of knowledge in all spheres of human inquiry (scientific, social and humanistic, artistic).

Of course, this picture is idealized.  The real academy contains all the fault lines of the society within which it exists.  It is class divided:  tenured academics represent a shrinking share of the total faculty complement.  Contract academic staff lack the same rights as tenured academics, and are often treated as servants by tenured stream colleagues.  Sexism and racism also plague the academy, as every other institution.  Their are professional jealousies and monstrous self-importance.  However, these are not arguments for the destruction of academic freedom, departmental autonomy, collegial self-governance, and academic control over academic life.  Rather, they are calls to make practice adequate to principle and to fight for academic freedom as a social good and not an abstract individual right.  The only way to do that is through collective action organized through faculty unions.

The external forces forces that have undermined full-time tenure appointments, that seek to subordinate the values of free inquiry, criticism, and truth, to mareketability, fashion, and servitude to government demands cannot be resisted if we think that we are so important as individual researchers we will never be targeted.  The threats to academic freedom and campus democracy require a collective response, and a collective response with the right and power to strike if necessary in support of the protection of these values.  At the CAUT  council we were reminded that the most recent Canadian academic labour dispute at the University of Manitoba had nothing to do with money (because the provincial government imposed a wage freeze) but with whether the criteria that decide tenure and promotion would continue to be grounded in peer expertise, or be subordinated to quantitative metrics that cannot in principle disclose the quality of the work.  These struggles may seem arcane to those outside the academy, they may seem to be about protecting archaic privileges, but they are really about protecting zones of workers control that must serve as models for other workers.

Complete workers’ control over production and the complete democratization of social life cannot be achieved by unions alone.  Capitalist competition generates global forces that workers bargaining in individual workplaces cannot hope to control.  Only vast and deep transformations of economic life can subordinate those forces to democratic deliberation.  Life-capital (the natural wealth and social relationships and practices that sustain life and enable its flourishing)  would have to be freed from private ownership; the priority governing economic production would have to become need-satisfaction and not private profit; and complex procedures for deciding macro-economic objectives that coherently integrated the local, regional, national, and global levels would have to develop.  Stating these requirements baldly makes them sound impossible, but if we add the crucial dimension of time they seem less utopian.  If we think of change over an open ended historical continuum rather than that result of a one off insurrection, our chances of success seem much less remote.  Spending time discussing and arguing with committed labour activists willing to devote their time to the struggle sustains my hope– which often dwindles to near nothing– that progress is possible.

Windsor Spaces III: 201 Shepherd Avenue East

Windsor Truck and Storage Company, 201 Shepherd Avenue East


There is something about brick:  solid, sensible, built to endure by subtly yielding to the elements, not absolutely resisting them.  Brick bears the marks of its history, like a middle aged face; the sheen of youth exchanged for the wisdom of struggle.  It is unpretentious, but responsive to the demand that a building– even an industrial building like this one– be form and not just function.

Brick also has a way of making buildings seems bigger.  I know that the size of the building is a function of the underlying structure,  but something about the iteration of the individual bricks makes even modest sized structures seem grander.  In that way too bricks are like living elements, the cells that in their connection construct the organism.

It was the brick and the scale that drew my attention to this building.  Truth be told, it is not that big, but it stands out amidst the small factories and bungalows along what, it must be said, is something of a backstreet.  I had not expected to encounter anything of note as I rode along it a year or so ago.  The only reason I was on Shepherd was because friends told me that it was the best bike route from their home in the east to mine in the west.  So seeing the building was an unexpected pleasure.  I felt like I re-discovered some forgotten architectural treasure.

As I neared, details emerged.  The structure that first caught my eye was a clock tower,  maybe three stories high. It had an Albert Kahn-ish look:  handsome, a bit brooding, a little sinister, open about what it is, but not afraid to be noticed as architecture.  The two tone brick that runs in vertical columns up its walls emphasize its height, and the softer coloured stonework that crowns it completes it aesthetically.  The main body of the building extends along Windsor Avenue to the south.  Geometrically, it is just a box that nests others boxes, but there is still pleasing attention to detail:  the sign is painted, as they used to be in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, brass or iron designs bolted in rows along the western wall, a stone frieze that runs the entire length of the wall.

The best part is still the clock tower, and especially its impressive iron roman numerals.  In memory it soars, but memory can exaggerate. So let’s say it looms, empty,  the clockworks have long since been removed.  Nevertheless, there remains something sternly Victorian  about its message to the neighborhood:  see what time it is people, and get back to work!

an unnatural light,

Prepared for never-resting Labour’s eyes

Breaks from a many windowed fabric huge;

And at the appointed hour a bell is heard,

Of harsher import than the curfew-knoll

That spake the Norman Conqueror’s stern behest–

A local summons to unceasing toil!

(Wordsworth, The Excursion)

I like it better empty.  The danger of a botched and cheap renovation is avoided, while the eye is free to attend to its best features:  the glass and iron clock face, without thinking about what time it is.

The building is clearly of a different era of urban industrial architecture when structures were built under the assumption that work was permanent and grounded in space. If the building is not exactly the Battersea power station on the south bank of the Thames in London, it is no Quansa hut or prefabricated sheet metal shell either.  Ours is a more liquid age, used to comings and goings, openings and especially closings, and thus has become indifferent to factory architecture.

In a city with Windsor’s history one would think that there would be hundreds of examples of serious industrial architecture, but there are not.  A few small Albert Kahn buildings, the magnificent Ford Power Station on Riverside Drive, and not much else.  There may once have been, but their traces have been erased. So it is a fitting metaphor for Windsor, stuck somewhere in the past, one is not quite sure when, (there is no dated cornerstone that I could find), but lagging somewhere behind history, for worse and for better.

Alternative Facts: Humanitarian Edition


The election of Donald Trump has created a new sport:  catch the President lying.  To try to cover up one of his lies:  that he drew more people to his inauguration than Obama, his press secretary, Sean Spicer, argued that there were “alternative facts”  to explain the clear photograhic evidence that there was far fewer people for Trump than Obama.  Much mocking and hilarity ensued on CNN.

Most of the Democratic establishment and the academic liberal left in the United States piled on.  Forgotten of course was a long standing critique of the mainstream media (anyone remember Manufacturing Consent?)  that demonstrated, in precise analytical and empirical detail, how the media works with “official sources”  to construct ideological narratives and present them as established, unquestioned fact.  My point is not that Spicer was correct in the particular case:  there are no grounds for doubting there were more people at Obama’s inauguration than Trump’s.  The issues is rather  that the chest thumping about how sacred the media is to a democracy forgets that a now silenced critical tradition once exposed the way in which the corporate-owned media were impediments to democracy.

There was also once a mass anti-imperialist, anti-war movement in the United States.  That too has disappeared in favour of right-wing conservative isolationism on the one hand and moralistic liberal interventionism on the other.  The former are at least consistent with their principles; the later live in a land of their own illusions; a liberal fantasy realm of alternative facts supporting policies that have failed and are causing far more damage to Arab and African lives than Trump’s stupidity around his inauguration has.

