Is resistance enough? Reflections of identity,politics,and relations in the “in-between” spaces of Indigeneity and settlerhood

Abstract

This article explores the intersectional identities of Indigenous peoples who may walk the path “in-between” Indigenous and settler nationhood, and the implications that reside in that ethically ambiguous space. Employing the use of personal narrative, poetry,¹ and decolonizing perspectives, this work positions identity as a politicized construct that continues to surveil Indigenous bodies, marking them as threats to settler advancement. This article asks questions around what it means to be Indigenous in a time of social unrest, when your life is marked by colonial interference but your skin is not; is resisting colonialism enough to create spaces for all Indigenous peoples to thrive?

Keywords

identity politics Indigenous studies Indigenous intersectionality decolonizing perspectives Anishinaabe narrative poetry nationhood

Is existence enough?

When we are defined by your hatred,

Never remembered by what makes us sacred

When our bodies are yours to do as you will

And our waters are yours to bottle and spill

Our wombs never fill

It is our future you kill

I think of the ways that my life has been marred by intersections, of perceptions that are not my own, and experiences that I can touch but not fully hold. I have wandered the spaces “in-between”, in a dance of belonging and disconnect. I am continuously afflicted. Ashamed of my colour for its likeness to whiteness. Clutching my status card² as a badge of authenticity, because blood quantum works so far as to legitimate your identity. For me, Indigeneity is a choice, or so I am told. I am able to walk in a way that does not outwardly mark me as native, and in this there is safety. My features exoticize me only as a slight deviance from normality, but not quite enough to mark my heredity.

I wonder what is better said by someone with darker skin, with longer hair, fancier earrings, or a more impressive bundle. How can I ever be an example of Indigenous experience when I will never dream in the language of my Kookum, or live with the river where much of my family lives? These waterways and lands are teachers I will never fully know. Understanding my connections to land, ancestry, and my place within the world has always been a laboursome endeavour. As a white-passing Anishinaabekwe, identity is a complex negotiation of culture, race, and privilege. Passing for white in the context of settler colonialism necessitates a critical engagement with both the consequences and responsibilities of Black and Indigenous subjugation (Perkins, 2004). This is the “in-between” space of Indigenous and settler nationhood, an ambiguous place of ethical perplexity in which relationships are layered with both longing and disdain. It is a politicized territory that is often overlooked within the binary of colonizer/colonized, Black/White, Indigenous/settler. This article seeks to unpack the complexity of mixed Indigenous identity in the context of solidarity movements seeking to resist settler-colonialism and understand the spaces of ambiguous political and personal responsibilities that result from the in-between spaces this creates. I speak from my experience as a white-passing Anishinaabekwe in a Canadian urban context and recognize that I cannot represent anyone but myself. I do, however, feel there may be similar experiences in other settler-colonial environments and although I may not have much to offer, I can at least extend a piece of my heart for you to know you are not alone.

Nationhood within settler colonial states

When your blood is “red,”

But your skin is white

How do you reconcile what you feel inside?

Identity is a complex construct to define in any political climate, but even moreso in a context where identity and nationhood have been purposefully attacked through policy. Indigeneity is often defined as a genealogical connection to the original inhabitants of place, or to those who were inhabiting land when colonizers arrived (Alfred & Corntassel, 2005). Indigenous peoples, however, have differing definitions of themselves based on place-based histories and cultural membership. Through colonial acts, Indigeneity has come to be systematically defined by the colonizer (Alfred & Corntassel, 2005). In Canada, the Indian Act has had a pivotal role in the construction of the Indian and the ways we hold relation to the rest of the Canadian state (Lawrence, 2003). The Indian Act has defined Indigenous peoples in such ways as to monitor and control their progression as self-sovereign peoples (Lawrence, 2004). The Indian status system has been used as a means to measure Indigenous blood quantum to end subsequent generations of Indigenous peoples (Palmater, 2011). Indigenous nations were given status to designate them as a separate citizenship category within the nation state of Canada, with multiple mechanisms to slowly remove status Indian as a designation (Wolfe, 2006). Indigenous women in particular have faced ongoing threats to their claims to Indigenous membership through Bill C-31, which would remove women’s status in the instance of cross-cultural marriage (Lawrence, 2003). Subsequent generations would, therefore, not have claim to status nor the provisions promised to Indigenous nations within treaty agreements. These policies have defined Indigeneity in terms of blood quantum rather than community membership and relationship to place (Palmater, 2011).

