Elements of Indigenous Style. Gregory Younging

Elements of Indigenous Style. Gregory Younging

The subtitle of Elements of Indigenous Style is A Guide for Writing By and About Indigenous Peoples. I read this book to learn what is appropriate and what is not, as the two fiction books I’m now writing include references to Indigenous Peoples and are set on Indigenous territory. After reading, I made revisions to my manuscript. Younging wrote this edition in 2018, so it may already need updating as, in Canada especially, much is changing rapidly with regard to how Indigenous and non-Indigenous people work together. I highly recommend this book to writers, editors, students, and anyone interested in reconciliation; in fact, we all should read it because we are in relationship with Indigenous People and need to be much more aware. I’m not re-writing the book here, just providing a sampling and speaking to a few key points.

Naming

Merging the name of his Cree mother (Young) and his Chinese father (Ing), Younging forged his own identity. I appreciate this, as I created my own name, Hawkin. It means “kin of hawks” and expressed my need for freedom following my divorce. I was neither my father’s daughter nor my ex-husband’s wife, but was searching for self. I identified strongly with the hawks who lived nearby in Ontario and still identify with birds of prey.

About Gregory Younging

Younging died in May 2019 at the age of fifty-eight, and was posthumously awarded the Association of Canadian Publishers President’s Award. You can read more about his achievements here. He was a member of the Opaskwayak Cree Nation in northern Manitoba, and managing editor/publisher of Theytus Books in Penticton, British Columbia, for many years. Theytus Books was the first Indigenous-owned publishing house in Canada and continues to publish Indigenous authors. Gregory Younging also taught at UBC Okanagan and served as assistant director of research to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

As I said, I learned much from this book. He includes appendixes, case studies, and twenty-two principles of style. Here are a few key points to consider that struck me.

Characteristics of Contemporary Indigenous Literature

Contemporary Indigenous Literature gives authority to all voices rather than one; as well as the voices of animals, and messages given by spirits and natural phenomenon; and it crosses circular time—ancient past, present, future. These characteristics come from the work of Anishinaabe author, Kim Blaeser (13).

Protocols for working in Collaboration

Non-Indigenous authors, or, Indigenous authors writing about a nation that is not their own, should enter into a relationship with that source nation, get permission, and negotiate mutually agreeable terms. Younging stresses collaboration and the need to always ask in an appropriate way. For example, when I studied at Trent University, the Protocol was to respectfully offer tobacco to an Elder or Teacher if you wanted to ask a question. If the person accepted it, they could help, and you had permission to engage. Younging writes that the Protocol is still to ask respectfully and offer a gift, but tobacco might not be the right gift. You need to find out what’s appropriate by asking around the community or asking the Elder. Then listen. Finally, give them the right to read your text before publication.

Awareness of Sources

I appreciate the chapter on terminology because much of this has changed since I studied in the nineties. Also, in some classes, we used texts written by archaeologists or anthropologists who viewed Indigenous Peoples as static cultures of a distant past. That is not the case. Indigenous Cultures are resilient, adaptive, dynamic, and distinct. If you use content published by anthropologists or historians be aware that the author likely did not follow Protocols, and translations often use stereotypical language and concepts. For example, the anthropological theory that Indigenous Peoples migrated across the Bering Strait to North America is not part of The Oral Traditions of The People.

Terminology to use and not to use

A few words to be wary of using are artifact, band (use the People), clan (unless it’s a particular Clan System, pagan/heathen, land claim (use Indigenous title), legends/myths/tales (use Oral Traditions), self-government (use self-determination). Aboriginal is an adjective only and is being replaced by Indigenous.

Many words in our everyday vocabulary are of Indigenous origin, though we assume they’re English. Here’s a partial list: canoe, hammock, igloo, kayak, potato, raccoon, skunk, squash, tomato. Also many place names have Indigenous origin including the provinces of Manitoba and Saskatchewan. Alternatively, explorers and settlers renamed places after themselves or their foreign sovereign (investor) in many cases as a means of claiming territory for the colonizing country.

First Nations, Inuit, and Métis

In Canada, the government recognizes “First Nations, Inuit, and Métis.” First Nations is a political term that refers to someone from a First Nation. Inuit means “The People” and refers to The People who live in the Arctic. Métis is both a noun (she is Métis) and adjective (Métis heritage). The term Métis is complex as it has three possible meanings.

1) Métis means “mixed race” in French and refers to those who were involved in the Red River Resistance and their descendents. They may speak French, English, and/or Michif. Note it’s termed the Red River Resistance, not rebellion.

