Changing conquest narratives

Posted by admin on Dec 1, 2009 in Academy | 0 comments

There is great power in stories. The myth, fable, biography and novel engage our mind and our senses, inviting us to reflect on morals, cautionary tales and themes that might inspire us to action. Events of the past are most often recorded as story, whether they be the great biographies of Plutarch, the synoptic accounts of Jesus’ life or Walt Disney’s Pocahontas. These stories shape our view of history and dictate the lens through which we view current events.

As I finish the first half of my third year at Trinity, the impact of the liberal arts core has begun to take effect. With each new course I take I find myself consistently synthesizing my knowledge and experience from other courses, special lectures and conversations with professors and peers.

This synergy of knowledge and experience has been felt strongest in my History 340: “Canadian First Nations Relations” course. Any good in the tumultuous relationship of Euro-Canadians and this land’s first peoples is badly marred by deceit, ill will, and egregious misunderstandings. These misunderstandings continue today, perpetuated by a tool so powerful, so prevalent and ingrained in us that most often we don’t know we are using it – that tool is story.

In Canada, as with other colonized areas of the world, the superseding story of “We came, we saw, we conquered,” has long dictated the power relationship between “whites” and “Indians.” Our collective consciousness has been trained to interpret the actions of both parties through that conquest narrative. As a result, invasion is called settlement, occupied territory becomes virgin land, the inhabitants become both noble and ignoble savages, and on and on we go.

I am not saying that colonization is completely negative, but there is no escaping the power of our narratives in our attempts to protect, civilize, and assimilate the “Indian.” As author Edward Said writes, “Stories are at the heart of what explorers and novelists say about strange regions of the world…The power to narrate, or to block other narratives from forming and emerging, is very important to culture and imperialism.”

An article assigned in my history class caused me to consider a narrative’s power. It was an account of one non-Aboriginal’s experience accompanying a present-day First Nations hunting party. Through the hunt he experiences the clash of two different thought-worlds and encounters a faith challenge. The hunters explain how their forefathers had the power to locate animals, map hunting trails and discern the way to heaven through their dreams.

“Maybe you don’t think this power is possible,” states the lead hunter. And maybe we don’t. Certainly the popular narrative of our relationship with First Nations people informs us that they are powerless, pitiable and responsible for their own present position.

But what if we told different stories? What if we engaged different narratives? How is this possible? New narratives cannot be constructed on pity, for pity presupposes a chasm between us and “the other,” seeking only a remedy for our shame. What is needed is true compassion, an act that comes alongside suffering and, furthermore, listens to it.