In Canada, The Indian Act documented Indigenous bodies to displace and organize them into societies replicating imperial structures (Cannon, 2007). In many areas where early treaties were signed, Canadian commissioners denoted male authoritarians to represent communities, which disrupted traditional governance structures (Voyageur, 2011). In many traditional Anishinaabe communities, leaders emerged through recognition of individual contributions towards collective wellbeing (Kenny, 2012). That is to say that no one person was an authority over others, but that they were respected for the decisions they could make for the community as a whole. Leadership may have emerged through the development and sharing of skills that supported community survival, or gifts that helped community wellbeing (Flocken, 2013). In many cases, a community would have many different leaders who hold expertise in various aspects of community life (Rosile, Boje, & Claw, 2018). Collective decision-making processes allowed for wholistic interpretations of events and the integration of traditional, historical, and land-based knowledge (Flocken, 2013). The Indian Act and resulting Band Council system has largely erased traditional governance models to appease Canadian government structures (Crosby & Monaghan, 2012). These tactics serve as a means to end Indigenous futurity in lands deemed valuable for colonial progression (Tuck & Yang, 2012).

For many Indigenous peoples, nationhood is less rooted in upholding colonial politics of recognition and ownership, but rather as a fundamental value system seeped in cultural perspectives (Corntassel, 2012). Anishinaabe children are thought to be brought to communities as gifts from Creation to bring teachings to the community (Ineese-Nash, Bomberry, Underwood, & Hache, 2018). Each individual is thus held in high regard for the value they bring to the collective and has position and responsibility based on the gifts they hold. Belonging is fostered through interfamilial and clan (in certain cultures) relationships and connections to culture, ancestry, and land. Indigenous pedagogies centre identity formation from early childhood through the life cycle (Greenwood, 2006). Nationhood is at the core of Indigenous value systems but vary from nation state definitions which are premised on hegemonic structures (Yerxa, 2014). Indigenous nationhood has also evolved in response to colonial violence, in that Indigenous nationality has become a counterculture of sorts that seeks to resist colonial constructions of normative lifeways. But is resisting coloniality enough to define us in our entireties?

Is resistance enough?

When you strip us of dignity

Removing our agency

To live as we ought to be

When your fuel is bigotry

And ours is love,

Can I ever convince you that we are enough?

Identity in the in-between

Indigenous identities are intersectional, variable, and complex, formed through the experiences and discourses prevalent in people’s lives (Restoule, 2008). The trajectory of identity development of Indigenous peoples has been fractured through cultural genocide, land dispossession, and ongoing colonial assimilation tactics. Growing up Indigenous, whether in an urban or reserve context, is a complicated path of reclamation, reconnection, and recovery (Restoule, 2008). We are collectively healing from the impact of colonization, and in this process, we are discovering who we are as Indigenous peoples in relation to settler-colonialism. Our lives are marked as threats to coloniality, and our knowledge regarded as a means to ease settler guilt (Tuck & Yang, 2012). But is this all that we are?

How can we be

Not in-between

Not parts of wholes

Or holes of genes?

How can we breathe

Not of defeat

Futurities

In ourselves complete?

A not-so-unique example

My Kookum (great-grandmother) comes from a place known as Mammamattawa, the place where the rivers meet, where she lived for most of her early life. Our family comes from a long-line of Cree trappers, and the community there was sustained through this traditional economy until it became a hub for fur trading (Constance Lake First Nation (CLFN), 2018). At the time of Treaty signing in 1905,³ there were roughly 85 people occupying the territory and were categorized as members of the Albany Band (Long, 2010). Our community members were not part of treaty signing directly but were designated lands near the trade post, to be governed by members of the Albany Band (Long, 2010). We did not have our own chief until 1921 (CLFN, 2018). Shortly after, many community members of Mammamattawa, Fort Albany, and Moose Factory began migrating south for employment opportunities largely through the logging corporations, fur trade, and Canadian railway system. By 1940, most of the members of Mammamattawa had relocated to Pagwa and were therefore recategorized by Indian Affairs as a new Oji-Cree community and designated new lands near Constance Lake, where much of my family currently lives (CLFN, 2018).