2) Someone may identify as Metis (without accent) if they are English-speaking people of mixed Indigenous and non-Indigenous ancestry. For example, my great grandfather’s father was Dutch and his mother was Tuscarora (a nation who moved north and were adopted into the Haudenosaunee).

3) Métis (with accent) can also be used by those who do not descend from Red River.

Use of Traditional Names

Use Traditional Names that The People use to refer to their distinct nation—Anishinaabe, Haudenosaunee, Nuu’chah’nulth, Mi’Kmaq, Gitxsan, and so on. Younging writes: “Names are part of the way we render identity” (91). Be particular and precise. Many of us acknowledge the name of the Traditional Territory on which we’ve settled and use it in our email signature: Settled on unceded Stó:lō territory—Ts’elxwéyeqw (Chilliwack) and Se:máth (Sumas) tribes

Capitalization

Indigenous style uses capital letters where non-Indigenous writers/editors may not—Survivor, Chief, Clan, Elder, Indigenous Voice, the Longhouse as an institution, Midewiwin, Oral Tradition, Seven Fires, Sundance, Sweat Lodge, Vision Quest, Warrior Society, Wampum Belt, Traditional Knowledge. I see this as a positive way of showing honour and respect.

Possession

The Dispossessed: Life and Death in Native Canada by Geoffrey York was one of the first books I read, and it’s always stuck with me. York was a journalist with the Globe and Mail in Toronto. He wrote about the legacy of abuses from land grabs, to diseases, to residential schools, to reserve land that afforded The People little to nothing. They were dispossessed of their land and culture. They are now reclaiming, so when you’re writing, it’s important not to imply Indigenous Peoples are “owned” or “possessed” by Euro-colonial states. They are not Canada’s Indigenous Peoples. Also, use present tense rather than past. The Nuu’chah’nulth potlatch or hold potlatches, not the Nuu’chah’nulth held potlatches.

Younging’s guide is political. It’s complex and much to absorb. As a former high school English teacher, I suggest this book be used in humanities classes. Younging has titled this book with an obvious poke at Elements of Style, an American English writing style guide written by William Strunk Jr. in 1918, that’s still used by high school and university students. It’s time to change it up and expand our awareness of how language informs thought and thought informs language, as both inform culture and cultural prejudices. Even those of a subtle kind.

Noopiming — The Cure For This White Lady

Noopiming — The Cure For This White Lady

Chi’miigwech to my friend Tamara at Western Sky Books for putting this book in my hands last Sunday and to Leanne Betasamosake Simpson for writing this cure. Easy now, white ladies, the cure is a response to one Susanna Moodie, whose Roughing It In the Bush (1852) is a racist, colonial, settler account of her arrival in her New World. I read the aforementioned text in 1997 and wrote in my journal: “Moodie is a classist and racist—not my idea of Canadian classic literature.” (Yes, I have journals that date back to the early 90s.). I downloaded Moodie’s text for free on Kindle (cause why pay for something like that) and tried to read it again just to compare this to that, but I couldn’t get beyond the first chapter of Moodie’s vehement verbosity. She starts out by slamming the Irish immigrants and moves on from there. Nothing but perfect white homes and sun rippling on water suits Mrs. Pastoral Moodie.

While Moodie uses far too many words to describe her dissatisfaction with “the bush,” Simpson sprinkles her text with enough Ojibwe words to make we want to enrol in an Anishinaabemowin language course. (And forgive me if I use these terms in the wrong way. I’m trying, and hate being only a zhaaganaash.) I knew a few Anishinaabe words before I read this text and I know a few more now. I finished the paperback last night and then, this morning, I went through the whole text using the online Ojibwe People’s Dictionary Simpson recommends in her Author’s Notes, while eating pancakes and maple syrup and thinking of home and Niinatig, the Maple Tree. I penciled in the translations where needed. I apologize, Tara. I know you hate my margin notes. But I’m an academic at heart and need to know. Still, I refuse to look stuff up online when I’m settling into dreamland with a good book; hence the need for a breakfast session.

Anishinaabemowin is a beautiful language that interweaves people, land, weather, culture, and feelings in a soft, gentle, musical rhythm. For example, Makwa Giiziis is the Moon When Bears Wake Up — much better than February, don’t you think? Minomiin Giizis is the Moon of Wild Rice — August or September depending where you live. That connection to what’s happening on the land makes me feel soft and warm inside. That’s how I feel as I read this book, actually. There’s quiet gentle healing here and a good dose of sarcastic “haha” humour (which as we know is healing in itself.)