For three months the Democratic party and its fellow-travellers have been madly leaping on any bandwagon banging an anti-Trump line.  He is anti-woman and anti-immigrant and anti-worker; he colluded with Russia, he stole the election, he lies, lies, lies.   And then:  redemption:

A reading from the Gospel of Nikki Haley:  Blessed are the Tomhawk missile launchers, for they shall inhabit the kingdom of human rights.

Not Gander

For weeks we have been hearing of the need for an independent investigation of  the links between the Trump camp and Russia.  The principle at work:  interested parties cannot conduct impartial investigations.  Therefore, impartial investigators are needed for politically contentious problems.

That applies to Washington, when Democratic interests are at stake.  In Syria, new rules, as Bill Maher would say.  In Syria, the conclusion that  Assad ordered the strike and that the Russian counter-narrative is false is asserted as necessarily true with no evidence cited.  A typical example was Neil MacFarquhar, writing in the  New York Times: “Even as the US condemned Assad for gassing his own citizens and held Russia partly responsible … the Kremlin kept denying that Syria had any such capability.”  (Reprinted in The Toronto Star, Sunday, April 9th, p. A2).  Or consider the open revisionism of this explanation of the origins of ISIS by another New York Times writer, Thomas Friedman: “ISIS was the deformed creature created by the pincer movement — Russia, Iran, Assad, and Hezbollah in Syria on one flank and pro-Iranian Syria militias on the other.”  Friedman’s position is truly astounding alternative fact in contradiction to known reality:  ISIS is the direct product of collapse of al Qaeda in Iraq.  Al Qaeda in Iraq was organized to fight the American invasion and its leader was radicalised in an American prison camp.

A Chomskean critique might point out the way in which these accounts always position the American narrative as authoritative, without ever explicitly saying so, and opposed positions always as self-interested responses, without ever explicitly saying so.  MacFarquhar’s article, for example, implies that the Russians have raisons d’etat that explain their support for Assad, while the Americans, ever righteous, have none.  A serious critique might go on to suggest that the present American government has an enormous interest in play: deflecting congressional attention away from alleged connections between the Trump campaign and Russia.  It might further contend that a government that is complicit in the starvation of Yemeni children is probably not losing sleep about Syrian children (especially since it is trying to ban any Syrians from entering the United States).  It might even go so far as to point out eerie similarities between the Russian claim that Assad’s jets inadvertently caused the chemical leak by bombing a weapons dump controlled by rebels, and the United States’ allied Iraqi government’s explanation that the US planes that caused mass civilian deaths in Mosul had hit an ISIS truck bomb.

Those are the sort of questions that a “free press”  which provides vital services to democracy might ask and the sorts of counter-arguments they might bring to bear on complex, politically charged incidents.  That would indeed be useful and democratic, but there was little in evidence, only the by now typical boasting, breast-beating, and bleating of the sheep following the trajectory of US missiles.  All of a sudden, politicians who lose no sleep over the piles of bodies that lay at their doorstep are moved for “moral” reasons to kill yet more people.  Right.

I am not making moralistic arguments to counter moralistic arguments with which I  disagree.  I wish there were amongst politicians principled stances against chemical weapons, and every other kind of weapon; a principled stance in favour of treating human beings as intrinsically valuable and not just tools of geo-political strategy; a principled stance in favour of politics as real problem solving in the shared life-interest and not the private advantage of one ruling group over and against others, with everyone else treated as collateral damage.

I take my stand against the Trump response on the basis of a simple demonstrable truth:  killing, whether justified or not, does not bring the unjustly killed back to life. Taking that truth as my foundation, I next ask:  But is there evidence to support the claim that sometimes violence is necessary to counter worse violence.  The answer is:  yes, of course, in some cases such evidence is exists.  So the final question is: is it justified in this case?

A genuinely popular-democratic resistance to Assad and ISIS would surely be justified in an armed struggle to free Syria of both.  Trump will prove no friend to a genuine popular democratic resistance.  His interests are not their interests.  His interests are in isolating Iran and distracting people from the congressional hearings at home.  To reiterate:  he is enabling the starvation of Yemeni children, and no one who does that is really moved by feelings for the lives of children.

But let us not count children’s tears but stay within the circle of evidence.  Assume that Trump really was motivated by love for the Syrians he does not want in his country.  Is his response likely to succeed in ending the civil war?   Let us examine the demonstrated results of US intervention in the Middle East since 2001.  Afghanistan:  on-going civil war.  Iraq:  on-going civil war.  Yemen:  on-going civil war.  Libya:  on-going civil war.  In the face of this evidence the only conclusion consistent with the facts is that deeper US involvement in Syria will only exacerbate and not solve the on going civil war there.

The war in Syria will end through politics or not at all.  A negotiated political solution cannot happen until the many sides to the conflict:  ISIS, al Qaeda, the Syrian government, the Kurds, the array of secular rebel forces feel weak enough to have to make compromises and a deal.  So long as each has its enablers:  the Saudis, the Americans, and the Russians, none will feel weak enough to have to concede.  And the war will go on.  And people will keep dying, whether of  sarin, or bullets, or bombs.

Tangled Web

The dynamic nature of capitalism makes it impossible to predict, in any straightforward and simple way, the shape its contradictions will take.  The dynamism continually unsettles the composition of the working class, but it also unsettles the political allegiances of the ruling class.  This unsettling effect helps to explain in part the extraordinarily fractured state of official politics in the United States at the moment.

As technology develops, old industries are threatened while new ones are engendered.  From an abstract systems perspective there is no problem so long as profits overall rise and employment overall remains within politically acceptable limits.  However, from a concrete human perspective a dying industry kills your profits (if you are the owner) and your livelihood (if you are the worker).  Since in real life it takes time and money to adjust and adapt to changing circumstances, a system in rough equilibrium overall can still damage individuals who own or work in uncompetitive industries.

Let us take an example much in the news.  According to the most recent report of the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, there are a total of 53 420 people employed in the coal mining industry in the United States, and the number is shrinking.   By contrast, in 2013 there were 143 000 people working in the solar energy field in the United States, and that figure represented a 20% increase over the previous year.  The (somewhat vaguely defined)  field of “renewable energy” as a whole employed well over 3 million Americans in 2015.  If we judge solely by the numbers the advice to coal miners is clear:  your industry is dying.  You need to leave Kentucky or West Virginia and move to California and work in a clean energy industry.

The human reality is much more complex.  People are tied to places for a complex set of reasons:  economic, cultural, familial.  It costs money to move.  Moving can be tremendously alienating.  Home has a psychological and aesthetic value to some people that cannot just be dismissed.  Family ties and responsibilities (caring for elderly relatives or children) keep people tied to a place.   Add to these challenges the fact that jobs in clean energy projects tend to demand higher levels of education than jobs in the extraction industries and we can start to see why overall equilibrium in a system can mask profound regional and local variation.  If those who are dying cannot reach those who are thriving (because they are too poor to move, or are too wed, culturally, to a place, or lack the education and are too old or sick to retrain) then their plight remains a political problem, even if, in the abstract, in a system that is growing overall, it is not an economic problem.

There was much derision directed towards Trump’s executive order that rolled back the Obama era’s legacy of environmental protection and incentives for clean energy.  No doubt, the derision is richly deserved.  But effective political criticism has to try to comprehend why a seemingly irrational policy choice was made.  Trump was not elected by Californians who make fuel cells, he was elected by (amongst others) Kentucky coal miners and unemployed steelworkers in Pennsylvania.  They voted for him because he promised to restore their industries.  The executive order was a tangible sign to them that he intends to keep his promise.