My Kookum was a strong Cree woman. She held her language and her knowledge of the land until her death at over 100 years old. She was the source of knowledge for our family, of a time not defined by the reserve but of the land. She protected our family from some of the most devastating impacts of colonization, taking her children to the trapline when Indian agents would try to take all the children to residential school. But there were other assailants lurking that would slowly deteriorate our connections to our lineage and our homeland. When my grandmother was 10 years old, she became very ill with Tuberculosis and spent 2 years recovering in and out of hospital in Toronto. During this time, she lost much of her language and culture and returned home as a different person. She in turn had a difficult life, defined by the misery of reserve life rather than the traditional knowledges Kookum carried.

My mother was born the first daughter of my grandmother and a French lumber mill owner. Shortly after she was born, the two parted ways, and my grandmother had eight more children with a native man, who I consider my grandfather. My mother speaks of her childhood in flashes of pain and disconnect. For most of my early life, this is all I knew of our reserve, the misery that seeps into the bones of your being. My mother left “home” at the age of 16, hitchhiking to Toronto to escape the darkness she felt. But the pain and anger followed. By the time she had me, as her fourth child, she was tired and overburdened by the task of figuring out who she was supposed to be. To save me from this fate, she told me that it was easier being White. With no relation to my European family, this was easier said than done.

I have spent much of my adult life trying to reconnect the severed lines between me and all my relations. I have felt unwelcome in certain spaces based on my appearance and manner of walking through the world, largely by my own family. I have also been granted many opportunities for growth, life, and love, both within the Indigenous community and with non-Indigenous folks. Is Indigeneity something that can be so easily switched on or off? Growing up as white passing in an urban context has provided me with countless privileges of which I am eternally grateful for. Yet, this did not safeguard me from the statistical realities of my existence. I too suffered intergenerational and firsthand trauma. I too was removed from my home through child welfare policy. I too was discriminated against because of my culture and forced to assimilate to a colonial system. These are the mechanics of settler-colonialism that does not necessitate full-blood quantum. These are the ongoing processes that seek to destroy even me.

My life has been structured by colonial systems. My lineage comes from a place that helped sustain my ancestors for millenia, while also supporting settler advancement. My family has helped preserve land and knowledge as well as disrupt it. Within my own life, I have fit into nearly every stereotypical description of a native life, yet I am not always recognized as authentic. I feel wary in ceremonial spaces, as though I am a fraud. I feel a longing for knowledge that has been absent from my life, my mothers, and my grandmothers. And at the same time, I wonder if this knowledge is for me. Is there something within me that is seeking something I cannot fully know? Perhaps there is something different for me to understand, another space I need to walk in, and another set of responsibilities to carry altogether.

Identity and spirit

Identity is not only an expression of genealogy or experience, but it is also an outward representation of spirit (Absolon, 2010). Indigenous nations hold complex understandings and spiritual beliefs of the origins of our people which vary culturally and shape the ways we live (Watts, 2017). For me, spirituality has provided a mechanism to understand my experience as part of something greater than myself. But even spiritual connection is difficult when your connections to peoples and places have been made invisible. I have been honoured to receive teachings from elders and traditional knowledge holders that have helped shape my commitment towards answering the difficult questions about my position and responsibilities. My spirit name and clan membership have been some of the ways I have been able to feel recognized as an Anishinaabe person, and to centre my own life towards the progression of Indigenous resurgence and decolonization. From this orientation, I am able to connect with Creation in a way that is personal and non-discriminatory. As many Elders have told me, Creator does not make mistakes, and therefore connecting with spirituality may be an entry point into formulating identity that is less political and more personal in nature.

Mixed-ancestry in the reconciliation era

Indigenous identity within the political context of settler-colonialism has become popularized through Canada’s renewed commitment to reconciliation with Indigenous peoples (Manuel & Derrickson, 2017). The Truth and Reconciliation of Canada (TRC) has sought to gather stories of Indigenous peoples across Canada in their experiences with the Indian Residential School system to identify ways to repair the relationships between Canadians and Indigenous nations (Nagy, 2014). While the wide dissemination of the information has been helpful in increasing awareness of Indigenous experiences of colonization, the uptake of the reconciliation agenda has largely overshadowed truth-telling and accountability (Manuel & Derrickson, 2017). Mixed-ancestry within the context of reconciliation can be difficult to navigate, as the push for Indigenization becomes more prominent in colonial institutions (Ottmann, 2013). Who has voice in the decision-making processes of reconciliation is an important consideration when Indigenous perspectives have largely been absent from these conversations. Are white-passing Indigenous peoples being honoured for their Indigeneity and community membership or are they merely used as an easier way to achieve reconciliation?

