As the doctor empties a third needle into my face to temporarily freeze the colonial eye twitch I’ll endure the rest of my life, she chirps, “It’s great that you started this procedure so young: you’ll never get wrinkles!”
Poetry gives me freedom, sometimes. Sometimes forces me into shapes, corners, feminities that are stunning, suffocating And deliciously dishonest. Once I said I wanted my writing to taste good served with misâskwatômina, like sweet berries. Like the only way Native women are valuable is when we are consumable. Pretty. Sweet. But the problem is my writing smells more like… Continue reading miwasin
Content Warning: attempted sexual assault; Indigenous Feminist anger that cuts like the lead riff in “The Trooper” My optimism wears moccasins and is loud. My optimism sometimes wears moccasins and is always loud. As a Nehiyaw girl growing up in a small prairie city in Canada, I got into punk, hard rock, and metal music… Continue reading My Optimism Wears Moccasins and is Loud: On Paris, Heavy Metal, and Chasing Freedom
Shame is the reaction requested when they look you in the mouth and say, “lost her language”, but I know language well enough to pinpoint each time it's lost instead of stole,
and that my shame alone cannot build homes or sustain bodies.
What truths would be written if academics weren't afraid of losing their jobs? What truths would be written if you followed through, in practice, the type of sovereignty and decolonization you theorize in journals? All the times I've heard some version of "I'm concerned about your academic career if you talk about this publicly": that's not concern for… Continue reading I’m concerned for your academic career if you talk about this publicly
I walked home down 20th street, toward a small brown-skinned Indigenous girl, maybe five years old, standing on the sidewalk. She was wearing a pink raincoat, rubber boots, and carrying a big gold foil balloon in the shape of a star, but overfilled with helium so it puffed up like a marshmallow. I waved at… Continue reading And to think that I saw it on 20th Street
It is not a coincidence that areas with high Indigenous populations are the areas deprived of access to food and health care. At its core, this is an issue of maintaining the dispossession of Indigenous people and the legitimacy of Canadian control; an attempt to destroy the nations and legal orders that we hold in our blood, our muscles, our stomaches, our minds, our mouths.
To paraphrase an Indigenous faculty member, “If I walked in and decided I wanted to teach physics, they would laugh me out of the office. So why is it that this university is allowing someone to teach Indigenous content without the proper qualification?"
Dear Troy, Brent, Bill and Brann, A year ago, I finally had the chance to see Mastodon play with Ghost and Opeth in Saskatoon. I was front row center, pressed against the gates for the first two sets. It was easily one of the best lineups I’ve seen, and an amazing night – made even… Continue reading An Open Letter to Mastodon regarding your Thanksgiving t-shirts [[Updated With Band Response]]
A letter to myself, 2025 (2030?!): if you become a professor, don’t sell out Native students. If a Native student comes to your office in tears about an encounter with institutional racism, don't tell her "Oh, that's too bad. But just stick it out, you're almost done." If microaggressions occur in your classroom, don't ignore… Continue reading That deadly academic silence: outspoken Indigenous students & unsettling the Canadian university