If we think of the executive order in the context of the numbers cited above, we can see that historical trends almost guarantee that it will be unsuccessful.   Capitalism depends upon technological developments opening up dynamic new sources of profitability.  Clean energy is attracting more and more capital, not because the health of the environment is recognized as an intrinsic and instrumental life-value, but because technological change is making them more viable and profitable.  Trying to revive the coal industry in this environment is like trying to protect the manual typesetting industry in the age of desk top publishing.  There are some boutique mechanical presses in the world, but as an industry manual typesetting is dead.

That does not mean that those who lost their jobs did not suffer or that their elimination is justifiable by the increase in employment opportunities in the new industry.  The problem with the abstract economic analysis of labour market dynamics is that workers are reduced to numbers:  if there are 3 jobs lost here and 10 created over there, then the system is judged good.  And, in one sense, it is, for the 10 people working, but not for the 3 people not working.  But their pain is not recognized by econometric equations, which is why we need politics.  Democratic politics is the opportunity for numbers to become people again and tell their stories, express their interests, and mobilize around their demands.

Whatever legitimate criticisms there are to make about Trump (and they are legion) he gave the appearance of responding to these stories and these concerns.   He has thus successfully exploited a division that runs through the American working class and the American ruling class, between those that are working in the remnants of nineteenth century industries like coal and those that pushing the scientific and cultural boundaries of American life.  The older industries tend to be more rooted to specific places (you cannot relocate a mine) and they thus tend to foster strong local identities and attachments.  For peculiarly American reason they also foster the most virulent strains of nationalism,  which Trump has also been able to exploit.

Capitalism is technologically dynamic, but not every capitalist is.  If they can  keep the old industry they own alive with government support they will do so, even if they decry government interference as ‘socialist’ in all other cases not affecting them.   While “progressive” capitalists (i.e., those who rely on high skilled foreign labour or hope to get subsidies for green energy research) have come out against Trump’s travel ban and executive orders around environmental protection, those still wed to older industries are happy to support both.

This political split is sowing unprecedented conflict in the American ruling class.  It seems bent right now on tearing itself in two (and not just along Republican-Democrat lines).  If this conflict is to be effectively exploited then the American left needs to coalesce around understanding what the political strategy is behind Trump’s agenda, grasping it in the context of the overall state of social and economic forces, and articulating an agenda that addresses the real concerns of workers still dependent on uncompetitive industries:  re-training, a geographically more equitable distribution of subsidies for investment in new clean industries, and worker involvement in local economic transformation for those who are in a position to leave or change careers; pensions, retirement incentives, adequate health care, and other social supports for those who cannot leave or retrain.

These concrete policies need to be underwritten by respect for people and their work histories.  Coal miners did not make coal environmentally destructive.  The dignity of their work as human labour needs to be acknowledged and their interests– including their attachments to their communities– need to be taken into account.  Abstract social forces are incapable of doing either, so we need politics to recognize and respond.  From on high it is clear that Trump and his coterie of millionaires will not ultimately serve the interests of the historically displaced, but democratic politics has to be at work on the ground.  If the people who are most damaged by dying industries believe that Trump will help them, and no one else is there to contest it, then he will be able to maintain his hegemony, even in the face of chaos, scandal, and failure.

Lessons From History III: Gadamer’s Truth and Method

I have been teaching a graduate seminar (with my colleague Stephen Pender from the Department of English) on Gadamer’s Truth and Method.  How badly do universities (and society at large)  need reminding of its central argument:  thinking is an on-going collective project in which ideas, not individual subjects, (and certainly not provincial education bureaucrats) lead!  To the number lover, the learning outcome checker, the metric man his argument will no doubt sound unintelligible, even irresponsible.  “BUT THERE IS NO OUTCOME,” they will shout!  Precisely.

And truthfully, for there is no final outcome to any real process of thought.  Where does science stop?  Where does literature stop?  Where does philosophy stop?  Art?  Our ordinary conversations?  Friendship?  The law?

“But, but, but, people need to be able to formulate well-formed sentences and draw inferences and analyze natural language expressions into their logical structures.  They need to know how to test an hypothesis and write up a lab report.  Above all they need to be able to prove to EMPLOYERS in the REAL WORLD  that they have JOB READY SKILLS.  Have a conversation on your own time.  In school, prove to the TAX PAYER  that something useful is being accomplished.”

But there are different meanings of useful.  A fork is useful, and who would argue against forks?  But being able to point out to the lover of forks that one can also eat with chop sticks, that is a different type of useful.  And being able to tease out the underlying principle– that what seems normative and unquestionable to an “us” is  questionable to a “them”  who are not necessarily wrong for being different– is also useful.  And being able to go further, to draw the us’s and them’s into conversation (as opposed to war)  so that each can explore in dialogue their differences (and perhaps discover commonalities), is more useful still, but not a mechanical result of applying a technique.  That type of usefulness requires understanding.

Before one can learn anything, even the most mundane task, one has to pay attention and give oneself over to a process that one does not control.  You cannot even tie your shoe just how you would like, but have to follow the sequence that the nature of laces demands.  If you do that, then you will learn to tie your shoes, and then will be able to tie any set of laces you subsequently encounter.

When we leave the realm of shoe tying and the like (simple tasks that can be accomplished by following rules) for the problem of understanding the natural and social world and intervening in it politically, artistically, philosophically, or scientifically, a new problem emerges.  At their highest levels (and it is at that level we should be studying them in university)  these interventions are no longer a matter of following the rules, but either extending their application to new domains, testing their efficacy and legitimacy, or inventing new rules entirely.  Someone please explain to me what the rule is for inventing new rules.

There is none, but only intellectual preparation and the productive spontaneity into which the prepared mind inserts itself.  The analytical and critical skills that everyone gets so fussed about are the ground work, the preparation that students require to start thinking for themselves, but real thinking for oneself is productive spontaneity, and it cannot be measured but only lived.

Gadamer helps us understand what living the productive spontaneity of thought means with his analysis of play, conversation, and the dialectic of question and answer. Drawing on Schiller’s Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man, Gadamer sees play as a form of activity in which, to achieve the desired outcome, the player must give themselves over to the game.  The rules of the game define the parameters of playing, but they do not determine any particular move.  Nor are moves determined imperiously by the players acting instrumentally as individuals.  Play involves creative adaptation to the state of the game:  the best players are not those who try to “force” the play but those who are able to “read it,”  i.e., see what the state of play at that moment in time permits  and encourages as the best move.  Players get caught up in the game; their creativity as players depends upon understanding the state of play at any given moment.

The value of play as a human activity is not measured by winning or losing, or individual statistics, but by the freedom we find in giving ourselves over to the process.  Freedom from what?  From the rule of narrow instrumentalism in our creative activity.  Schiller was interested in play from the standpoint of understanding how art is made.  He argued that the uniqueness of artistic production is that it is not dominated by a specific, determinate goal whose conditions of success can be specified in advance.  A craftsperson making a chair might work from blueprints and knows when the chair is finished.  The painter, by contrast, must struggle with her medium:  she might have an idea in mind when she starts out, but as the painting works itself out the original idea will evolve and develop.  In this way artistic creation depends upon the creative mind and hand allowing themselves to adapt and respond to the work as it “plays out.”