Reconciliation may be a place for Indigenous peoples to walk the in-between in ways that honour their experiences and positionalities. For myself, I have been recognized by elders as holding particular privileges to be used to benefit those who do not have the same access. In this, I seek ways to push the boundaries of colonial institutions to make space for Indigenous peoples that are authentic and meaningful, centred on relationship and accountability. In recognizing my ability to walk in both an Indigenous and non-Indigenous world, I have been asked to bring Indigenous knowledge into non-Indigenous places as to make these sites less harmful for all Indigenous peoples. In this way, I use my whiteness as a point of leverage to support my Indigenous brothers and sisters who may not be invited and enable them to be heard. This, however, can lead to dichotomous identities for Indigenous peoples who are put into potentially hostile situations and marked as collaborators of the colonial regime. Not all Indigenous peoples want to be part of colonial structures and as Indigenous peoples in the in-between, we need to make choices about how far we will go in any particular direction.

Indigenous knowledge: implications for the path forward

Indigenous knowledge shapes who we are as Indigenous peoples and the ways we navigate the world (Battiste, 2011). This knowledge comes through our blood memory, spiritual connection, and direct instruction (Battiste, 2008). For those along the path in-between Indigeneity and Settler, knowledge becomes integral to our definitions of ourselves (Wilson, 2008).

Commodification and cultural elitism

Not all Indigenous peoples have access to cultural knowledge and the commodification of Indigenous knowledge has enforced hierarchical structures of knowledge transmission (Battiste, 2008). While many acknowledge the cultural elitism that exists in colonial discourses of Indigenous peoples, there is not often a conversation of the elitism that occurs within Indigenous communities themselves. Cultural knowledge is the source of our nationhood, our ability to survive, and our way of maintaining our connections to our web of relations (Simpson, 2017). However, the regulation of cultural practice through colonial policy has impacted the transmission of this knowledge to subsequent generations. Those with cultural knowledge have always been highly regarded, but this has been amplified by capitalism, creating structures of knowledge transmission that are less relationship based. What does this mean for Indigenous youth in communities who cannot afford to bring in cultural teachers, or urban Indigenous peoples who are underemployed or homeless? Even if one can afford to access a knowledge holder, how does the commodification of these gifts change the nature of their teachings?

Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island are in a collective reclamation process wherein we are asserting our right to cultural knowledge (Corntassel, 2012). For some, the lack of cultural understanding has fostered feelings of shame and hindered our ability to identify as we wish to. Reclaiming culture within the context of settler colonialism can be difficult to all Indigenous peoples, but particularly challenging for intersectional bodies that do not seem to fit into the normative understanding of Indigeneity. Identity-based discrimination occurs within Indigenous community and has done harm to those who seek community membership. This leads to the prioritizing of certain bodies and knowledges and the subjugation of others. All Indigenous peoples have a right to access and practice their culture (United Nations General Assembly, 2007). Cultivating spaces of co-resistance in which intersectional identities can be honoured with equal regard is a means to ensure equitable access to culture and community for all peoples (Simpson, 2016).

Centering land as knowledge and identity

Land relationships have been at the core of Indigenous identities, cultural practices, and governance structures for millenia (Styres, 2011). But our connection to traditional territory has been impacted through the regulation of Indigenous lands and bodies. How can Indigenous peoples understand where they come from and who they are when in many cases, these distinctions are not so clear? How will these land knowledges change in response to global climate change and resource development? As an Indigenous person, I have always known there was more to my lineage than the place designated by government sanctions. There is more to community membership than simply the place names on our registration forms. There are teachings underneath the surface of our lakes, along our trails, and in our skies. Land is a teacher that can provide the intervention on the ambiguities of the in-between (Styres, Haig-Brown, & Blimkie, 2013). Land serves as a nurturer to all, and asks only for us to practice gratitude and respect in exchange. Entering into reciprocal land relations enables us to learn more about ourselves, our nations, and our humanity:

Aki

Calls to me

To see

What is underneath

I breathe

Her in my dreams

She sees

All of me

All humans belong to land. We are the products of Creation, originating from the stars in the sky world and birthed through the waters of our mothers. And yet, our societies have premised themselves on the appropriation of land and all she holds. Settler-colonialism is rooted in land ownership and control (Tuck & Yang, 2012). Decolonizing our identities necessitates an understanding of our rootedness to earth, not defined by reservation boundaries, confederate borders, or constituted nation states (Corntassel, 2012). Centering relationships to land allows us to engage in ways that foster our connections to each other, to non-humans, to present, past, and future relations (McGuire-Kishebakabaykwe, 2010). Land knowledge has much to teach us not only about traditional Indigenous lifeways, but also of futurities in which place serves as a mechanism for growth, connection, and learning (Tuck, McKenzie, & McCoy, 2014). Do these connections need to be localized to hereditary lands and waterways? What connections can we maintain to urban environments or international places where we may also feel cultural ties? Perhaps there is connection in the landless places, or the places of virtual community wherein peoples are able to truly be themselves. Centering land as our holders of knowledge in terms of our identities does not always mean being on the land in the traditional sense, but tracing our lives through cartographies of experience to respect the memory and understanding the place brings to our everyday lives. This enables us to hold our own understandings of self as intersectional Indigenous peoples while honouring local expertise and protocol.

Self-determination and the politicized body

Identifying as Indigenous is a political act (Coulthard, 2007). Indigenous bodies and minds are politicized insofar that they discredit settler claims to authority. Settler colonialism seeks to erase Indigeneity from lands deemed valuable for exploitation, and in so doing, assume dominion over the nation state (Tuck & Yang, 2012). Indigenous survival and resurgence negates settler discourses of Terra Nullius (Watson, 2014). Our resistance to colonial mechanisms of erasure, genocide, and assimilation have redefined our identities as not only Indigenous but also a direct adversary to colonial advancement which has shaped our responsibilities to our nations and settlers alike (Sharma & Wright, 2008). Indigenous nations hold the inherent right to self-determination, and the ability to govern and make decisions for the futures of our communities and life ways (Corntassel, 2008). Indigenous self-identification holds political weight and marks your body as a threat to coloniality (Blackburn, 2009). For white-passing or intersectional Indigenous peoples, this may feel like an onerous task to take on when we are unsure of our lineage or our place within the political landscape of settler-Indigenous relations (Paradies, 2016).

Self-determination extends to the ways in which we choose to manifest our destinies as Indigenous peoples and our ability to navigate the between differing political contexts of Indigenous and settler nationhood (Corntassel, 2008). Identifying as Indigenous is not only a statement of community membership or of heredity, but it is also the practice of cultural lifeways and orientation towards Indigenous value systems (Simpson, 2017). Being Indigenous in contemporary settler states is a commitment towards living with Indigenous knowledge embedded in everyday practice, even when daily life is seeped in coloniality. Self-determination within the politics of identity requires informed decision-making, built on an ongoing process of decolonial and Indigenous learning (Corntassel, 2012). To be Indigenous means to live Indigenous, and to live Indigenous requires Indigenous knowledge and thought. Many white-passing Indigenous people do not have the same access to cultural learning opportunities as their full-blooded kin, which can lead to fragmented identities and cultural disconnect (Downey, 2017). Cultural identity can be a source of resilience and pride for all Indigenous peoples (McGuire-Kishebakabaykwe, 2010), but not when the spaces in which cultural knowledge is taught is discriminatory or divisive of lived experiences.

Decolonization of the self and the politics of identity

Indigenous peoples have carried the responsibility of preserving cultural practice and knowledge in opposition to a state system that has sought to erase them (Battiste, 2011; Smith, 2013). However, Indigenous nations have also learned behaviours that replicate imperial structures of knowledge commodification and identity-based discrimination (Bombay, Matheson, & Anisman, 2014). There is thus a need for a decolonizing practice for both Indigenous and settler peoples to frame Indigenous identity as the complex construct that it is, informed by pluri-cultural contexts, varying ties to land, and lived experiences of Indigenous peoples. Decolonization requires the explication of colonial structures that have become embedded in the fabric of our societies and seeking ways to dismantle them (Tuck & Yang, 2012). Understanding how we (Indigenous peoples alike) have been colonized allows us to seek ways to challenge ourselves in lessening our colonial influence onto others, and recognizing our diverse identities and experiences. Indigenous identity is not a universal concept, nor is it wholly defined by colonialism or tradition; Indigenous identity is the ongoing existence of Indigeneity that extends beyond what we know or can predict, evolving as we collectively learn more about ourselves and find ways to continue on.

