“She’s not here to play with you, Emma,” she said. And no, I wasn’t: I was there to interview Emma’s mother, author and storyteller Lenore Keeshig-Tobias.
Lenore and I had to finish this interview before she was to leave for her next scheduled interview, and in the meantime, two-year-old Emma’s baby brother Adam had to be given his feeding. Luckily, Keeshig-Tobias is used to doing four things at once.
Keeshig-Tobias has published poetry in anthologies and journals, as well as published several children’s stories and plays. In this interview she speaks of her roles as a Native storyteller and of the issue of appropriation of voice; in particular, of ‘Native’ stories being written by non-Native Canadians.
Currently a chairperson on an advisory committee in the Writers’ Union of Canada, Keeshig-Tobias is helping organize a planning session for writers of colour from across Canada. Their aim is to outline a list of recommendations to be made to funding agencies, arts organizations and writers themselves on the issue of appropriation.
“We’ll be dealing with this issue of appropriation or as people say ‘racism’ in writing and publishing houses. The decisions will be made only by the people in the discussion sessions, anything other that would be paternalism.
“The answers have to come from these people. The answers have to come from us, not from the white majority of the … of the Writers’ Union for example,” she laughs.
“Otherwise it would be just like Indian Affairs conceiving of another wonderful benevolent plan and then plunking it down on Natives and having the Natives run around and make it work.”
According to Keeshig-Tobias, her work on the issue of appropriation is grounded in her commitment as a Native writer to her own people.
“I feel my roles is to work to foster and promote a greater understanding of Native culture. I don’t write for non-Natives, I write for my people. I write in English so it is accessible to non-Natives as well but my primary audience or concern are my own people. It’s nice if non-Natives can appreciate it as well but I think we have a lot of healing to do within our own people and as an artist I feel I have a part in that.”
“I guess in that way our work, as artists, is not out there for entertainment. It’s not there to decorate your walls, it’s there for a purpose. These are teachings that we, as artists, offer to the people.”
Although currently living in Toronto, Keeshig-Tobias is from a reserve on the Bruce Peninsula which she often visits. She works on programs for educating Native children with both traditional and new Native stories.
“Everything stems from the old tradition. Everything stems from storytelling. Whether you’re a poet, a playwright, whether you do screenwriting, fiction, short fiction, children’s literature, whatever it is, it all stems from the oral tradition.
“I received some advice from an elder, who said to me, ‘Lenore, don’t tell the traditional stories until the ground is covered with snow’ and I said ‘Why?’ She said, ‘Well, mosquitoes and blackflies like those stories.’ And I thought, ‘Oh, ha-ha that’s quaint.’ And even though I didn’t understand at the time what she was telling me I decided that I would abide by that. That’s how badly I wanted to be a storyteller, ‘I will do as the old people have said. I will not tell traditional stories unless there is snow on the ground.’
“As time went by I did come to a greater understanding and that understanding is that, well, these stories are not meant for everyone. They’re for certain ears only — Native or non-Native. Not everyone is, I suppose, capable of understanding a story, and then there are people who will abuse those stories or abuse that information — just use it in the wrong way. So in a way it is a form of censorship or self-censorship but information is not always accessible to everyone and there are reasons why.”
In Keeshig-Tobias’s view, assuming a Native point of view, or using Native folk tales, symbolism or metaphors is a violation against Native “ownership” of their stories.
“In our culture, and it exists in non-Native culture as well — the whole idea of copyright — in our culture, people own stories. Families own stories — and there are some stories that are out there in the public domain. If you want to tell a story, you find out who it belongs to and you go and you ask. You don’t just come pick, pick, pick, take, take, take, take. You go and you ask, and if it’s given to you, you tell it. If it’s not given to you, well, you have to ask again and again. It’s as simple as that.
“The white Canadians have to realize that Native culture is not their culture and is not like their culture. They have to learn how to respect Native culture. Sometimes when you respect something enough, you respect it enough to leave it alone — especially when somebody tells you to leave it alone,” she laughs.
“I’m always very leery about writers who write about things outside of their own culture and if you look at the history of the Native–Canadian relations you can see why. I mean, look at the history of the western hemisphere — when the white man first appeared in this hemisphere — you can see the misinformation, the stereotyping, the oppression that has occurred and still exists to this very day, because they felt that they were better, they felt that the six nations were beneath them, primitive, savage, heathen.”