In Gadamer’s view, play not only captures the process of artistic creation, it expresses the nature of thinking.  In all genuine thinking, thinking through a problem or subject, the mind is not in control the way a driver drives a car but must give itself over to the investigation or conversation. The subject matter leads and where it will take people no one can say in advance.  Thinking is inquiry, and inquiry must go where the ideas lead.  “To conduct a conversation means to allow oneself to be conducted by the subject matter to which the partners in the dialogue are oriented.  It requires that one does not try to argue the other person down but that one really considers the weight of the other’s opinion.  Hence it is an art of testing.  But the art of testing is the art of questioning.  For we have seen to question means to lay open, to place in the open.” (Truth and Method, 2nd Revised edition, p. 367).  To lay in the open means to unsettle, and to unsettle is the condition of being receptive to different approaches living problems.

Hence, the problem with demanding a specific outcome as the sign of successful teaching is that it  turns a process of opening the real to questioning into a closed system of technical competence.  Of course, technical competence across a range of abilities is essential to all forms of human action:  there is no question here of ignoring the importance of demonstrating analytical and synthetic and critical abilities.  What Gadamer helps us see, rather, is that at the highest level thinking is not ‘for’ anything else (economic gain, political conviction, etc.,) but is required for there to be any human society at all, i.e., any context in which this or that action, this or that competence, is of any value at all.  If everything is tied down and exhausted by a technical competence whose only value is instrumental to some measurable purpose, then human life as a finite experience of being open, present, and active ceases to self-validating.  In that way it loses not only its spontaneity, but also its essential freedom in relation to its own future, which, in order to really be a future, must unfold and not be progammable in advance.

A related argument can be made in response to the attempt to reduce the value of intellectual work to the quantity of publications and citations.  The attempt to asses value independently of actually studying the work, as a function of an algorithm and not human understanding, is a species of madness only a bureaucrat or administrator could think valuable.  It is a sign of the decadence of the culture that the people who think and create for a living are seduced by this category mistake and trip over themselves to boast about their numbers on some ranking or other as if that somehow validates their work.  Will Noble Prizes now be awarded to the person with most citations each year, or the most sales, in the case of literature?

(If you are an academic and that sounds absurd, ask yourself why, and start defending peer review again).

In reality– if we can still risk the term– the quality of thought, whether scientific, philosophical, or artistic, is not a function of short term responses, but by the extent to which it identifies or overcomes problems that impede further thought and action.  Often times the most penetrating thought and the most revolutionary discoveries and creations take time to break through the barriers of established conventions and hierarchies.  To focus on some league rankings form the recent past cannot tell us anything about the future, which is where the value of creations prove themselves.

Of course, most of us are not unrecognized geniuses and most of us will fall short of ever being world-historical figures.  Nevertheless, the quality of our thought is never a function of how many people read it or cite it, but a function of how perceptive, cogent, lucid, and, yes, useful it proves to be.  In every case, quality thinking must demonstrate some degree of independence from the given.  What distinguishes the derivative and banal from the worthwhile is that however vast or small the influence, worthwhile thought brings something new to light.

To do so, the thinker has to tap into the living spontaneity of thought as that force which frees us from servitude to the given.  It is this spontaneity that Gadamer reminds us of, and it is this spontaneity that is under dire threat today.

Our Town

For my mother, on the occasion of her 70th birthday.


I’m glad to be from someplace that is a real place, not some god-forsaken suburb built on any old former farmer’s field.  I’m glad to be from someplace that’s not a destination (there is no reason to go unless you know someone) but when you’re here you know you’re not just anywhere; a place where streets end in bush that’s not for “trekking”  (whatever that is), or “cottaging,” (even worse), but bush that goes on and on.

A walk will not lead to a celebrity sighting but maybe a shot-up old car, or a bear-scratched tree, a ground-down ancient mountain, or a weedy lake.  It’s a hard place, built on rock: impacted, exploded, stretched, scoured, scarred, burned, blackened, mined, and smelted; a place of hard people: muddy boots, calloused hands sweaty in black leather mitts, thick French beards and toques, talking next to trucks, sleds in the back, getting ready to follow a trail carved from hard weather:

“How she’s goin? Goin’ out today?”

“Ya, goin to the hut on Wanapitei,”


Snow drifts against Inco Town houses.  Inside, away from the clarifying cold, or at hotels, rowdy families and friends, too much cigarette smoke and not-craft-beer in the hands of  the not-beautiful people, workers, foul-mouthed gallows humour, sardonic and cutting, salacious, maybe even cruel (to sucks, who don’t get the joke, so get it, or get lost).

Hard living (the birthday balloons didn’t go past 60), but soft hearts; wrinkles from laughing, not old age:

“Give ‘er till the end, boys, go-fuck-go,”

’til the heart attack or cancer.

In me, a hard trace still left after I shed my skin in the city.

How Do You Like The End of the Enlightenment Now?

Hoist, Own, Petard.

In his seminal essay, “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History,” Foucault inaugurated– unwittingly, perhaps– a link between radical politics and the critique of truth.  Following Nietzsche, for whom truth is always relative to a perspective (the spider’s truth is not the human being’s truth, the master’s truth is not that of the slave), Foucault argued that what passes as true at any given moment is a function of the exclusion of other possibilities, not correspondence between statement and state of affairs.  “Humanity does not gradually progress from combat to combat until it arrives at universal reciprocity, where the rule of law finally replaces warfare, humanity installs each of its violences in a system of rules and thus proceeds from domination to domination.  The nature of these rules allows violence to be inflicted on violence and the resurgence of new forces that are sufficiently strong to dominate those in power … The successes of history belong to those who are capable of seizing these rules, to replace those who had used them, to disguise themselves so as to pervert them, invert their meaning, and redirect them against those who had initially imposed them.”(p. 151)  There is no doubt that Nietzsche has identified a real historical tendency, and that this tendency calls into question any facile identification of “that which happens”  with “Progress,”  and “Progress” with “Truth.”

The linkage between the train of historical events, progress, and truth was the product of the Enlightenment critique of superstition and prejudice.  As a philosophy of history, it culminates in the work of Hegel.  If we read Marx as a materialist critic of Hegel who sought to make his dialectical understanding consistent with the actual events of history (as opposed to the stylized set-pieces of Hegel’s Phenomenology and Philosophy of History) we can see his work as a development, rather than a repudiation, of the principle that the truth is opposed to the partial, the prejudicial, the perspectival, and that it will (at least help to) set us free. Indeed, because Marx works within this framework (as opposed to a proto-Nietzschean genealogy) that  radical critics and activists were enjoined to reject his work as part of the problem by post-modern and post-structuralist thinkers who dominated critical thought from the 1970’s to the 1990’s.

That period taught that truth was the enemy of freedom, that knowledge was constituted by power for the sole end of disciplining the masses and ensuring compliant behaviour; that scientific objectivity was in reality a normalizing gaze directed against the outsider (the “Other”), and that freedom, to the extent that the term should be used, was to be found in fragments, in momentary bursts of transgression.