Ethical responsibilities for mixed-ancestry indigenous peoples

Being Indigenous does not absolve us of political and social responsibility to our nations, communities, or the settler-state. In fact, mixed-Indigenous peoples hold a plethora of ethical responsibilities that can seem daunting, ambiguous, and impossible. Oftentimes, we are navigating the structures of colonialism in isolation from our families, communities, and nations. It can therefore seem easier to conform to these systems rather than resist coloniality at every turn. We are however here for something greater. Indigenous leaders and scholars have spoken of this time in political history as a pivotal moment in the restoration of Indigenous lifeways (Simpson, 2008). We are uniquely positioned to bring Indigenous knowledge to its next state of being, wherein Indigenous peoples know themselves, their cultures, and their languages (Simpson, 2008). But we must tread carefully along this path, as the steps we must take are not so clear. We must walk a path that honours our ancestors and our kin yet to come, in acknowledging the complexity of each experience and knowledge system. We must be careful to respect traditional knowledge as something to be shared but not commodified or appropriated. And we must also seek ways to make the colonial structures less harmful to Indigenous peoples to come. At the same time, we must honour ourselves, our gifts, our knowledges, our clan responsibilities, our spiritual destinies, and our community priorities. In everything we do, we must do it in a good way.

Finding connection at the intersections

I have made a commitment in my life to honour my Anishinaabe lineage by engaging in continual critical reflection of my identity and my practice. I seek ways to embed myself in culture not for the novelty of this experience, but to engage in healing for myself, my mother, and my grandmother. In this pursuit, I know I am not alone. I know there are other Indigenous people who are attending their first ceremony, dancing at their first pow wow, or receiving their spirit name for the first time. In this experience, I think there is connection, solidarity, and new ways of nation building. It is at the place of unknowing that we can begin to challenge our nations and ourselves to remember what it means to invite inclusion and reciprocity into our lives. It is at the intersection of Indigeneity and settler-nationhood that we can truly define what decolonization could look like, both at an individual and systemic level. Connection is what has enabled Indigenous peoples to persevere through colonial tactics of genocide, and it will be what brings us into a new assemblage of being, one which does not measure Indigeneity through blood tests or number of protests attended:

We are always enough

Slowly awakened

Resolve never shaken

All of us sacred

We will overcome

All that is fated

Our lineage braided

As we were created

We will never be the Indians you love to inspect

Nor will we be complacent in your rife disrespect

In this time of unrest, we have much to protect

Our futures are ours to define and direct

Conclusion

Identity, membership, belonging, and affect are parts of Indigenous experience that are not often spoken of in academic spaces. Nor to interrogate the mechanics and complexities of variance within Indigenous identities. As an Indigenous scholar and educator, I have found the lack of discourse of experiences I hold to be troublesome in ways that have hindered my ability to connect with other Indigenous peoples who may walk the path “in-between” Indigenous and settler nationhood. There are considerable implications residing in the ethically ambiguous spaces in which Indigenous peoples navigate, which require critical orientations towards decolonization and Indigenous knowledge systems. For many, this also means engaging in critical self-inquiry about our learned behaviours and understandings. This article asks questions around what it means to be Indigenous in a political climate that seeks to extract Indigenous knowledge for colonial gain. What does it mean to have connection with people and places outside of the Indigenous community and how do we centre all our relations in our everyday lives? How can we move away from the dichotomization of identity wherein certain peoples may participate in communities as their whole selves?

There are more questions than answers here and I wonder if that is the point of inquiry from an Indigenous perspective. I can only know my own experience. I need these connections to formulate answers to the questions I do not yet know I want answered. And rather than pretending I can walk in two worlds at once, I need to reconcile within myself what it means to be Anishinaabe, European, a scholar, a poet, an artist, a woman, and an urbanite all at once. I cannot be compartmentalized. And so I will continue to wonder what is left said by someone else, but at least now that what I say, I say from the heart.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I wish to acknowledge my community of Constance Lake First Nation for the support and partnership in multiple research projects and capacities.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Nicole Ineese-Nash

Notes

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