I’m reading the sign and letting the 4:45 a.m. departure time sink in, sipping the lemon water in the shitty plastic cup, when he approaches me with all the confidence the trifecta of obliviousness and delusion and patriarchy can provide.

We talk about things, but not really, because I can’t remember who he is.

He tells me he’s the director general of Indian Affairs and sometimes I have a poker face and sometimes I just have a face.

He is so clean and shiny. I’m in flannel plaid pyjama pants with a not-matching plaid flannel shirt because who gives a fuck. He has a bureaucratic overcoat and adult shoes that require regular neoliberal maintenance. I’m in bare feet. He looks like he’s lived in Ottawa for too long. I look like I’ve lived in Peterborough for too long (179).

I grew up on Anishinaabe territory (along the north shore of Lake Ontario) later lived near Lake Scugog, and then went to Trent University near the aforementioned city of Peterborough, where I learned from traditional teachers and Elders. If I were ever to move back to Ontario that is where I would settle. I don’t know how authentic this map is, but it will give you some idea of the land of which I speak. And, of course, the Anishinaabe people and their neighbours were here long before maps were drawn. Since forever.

At any rate, this is a book review and all I can say is, “read this book.” Now that I’ve penciled in the meaning of all the words I guessed at (and got most right from the context by the way) I’m going to read it again because it just makes me feel good — not numb, not guilty, not sad, just good. I’m not sure if it was Leanne Betasamosake Simpson’s intention to make white ladies feel good, but it worked for this one. Perhaps this is the cure of which she speaks.

The Marrow Thieves. Cherie Dimaline

The Marrow Thieves. Cherie Dimaline

Who’s your favourite writer? I’ve always dreaded being asked that question because I didn’t have one, until now. Cherie Dimaline is my new favourite writer. I read and reviewed Empire of Wild (2019) not long ago because the cover was so striking. Last week, I finally picked up The Marrow Thieves.

This short, dark, dense, YA book won numerous prestigious awards when DCB released it in 2017. TIME magazine declared it one of the Best YA Books of All Time. Why?

The Marrow Thieves is timely. Emotional. Superbly written. Thought-provoking. Gut-wrenching. Grave.

This dystopian novel is labeled Science Fiction. It’s also labeled Young Adult, I assume because it has limited sex and course language, and the main character, Frenchie, is a sixteen-year-old Metis man-boy on the run with an eccentric familial crew in the forests of northern Canada. With him are Frenchie’s love interest Rose (16); Chi-Boy (17) and Wab (18) who are one sweet couple; Tree and Zheegwan, 12-year-old twin boys; Slopper, nine and delightful; Ri-Ri , a seven-year-old girl whose grown up with them from infancy; Minerva their Anishinaabe Elder; and Miigwan who holds them all together.

The story is set in the not-too-distant future, before 2050, in a time I may not be physically here to see, but perhaps you will. Global warming, a concept we are becoming more and more familiar with each day, has destroyed most of the world. Tectonic plates shifted. Cities crumbled into the sea. America fought Canada for clean water from northern rivers. The Great Lakes were “polluted to muck … fenced off, too poisonous for use” (24). The government militarized. The North melted. People died in masses from disaster and disease and stopped reproducing. And then the non-Indigenous folks stopped dreaming. Which brings us to the crux of the story.

The only people who can still dream are Indigenous. As Miig explains: “Dreams get caught in the webs woven in your bones … You are born with them. Your DNA weaves them into marrow like spinners … That’s where they pluck them from” (19). Frenchie’s band of survivors are running north because they’re being hunted for their bone marrow. The government has built new “residential schools” and hired “recruiters” to track down and capture anyone with Indigenous ancestry. They work them, kill them, and siphon their melted marrow into vials labeled by age and nation. The historical echo of exploitation and genocide rips through this book leaving us horrified.

But, take a deep breath. This is science fiction. Right?

Cherie Dimaline is a multi-award-winning author from the Georgia Bay Metis Community in Ontario. Her writing is so fresh, so original, so stylish and real, I’m hoping it seeps into my own bone marrow. I hope she is not a prophet, but merely issuing a warning like those forest fires and floods and Hellish droughts that continue to shake and shock us.

Listen up. Young Adult or grandmother, if you read no other books, please read this one. Preferably aloud to each other. And then talk it out. And hug it out.

And if this book seems too dark and depressing and your guts are already shivering, know this. The sequel is coming out this October. Hunting by Stars. I’ve already pre-ordered my paperback. You see, I have hope for Frenchie and his crew. And I have a new favourite writer.

Photo from her website, cheriedimaline.com which has a wealth of information about who she is.