No doubt, as a criticism of positivism (the belief that science was the only legitimate means of understanding the world and that only that which can be quantified and measured is true), bureaucratic and administrative power, and techno-science in the service of money and imperialism these arguments opened up a new terrain of insight into the epistemic structure of oppression.  Nevertheless,  many suspected, and rightly, that an ironic fate lay in store for a politics that sought to break the connection between freedom and truth. (See my Critical Humanism and the Politics of Difference).   For if all knowledge is really a power/knowledge complex, then it  follows that critical thought is just another form of power (as indeed Nietzsche says it is) and therefore not legitimate on the grounds that it brings hidden realities to light.  If the problem is objective truth, i.e., if truths are made objective by power but are not objective in themselves, then it follows that opposition movements not only do not have truth on their side, they should not want truth on their side, because truth is the ally of disciplinary power.

We are now reaping the ironic effects of this critique of truth.  While I agree with little else that Jodi Dean has to say about political strategy, she is surely correct in this insight, drawn even before the advent of The Trump Show:  “the prominence of politically active Christian fundamentalists, Fox News, and the orchestrations of Bush advisor Karl Rove all demonstrate the triumph of postmodernism.  These guys take social construction– packaging, marketing, and representation– absolutely seriously.  They put it to work.”(Democracy and Other Neo-Liberal Fantasies, p. 7).  Trump’s universe of ‘alternative facts”  and “fake news” adds the crucial dimensions of playfulness and theatre to the thesis of the social construction of truth and reality.  What Trump et.al., understand, which the postmodern left never fully appreciated, is that if power and knowledge coincide, then those with power can use it to de-legitimate opposition forces, who find their claims:  about poverty, or racism, or climate change– dismissed as the self-interested product of contemptuous elitist expert opinion.  If objective truth is always the product power, and power itself seizes this argument to attack its opponents, what grounds are left for a response?

The Truth Shall Still (Help) Set Us Free

Donald Trump is the very apotheosis of postmodern values.  He transgresses the norms of the American Presidency, he is playful and ironic, he mocks, jokes and is sarcastic; he collapses the distinctions between public and private, paints scientific consensus as an elite formation and its critics as bold (transgressive?) outsiders.  He is openly contemptuous of the ‘establishment’ horrified by his refusal to play by the rules.  At the same, time he is an old school bigot and xenophobe, an opponent of everything the postmodern left stood for:  toleration, the free proliferation of differences, an experimental approach to life, playful rejection of fixed identities and binary oppositions.  That Trump is the logically consistent outcome of the politics implied by the critique of objective truth tells us that the problem was not truth, but power.  That is, the argument that  power and knowledge always formed a complex, that speaking truth depended upon the power to exclude other possibilities that could equally well be true if they had power on their side, was politically naive.  It failed to see how this argument could (and now is)  used to undercut the authority of claims about how reality is oppressive, on a dangerous environmental arc, undemocratic, and so on.

The Enlightenment conception of truth was always broader than natural science and more open to difference than its critics thought. (See my Re-Thinking Enlightenment Universalism in the Age of Right Wing Atavism).  Its essential political claim was that one could discern a trajectory in history towards making political power accountable to demonstrable facts.  Does the king really rule by the grace of god?  Prove it.  Is European civilization superiour to other civilizations?  Prove it.  The truth shall set us free not because it is the ally of power, but rather because it demands that power be made accountable to something that is not just another power, but is impartial between all political possibilities:  the facts of the matter.  The hope was to discover means of peaceful social transformation, or to provide absolute legitimacy for revolution when those in power would not yield to the demonstrated facts (that their regimes were corrupt and collapsing).

We must avoid a naive realism or kowtow to natural science as omni-explanatory, especially as regards what is ethically and politically true.  The goals of history are not to be discovered by reducing action to behaviour and behaviour to our genetic code.  If we want to understand human history we need to understand human history, not Bonobo hordes.  At the same time, there are material foundations to truth claims in history that political struggles must appeal to for their justification.  These facts concern the structures of deprivation that people have faced and face:  in their struggles is the proof that deprivation is real and harmful.  The values worth fighting for are found in the facts of life, but the facts of human life are not abstractly natural, but also social, cultural, and political.

History records the successes of this general understanding of the linkage between political struggle, justice, and demonstrated truth about the harms of deprivation.  Civil, political, and social rights, including the rights of sexual, gendered, racial, and ethnic minorities; the democratization of politics and social life, unions, increasing material equality, anti-imperialism, de-colonization, environmental legislation…  Every one of these victories turned on empirical-historical-political proofs that a given group of people was really suffering; that a given chemical really was destroying animal or human life; that an economic reform that shifted money from profits to public investment really did alleviate poverty; that blacks and women really could do anything white men could do; that the practices of a given society were in logical conflict with its principles…  In comparison, what have been the achievements of the postmodern left?

The response that their criticisms have been taken over and twisted by the right wing is no defense.  Return to the quotation from Foucault above.  Taking things over and twisting them is just what the powerful do.  Trump is unassailable to his supporters just because they do not make the comparison between what he says and what is demonstrably the case in material reality.  They fail to discipline their thoughts against reality.  And:  they love the show.

Here is a final bit of demonstrable historical reality:  the subaltern have fared better when they did not play games but demanded that the powerful justify their wealth and authority against the facts of the matter.  When combined with organized mass movement, disciplined behind a democratically decided program, focused on long-term structural changes rather than spectacle and media attention, they have won.  The achievements of democratic forces, of feminism, the civil rights movement, the union movement, the gay and lesbian liberation movement, First Nations’ movements, the disabled rights movement and global anti-colonial struggles from the American Revolution onward are the facts that prove my point.

Indigenous Knowledge and Intercultural Dialogue

My previous post concerned some qualms I have about the ways in which Canadian universities are advertising positions asking for applicants to demonstrate how they will incorporate “indigenous knowledge”  into their courses.  As I was finishing that post, I received an email from Bruce Ferguson, an Algonquin philosophy student.  He was writing me as part of a an independent project he had undertaken to canvas Canadian philosophers about their understanding of and disposition towards indigenous philosophy.  The serendipity was spooky.  I told him about the post I just happened to have been working on, and he took the time to post a long thoughtful comment.  It can be found in its original form in the comments section of that post.  Since Bruce’s whole point in writing the philosophical community was to start a dialogue, I tried to respond at length to his substantive points.  With Bruce’s permission, I have re-produced his original intervention and my responses (in italics).

White people can’t teach indigenous philosophy! What?
Posted on February 4, 2017 by maqua2017


I recently started a research project that concerned itself with the clear lack of strategies and plans in which philosophy departments across Canada interact with Indigenous Traditional Knowledge, contemporary Indigenous Thought and ideas about how to systematically study the system of Indigenous thought and then the stupid question of whether indigenous though “qualifies” as philosophy.

This “stupid question” is often also asked of eastern philosophy.  If you were to make the comparison, I think you would find, with few exceptions, (Brock in St. Catherines and the University of Hawaii do take “comparative” philosophy seriously) that  Eastern Philosophy is generally treated as religion or spirituality.  Indigenous thought likewise (and also African philosophy).  Since the beliefs are often not expressed in propositional form, but as overarching world views, they are often not taken seriously as philosophy, because not articulated as arguments.  But of course much of the most important Western philosophy also uses allegory, myth, and metaphor to communicate overarching world views: Plato, most importantly, the long complex histories of Christian, Jewish, and Islamic philosophy, many ecological and eco-feminist philosophies (which often derive inspiration and content from indigenous knowledge); Nietzsche and existentialist thought).  