Keeshig-Tobias believes non-Native and Native writers alike have to be aware of the kinds of stereotype they may create or perpetuate when writing about Native peoples.
“There’s such a lack of Native material out there that people — I’ve done it too, and I still do it. I just read whatever I can that’s Native, whether it’s by non-Natives or Native peoples themselves. There have been times when it has been such a hunger that I would just read and devour these things. And writers and artists must understand that as artists, they have a responsibility for stories and ideas that they put out there for public consumption — for readers, for listeners — because those stories will have impact on people. And also there is the responsibility to the people or the culture that the stories are about. Are you misrepresenting? Are you perpetuating negative stereotypes?
“I think when one understands that there is responsibility, and that stories are basically sacred, and if one understands where one comes from and is able to confront one’s psyche — and be truthful, then I think this shows up in their art: a profound self-understanding.”
To Keeshig-Tobias, a writer who appropriates a Native voice often shows a lack of respect as well as a lack of understanding of Native culture.
“I think our Native culture as a whole has had to work through it over the years and I think we’ve come through it now, there’s now need to do that searching—we know who we are now. I think it was during the ’50s and ’60s, even earlier than that, that we were wondering ‘Who am I?’ The fact is now, we know who we are now.
“I always find strength when I look into my own culture. Our traditional people say that you don’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve come from; and so I see that a lot of these white Canadians are appropriating Native stories because they feel there is nothing within their own culture that’s worth writing about and I feel very sorry for them, very, very sorry for them because they are denying their own existence. They’ve got to come to terms with their own history, their own culture and basically their own psyche, otherwise they will always be incomplete.
“If they don’t have a good understanding of themselves and their culture and where they come from, what the heck makes them or anyone think that these people know Native culture?”
The issue of appropriation of voice broaches on the touchy subject of censorship. Do writers overstep themselves and infringe on other peoples’ rights? Keeshig-Tobias believes that a proper consideration of the issues of appropriation should not be confused with the question of censorship.
“Those who myopically see the whole issue of appropriation as a shackling of the imagination are in the minority and they are usually men who already, by virtue of being men, are in a position of power. It’s just mind-boggling and I have to laugh at times — ‘You’re shackling up my imagination.’
“Well, you’re imagination comes right up to my nose and if you try to push it any further, then watch out, because I’m not going to be abused that way. I’m not going to allow you to rape me or my stories or my culture. I’m not going to allow you to take away things from my children.
“Respect, that’s the bottom line, respect. Rick Salutin, he said, ‘Well, what about respecting me, the writer?’” She pauses and laughs.
“‘What about respecting yourself?’ Well, I didn’t say that to him, but the writer has to respect the culture that you’re writing about. Respect your art. Respect yourself.
“I think as time goes by, as these writers become more aware of the situation and the ramifications of theft, they will understand that they have to ask.
“Last year, someone from the Women’s Press sent me a manuscript to read. It was a manuscript by a white woman who had assumed a Native voice and I read it and it was, it was just horrifying. What did this woman think she was doing? And you do have to question people’s motives for doing this because I certainly don’t want to become someone’s mission. Don’t pat me on the head so that you can have bread and butter and ease your guilt.
“This particular story was so patronizing, it was just horrendous. This woman had assumed the voice of a Native child who was going through a revival of her Native culture brought to her by a white woman. And so the child looked upon her as the Messiah so to speak. I mean, good heavens, if I’m going to follow somebody down the garden path it certainly is not going to be somebody who is not of my own culture.”
To Keeshig-Tobias, Native stories and poetry are not only forms of art based on tradition but they are also forms of empowerment.
“Storytelling and stories, poetry are not just there for entertainment. They reflect the deepest, most intimate perspectives of a culture and only those people who are so intimately involved in that culture have a right to tell those stories.
People outside the culture tend to whitewash. They don’t understand the characters, the symbolism. When they do attempt to use this stuff they basically take power away from the people that the stories are about—their symbols, their metaphors.
“We need people like myself and other artists to basically tell our own stories, whether these stories are fluff [she laughs] and funny, or beautiful poems, or stories about abuse and substance abuse. These are part of our reality. We have to know these stories.”