I literally sent emails to every philosopher I could find listed in a philosophy department website of the post-secondary institutions listed by the Canadian Philosophy Association. While receiving encouragement and thoughts, observations and so forth from professors I noticed an emerging set of themes; self-disqualifying statements,lack of time statements, a few guarded statements of disinterest but mostly (and shockingly) a political sensitivity – privileging the idea that only indigenous people can teach indigenous thought – a trend that I do not agree with and will argue as misplaced and unnecessary.

I think there are two issues with the disavowal of ability.  The innocuous one and one that is true, is that most of us have no education in indigenous thought, either as regards its content or its form (the importance and veracity of oral traditions, how to interpret myths, what to make of the integration of what from a scientific perspective are totally distinct realms of material structure—lands and waters—and symbolic-meaningful cultural systems).  If there is such a thing as indigenous knowledges-  and I think there is-  it has a different structure than western philosophy and science which are, in the main, literalist, written, empirical-logical, and falsifiable or refutable.  The second, and more problematic, might be—and I emphasise might-  a polite way of saying:  I know what I know and I do not want to bother learning, or trying to learn, anything fundamentally different.

In addition to misplaced political sensitivity is the problem of workload and priorities. Philosophers engaged in academia are very busy ensuring their responsibilities to the department are met, they are engaged with students at the level of teaching philosophy and forming “next generation philosophers”. Administration, evaluating students, career and academic interests and priorities all work towards philosophers who are too busy to do philosophy because of a demanding education system. We non-academic types “get it”.


Now here’s the emerging paradigm; Non-indigenous teachers cannot teach indigenous knowledge. – a statement I consider to be pure political and academic rhetoric.

I would repeat my two points above.  I think that you are right in one sense, but not in the other.  In principle non-indigenous scholars can learn and teach indigenous knowledges, I agree, but that would require much learning on our part (and maybe learning such a we are not used to—from elders not from books). It is/would be a big challenge.

So, why would I be against this well meaning and emerging paradigm? Simply because it is misleading, it indirectly validates the other side of the intellectual colonization coin. So let me get into explaining my thoughts on this.

I sense that this kind of political statement is influenced by the indigenous struggle for equality in Canada as well as the development and articulation of indigenous scholars in the sciences and social sciences. The territories of the humanities [philosophy] as a discipline versus the emerging territories of Indigenous studies all coming into conflict with one another and making for a politically sensitive environment that distracts from the role of teaching, learning and developing. I think both disciplines are too focused on themselves and ought to consider inter-disciplinary approaches as a balanced way to explore indigenous philosophy not to appropriate the philosophy but to develop some anchor of understanding that is qualified by relational statements such as “to the best of my experiential knowledge, cultural ability and limits within my life” and this is also true for me as an indigenous person. I can only make limited truth claims that relate to my own experience and shared experiences I have with my group in the human species. Beyond that, the possibilities of meta-analysis of emerging knowledge due to approaches such as ethno-philosophy can then reach beyond socio-cultural and experiential limits I sense (but am not certain of).

I think these points are well-made.  In work I did more than a decade ago (Critical Humanism and the Politics of Difference) I was interested in exploring the common values beneath the different cultural systems in which people live and interpret their lives.  I focused on different groups in struggle (both within and outside the Global North) and abstracted the common themes that emerged.  The overwhelming commonality was that all asserted a right to self-determination and focused on some underlying shared conditions of achieving this goal (control over land and resources, economic forces and political institutions).  I claimed that these underlying conditions framed a core set of human needs (which I have explored in more detail in later work) and thus a core humanity, expressed different in different times and places.  Despite the differences, cross-cultural understanding and political solidarity is possible, because we can each interpret the other from the shared perspective of needs and conditions of self-determination.  Nevertheless (and I probably did not emphasise this aspect enough in the early work), cultural differences are real, and globally enriching, to the extent that they do not depend upon the oppression and domination of others.  The condition of realizing this value is intercultural dialogue and mutual learning, from a framework of equality (as I think you are also suggesting).   


The misplaced sensitivity held by non-indigenous philosophers in this regard ( often encouraged by political rhetoric of indigenous academics who are forging out boundaries to protect their discipline(s) which are often an inter-disciplinary approach with all subjects indigenous) is that it puts a strangle hold on gathering and sharing knowledge; it is an indirect silencer of free speech and thinking, it is a dangerous precedent for a nation that values freedom One professor – in response to my emails – wrote back to me indicating a great interest in promoting and supporting indigenous philosophy in the academy; she discussed this with her indigenous colleagues but was told that her areas of study do not intersect in any way with indigenous philosophy and she could not be of help! How do these indigenous professors/teachers know this, how can they make this as a truth claim? The apparent messaging of these indigenous professors does nothing more than to promote the other side of the intellectual colonization picture. (And I am aware that I am responding to what I heard as a secondary source I have not heard this directly, so this statement is in no way judgemental of those indigenous academics – I treat this as a scenario or thought experiment).

This point raises an important underlying philosophical problem about solidarity:  what if the type of solidarity demanded by the historically oppressed group is passive; i.e., letting the oppressed have their space to find and articulate their voice.  I have no problem with this approach in the sense that one of the key aspects of oppression is loss of voice, not being able to peak in your own voice, and one of the things that non-indigenous members of the academy need to do is to make sure that our efforts to create space for indigenous scholars do not substitute for their efforts and voices.  Well-meaning attempts to broaden perspectives can reasonably be seen as appropriating voice if they are not combined with serious institutional efforts to change the composition of the professoriate.  I think that criticisms of solidarity can go too far, as when some members of oppressed groups argue that it is impossible to understand reality from their perspective and that the only solution is separation of some sort or other (some radical feminists in the 1960’s made this argument, the Nations of Islam make similar arguments vis-à-vis relationships between white and black America.  I take it from your position you would reject separatism, but I think the more limited demand for passive solidarity:  (Let us speak our own voice!!) must be respected by non-Indigenous academics, at least until the composition of the academy has changed more fully).

However, if certain academics believe in what I like to refer to as an academic ghetto of inherent rights to a monopoly on certain discipline then what is the danger here? Nothing less than strangling knowledge! How do we know what intersects with what? The apparent statements from the indigenous scholars imply to me that they have either bought into traditional western divisions of knowledge; perhaps they do not see the validity in promoting a holistic and inter-disciplinary approach that much better reflects an indigenous methodology in gathering knowledge. The approach that is inclusion of all in the creation of ways of understanding what everyone is thinking within our limited ability as humans. Whatever the reason is, I would argue that it is wrong to promote the idea that only indigenous professors can teach indigenous philosophy.

Possibly, but might they not also be saying that prior to a productive inter-cultural dialogue, indigenous thinkers need time and space to think and talk amongst themselves.  Is the division permanent, or a precondition that can one day be dropped once conditions of equality (material, institutional, etc.,)  have been achieved?

Saying that though, there is no excuse for the academies to avoid hiring indigenous scholars because it is precisely that socio-cultural and experiential knowledge that helps a teacher delve further into the subject of indigenous thought, bringing it home as it were. It is an indigenous professor that can bring the non-native student deeper into an indigenous experience. I don’t think the majority of professionally trained philosophers would disagree with that.

I think this argument is dead on.  Real equality of voice and inter-cultural learning requires the presence of members of indigenous nations in the academy (just as the transformation of scholarship that feminism has produced and is producing required the presence of women).


The position promoting “indigenous only” professors to teach indigenous philosophy is not just a power grab for resources, it is an inauthentic and unnecessary condition for philosophy departments to be avoiding the taking on “indigenous philosophy. Are indigenous academics prepared to live the consequences of this separatist position? If only indigenous peoples can teach indigenous philosophy, then does it follow that only western people (white) can teach western philosophy? I don’t think so; in fact, the other danger that comes in this statement is one of indoctrination and not education.

A very important point.  Certainly it would undermine the deep value of including other voices if those voices were then limited to speaking only what the existing authorities are prepared to hear:  the indigenous thought in some sort of ‘authentic” expression, but not interventions on his this thought re-contextualises and forces a re-thinking of the authoritative tradition.  It would also rule out—as you note-  indigenous scholars teaching whatever they happen to want or have expertise in, and that would be just another form of suffocating confinement and exclusions.  The Argentinian-Mexican philosophy Enrique Dussel has some important things to say about what the western philosophical canon looks like when viewed from the perspective of the Global South.   

In the 80’s I was asked by my anthropology professor what was it about me that made me “Indian” (the terms we used back in the day). I could not think of anything that “made” me Indian as I thought everyone else thought like me, I was not sensitive to my own reality. When I told the professor that I did not know, he proceeded with a litany of observations he had about me that was particularly native (if one can anthropologically define “nativeness”). Anyways, he said, how I wrote my papers, how I participated in groups, how I treated others, how I respectfully challenge the establishment of the 80s and so forth gave me away as aboriginal. Go figure.

An additional danger to education by the assertion that “only indigenous philosophers can teach indigenous philosophy” is the lack of a third and “objective” party that can look at indigenous knowledge from a non-indigenous perspective. So, as an indigenous person, there are two take away points for us to consider with regards to the separatist position stated above; (1) Am I not qualified to teach western philosophy because I do not come from the cultural and scientific roots of that philosophy and (2) what are the costs tom my intellectual development by not experiencing objective and third party, western and eastern philosophical input into class discussions, thinking and so forth. Indigenous people must avoid intellectual ghetto’s where we only hear our side of the story. Indoctrination via university education has gone on far too long in the academic establishment and the issue of indigenous academia brings an opportunity to deconstruct that bias for academic indoctrination for community based involvement in the development of knowledge.

I think that your idea of knowledge networks helps avoid these dangers.  Networks interconnect different elements each of which, in becoming part of the network, influences the whole, without losing its unique and particular function.  In the case of knowledge networks, since that which is brought into networked connection are reflective individuals, any genuine network would promote learning and change in all the parties.  I suppose that if indigenous thought is to remain living it cannot simply about the past and present, but will also grow and develop, in complex and critical interaction with European and North American traditions and disciplines.  Those traditions too can learn about their own partiality and blind-spots through real dialogue with indigenous thought, but also, learn something new about the world it sometimes claims to have already mastered.   Beyond mutual learning, one can see the possibility of new forms of hybrid thought develop which (perhaps) eventually grow beyond their particularist cultural origins towards a new human comprehensiveness.


Philosophy and indigenous philosophy should no longer be the sphere of the lone western white male academic, the rest of us have arrived, we want to be taken seriously and we want our ideas analyzed and critiqued from all angles and that includes western bodies of knowledge, scientific scrutiny and so forth. The critique forces us as indigenous philospher-thinkers to dig deeper into our arguments, find ways in which we can validate our arguments in the face of western and eastern academia.

I think this point is very well put.  It is the utmost disrespect to not engage with it critically and to respectfully question it:  for the sake of deeper understanding.  We spare children the full force of criticism because if we clip their wings to early they will cease to grow.  But dialogue between mature cultures and people has to involve criticism, just because no perspective or theory is fully adequate or comprehensive.  The key is to make sure that there is institutional equality (which means that indigenous thought is respected as a complex symbolic mediation of the natural and social world and not some feel good new-agey ‘spirituality’  that white people can drape themselves in to feel better about themselves.

Finally, non-indigenous professors should adopt the idea that they can teach indigenous philosophy in the sense of explaining what they understand the key concepts to be, they can adapt indigenous metaphysical claims (like they adapt other claims from western academic sources) to make their arguments, they can facilitate and challenge indigenous students to dig deeper and look harder through introducing native students to non-native thought and that includes eastern philosophy as well.

This is an important challenge to us all.  I think that if we can learn to teach Greek metaphysics (which was articulated in cultural world very different from our own)  we can learn to teach indigenous thought in the way that you suggest.  I would add that pushing ourselves (white academics) to expand our courses to include indigenous philosophy cannot be seen as sufficient, but only one part of a broader struggle to make the academy more reflective of the cultural etc., complexity of the country.  In philosophy that means learning about Eastern and Islamic philosophy as much as it means learning about indigenous thought.  And, to reiterate, it also means allowing indigenous scholars to develop whatever expertise they want to develop as scholars.   I think your final two paragraphs sum matters up in an appropriately philosophical way, so I leave them as the final words (but not absolutely final, of course. 

I have come to the belief that the nature of the societal trend called “political correctness” has no place in philosophy, it is in the nature of political correctness enforced by political pressure and legal mechanism to silence thought in society and therefore is dangerous. No matter who the source (and many of our people are benefiting by the politics of political correctness) we ought to see the danger of the politically correct theme within the emerging paradigm of “only indigenous people can teach indigenous thought”, which is a very dangerous road to travel.

Finally, non-indigenous professors are quite correct in understanding the limits imposed upon them by not being indigenous with regards to teaching indigenous philosophy; they can’t teach it as an indigenous professor can BUT they can offer things the indigenous professor cannot offer, critique, analysis, challenging our people to think deeper and argue better, these are gifts the non-indigenous teacher can bring to us and I say ‘bring it on!” Please let’s replace political correctness with academic integrity, old fashion courteousness and above all respect in it’s full academic expression.

The Wish to be a Red Indian

If one were only an Indian, instantly alert, and on a racing horse, leaning against the wind, kept on quivering jerkily over the quivering ground, until one shed one’s spurs, for there needed no spurs, threw away the reins, for there needed no reins, and hardly saw that the land before one was smoothly shorn heath when horse’s neck and head would be already gone.

(Franz Kafka, “The Wish to be a Red Indian” Meditations, 1904-1912)

Kafka’s meditation is a brilliant evocation of untrammelled natural freedom and a model of poetic brevity.  It is not a documentary record of “Red Indian” life but the expression of a need to occupy open spaces.   The drama plays out not on the Great Plains but in Kafka’s head, in his room in the Jewish Quarter of Prague (which is everything the Great Plains are not:  cramped, twisty streets, confined, bustling).  Kafka’s wish is to be unfettered, to be free from everything constructed and mechanical (the rider needs no reins or spurs; by the end  even the horse itself is dissipating into into pure motion).  The wish is perhaps not to be some particular other, but, to become one with space and time, pure forward motion.

In that respect it goes beyond the typical sort of European fantasy projection that has informed, since Jacques Cartier kidnapped Dom Agaya and Taignoagny from Hochelaga and took them to France, the European construction of the native as “noble savage.”  Kafka’s wish clearly trades on some of this construction, but also dissolves it into the pure freedom of movement.  It is not the ritual, or the dress (there is no description of the rider at all) or the cosmology that elicits the wish, but rather the space  (and thus the freedom to move through it), that summons Kafka’s imagination.

Deadly irony, then that Kafka was writing this “meditation” at time when that very freedom of movement towards the endless horizon of the Plains had been robbed from their original inhabitants.  After the Indian Wars in the United States and the Northwest Rebellion in Canada, after the destruction of bison herds that were the foundation of the Prairie economy, on those plains and in the cities that colonialism created, a more prosaic reality ruled and rules still:  the reality of displacement, marginalization, racist hatred, poverty, and, violence.  But also:  a history of resilience and creativity, political struggle and demands for redress and social transformation, and also calls for solidarity, not separation, and self-change on the part of the descendants of the European colonizers who have (unequally of course) materially benefited so much from colonization.

An important step towards recognition of the reality of Canadian colonial history and a new political relationship with the people of the First Nations was the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.  One of the demands that it made was for a re-thinking of the teaching of Canadian history in particular and educational curricula in general, at all levels, to incorporate indigenous knowledges.  I think this demand is valuable for three reasons:  1) it will present a more comprehensive, and therefore, truer account of how Canada came to be;  2) by presenting a truer account of our history, it will give people the knowledge that they need to overcome the racist stereotypes that still dominate too many white Canadians’ images of people of the First Nations; and 3) it will contest the myth of the ‘noble savage’ naturally at one with nature, and remind people that First Nations’ communities always were and are human cultures with complex symbolic structures and thoughtful relationships to the environment and each other.

Still, as important as the task of re-thinking our history and reforming our curricula is, I worry that it is becoming abstracted from the deeper structural changes a full reconciliation with First Nations communities will require.  Let me give you and example to illustrate my concern.

Recently, I was asked by a former student to write a letter of support for an academic position for which he had he applied.  I noticed an addition to the usual boiler plate about commitment to equity.  The relevant section of the ad reads that the successful candidate will have a  “demonstrated understanding of the ways in which equity, indigenous knowledge, and sustainability are  fundamental to the student experience, to innovative scholarship …”   While there is nothing objectionable in itself about this requirement, I could not shake feeling supremely bothered by it.

On the one hand, there is the usual institutional hypocrisy of these requirements.  At the same time as all universities insist upon equity and sustainability, they trip over themselves to attract private funding, often from corporations who could care less about either, and all of which, no matter what their internal culture, drive the capitalist system and its exploitative, alienating, and habitat destroying effects on people, other species, and the environment generally.

But there was something especially irksome about the inclusion of “indigenous knowledge.”  It is not that I think, as someone who lives within the self-enclosed world of the academy, that historically oppressed people have no business demanding that curricula change to include their previously excluded realities.  Curricula should always be changing to ensure ever more comprehensive scope of coverage and understanding.  If universities want to be at the forefront of progressive social change (and they should)  then academics have a responsibility to rethink what they are teaching and find ways to include the excluded.  To be sure, academics must be in charge of these developments so that the changes are made in a way that coheres with the disciplinary traditions and methods that students still need to know, but the demand itself is legitimate and in keeping with the vocation of the university to make available to students the totality of human knowledge in its on-going development.

So what bugged me? The first problem is that the very idea of “indigenous knowledge”  as a generic universal seems to me to be the product of a European perspective.  Indigenous people are not “indigenous,”  save in contrast to settlers and their descendants.  In their own communities– which would be the ground and source of their knowledge– they are Cree, or Iroquois, or Dene, or Inuit.  Clearly, no one who is not form those communities is going to understand, from the inside, the details, the nuances, and especially the meaning of their specific worldviews.  The abstraction “indigenous knowledge”  thus negates the nature of indigenous knowledge, which is not generic, but always specific to actual indigenous communities.

(Is this not true also of “Europe?”  In a sense it is, but its scientific-philosophical outlook has always been cosmopolitan and universalizing.  It is true that we can identify general differences between French, English, and German philosophy, for example, but most of these philosophers would also identify with a pan-European philosophical project.  That point would apply with even greater truth to the sciences).

The abstract generality of the requirement leads directly to the second thing about it that bugged me.  I have worked in universities for 20 years and studied in them for 10 before that.  First Nations people and their historical knowledges are underrepresented everywhere.  It is overwhelmingly likely that none of the people who wrote this ad were  members of any First Nation.  Who, then, is fit to adjudicate the extent to which any applicant (most of whom almost certainly will be white), is or is not well enough versed in “indigenous knowledge”  to incorporate it in to their teaching practice?  Is this not a case of the colonizer (even if unwittingly)  defining for the colonized the very knowledges that define them?

But then I think:  surely the implications of my being irked are absurd.  One does not have to be a woman to understand that curricula have to include women’s perspectives.  Thus, by analogy, one does not have to be a member of a First Nation in order to understand the need to include First Nations’ perspectives.  I suppose there is some truth here.  Understanding the value of a perspective is different from sharing or living that perspective.

Still, it seems true that with some forms of understanding, inhabiting the perspective is part of what it really means to understand it.  I could read about the cosmology of the Iroquois, for example, even talk with elders about it, and I am sure I could learn to explain it, but if I did not grow up relating to the universe through that cosmology, I would not say that I understood it.  Is the “indigenous knowledge”  my learning to explain it, or is it the living the life from within the set of beliefs?  I would say the later.

So I suppose that what is bothering me here is the (probably) unintentional presentation of ‘indigenous knowledge’ as something that non-indigenous academics can just “pick up”  and mechanically build into their curriculum and that the mechanical addition makes us white academics satisfied that we have incorporated  “indigenous knowledge.”  That is not enough, of course, any more than it would have been enough for male academics to be satisfied that they had included women’s perspectives had they just grafted a “feminism unit” on to their courses, but otherwise failed to hire women.  If there is to be a genuine incorporation of indigenous knowledge into the academy, then the academy is going to have to invest seriously in First Nations’ scholars.  In the same way that the academy has been transformed (and the project is not yet complete) by feminism, which could not transform disciplines until there was a critical mass of female academics, so too the organic incorporation of the perspectives and knowledges and life-ways of the various First Nations can only be accomplished by similarly transforming the composition of the professoriate and student body.

Just as conservatives prophesied that feminism would destroy academic integrity and rigor, so too will conservatives rail against “indigenization.”  But just as feminism brought new perspectives to bear on traditional subjects, expanding their scope, not destroying them, so too will the knowledge of different indigenous communities expand but not destroy existing disciplines.  But that means having indigenous scholars across disciplines, and not only in Indigenous Studies programs, all of whom can cross traditions in the academy, speaking in their own voice within and against the voice of the disciplines in which they work.

Of course, that too is only a partial step in transforming the colonial history of the country.  The bigger issues concern land claims, honouring the treaties, and working out some means of systematically compensating the peoples of the First Nations for the material losses colonialism imposed upon them.